Between These Walls (25 page)

Hunter turned his attention to Randy and the others at his table, a few football players Hunter knew. Hunter couldn’t say he had a particular fondness for the players with whom he sat, nor did he consider them friends per se, but they ran with the same crowd of athletes as Hunter and Randy. The players wore letterman jackets of blue and white, which sounded like rubber when they stretched their arms or slapped each other on the backs in jest. Randy had taken a seat on Hunter’s left. Tom Fisher, a mouthy defensive end with strong legs and arms, sat across from him. Between Tom and Randy sat Alex Keller, a tight end. On Hunter’s right, Grady McEvoy, a running back who had stacked up an impressive record of pass receptions for the season, sat with his girlfriend, Gina, on his lap. Hunter had always liked Gina, who, although she tended to flow with the crowd rather than stand her ground, never failed to treat Hunter with genuine kindness.

Hunter knew Tom had the hots for Gina. The guy had spent the past year salivating for the day she might tell Grady to hit the road. Most of the student body considered Grady and Gina destined for marriage, a classic fairy tale of high school sweethearts that would receive special mention in their senior yearbook. For the time being, however, Tom had to settle for taking his macho behavior an extra mile in Gina’s presence to try to capture her notice. Hunter didn’t understand why the guy didn’t move on to someone else.

Grady cracked a remark about the tie their chemistry teacher wore that day, a throwback to what they had agreed upon as the hippie era, and Tom retorted with a comment that sent his tablemates into laughter. When he noticed Gina had found it humorous, Tom kicked his efforts up another notch. Each remark vied for dominance over the last, one degree higher in volume and wit. Soon they erupted into explosive laughter that boomed around the atrium, despite the room’s overall noise level.

Hunter grew a tad embarrassed at the loudness. Tom’s, in particular, struck him as borderline obnoxious. Well aware of his status atop the high school social ladder, Tom seldom paid attention to how well he kept his behavior in check.

When Tom’s voice boomed, Hunter peered at tables in his vicinity and, sure enough, he caught a reaction. A few tables away, a group of bookish types had looked over in shock, trying to identify which loudmouth had all but sent the piles of snow outside into an avalanche. Once they pegged Tom as the source, they returned their attention to each other, rolled their eyes, and shook their heads in disgust as they resumed their conversation. Hunter wondered whether the root of such reactions was jealousy or if, in actuality, those students were more confident in their own brainpower than the athletes were in their physical prowess. Oftentimes, when he looked into their eyes, Hunter had a hunch the brainiacs knew something the jocks didn’t—like who would work for whom in twenty years.

“You should take notes from Hunter,” Gina remarked to Tom as she fluffed her blond hair, which fell in curls halfway to her waistline. “He knows how to behave in public.”

With that, she gave Hunter a nod of acknowledgment, then retreated into giggles as Grady nibbled her earlobe.

Tom looked irritated at the display of affection, of having to suffer watching Grady accomplish what Tom would give his starting position in the next season opener to have a shot at.

With his jaw line set so firm, it couldn’t have protruded with more prominence along the edge of his face, Tom glanced over his shoulder at the table behind him, where one student sat alone. Christopher Patton nibbled on a crinkled french fry as he fingered through a large book with
How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying
printed on the front. Hunter presumed it was a script. Last week, Hunter had heard Christopher—never Chris—won a supporting role in the upcoming spring musical, and now he looked immersed in the process of memorizing his lines.

Christopher hadn’t always sat alone.

On occasion, others still sat with him, but Hunter noticed Christopher had grown more withdrawn in recent months. Rumors had circulated about him since one week in late October, earlier that school year.

Ever since middle school, people had suspected Christopher was gay but never had proof. Their suspicions had lingered in the hallways and traveled through whispers, text messages, and phone chats. Whether Christopher realized it or not, Hunter couldn’t decipher, but the guy possessed a handful of stereotypical, effeminate qualities that provided fodder for those suspicions—qualities like the frequent limp wrist; exquisite posture when he sat; loose gestures of his head, holding his hands close to his chest, when he spoke with passion; and a lilt to his voice which, compared to his peers, seemed to have one fewer ounce of masculinity. Nothing blatant in his qualities, but off-kilter enough to produce subtle reminders of why the suspicions existed in the first place. A tall, skinny redhead, Christopher hung out with the band and choir crowds. He had bold taste in clothes, as demonstrated by the vivid pink polo shirt he wore today, a shade Hunter wouldn’t have the guts to carry to a cash register much less wear in public.

Unfortunate timing back in October confirmed the student body’s suspicions about Christopher.

Rehearsals for the fall play had begun a few weeks earlier. Because rehearsals were in their early stage, the schedule called for a focus on particular scenes in the afternoon after school and additional scenes in the evening. Such an approach allowed the cast to develop each scene at a slower pace as they learned their lines, acquainted themselves with stage blocking, and adjusted to each other’s dynamics. Once November arrived, they would rehearse entire acts from beginning to end, followed by full dress rehearsals.

On that fateful October date, Christopher’s rehearsal occurred in the evening, when the rest of the school building was dark and empty. The fall play required a small cast to begin with, and the director had scheduled only seven cast members to attend that evening’s rehearsal. Christopher’s presence wasn’t required on stage until the next scene. Neither was that of Sheldon Horvath, a fellow cast member.

Stories fluctuated on what led a third cast member—one not even involved in that night’s rehearsal—into the dressing room. Most students concurred that he had left his script behind by accident and needed to retrieve it from his dressing-room locker.

According to the stories, upon entering the side of the dressing room nearest the hallway, the cast member thought he heard whispers and rustling. The main area of the dressing room was well lit, but he saw nothing. The sounds seemed to come from the darkness around the corner, near a doorway that led to an inner corridor, one that opened into the backstage area.

Curious, the cast member forgot about his script and decided to investigate the rustling, so he crept toward the far end of the dressing room. The room’s fluorescent glow cast a trace of light into the dark corridor.

That trace of light provided all the cast member needed. Stunned, he froze at the sight.

Christopher Patton and Sheldon Horvath.

Together.

In the dark.

Versions of the story varied regarding what the cast member saw, with descriptions ranging from innocent to graphic. The story evolved and spread over time. Its most common iteration, however, painted Christopher and Sheldon in an embrace, whispering in each other’s ears, trying to keep their rendezvous covert. Hands in motion as they felt each other up in the blackness.

It took a few seconds for Christopher to notice the presence of another individual, an anonymous silhouette surrounded by incoming light. By the time the pair jolted apart, the intruding cast member had vanished into the light of the dressing room. The cast member grabbed his script, slammed his locker door shut, and fled the room.

Neither Christopher nor Sheldon heard anyone mention the incident that evening. The cast member didn’t approach them and didn’t appear to talk to anyone else for the remainder of the rehearsal. But at some point, the cast member talked to
someone,
because the next morning, gossip buzzed throughout the school hallways.

Everybody knew Christopher Patton’s secret.

Many students—including Hunter, who, as a Christian, had felt like a hypocrite at the time—had already avoided interacting with Christopher Patton due to
suspicions
about his sexual preference. But the eyewitness account eroded his social status further. A few of Christopher’s friends stuck with him and didn’t appear disturbed by his preference, but most of his acquaintances—individuals Christopher had once called friends—fled his presence and never returned.

Hunter couldn’t imagine his own friends standing beside Hunter himself in such a scenario, either. Not because they were bad people, but because he was sure their awareness would render them too uncomfortable to engage in conversation or stand in close proximity to him, as if reputation were contagious. Besides, Hunter had an “in” status to lose, whereas Christopher hadn’t had much status to lose in the first place.

In a way, Hunter envied Christopher’s luxury.

Now Christopher sat alone at a lunch table behind Tom, and Tom was in the mood to impress Gina with his hotshot wit.

Tom turned around and jabbed his thumb toward Christopher’s script. “Another musical?”

Christopher looked up. Hunter could see a hint of caginess in Christopher’s eyes, any trace of which Christopher tried to hide. Instead, he offered a smile in return. Hunter had always known Christopher as a gentle individual. He’d never heard him speak a negative word about others.

“It’s for the spring,” Christopher replied, holding his place with one finger as he showed Tom the cover. “I’m trying to learn my lines for it.”

Hunter heard Grady snicker under his breath. Tom maintained a straight face.

“Want me to help you read your lines?” Tom asked with obvious insincerity in his eyes.

Hunter could see where this was headed. Judging from how rigid Christopher now sat in his chair, he had detected the insincerity as well, and had begun to brace himself for whatever would come next.

Christopher offered another casual smile. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”

“You don’t think I’d be helpful? Come on, man, I want you to do a great job in your play.”

“I do better learning lines on my own. I appreciate the offer, though.”

Christopher returned his eyes to his script a smidgen too soon, and Hunter could smell blood in the water. He knew Tom could smell it, too.

Tom brought his face a bit closer to Christopher’s and kept his voice just loud enough for his own tablemates to hear.

“Is it true you guys wear makeup when you do your plays?”

Grady’s snickers grew louder. By this time, Gina fought to stifle her laughter, though her furrowed eyebrows suggested she vacillated between finding humor and taking pity.

Christopher drew in his shoulders, kept his eyes riveted to his script. Hunter noticed the guy’s feet had broken into a nervous jiggle under the table.

Christopher ran his fingers through his gel-styled red hair and replied, “Yes. For the spotlight. The bright light bleaches out your face. The makeup makes you look normal.”

The legs of Tom’s chair squeaked as he scooted within a few inches of Christopher.

“I mean it, man, I’d like to help you learn your lines,” said Tom, his voice still loud enough for his own tablemates to hear every word. When Christopher angled his shoulder away, Tom added, “No, seriously. We’ll get together, sneak a few glasses of Chablis ...”

More snickers from the table. Alex and Randy had joined in.

“... maybe find a place to park, turn on some tunes ...”

The giggles grew louder.

Gina covered her eyes and muttered under her breath. “Oh, my—”

That reaction fueled Tom further.

Tom leaned in and tried to keep from bursting out in laughter. He put his arm around Christopher, who glued himself against the back of his chair as if it would provide an escape hatch. He looked small and wiry engulfed in Tom’s thick, muscular arm.

“Tell you what,” Tom murmured into Christopher’s ear, “I’ll even let you give me a hand job, okay? I’ve gotta nice package here—you’ve seen it, remember? The locker room? Phys Ed class freshman year?”

At that, Hunter’s table exploded with laughter.

“Shit, Tom ...” Grady muttered as he hid his face in his hands. “You’re a perv, man!”

“You’re such an ass,” Gina said through a stifled giggle, trying not to look at Christopher.

Hunter’s stomach jumbled as he tried to paint a grin upon his face. He felt sorry for Christopher. At the same time, though, Hunter felt relieved he himself wasn’t the butt of Tom’s harassment—which Hunter knew he could be if Tom discovered the truth.

Hunter joined his group with a chuckle. In truth, he faked the chuckle, trying to make it look as though he found the situation funny. Meanwhile, Hunter felt his arms shake from nervousness. He didn’t want to be part of this. He felt horrible for Christopher, yet he also feared if he stuck up for him, Tom would immediately ask why
he
was so bothered by the remarks, then crack a suggestive joke about Hunter’s own sexuality in retaliation. Who knew what would mount from there? As a new Christian, Hunter lacked the confidence to stand up for Christopher, yet he grieved because he knew God wanted him to say something to defuse the situation.

But Hunter remained silent and watched what he feared could happen to himself.

Christopher’s face turned the shade of a mild sunburn, which rendered his freckles more prominent. He refused to look at anyone laughing at his expense. Eyes fixed on his own table, he snapped the script shut and shook himself free from Tom’s arm. As he did, Hunter noticed a sheen upon Christopher’s eyes that reflected the atrium lighting.

Were those tears in his eyes?

Christopher didn’t take time to pack his book bag or locate its shoulder strap. With his script in one hand, he bear-hugged his book bag with his free arm, arose from the table, and left his lunch tray behind. As he did, Hunter saw the first tear had, indeed, trailed along his cheek.