Band Fags! (31 page)

“Fuck you!” he replies, temper flaring. “It's one thing to insult me—I'm your Best Friend, I'll forgive you…But do
not
talk that way about my sister, okay?”

In all the years I've known Brad, I've never seen such an ugly expression in his eyes. I expect my Mom to burst through my door at any moment to find out what's going on, that's how totally fired up he's getting.

“I'm a good person and I'm nice to everybody,” he continues. “That's the reason people like me.” Then he adds, “Maybe you should try it, sometime. Instead of being so stuck-up and antisocial.”

I toss my head back, insulted. “I am
not
stuck-up
or
antisocial,” I insist. “How can you even say that?”

“All you ever do is complain that nobody likes you,” Brad says confronting me dead-on. “But whenever I invite you to a party or something, you won't even come with me.”

“That's because
I'm
not the one who's been invited…
You
are!”

Brad wails, “It's a party, for chris'sakes…Anybody can go! There's no formal invitation.”

I say, “I don't wanna go anywhere I'm not wanted.” Because I don't. “I don't trust those Popular Guys like Tom Fulton and all his Jock Jerk Friends…I know they don't like me so why should I bother going to parties with them?”

Brad throws his arms up in defeat. “What reason could anybody have not to like you?”

“That's what
I
wanna know!” I answer. “What have I ever done to deserve being treated like this?” Then I say, “It's not like
I'm
the one going out to gay bars all the time.”
Oops!
Open mouth, insert foot…

Brad shakes his head, hands on hips. “So that's what this is really about?” he asks. “The fact that I'm a Big Fag so I couldn't possibly deserve to have any friends or even be considered for Homecoming King?”

I tell him, “Your being the way you are has nothing to do with this.” Trying to be as polite as I can.

“Yes, it does!” he snaps. “You're jealous because people like me…Even though I'm gay.”

Which is about the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Why would I be jealous of Brad Dayton? I'm the kid who's got everything he's ever wanted…Aren't I? There's more to this argument, I'm afraid.

“Aren't you afraid people are gonna find out about you?” I ask, as calmly as I can. “Then what will you do?”

“Nobody's gonna find out anything,” Brad insists. “Unless
you
tell them.”

“I would never do that,” I assure him. Because I wouldn't.

“Then quit your worrying.”

But I can't. So I say, “You wanna be famous someday, don't you?” Everybody knows Famous People can't be Gay and Famous.

“It's not like I'm gonna go screaming from the bleachers at the Homecoming Game that I'm a Big Fag or something,” he replies. “Besides…Look at Rock Hudson! He was famous
and
gay and everybody knew it.”

“And look what happened to him.”

I can tell Brad's thinking it over. Ever since we first started hearing about this whole AIDS thing, we've both been totally freaked out. It's getting to the point where nobody knows what is safe to do anymore. By which I mean sexually. Maybe being gay in this day and age isn't such a good idea, after all.

Of course, maybe I
am
jealous of Brad. For the life of me, I can't figure out how he gets away with making no attempt whatsoever to be somebody other than who he is. By which I mean gay. Not that he goes around
talking
about it, 'cause he doesn't. But he doesn't try to hide it, either. He's never even had a girlfriend. Unlike me, who's dated Alyssa and Diane and Betsy Sheffield—sort of—and been in love with Lynn Kelly and Kristian Alfonso. Here I've spent the last five years of my life busting my ass to convince people that I'm Normal, and yet they
still
don't think so…Why?!

“Normal?” Brad repeats when I mention this. “You think I'm not Normal?”

“That's not what I meant,” I say, apologizing. “But it's your choice.”

Obviously, my opinion doesn't bode well because Brad takes to his soapbox. “Being gay is not a ‘choice' you can make,” he states in his best Sally Jessy Raphael tone. “You either are or you aren't.” Then he adds, “I'm not saying this to be mean…But I'm your Best Friend, Jack, and I really think you are.”

I look away, chewing the inside of my cheek. But I refuse to cry. No matter how much I might want to. Why can't Brad just leave this alone? I don't
want
to be gay…Why can't he just accept that?

“I know you better than anybody else,” he continues, softening a little. “But until you can admit the truth about who you really are—not just to me but to
yourself
—I don't think we can be Best Friends anymore.”

And with that, Brad walks out the door.

At 25¢ per issue,
The Hazel Parker
is a Total Bargain.

Whether you're looking for the latest scoop on which Sports team won what competition against whom or you've got a problem and want to seek the advice of an expert,
Dear Blabby,
you'll find all that and more in the official school paper of Hazel Park High School.

One of the cool things about being Editor-in-Chief is…I receive a special Press Pass. Occasionally I'll get excused from class to venture about conducting interviews. Like the one I did last month with our new Principal, Mr. Messinger…

Another one of my duties as Editor-in-Chief of
The Hazel Parker
is to help select the twenty-five pages of content that goes into each edition of the paper. Which is never an easy task with ten eager reporters all clamoring for a “byline.”

Today being Monday, we've all gathered together around the table during 3
^rd
hour for our weekly Staff meeting with our Faculty Advisor, Mr. Dell'Olio. One by one, everybody has been pitching their possible story ideas and we've been brainstorming new options for those having difficulty. I don't know why this happens more often than you'd think. All I know is…For a group of people who all claim they want to be Professional Journalists, I'd say 95 percent of
The Hazel Parker
Staff have no idea what they're going to write about each month!

“Marching Band's going to Florida,” Ava Reese announces when it's her turn. Though she directs her attention towards Mr. Dell'Olio and not to me on account of she's pissed that I'm no longer a Band Fag. “I can write something about the trip, since I'm Drum Major and all.”

“Gotcha,” Dell replies, nodding vigorously. “When exactly is it?”

“Spring Break,” Ava informs us all. Again not looking at me.

“And what are you guys doing while you're down there?” asks Dell, having no idea what exactly goes on in Marching Band Land, I'm sure.

“Marching in a parade in Cocoa Beach,” answers Ava, “and playing at Disney World.” Even though she doesn't look at me, I can tell that last part is meant as a dig.

It figures! The year I drop out, Mr. Klan decides to take the Band Fags on an out-of-state trip. Though the more I think about it…Who really wants to spend their Senior Spring Break with a bunch of Band Fags, marching around in the Florida heat? Not me! I'll be going with Max to Daytona Beach. Which is where all the Popular People go.

“Sounds like a good lead, Reese,” Dell tells Ava. Like he's Perry White of
The Daily Planet
or something. “See about an interview with Klan after you get some more specifics, okay?” All he needs now is a big cigar or a felt PRESS hat.

Ava grins, twirling her hair. “Will I finally get a byline?”

To which Dell counters, “If you deserve one.”

I can kind of understand why Ava and all the other reporters are so insistent on getting a byline. Think about how you'd feel if you spent all that time busting your butt working on a story or an article, only to find in the end you're not even credited. But according to Dell, in the Real World of Journalism not all stories are in-depth or personal enough to warrant a byline. As a reporter, you've got to earn it. That's the way it goes.

Dell turns his attention to the next Staff member in line. “Good?” he squawks. As in Jamieleeann Mary Sue. “You're up.”

For whatever reason, Jamie Good is the only member of the Popular Crowd who writes for
The Hazel Parker.
Of course, being who she is, Jamie does just about anything one can do when it comes to Extra Curricular Activities. Not that
The Hazel Parker
is considered one. It's technically called “Advanced Journalism.” But like I've said, Jamie's not only our Senior Class President, she's also Varsity Cheerleading Captain, Secretary of the National Honor Society, and she sings in Chorale. Which explains why she was recently elected Homecoming Queen 1987. Not to mention the fact that she's one of the prettiest girls in school. With shoulder-length chestnut brown hair and eyes to match, Jamie's the kind of girl who lights up a room the minute she walks in.

“I was thinking about covering Senior Breakfast,” Jamie informs the group.

“Gotcha,” Mr. Dell'Olio replies. “And when is that?”

“Last week Thursday,” Jamie answers for all of us Seniors on Staff who are now shaking our heads and rolling our eyes.

“Well how was
I
supposed to know?” Dell asks, only slightly embarrassed. “I'm not a Senior.”

I'm thinking,
Duh! You were there.
But instead I say, “Remember that
breakfast
you went to? At the Kingsley Inn…With all the
Seniors?
”

“Oh, yeah!” Dell recalls wide-eyed. “That thing in Bloomfield Hills…That was some good grub.”

In the name of Tradition, every November the Seniors gather together for the first time as a Class over scrambled eggs and sausage with a side of hash browns and/or coffee and OJ. Throw in a few slices of French toast and some fresh Danish pastry and you've got what's officially known as “Senior Breakfast.”

Not only were all of our morning classes cancelled, we got the chance to have a decent meal together and get all dressed up. I wore my navy blue dress pants, matching cardigan sweater, and gray turtleneck. Sitting at our assigned tables, we listened to various speakers talk about what lies ahead for our Senior year and beyond. Senior Class Secretary Stacy Gillespie gave the Invocation, welcoming us. Though I almost didn't recognize her all dressed up in a long black skirt worn with a charcoal-gray turtleneck and her usual Punk Rock hair now cut and styled into a neat short bob.

Max and I sat with Jamie Good, Shellee Findlay, Betsy Sheffield, and her official new boyfriend, Tom Fulton. Like I've said, when I found out she accepted his invitation to the Homecoming Dance last month, I was in Total Shock. Almost livid, really. How could Betsy do that? Especially when she's known what a jerk Tom's been to me all these years.

“Then why did you invite Tom to your 16
^th
birthday party?” she reminded me.

“Because he was going with Marie Sperling at the time,” I said in my defense. “And
she
's my friend!” Secretly I'd been thrilled when I found out Marie had finally dumped Tom's ass. She always deserved a much better boyfriend…And so does Betsy!

But I've got to admit, over the course of the morning's festivities, Tom Fulton turned out to be a pretty cool guy. Certainly a lot nicer than I'd ever remembered him being in the past.

“Dude!” he said to me and Max over coffee. “Remember the time you guys hung out at my house?”

“When?” asked Max.

“Back in 7
^th
grade,” recalled Tom. “Remember we called the Party Line?”

The fact that he even remembered—let alone admitted it—totally took me by surprise. I'll never forget Tom's turn as Tammy. Or the things he said to turn those guys on! Too bad he totally blew me off once we got back to school…

“That was stupid, huh?” Acting all cool, Max rattled four packets of Domino sugar together before dumping them into his cup.

“No way, Dude!” Tom grinned. “I remember it being kinda fun.”

“Dude! You gotta be joking.” Max took a sip of java. “Calling those guys up and pretending we were chicks…How lame was that?”

Tom replied, “I don't know, Dude…” Then to me he said, “Dude! What do you think?”

I said, “I remember us having a good time.” Because, looking back, I knew we did.

“Dude! Me, too,” Tom confirms.

To which Jamie replied, “Dude! What's with the ‘Dude'?”

“Yeah, Dude,” Shellee Findlay echoed. “What's up, Fox?”

At which point, Betsy just rolled her eyes. “Don't ask…”

For some reason, beginning this school year, all the guys—and some girls—are running around the halls of Hillbilly High calling each other “Dude.” I have no idea why or where it came from. But every time I turn around it's like, “Dude! You wanna go up to Taco Bell for lunch?” “No way, Dude! Taco Bell sucks…How about the BK in BFE?” “Dude! BK makes me puke.”

I'm telling you…No matter how Popular I become, I've promised myself I will
not
start calling people “Dude.”

“Dude! We should hang out again sometime.” Tom said this later to both me and Max. Though he said it more to me. “A bunch of us Varsity guys are going to the game tomorrow night at Ferndale. To check out the competition…You should come.”

“No can do,” Max replied. “I gotta work at The Farmer.” Back in the summer, Annette Funicello called up Lyle Waggoner and got Max a job working at store #142 with me. Only he's in Dairy. Which is part of the reason Max and I have started hanging out together again so much lately. Then Max said, “Jack's off on Friday…He can go.”

To which Tom cried, “Dude! You said, ‘Jack off'!”

Betsy rolled her eyes. Then to me she said, “You should go, Jack.” Giving me a look that said,
Now's your big chance to make friends with the Popular Guys.

Maybe Betsy's right. Maybe Tom isn't such a bad guy once you get to know him. Especially when he's not hanging out with his Jock Jerk Friends. He actually cleans up pretty nice. He's sitting next to me in a navy blue sports jacket, blue Polo dress shirt with button-down collar and yellow paisley-print tie, and I could see why Betsy's been secretly lusting after him for the past three years. He's probably one of—if not
the
—best looking guys in our school. With light brown hair that's kind of long and flippy in front, short around the sides, and wedged in back, he's got bright blue eyes, a totally perfect smile, square jaw—and dimples! No wonder he got elected Homecoming King. Though why Betsy never told me she liked him till recently, I don't know. All I know is…I hope Tom makes her happy and doesn't wind up being the Total Jerk I used to think he was.

The only drawback to the Senior Breakfast was…All my Band Fag Friends—Brad, Ava, Carrie, Audrey—sat together at a table directly across the room from me, right in my line of vision. And the entire time we were in the Kingsley Inn banquet room, not one of them said a single word to me!

“I like your dress.” I tried complimenting Audrey as I passed by her in the lobby. She was waiting in line for the coat check with Rob Berger, who I heard she went with to the Homecoming Dance and was now officially dating.

“Did you hear something?” Audrey asked Rob, totally ignoring me. Then she grabbed her jacket and walked away in a huff.

I can't even believe all my Band Fag Friends are pissed off just because I dropped out of Band. I mean, what's the big deal? It's
one
class. So what if I'm not there marching with them at the Friday night football games? Who cares if I don't go to Disney World on Spring Break? It's not like we can't still be friends.

Of course, after what happened between me and Brad the night of the Homecoming Dance, he made it perfectly clear what it's going to take to get
him
to talk to me. And I don't care. I won't admit to something I know isn't true…

At least not 100 percent.

“Sounds good, Good.”

Mr. Dell'Olio's enthusiastic approval of Jamie's Senior Breakfast story idea snaps me out of Daydream Mode. I do my best to focus my attention as he moves on. “Moody…What-cha got?”

Claire Moody leans forward, tucking her blue Papermate pen behind her ear. “How about something on the Preps versus the Burn-Outs?” she suggests.

Also a Senior, Claire serves as Co-Captain of Flag Corps and is responsible for talking Audrey into joining the squad this year. Which is part of the reason I'm on Audrey's Shit List. Claire claims the only reason Audrey ever joined the Flaggots was so she and I could spend more time together. But now that I'm no longer a Band Fag, I've pretty much screwed up The Plan.