Keeping You a Secret
Page 7
“Here’s the app,” she said suddenly at my side.
“The what? Oh.” The “Lesbian Bisexual Gay” title jumped off the top line. I took the club application from her and skimmed over it as I slammed my locker.
“When’s your next meeting?” she asked.
“Today, actually.” I slid the app into a spiral. “During lunch.”
“Okay.” We stood there for a moment, sort of awkwardly. My heart was racing. I don’t know who moved first, but we began walking down the hall together. Close together. She stopped at the intersection. Or I did. “Let me know what they say,” Cece said. “I’ll see you in art.” She gazed into my eyes, holding me in a trance. When I regained consciousness, she’d retreated. Disappeared into the mist. I drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Why did she make me feel as if I was teetering on the brink of a precipice? One false step and I’d plunge into the abyss.
***
To be different, I decided to hold the student council meeting during lunch at the Pizza Hut across the street. Mr. Olander kicked off the meeting by informing us he’d gotten a request from Admin to help organize a leadership conferenced at southglenn in May. We discussed how many rooms to reserve and what topics would be of interest. The details multiplied exponentially as we talked, so I suggested we form a subcommittee. Seth volunteered himself and me to serve on it.
That earned him my most threatening I-wash-you-hadn’t-done-that glare. He knew my schedule was already on overkill.
We divvied up duties for the community service projects, too, before Olander said, “Okay, if there’s nothing else, motion to adjourn –”
“Wait,” I cut in. “There is something.” I dug in my backpack for the application. “I got a new club request.” I’d shoved it inside my Brit Lit spiral, which lay at the bottom of the stack. “Let me find it.”
“What is it this time?” Seth spoke up. “Death Eaters Anonymous?”
A few people laughed. The Goths were the last group to apply for – and be denied – club status, since they couldn’t find an advisor. “It’s a Lesbigay group,” I said.
All the air in the room was sucked up.
“The queers want a club? Forget it.”
Who said that? My head whipped around. Kirsten?
“Let me see.” She snatched the app out of my hand. “Ms. Markenko agreed to be their faculty rep?” She clucked her tongue. “I always figured her for a big dyke.”
“Kirsten! God.” I yanked the form back.
“Sorry,” she said, not sounding it.
“We had this kind of request over at Mitchell, my last school,” Olander said.
“What happened?” I asked him.
“Nothing. Too controversial.”
My blood boiled. “So we turn clubs down because they’re too controversial?”
He looked a little squeamish. “Well…”
“Isn’t that unconstitutional?” I said. “What about the first Amendment? What about freedom of speech, freedom of association?”
Kirsten replied, “The First Amendment doesn’t apply to public school settings, right?” She queried Olander, who looked like he’d rather be pithing a frog than dealing with this.
“Wait a minute –” my voice rose.
Seth reached across the table and squeezed my wrist. “Don’t we come off looking like a bunch of intolerant bigots if we turn them down?”
“Thank you,” I said to him.
Kirsten quipped, “What do you think Zero Tolerance Policy means?”
A few people sniggered.
I riddled Kirsten with eye bullets. “Very funny.”
“Cece Goddard.” Kirsten flattened the app on the table to read it upside down. “Who’s she?”
“She’s new,” I said. “She just transferred from Washington Central.” To the group, I added, “Obviously they’re more progressive there than we are here.”
Everyone lowered their eyes, looking embarrassed. They should be. We should be. My eyes focused on Cece’s name, then below it to the question: Estimated number of members. Fifteen, she’d written. Fifteen? Did we have that many gays at our school?
Kirsten said, “We’re not behind the times, and I don’t think we need a g*y club at Southglenn. Just because some radical lesbian want to promote her own agenda, I don’t see why we have to comply.”
I clucked my tongue. “It’s not like that. She doesn’t have an agenda. She isn’t some kind of militant feminist, or whatever you think. She’s cool. She’s great.” Better shut up, I thought, feeling the heat rising to my face.
Kirsten curled a lip.
“What?” I met her eyes. We had a brief star-down before Kirsten shook her head and looked away.
Mr. Olander sighed and glanced at his watch. “We have a few minutes. Read the application, Holland.”
I read aloud, “Their goal is ‘to meet and discuss problems and issues common to the g*y community. To socialize. To hold fund-raising events for AIDS and other –’”
Someone murmured, “Next thing you know, they’ll want free condoms in the restrooms.”
Kirsten’s hand shot up. “I’d vote for that.”
Everyone howled. Olander said, “I’ll check into school policy, but if it’s anything like Mitchell, we’ll have to deny the request.”
“Why?” I screeched. A little too loud, even for my ears.
He replied, “It’s too exclusive. If they want a school-sanctioned club, they’ll have to open their membership to anyone who wants to join. Not just a select group, like the one they’ve described. Plus, if they’re not sanctioned, they can’t do any fundraising on the premises.”
Shit. I jammed the app back in my notebook. As we stood to leave, Kirsten asked, “Could we still get the free condoms?”
At the curb, waiting for the crosswalk signal, I cornered her. “Why are you so against this club?”
Kirsten shrugged. “Why are you so for it?”
The light changed and Kirsten took off, not waiting for my answer. Good thing, because I didn’t really have one.
***
“You’ll be keeping a sketchbook to record your daily observations,” Mackel told us, slinging a leg over the stool up front. “Don’t worry about accuracy or realism. I just want you to focus on everyday things, to see them in a new way. I want you to develop your own approach to art as personal expression.”
Personal how? How personal?
My eyes cut to Cece, who was reading her comic book in her lap. How was I going to tell her about the club? Maybe she’d forget to ask. Maybe Harvard would let me in on looks.
Mackel continued, “We’re going to do an exercise today in seeing details the way an artist might.” He directed someone in the front row to flick off the overhead light and lower the white screen. Mackel retrieved a remote control for the slide projector, pressed a button, and illuminated the first slide. “What do you see?” he asked.
Someone called out, “A fence.”
“Duh,” Winslow quipped beside me.
Mackel asked, “What else?”
“Snow.”
“And?”
“The void, utter wastelands of our minds,” Winslow piped up.
Mackel chuckled. “Better. Let’s not make value judgments on others, though. Concentrate on what you can see. Really look. Squint of you have to.”
Shadows, I thought. Someone yelled, “Shadows.”
“Good.”
Lines, spaces, shapes, contrast, rough surfaces, smooth surfaces, cold. “Holland,” Mackel called my name.
I flinched.
“What do you see?”
“Um…” I gulped a grapefruit, then voiced my observations. He clicked to the next slide. Was I right? I caught Cece peering back at me and smiling. Guess so.
We continued this exercise for another fifteen minutes until Mackel ran out of slides or we ran out of enthusiasm. As the lights came back on, he said, “We’re going to repeat last week’s assignment. My fault for not giving you more direction. I haven’t taught Drawing I in a few years, as you can probably tell.
“Again, choose a single object in the room to sketch. Focus on the form. Examine the object carefully, more closely then you’ve ever looked at anything before. Feel free to wander around and get inspired. I’ll play some music. Hopefully it’ll stir the creative juices.” He set a boom box on the stool and punched a button Classical music streamed out.
It was soothing. I never listened to classical. Seth called it snooze muse. He hated country, too.
Okay, pick something. A chair, the door, a pottery vase on the shelf. Not very intriguing. I scanned the room a few more times. The only thing my focus kept returning to was the back of her head. There was texture there. Form, movement, interest. I flipped open my sketchbook and began to draw.
***
She was waiting for me in the hall after class. Great. Motioning her to an enclave by the drinking fountain, I said, “The rejected it.”
“No.” She slapped her chest. “What a surprise.” Looking off into the distance, she narrowed her eyes and said, “This place makes me sick. I really hate it here. It’s like all the homophobes were exiled to this school.”
“No they weren’t.” There might be a couple.
“Nobody’s even out here. Haven’t you ever wondered why?” Cece’s eyes met mine.
“I, I guess I didn’t think we had any gays.”
She let out a short laugh. “Holland, open your eyes.”
I did, and only saw her.
She shook her head. “What was their reason for rejecting us?”
“They didn’t reject you. Mr. Olander said it wasn’t inclusive enough. Official clubs need to be open to all the students.” I pulled out the form. “Maybe you could add –”
“Straights.” Cece’s head bobbed. “A Gay/Straight Alliance, right? Gee, I’ll have to up the membership to sixteen.” She snatched the app from my hand. “Sorry. We don’t want a GSA. At least, I don’t. Straights don’t understand what we’re about, what we’re going through. We can’t talk about stuff that really matters, like coming out. Like dealing with harassment. Like sex.”
My mouth went suddenly dry. “Okay. That makes sense. I’ll try again.” I reached for the application.
“I don’t want to hassle you,” she said.
“Cece, don’t.”
She ripped the form in half. The bell rang and she took off.
“Cece,” I called after her. She started running. I chased her to the stairwell, then lost her. Slumping against the railing, I closed my eyes and fought off the static in my head. “It’s no hassle,” I murmured over the internal din. “I’d fight for you.”
***
There was a charge in the air that afternoon, people whispering. I caught a snatch of conversation behind me before econ class started, my ears pricking up at the words, “Gay club.”
I whipped my head around and saw one girl stick a finger down her throat.
So that was it. News travels fast, I thought. And I bet I knew who was fueling the rumor mill.
“Holland. Oh, good.” Kirsten rushed up behind me after school. I was headed for swim team practice. “I need to talk to you,” she said.
I whirled on her. “Why are you telling people about the lesbigay club? What we talk about in student council is private.”
She drew back. “I know that. I haven’t said anything.”
She looked offended, and sounded it. “Listen, Trevor and I were wondering if you and Seth wanted to go out with us on Friday night. Well, I was wondering.” Kirsten swallowed hard. “We’re always hanging out with Trevor’s friends and they’re so… I don’t know. Boring. Haley Ackerson’s parents are out of town and she’s having this party Friday night. Will you come with us?”
“Um, sure. Okay.” I felt off balance. Guilty for accusing her. “Friday? Oh, wait. I have a swim meet on Friday.”
Kirsten’s face darkened, like she thought I was lying.
“I do,” I said.
“Okay, whatever. I just wanted you to spend more time with Trevor. Get to know him. He’s really sweet, Holland. I know you’d like him if you just gave him a chance.”
“I like him.” That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t the issue.
Kirsten’s eyes grazed the floor. “You think he’s too young for me. I know that. But he’s not. He’s really mature for his age. He’s the first guy I’ve ever met who doesn’t just want to jump in the sack, you know? He cares about me. He loves me. He really does.” Kirsten sounded anxious, needy. Leah’s words echoed in my head: She thinks you judge her.
“Maybe we could go Saturday night,” I told her. “To a movie or something.” I hated parties, anyway. They were just excuses for getting loaded and making out en masse.
Kirsten brightened. “Cool. Okay. We could go out to dinner or something first.” She hugged me. “Thanks, Holland. I’m sorry about earlier,” she said. “At the meeting. You know me, I live to play devil’s advocate.” Her eyes gleamed.
As she sauntered off, I stared at her back. Since when? The only side Kirsten ever took in a debate was her own. There were times I didn’t get her. I didn’t get her at all.
When I pushed through the door at the bottom of the stairs, I caught sight of Cece near the juice machine outside the locker rooms. She was standing with a couple of guys from the gymnastics team, I think. The door to the weight room was open. Something about the look on her face made me quicken my step.
“The what? Oh.” The “Lesbian Bisexual Gay” title jumped off the top line. I took the club application from her and skimmed over it as I slammed my locker.
“When’s your next meeting?” she asked.
“Today, actually.” I slid the app into a spiral. “During lunch.”
“Okay.” We stood there for a moment, sort of awkwardly. My heart was racing. I don’t know who moved first, but we began walking down the hall together. Close together. She stopped at the intersection. Or I did. “Let me know what they say,” Cece said. “I’ll see you in art.” She gazed into my eyes, holding me in a trance. When I regained consciousness, she’d retreated. Disappeared into the mist. I drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. Why did she make me feel as if I was teetering on the brink of a precipice? One false step and I’d plunge into the abyss.
***
To be different, I decided to hold the student council meeting during lunch at the Pizza Hut across the street. Mr. Olander kicked off the meeting by informing us he’d gotten a request from Admin to help organize a leadership conferenced at southglenn in May. We discussed how many rooms to reserve and what topics would be of interest. The details multiplied exponentially as we talked, so I suggested we form a subcommittee. Seth volunteered himself and me to serve on it.
That earned him my most threatening I-wash-you-hadn’t-done-that glare. He knew my schedule was already on overkill.
We divvied up duties for the community service projects, too, before Olander said, “Okay, if there’s nothing else, motion to adjourn –”
“Wait,” I cut in. “There is something.” I dug in my backpack for the application. “I got a new club request.” I’d shoved it inside my Brit Lit spiral, which lay at the bottom of the stack. “Let me find it.”
“What is it this time?” Seth spoke up. “Death Eaters Anonymous?”
A few people laughed. The Goths were the last group to apply for – and be denied – club status, since they couldn’t find an advisor. “It’s a Lesbigay group,” I said.
All the air in the room was sucked up.
“The queers want a club? Forget it.”
Who said that? My head whipped around. Kirsten?
“Let me see.” She snatched the app out of my hand. “Ms. Markenko agreed to be their faculty rep?” She clucked her tongue. “I always figured her for a big dyke.”
“Kirsten! God.” I yanked the form back.
“Sorry,” she said, not sounding it.
“We had this kind of request over at Mitchell, my last school,” Olander said.
“What happened?” I asked him.
“Nothing. Too controversial.”
My blood boiled. “So we turn clubs down because they’re too controversial?”
He looked a little squeamish. “Well…”
“Isn’t that unconstitutional?” I said. “What about the first Amendment? What about freedom of speech, freedom of association?”
Kirsten replied, “The First Amendment doesn’t apply to public school settings, right?” She queried Olander, who looked like he’d rather be pithing a frog than dealing with this.
“Wait a minute –” my voice rose.
Seth reached across the table and squeezed my wrist. “Don’t we come off looking like a bunch of intolerant bigots if we turn them down?”
“Thank you,” I said to him.
Kirsten quipped, “What do you think Zero Tolerance Policy means?”
A few people sniggered.
I riddled Kirsten with eye bullets. “Very funny.”
“Cece Goddard.” Kirsten flattened the app on the table to read it upside down. “Who’s she?”
“She’s new,” I said. “She just transferred from Washington Central.” To the group, I added, “Obviously they’re more progressive there than we are here.”
Everyone lowered their eyes, looking embarrassed. They should be. We should be. My eyes focused on Cece’s name, then below it to the question: Estimated number of members. Fifteen, she’d written. Fifteen? Did we have that many gays at our school?
Kirsten said, “We’re not behind the times, and I don’t think we need a g*y club at Southglenn. Just because some radical lesbian want to promote her own agenda, I don’t see why we have to comply.”
I clucked my tongue. “It’s not like that. She doesn’t have an agenda. She isn’t some kind of militant feminist, or whatever you think. She’s cool. She’s great.” Better shut up, I thought, feeling the heat rising to my face.
Kirsten curled a lip.
“What?” I met her eyes. We had a brief star-down before Kirsten shook her head and looked away.
Mr. Olander sighed and glanced at his watch. “We have a few minutes. Read the application, Holland.”
I read aloud, “Their goal is ‘to meet and discuss problems and issues common to the g*y community. To socialize. To hold fund-raising events for AIDS and other –’”
Someone murmured, “Next thing you know, they’ll want free condoms in the restrooms.”
Kirsten’s hand shot up. “I’d vote for that.”
Everyone howled. Olander said, “I’ll check into school policy, but if it’s anything like Mitchell, we’ll have to deny the request.”
“Why?” I screeched. A little too loud, even for my ears.
He replied, “It’s too exclusive. If they want a school-sanctioned club, they’ll have to open their membership to anyone who wants to join. Not just a select group, like the one they’ve described. Plus, if they’re not sanctioned, they can’t do any fundraising on the premises.”
Shit. I jammed the app back in my notebook. As we stood to leave, Kirsten asked, “Could we still get the free condoms?”
At the curb, waiting for the crosswalk signal, I cornered her. “Why are you so against this club?”
Kirsten shrugged. “Why are you so for it?”
The light changed and Kirsten took off, not waiting for my answer. Good thing, because I didn’t really have one.
***
“You’ll be keeping a sketchbook to record your daily observations,” Mackel told us, slinging a leg over the stool up front. “Don’t worry about accuracy or realism. I just want you to focus on everyday things, to see them in a new way. I want you to develop your own approach to art as personal expression.”
Personal how? How personal?
My eyes cut to Cece, who was reading her comic book in her lap. How was I going to tell her about the club? Maybe she’d forget to ask. Maybe Harvard would let me in on looks.
Mackel continued, “We’re going to do an exercise today in seeing details the way an artist might.” He directed someone in the front row to flick off the overhead light and lower the white screen. Mackel retrieved a remote control for the slide projector, pressed a button, and illuminated the first slide. “What do you see?” he asked.
Someone called out, “A fence.”
“Duh,” Winslow quipped beside me.
Mackel asked, “What else?”
“Snow.”
“And?”
“The void, utter wastelands of our minds,” Winslow piped up.
Mackel chuckled. “Better. Let’s not make value judgments on others, though. Concentrate on what you can see. Really look. Squint of you have to.”
Shadows, I thought. Someone yelled, “Shadows.”
“Good.”
Lines, spaces, shapes, contrast, rough surfaces, smooth surfaces, cold. “Holland,” Mackel called my name.
I flinched.
“What do you see?”
“Um…” I gulped a grapefruit, then voiced my observations. He clicked to the next slide. Was I right? I caught Cece peering back at me and smiling. Guess so.
We continued this exercise for another fifteen minutes until Mackel ran out of slides or we ran out of enthusiasm. As the lights came back on, he said, “We’re going to repeat last week’s assignment. My fault for not giving you more direction. I haven’t taught Drawing I in a few years, as you can probably tell.
“Again, choose a single object in the room to sketch. Focus on the form. Examine the object carefully, more closely then you’ve ever looked at anything before. Feel free to wander around and get inspired. I’ll play some music. Hopefully it’ll stir the creative juices.” He set a boom box on the stool and punched a button Classical music streamed out.
It was soothing. I never listened to classical. Seth called it snooze muse. He hated country, too.
Okay, pick something. A chair, the door, a pottery vase on the shelf. Not very intriguing. I scanned the room a few more times. The only thing my focus kept returning to was the back of her head. There was texture there. Form, movement, interest. I flipped open my sketchbook and began to draw.
***
She was waiting for me in the hall after class. Great. Motioning her to an enclave by the drinking fountain, I said, “The rejected it.”
“No.” She slapped her chest. “What a surprise.” Looking off into the distance, she narrowed her eyes and said, “This place makes me sick. I really hate it here. It’s like all the homophobes were exiled to this school.”
“No they weren’t.” There might be a couple.
“Nobody’s even out here. Haven’t you ever wondered why?” Cece’s eyes met mine.
“I, I guess I didn’t think we had any gays.”
She let out a short laugh. “Holland, open your eyes.”
I did, and only saw her.
She shook her head. “What was their reason for rejecting us?”
“They didn’t reject you. Mr. Olander said it wasn’t inclusive enough. Official clubs need to be open to all the students.” I pulled out the form. “Maybe you could add –”
“Straights.” Cece’s head bobbed. “A Gay/Straight Alliance, right? Gee, I’ll have to up the membership to sixteen.” She snatched the app from my hand. “Sorry. We don’t want a GSA. At least, I don’t. Straights don’t understand what we’re about, what we’re going through. We can’t talk about stuff that really matters, like coming out. Like dealing with harassment. Like sex.”
My mouth went suddenly dry. “Okay. That makes sense. I’ll try again.” I reached for the application.
“I don’t want to hassle you,” she said.
“Cece, don’t.”
She ripped the form in half. The bell rang and she took off.
“Cece,” I called after her. She started running. I chased her to the stairwell, then lost her. Slumping against the railing, I closed my eyes and fought off the static in my head. “It’s no hassle,” I murmured over the internal din. “I’d fight for you.”
***
There was a charge in the air that afternoon, people whispering. I caught a snatch of conversation behind me before econ class started, my ears pricking up at the words, “Gay club.”
I whipped my head around and saw one girl stick a finger down her throat.
So that was it. News travels fast, I thought. And I bet I knew who was fueling the rumor mill.
“Holland. Oh, good.” Kirsten rushed up behind me after school. I was headed for swim team practice. “I need to talk to you,” she said.
I whirled on her. “Why are you telling people about the lesbigay club? What we talk about in student council is private.”
She drew back. “I know that. I haven’t said anything.”
She looked offended, and sounded it. “Listen, Trevor and I were wondering if you and Seth wanted to go out with us on Friday night. Well, I was wondering.” Kirsten swallowed hard. “We’re always hanging out with Trevor’s friends and they’re so… I don’t know. Boring. Haley Ackerson’s parents are out of town and she’s having this party Friday night. Will you come with us?”
“Um, sure. Okay.” I felt off balance. Guilty for accusing her. “Friday? Oh, wait. I have a swim meet on Friday.”
Kirsten’s face darkened, like she thought I was lying.
“I do,” I said.
“Okay, whatever. I just wanted you to spend more time with Trevor. Get to know him. He’s really sweet, Holland. I know you’d like him if you just gave him a chance.”
“I like him.” That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t the issue.
Kirsten’s eyes grazed the floor. “You think he’s too young for me. I know that. But he’s not. He’s really mature for his age. He’s the first guy I’ve ever met who doesn’t just want to jump in the sack, you know? He cares about me. He loves me. He really does.” Kirsten sounded anxious, needy. Leah’s words echoed in my head: She thinks you judge her.
“Maybe we could go Saturday night,” I told her. “To a movie or something.” I hated parties, anyway. They were just excuses for getting loaded and making out en masse.
Kirsten brightened. “Cool. Okay. We could go out to dinner or something first.” She hugged me. “Thanks, Holland. I’m sorry about earlier,” she said. “At the meeting. You know me, I live to play devil’s advocate.” Her eyes gleamed.
As she sauntered off, I stared at her back. Since when? The only side Kirsten ever took in a debate was her own. There were times I didn’t get her. I didn’t get her at all.
When I pushed through the door at the bottom of the stairs, I caught sight of Cece near the juice machine outside the locker rooms. She was standing with a couple of guys from the gymnastics team, I think. The door to the weight room was open. Something about the look on her face made me quicken my step.
