“You’ve got it,” Keisha said. “And once we’ve gorged ourselves silly, we’re going to have a serious talk about you getting on stage.”
“What?!” she cried, already feeling sweaty.
“I mean it. I know you’ve got moves. We have way more Sharks than Jets, and in a town this white, we need every dancer we can get.”
Mindy laughed. “No way.”
“Yes way. Just wait until we get some carbs into you. That’ll change your tune. Speaking of which, can you sing?”
“NO!” Mindy said in horror as her friend dragged her away.
But at least she wasn’t thinking of creepy boys anymore.
— — —
“Did you read it?”
These were the first words out of his mouth when Anthony met his best friend for their walk to school. Ever since he’d given the article to Omar, the anticipation had been driving him crazy. This wasn’t a simple music review or some other journalism assignment. Anthony had written from the heart, which would break if his coming out article had sat forgotten all night.
“Hell yeah, I read it!” Omar said. “It’s fucking awesome!”
“You really think so?”
Omar nodded as they continued down the sidewalk. “Yeah, man! I’ve always known that you’re a badass, but I didn’t realize how brave you’ve gotta be. Like how you take a risk each time you hold Cameron’s hand in public. You guys could get beaten up! And you’re right, straight people never worry about that sort of thing. We don’t have to.”
Anthony felt buoyed by his friend’s enthusiasm. “Did you get the part about how it feels to be gay?”
“Yeah, and I wasn’t expecting that either. “ Omar’s brow furrowed. “I always figured that you’d feel different inside somehow. But from your perspective, you’re just like everyone else until people remind you that you’re not.”
“Exactly,” Anthony said. “When I was still in the closet, I was hyper focused on everything that made me different so I could try to suppress it. Now that I’ve accepted myself, everything has clicked into place and I often forget that I’m gay at all.”
“That part made me laugh,” Omar said with a grin. “How could you forget?”
“I honestly do,” Anthony said. “When people look at us funny or call us names, that’s the only time I remember.”
“Crazy. I also liked the stuff about how nobody wants to get picked on, even for attention. When you have the reader choose something about themselves that they would change but can’t, and then ask them to imagine strangers hating them for it… Eye-opening stuff, man.”
“What did you choose?” Anthony asked.
“To change about myself?” Omar asked before looking vulnerable. “I wish I was smarter. Like you are.”
Anthony scoffed. “I might get better grades, but that doesn’t mean I’m smarter. Do you really think we’re going to write in cursive as adults or need to know the capital of Liechtenstein? And why bother doing math by hand when everyone owns a calculator? They teach all sorts of useless stuff at school.”
“Not this though.” Omar dug in his backpack and returned Anthony’s article to him. “Are you going to ask Mr. Finnegan to publish it?”
“Yeah. I’m scared as hell but not doing it is somehow worse. I want to tell people who I am instead of the other way around.”
“I bet you make the front page,” Omar said.
“I bet you win an Oscar,” Anthony replied. “I mean it. You’ve got talent.”
“So do you. I’m gonna hire you to write all my movies.”
They fantasized about their dream careers while they walked. When they finally entered their journalism classroom, they saw Mr. Finnegan seated at his desk. Anthony gave him the handwritten article, which was protected by a plastic sleeve. Was that too much?
“This is the personal story I told you about,” Anthony explained. “It’s not for a grade. I’d just really like it to be included in the school paper. If possible.”
“Interesting,” Mr. Finnegan said. “I’ll put it on the slush pile.”
“The what?”
“That’s an industry term for unsolicited submissions.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll get back to you.” Mr. Finnegan said pointedly when Anthony didn’t move.
“Thanks.”
Waiting for Omar to read the article had been hard enough, but he supposed that was how the writing business went. Lots of waiting and wondering. Anthony was walking to his desk when he noticed Ricky standing by the door while waving him over.
“What’s up?” Anthony asked when joining him.
“I can’t come to your birthday party this weekend,” Ricky said with an apologetic expression. “I begged and begged.”
“Being grounded sucks,” Anthony said in sympathy.
“I guess that’s what happens when you accidentally get your mom stoned,” Ricky replied. “Here. I got you something.”
He handed Anthony a gift-wrapped square that was unmistakably a CD. “Exciting!” he said, tearing the paper off. “Oh. The B-52s.”
“You should play that at your party,” Ricky suggested. “It’ll bring the house down.”
“I mean, ‘Love Shack’ is a fun song,” Anthony said without making any promises.
“The rest is good too,” Ricky said. “You’ll see. There are some really weird songs on there.”
“You know I like weird,” Anthony said. “Thanks! How’s uh… everything else going?”
“It sucks,” Ricky moaned. “I was finally getting somewhere with Diego and then this happens.” He glanced around, as if making sure they had privacy. “I love him. And I think he loves me back.”
“Wow,” Anthony said, not hiding his surprise. “I thought I knew him, but maybe not.”
“Nothing stays the same,” Ricky said. “Even people.”
“I’m happy for you. Really.”
“Thanks. I wish my parents felt that way. They don’t want me to see him anymore.”
Anthony elbowed him playfully. “That only makes it hotter.”
Ricky covered his mouth and giggled. “I guess so!”
The bell rang, cutting their conversation short. “You can still call people, even though you’re grounded, right?” Anthony asked on their way back into the classroom.
“I wish. Even if I could, I’d be dead if my mom picked up the phone and heard me talking to Diego.”
“That sucks. Maybe we can teach some pigeons to bring messages back and forth for us.”
“I’ve been trying to learn telepathy,” Ricky said, pressing his fingers to his temples and squinting. “Anything?”
“Afraid not,” Anthony said. “Back to the drawing board.”
They sat at separate tables as class began. After a lecture, Mr. Finnegan asked them to practice writing inquiries. Anthony was working on his when he looked up and saw Mr. Finnegan reading the article he’d handed in. Intimidating! And yet, he couldn’t stop checking on him. At first his teacher’s face turned pink. Maybe he was uncomfortable with the subject matter. Although he soon began nodding. That had to be a good sign! Mr. Finnegan glanced up at him, so Anthony hurriedly bowed his head and returned to work, wanting to show that he could still complete his assignments in addition to writing other things. Class went on as normal. Mr. Finnegan didn’t leap to his feet and insist on reading the article to everyone. Not that Anthony would have minded. He was packing up his things at the end of the period when his name was called.