CHANGE 2–DAY 218

Homeroom this morning: no Mr. Crowell.

It’s hard not to get a little paranoid, like, now that HE KNOWS about me, and he learned ABOUT ME just over the weekend, and then for the first time in almost two years of school he misses homeroom and we have a hating-her-life substitute who’s taking attendance and failing miserably at keeping the room quiet. We can barely hear the school greetings over the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special announcement today. A very, very proud moment for the Central community,” the principal begins. “To tell you about it is our very own Mr. Crowell . . .” And then there’s a nails-on-chalkboard feedback scream that makes all of us recoil in our seats and gasp in unison.

“Uh, uh—good morning, Falcons!” the voice starts, more tremulous than usual.

I look over and notice that Chloe is ferociously flipping through the brand-new issue of the Peregrine Review, which I’m not even sure how she got her mitts on until I spot a few large cardboard boxes behind Mr. Crowell’s desk, one of their tops ripped into like a rabid badger got a craving for something literary.

Mr. Crowell continues: “I have the pleasure of announcing—I have the honor of announcing—that two of Central’s very own are being recognized by the Tennessee State Literary Leaders Council and awarded with the Excellence in Reporting Award at the high school level for their series of interviews on love in the spring issue of the Peregrine Review. It’s a first for Central High, and a first for these two talented students. So let’s all join in heartily congratulating . . . Miss Audrey Stewart and Mr. Oryon Small!”

The hell, the what?

“Woo-freaking-hoo,” Chloe immediately slurs, giving the world’s slowest hand clap, which is our first indicator that this isn’t a dream and is actually happening. A few of the other kids start to genuinely applaud and toss out an “All right!” or “Sweet!” and seem if not impressed, then at least sort of happy for Audrey and me (as we sink lower and lower into our chairs in embarrassment). Jerry raises the roof and whistles, which prompts Chloe to petulantly toss her copy of the Peregrine onto the floor and continue rolling her eyes so far up into her head that it seems like they might never come back to center.

A few minutes later, Mr. Crowell slips back into class, giving the relieved sub a head nod, and proceeds to elaborate on our award, explaining that we’ll be featured in the Nashville Times newspaper—interviewed and photographed later this week.

“What about me?” Chloe cuts in.

“What about you?” Mr. Crowell asks back, brow knit.

“What about my trophy for poetry?” Chloe presses, a lifetime of being told she is amazing at everything doing no favors to her worldview yet again.

“Well, there isn’t an award for poetry,” Mr. Crowell responds, generously.

Chloe snarls, her lip lifting in the right corner as if snagged by a fishhook.

“Yeah, that’s why,” Jerry says, clapping me on the shoulder on the way back from collecting his copy of the magazine from Mr. Crowell’s desk where he is stacking copies.

* * *

Later, between classes, some Peregrine members set up tables to hand out the new issues. Aaron, Audrey, Chloe, Amanda, and I are stationed on the first floor hall. The announcement of our win caused a line, which felt cool and meant way more to me than I expected it would. DJ stopped by and snagged two copies, giving me a high five and Audrey a salacious appraising Hmmm mmm. “Literature is dope!” he shouted over his back as he passed by Jason, who was sidling up to the table.

“Hey, faggots,” Jason opens, pretending to flip through a journal and winking at Chloe, who waves and then continues to just sit at the end of the table, stroking her bangs like a pillow pet.

“Sudden interest in learning to read, Jason?” Audrey says, a familiar shadow darkening her face.

“There are people waiting,” Aaron adds, standing up and squaring his shoulders to match Jason’s.

“For what?” Jason sneers. “Love advice from my sexually confused sister and her eggplant crush?”

Aaron clenches his jaws, and I stand up when I realize I’m the eggplant.

Jason leans across the table closer to Aaron, so close their noses almost touch. “Want to know a secret?” he hisses.

Aaron is motionless, unblinking, silent.

Jason runs his tongue over his front teeth. “I’m the captain now,” he barks in a mock–Somali pirate accent, then reels back and laughs, repeating, “I’m the captain now!”

Chloe giggles conspicuously, while Audrey and I exhale, relieved no one is bleeding on top of our pile of journals. But then we notice Aaron isn’t budging. He’s still frozen in fight mode, the veins on his neck popped, every muscle tense, his breathing deep and steady behind the table.

“Hey Jason,” he says, his voice firm, unafraid, “I have a secret too. Wanna hear it?”

“Ooooh, scary,” Jason buffoons, wiggling his shoulders.

“Whatever you’re doing, don’t,” Aud says softly to Aaron, wrapping her fingers around his rigid forearm, his palms pressed nearly white onto the folding table. The other students waiting in line take a few steps back, forming a haphazard semicircle behind Jason.

“Come closer, I’ll tell you,” Aaron tells Jason. He is determined, his tone almost hypnotic now. Jason snaps to attention, never one to back down from a perceived threat.

“Oh yeah? You got something to tell me, Oklahomo? Because that’s not exactly a secret,” Jason says loudly as he tilts forward toward Aaron’s face. “Are we gonna go?” he taunts.

It’s at that precise moment that Aaron nods yes, says, “Oh, we’re going,” and, with everyone watching, bracing for an epic alpha football jock throw-down, flings his arms around Jason’s shoulders and kisses him full and wet on the mouth.

Jason recoils, sputtering and spitting and pawing at his lips, trying to rub off the contact (like that can even be done, outside of cartoons), and then starts leaping around, pointing at Aaron, and shrieking to everyone in the hall, “Did you see that? I knew it! I knew it! Freaking fairy! Donut puncher! Knob jockey!” But no one is really listening, instead they are cracking up, jeering at Jason, who looks more the absurd clown than ever.

“Those are some soft lips, captain!” Aaron shouts over the din, saluting, inspiring even more laughter. Audrey is beaming, and I’m a little high myself, so proud of Aaron for finally caring more about who he is than what everyone else wants him to be.

By now, the teachers have heard the drama and are pouring onto the scene, pushing kids aside and trying to get everyone to calm the heck down. Before they can reach us, though, Jason clambers over the table, Peregrine Reviews flying left and right, and punches Aaron so hard in the teeth that he flies back and thuds against a row of lockers like a giant sack of flour.

Aaron slides to the floor and Audrey races over, dropping to the ground beside him, as a giant, unlikely grin spreads across his bloody face.

“Oh my god. Are you okay?” Audrey moans.

“Totally worth it,” he mumbles through cracked and red lips.

* * *

After school, Audrey and I went to the Freezo to celebrate. Our award, yes, but also her brother’s at-long-last suspension from school for the rest of the week. And Aaron’s de facto coming out. And each other.

I won’t lie. I did think for a minute about last year around this time, sitting in the same booth at Freezo across from Chase. It seemed so long ago. Lifetimes. I was lost in the memory when I heard Audrey’s voice bringing me back.

“Did you hear me?”

“What?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Of course,” I lie.

“What was it?” She wipes the corners of her lips, licks her dip-cone.

“Ice cream is awesome?”

“No.”

“Well, it is,” I say, leaning in for a kiss.

It is just as I am pulling back that she says it. “I think I might love you,” she murmurs, unable to look me in the eye.

I am so flooded that even right now as I’m trying to recall them, I can’t be sure those were the exact words she used. But I am choosing to believe they were.