Anthony’s heart was pounding as he went to his locker. He touched the A experimentally. The paint was still wet. He glanced around and noticed Graham Fowler smirking at him while nudging his friends to get their attention.
“Think it was him?” Omar asked while looking in the same direction.
“Don’t worry about it,” Anthony replied.
He tried to appear apathetic as he spun the combination dial. He was relieved there wasn’t a nasty surprise inside, fed through the locker vents perhaps, but that was only today. He would worry about that from now on. If he even went to his locker at all.
“Are you really?” some snickering kid asked just as Anthony slammed the door shut.
“Yeah,” he replied with a glare. He turned around and saw other people staring, so he raised his voice. “I’m a fag! So what?”
“That’s right!” Omar shouted, glaring in Graham’s direction. “And I’ll kick anyone’s ass who has a problem with it!”
“Thanks,” Anthony murmured as they walked away.
“No problem,” Omar said. “Although now I really wish we were still friends with Diego. Fowler is a big motherfucker.”
“We could take him,” Anthony said. “We’d just have to sneak up from behind.”
He felt like he had a target on his back as they walked to class. But what could he do? Anthony had been this way his entire life. He couldn’t change. He had wanted to on occasion, but he didn’t feel that way anymore. Being true to himself was too much of a relief. Even if total strangers hated him for it.
“What the hell is wrong with people?” Omar grumbled. “Why do they care who you fall in love with? It’s not like gay guys go around giving straight dudes shit for liking girls.”
“I don’t know,” Anthony replied, “but I don’t like them trying to use it against me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not ashamed. They can write whatever they want on my locker or say it to my face. I’m a proud faggot!”
“You shouldn’t call yourself that,” Omar said with a wince.
“Why not?” Anthony snapped. “It’s true. All the word means is that I like other guys.”
“Yeah, but it’s got an extra… whatever you call it.”
“Connotation? All the words for it do. Gay. Homo. Queer. People always try to twist them into insults, when really, all they’re doing is revealing their own bigotry.”
“I’m sorry that straight people can be such assholes,” Omar said.
“Thanks.” Anthony bumped against him affectionately. “You’re one of the good ones.”
The warm fuzzy feeling didn’t last. While sitting in their journalism class, he kept thinking about the slur painted across his locker, like an accusation that was supposed to make him weak. Had they expected him to scrub off the word in panic? Anthony knew exactly what he was. He drew strength from it. But others like him who hadn’t accepted themselves yet were walking the school halls, students who would see the demonstration of hate and respond by burying the truth deeper inside themselves. That’s what people like Graham really wanted. For him to give into fear and repress himself again. Suffer in silence for being different or face the consequences. What a message!
He glanced over at Ricky, remembering how he had published an article about his suicide attempt, and how bravely he had weathered the backlash. Ricky had been new in school and at the bottom of the pecking order, and yet, he had told his truth regardless. Anthony furrowed his brow, looking down and noticing the black paint that still marred his fingertips. He clenched the hand into a fist. The bullies weren’t going to make him hide. Anthony was ready to come out to the whole school. In a big way.
— — —
Keisha checked the clock as her theater group wound down and wrestled with the same temptation she had for most of the week: Silvia. The memory of that kiss sent a tingle racing across her skin before she could quell it. But so what? Nothing would come of her foolish infatuation. And yet, Silvia had sent a message through Mindy that she wanted to talk. Instead of calling Keisha directly or seeking her out. Keisha had been sent for, which was pretty damn insulting, so she hadn’t answered her royal majesty’s summons. Even though part of her wanted to.
“That’s a wrap,” Ms. Deville said, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention. “I know it isn’t easy to stay late on a Friday. You all have my undying gratitude. Enjoy your weekend!”
Half the students were already heading for the door. Keisha lingered when she saw Cameron packing his things and joined him as he walked toward the exit.
“Have any exciting plans tonight?” she asked, hoping he would talk about his relationship with Anthony.
“I don’t know about exciting,” Cameron said with a dopey grin. “I have to go find my boyfriend. Then we’re going to rent some movies from Blockbuster and watch them at his place.”
“Sounds exciting to me,” Keisha said in all honesty. “I envy what you have together.”
Cameron looked her over in surprise. “You’re smoking hot. If you want to find someone, I can’t imagine it being an issue.”
“Oh, it isn’t that,” she replied with a wry smile. “I’ve dated before, but you and Anthony seem to have a real connection. Sometimes I forget that you weren’t born a couple. Or is that how it really happened? Were you babies in the hospital the first time you held each other’s tiny little hands?”
Cameron laughed. “I wish. But we’re making up for lost time.”
“I’m sure you are.” They pushed through the main doors and went out into the chilly evening air. “Do you need a ride?”
“If you don’t mind dropping me off on main street,” Cameron replied.
“Not at all.”
“Thanks! That would be great!”
They talked about the upcoming play as she led him to the Bronco, although they switched to a much more serious topic once they were on the road.
“I heard what happened to Anthony’s locker,” she said, shooting him a sympathetic expression.
Cameron exhaled. “Yeah. That wasn’t good. I worry about him.”
“I’m worried about you both,” Keisha replied. “People know that you’re a couple. There’s a lot of chatter about it.”
“Then why do they always pick on him instead of me?” Cameron asked in frustration.
“Because of how he looks,” she replied instantly. “I get a lot of that myself.” Enough that Keisha wasn’t sure if she wanted to add homophobia to the racism she already endured. Not while she was still in high school.
Cameron frowned. “Why can’t people be nice?”
“Because they’re scared. It’s so much easier to judge others than to turn that magnifying glass on yourself, or to find the bravery it takes to be who you really are.”
“You’re an old soul,” Cameron said after reassessing her.
“And you’ve got friends,” Keisha assured him, “so if it does get bad, let me know. I’ll rally the troops.”
“Thank you.”