Rainbow High (20 page)

But inside him something had shifted. He no longer cared if some nameless jerk didn’t want to shower with him. Kyle dropped his suit and stepped toward the showers.

Across the spray of water, Charlie spotted him and muttered, “Fag.”

Kyle stopped and drew himself up. “Does that threaten you?” he answered back. “Feel free to leave.” Charlie wiped the water from his eyes, his face red from heat—or anger.

Oh, crud.
Kyle braced himself.
Did I really just tell him that?
In an attempt to hide his trembling, he turned the shower handle on beside him.

To his relief, Frank cal ed out. “Hey, Kyle! Congrats on the team record.”

Kyle nodded back, his throat too tight to speak. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the steam rising off Charlie. Vin clasped his arm to hold him back, tel ing him, “Let it go, man.”

Charlie shook him off. After a moment, he let his shoulders relax. “Fag,” he grunted at Kyle again, and turned away.

Kyle ignored it this time. Instead he let the warmth of the locker room shower wash over him for the first time in weeks.

Before starting the drive home, his dad took him to lunch. Kyle ravenously chomped down two double burgers, large fries, and a sundae.

Once on the road, Kyle waited for the inevitable lecture.

After only a few miles his dad said, “I’d like to hear what exactly happened yesterday.” Kyle told him everything—going back to when his locker had been graffitied with the word QUEER and Kyle had spray-painted AND

PROUD!

His dad listened calmly. Only occasional y, when Kyle got ahead of himself, would his dad ask a question.

He isn’t such a bad guy,
Kyle thought.
If only he’d learn to stop getting so worked up every time I want to do something that doesn’t match
his expectations.

As the rol ing hil s passed by, Kyle kept expecting his dad to bring up the whole Princeton-Tech thing again. But he didn’t.

And with that absence of pressure, Kyle was able to admit that apart from his dad, mom, Jason, Nelson, Ms. MacTraugh, and everyone else on the planet who wanted him to go to Princeton ... he did too.

Coming to that conclusion, he sat up straighter in his seat.

Not only that, he no longer felt angry at Jason. But would he be able to tel Jason his decision? He should probably wait til after the basketbal championships.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t cal Jason as soon as he got home. He glanced at the speedometer, wishing his dad would hurry up, except

. . . A new worry suddenly entered Kyle’s mind: Even though he was no longer angry at Jason, would Jason stil be angry at him?

Jason had spent most of the weekend at home, hanging out with friends, basking in the triumph of his team’s semifinal win, playing little-girl video games with his sister, and overhearing his mom’s phone conversations with friends and relatives about his TV interview.

The broadcast had forced his mom to final y deal with his being gay.

After each cal , she’d ask him a new question like, “What about ex-gay groups? Have you heard of those?”

“Ma,” he said angrily. “It’s taken me this long to accept who I am. I’m not going to let some fanatics try to confuse me. They should mind their own business.”

He returned to the video game with his sister, most of the time letting her win, much to her delight—but not always, so she wouldn’t catch on.

The phone rang again.

“It’s Kyle,” his mom cal ed.

Jason faltered with the control er, causing his player to wipe out on the screen.

“My turn!” Melissa squealed happily, taking the control er from him.

Slowly Jason walked toward the phone. Al weekend he’d hoped Kyle would cal . Even though he stil felt a little hurt and angry about how Kyle had acted after the TV interview, he also felt bad about the way he’d reacted in response.

He ran a hand through his hair and picked up the phone receiver. “Wha’sup?”

“Hi,” Kyle said. “Congratulations on your win.”

“Thanks,” Jason said, wrapping the phone cord around his finger. “Um, how’d your swim meet go?

As Kyle told him about it, Jason relaxed a little, unraveling the phone cord.

“That’s great,” he told Kyle. “Congrats back at you.”

“Thanks. Um ...” Kyle cleared his throat. “Can I come over?”

Jason wound the phone cord around his finger again. “Al right.”

Kyle arrived at the door with a plastic bag wedged under his arm.

“Kyle!” Melissa ran over, nearly tackling him as she threw her arms around his legs, making him drop the bag. “What’s inside?” she asked.

“Nosy,” Jason scolded her and picked the bag up for Kyle.

“Want to play my new video game?” she asked Kyle, grabbing him by the hand.

The three of them played a dorky game in which you scored points for choosing dress patterns. Jason’s mom offered Kyle a Coke. After three games, Jason decided Kyle had been tortured enough.

“Kyle and I are going to my room now,” he told Melissa.

“I’m going too!” she announced.

“Oh, no, you’re not.” He stretched out his arms, blocking her path. “Ma!”

When they got to Jason’s room, Kyle opened the bag he’d brought, pul ing out a navy blue T-shirt. “It’s for you. I got it at the gift shop where we stayed. I know it’s your favorite color.”

Jason smiled at the unexpected gift. “Thanks. It’s great. How was the hotel?” When they sat down, Kyle told Jason about what had happened with Charlie and the boys not wanting to share a room, about his argument with Coach Sweeney, and about final y taking a shower. “I don’t care if those creeps like it or not.” Jason extended his hand, wanting to say,
It’s about time.

“Thanks,” Kyle shook his hand. “See? You
are
a role model.”

Jason bit into his lip, for the first time not chal enging Kyle about that.

“Anyway . . .” Kyle shifted on the bed. “I’m sorry about—you know—” his head bowed slightly “—that I got so upset after your interview.” Jason leaned back in the desk chair, wondering. Should he feel vindicated or should he apologize too?

“I had no idea the reporter was going to ask that,” he said at last. “She total y caught me off guard. I didn’t want everyone blabbing about us, you know?”

Kyle nodded and Jason said softly, “I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to snap at you like I did.” Kyle gazed up from beneath the sandy brown hair hanging across his forehead. “I understand.” Jason grinned, his warm feelings toward Kyle returning as he considered what he was about to say.

“Wel , um, I think people are starting to kind of blab anyway. Maybe once the championship is over—” he gave a nervous shrug “—I can deal with tel ing people about us. Just not right now, okay?”

Kyle smiled from ear to ear, as if he’d just received a present. “Okay.”

Jason let out a sigh. “By the way, everyone on the team gets a couple of tickets for the section down front. My mom and sister are coming, but I think I can get an extra if you want.”

“Sure!” Kyle nodded eagerly. His bright hazel eyes glowed with such enthusiasm that Jason felt ashamed for ever having gotten angry at him.

A little awkwardly he moved over to the bed, wrapping his arms around Kyle. He parted his lips, thinking it had been way too long since they’d kissed.

In the middle of making out, Kyle pul ed away, whispering, “What’s that sound?”

“Huh?” Jason, lost in rapture, hadn’t heard it. He cocked his head to listen, and groaned.

His cat was meowing at the door. If it wasn’t one interruption, it was another.

At school on Monday the excitement over Jason’s coming out had al but been replaced by students’ col ective fervor over the upcoming basketbal finals.

The sense of anticipation increased each day. Students put up banners and posters in the hal s. Cheerleaders led pep sessions in the cafeteria. Teachers gave up on calming down hyper students and postponed exams.

And every afternoon the basketbal team dril ed and practiced. Under Coach Cameron’s watchful instruction, their moves grew more fine tuned as their rhythm became nearly flawless.

With regard to Jason’s coming out, the team’s hardest adjustment had been to watch their language—like when Odel cal ed Andre, “You quee—”

Coach whirled round. “What did you say?”

“Nothing, Coach!” Odel shook his head vigorously, looking terrified at the thought of suspension. Quickly, he turned to Jason. “Sorry, Jason.” Jason clapped Odel on the back, feeling a little guilty about the fuss. But at the same time, the constant talk about role models was making him realize this wasn’t only about him. It was about al those players who would come after him, no longer having to endure homophobic slurs.

The team had gotten through Jason’s coming out and the school would be the better for it—thanks most of al to Coach. By handling the whole thing the way he had, Coach had shown the team
they
could handle it.

Something else occurred as a result of the TV interview. Jason started receiving mail—initial y from students at other schools, then from adults—applauding his courage for coming out.

Jason wasn’t sure how they got his address—probably from the phone book—but each day his family’s mailbox grew more packed with envelopes.

At first it felt weird getting letters from strangers saying they admired him. Then he reminded himself how hard coming out had been.

He cleared a desk drawer and after reading each letter, careful y saved it.

Wednesday night, as Jason headed to the kitchen for something to eat, he overheard his mom on the phone with his dad. Jason’s skin prickled, as it did every time they talked. With each cal her voice lost more of its edge, becoming increasingly softer.

Jason searched the fridge, listening attentively, and the moment she hung up asked, “What did he want?” His mom began clearing the kitchen counter. “To talk about things. He wants to see Melissa.”

“Of course he wants to see
her.”
Jason let the fridge door slam.

His sister had always been the favorite, spared of their dad’s abuse.

“We discussed your championship,” his mom continued. “I asked if he’s coming.”

“I don’t want him to come,” Jason shouted. “He’s trying to weasel his way back, isn’t he?” His mom moved the toaster aside. “We haven’t discussed that.”

“What’s to discuss? Have you forgotten what it was like with him? You never wanted to face his drinking, just like you don’t want to face the fact I’m gay! If he comes back, I’m not staying.”

His mom stopped cleaning the counter. “Do you think it’s because of him that you’re—” the skin around her mouth wrinkled as she struggled with the word “—gay?”

“Oh, right! A drunk dad who used to beat up on me makes me like guys? That makes a lot of sense.”

“I don’t know, Jason.” She brought her fingertips to her forehead. “I’m trying to understand.”

“Then try listening to me. There’s no
why
about it, Ma. Accept that I just am.” Halfway out the door, Jason paused. “And tel him I don’t want him coming to the game!”

Almost to his bedroom Jason realized he hadn’t gotten anything from the fridge. It didn’t matter. He’d lost his appetite anyway.

Saturday night nine busloads of Whitman students made the trip to the university field house, eager to see if Whitman could defend its state title.

Spectators, blowing horns and carrying placards, jammed the stadium. Whitman got off to an awesome start, scoring 7 points against Northside in the first five minutes.

Every once in a while Jason would catch a glimpse of his mom and Melissa and Kyle. But he didn’t let it distract him. Simply knowing they were there was good enough.

At the end of the second quarter the game was tied at 29. In the locker room Coach huddled with the team.

“You’re doing great, but we need a little more offense.” He shifted several positions, including Jason, having him cover the center.

As the team trotted back out to the stadium, the crowd roared. When the buzzer sounded Jason was al over the Northside center—a big-shouldered guy, six inches tal er than Jason, with blond hair, a thick brow, and deep-set eyes.

As he turned his back on Jason to protect the bal , he glowered over his shoulder. “You the famous fag player?” Jason made a misstep, rattled by the comment, but only for an instant. After al , if his coach and team accepted him, who cared what some jerk from the opposing team thought?

“That’s right!” Jason grinned, regaining his stride. “So you better watch your backside.” The center whirled around. Did he think Jason was serious? In that moment Jason stole the bal , quickly passing it to Corey, who made a perfect bank shot. Jason couldn’t stop beaming.

As the final minutes counted down, the game turned more defensive, the score remaining close—Whitman would get ahead by 2 or 3, then Northside would advance or tie.

The crowd grew louder, more frantic. At fifteen seconds, the score was tied at 78, then Northside was fouled, but missed one of their two free throws.