The Alliance (5 page)

He dismissed me with a nod. It wasn't until I'd walked down the hall and around the corner that I began spitting out all the curse words I'd been holding in.

He was wrong. I'd get
more
than three teachers to sign the petition. The teachers weren't dumb. They knew this kind of bullying had to stop. If I had to, I'd get every teacher at Southside to sign it.

Game on, Winston.

I

decided that what Mrs. Carney was trying to tell me was that I just had to suck it up and ask the football team to sign. It made sense. They were some of the most popular guys in school. If they signed, a bunch of other people would sign too. And I was their teammate. We had each other's backs. Even if I could just get a couple of them to sign, it was all I needed to get more to fall in line.

After practice, I finished showering before everyone else so I could run back and get dressed. By the time the rest of the team came from the showers, I was ready for them. As they toweled off and started dressing, I stood up on a bench and held my clipboard over my head.

“Yo, guys!” I shouted over their jabbering. Everybody looked at me and quieted down. “Hey, good practice today. I know I'm new to varsity, but I really need your help. I want to start a new organization at school and I need you guys to sign this petition to get the ball rolling.”

A couple guys shrugged and stepped forward, reaching for my pen. But Ren stood up.

“Wait a sec,” he said. “Is this that fag group you were talking about?”

The guys who'd approached me suddenly backed off.

“It's not a fag group,” I said. I explained what the GSA was. “Everybody in this school looks up to the football team. You guys are heroes. If we take the lead and get this group started—”

“No way, man,” Phil Oliver, the quarterback, said. “Don't want nobody thinking I'm queer.”

“I told you, signing this doesn't say you're queer or anything…”

But I was sunk. Where the quarterback went, everybody went. One by one, they turned their backs. Some guys made comments about not wanting me to watch them dress. As I slammed my locker shut and stormed out, I heard someone say, “Oooh, look, boys. Mary's upset!”

Their laughter disappeared behind the door as I marched into the hall. I almost knocked Cory over.

“Whoa, Tiger,” she said, jumping out of my way. She smiled and offered me a mango smoothie.

“No, thanks,” I said, seething. She looked hurt and pulled it back. “I'm sorry, Cory. It's not you. I just … Why can't I find anyone to sign this petition?”

She put her arm around my shoulders. “Honey, you've been working on this awfully hard. But I think this is a sign that maybe you should just forget about it. You can't start a club if no one wants to join.”

I shook my head. “I'm not giving up. I'll get Mr. Winston to give me permission to drop by the other lunch periods. I'll—”

She squeezed my shoulder. “It's great to see you so fired up, but I think you could be spending this energy doing something else. Something better.”

I exhaled. “Something better? Cory, I'm doing this for Jamie. I owe it to him to see that the crap that happened to him stops. Look, can you just sign this?” I held out the clipboard.

Cory recoiled from it like I was holding out a spider. “Scott, I can't do that. Jamie was a sweet guy. But he made his choice. Signing that is like saying I agree with that choice.”

I felt ice fill my chest. I looked at Cory as if I'd never seen her before. There she was: soft brown hair, smiling like always. But something was different.

“Choice?” I asked. “Cory…Do you think Jamie
chose
to be gay?”

Her fingers went to the cross at her throat. “Being gay isn't natural, Scott. It's not part of God's plan.”

I stepped away from her. “You're kidding, right? Why would anybody choose to be harassed like Jamie was? Why would someone choose to be teased and shoved and threatened? How did that benefit him in any way?”

“I don't know,” she said quietly. “But then, I don't know why people choose to kill. I don't know why people choose to cheat on their spouses. I don't know why people choose to defy the Lord's commandments every single day. I don't judge. That's for God to do. All sin is matter of choice, Scott, and Jamie chose to sin.”

“Jamie didn't choose to be gay,” I spat. “But
you're
choosing to hate him because he was.”

She shook her head. “I don't hate Jamie. My church teaches us to hate the sin, love the sinner.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That's still hate. I thought Jesus was all about love. Or maybe you didn't read that far in your Bible.”

For the first time, Cory frowned. “Don't take that tone with me, Scott King. I have a right to express my opinion. You're always cranky after practice. Drink your smoothie and you'll feel better.”

But she was wrong. How could I feel better, knowing she believed this? “Sorry, Cory.” I said.

She laid her hand on my arm and started smiling again. “We don't have to agree on everything. We're each allowed to have our own opinions. This is just something we'll have to agree to disagree on.”

That was her solution. Agree to disagree. Like disagreeing that Blake Shelton was a better singer than Kenny Chesney. Or that burgers were better than chicken. But it didn't work like that.

“No, Cory, we can't do that. Because if we agree to disagree, you get to walk away and continue hating and people are still being bullied. And you're a part of that.”

I handed her back the smoothie, took my clipboard, and walked away.

I

sat in the computer lab, glaring so hard at the petition that I thought it might actually catch fire. Right at the top, where the spaces for the three faculty members to sign sat. Even if every student in the building signed, the whole petition was worthless without those three signatures.

Ricky slid into the chair next to me. “You have got this, like,
death look
on your face. You must really hate that paper.”

I laughed. Leave it to asexual Ricky to snap me out of my funk. “I
do
hate this paper. And I hate what people think of me. And I hate that what people think of me is wrong. I'm just Hater McHaterson today.”

“Well, Ms. McHaterson, let's see what we can do about that. Nothing can be that bad. What's up?”

“I asked all my teachers today if they would sign off on the GSA. Five teachers, five nos. Not just nos. Each no was served with my very own are-you-crazy look.” I pushed the petition away from me. “Winston was right. The teachers here hate me.”

Ricky rubbed my shoulders. “You just asked the wrong teachers. There are
tons
of teachers you can ask. You can't give up because
five
people said no. Nobody hates you.”

I snorted. “Nobody hates me? Check this out.”

I got out my phone and called up my Twitter account. Most of my feed was me talking to my friends about school, homework, and movies. I scrolled down to yesterday and pointed to a tweet from someone named @VictorEE. It said:

@CMendoza No 1 will cry at you're funearl, dyke.

“I don't know what offends me more,” I said. “The wrong use of ‘you're' or that the idiot can't spell
funeral
.”

Ricky leaned in. “Carmen, that's like a death threat.”

I shook my head. “No,
this
is a death threat.” I reached into my messenger bag and showed him the clipping of Jamie Ballard's obituary.

Ricky's eyes got wide. “You've got to tell someone.”

“Whoever it is just wants to get in my head. That's what they did to Jamie Ballard. Well, they won't do it to me. If I tell someone, word will get around and they'll know they got to me.”

Ricky didn't look convinced, but he let it go. “You said you talked to five teachers. You've got six.”

I nodded. “Haven't asked Carney yet. I've been putting it off. She's awesome, and if she says no, it might really be over.”

He glanced at his watch. “Well, you're in luck,” he said. “Film class is next. You're going to ask her to sign, she's going to say yes, and the world will be a happy place again. Right?” He gathered his stuff and made for the door.

My phone vibrated as another tweet from VictorEE appeared in my feed.

@CMendoza heard your starting a gsa don't even try it

I stared at it a long time, wanting to ignore it. Responding would just give him satisfaction but…

I just couldn't back down. I couldn't. I typed:

@VictorEE Who's going to stop me? A dickless nobody like you?

I logged off and the message disappeared. “Wait up!” I called after Ricky. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. Probably VictorEE getting back to me. So fast. I must have struck a nerve.

Screw him. I'd deal with him when I was ready.

– – – – –

Norman Bates stared right through me. His face filled the screen, the image of a skull superimposed on him. I shuddered. Creepy.

The lights came up and the bell rang. “Okay, folks,” Mrs. Carney said. “I want your two-page reflection papers on
Psycho
by Friday. Or
Mother
will be very upset.”

Everyone laughed as they filed out of the room. Ricky tapped me on the shoulder. “Good luck,” he said, nodding at Carney. We bumped fists and I hung back, waiting to get Carney alone.

“Carmen,” she said once the classroom was empty, “please don't tell me Norman Bates has been giving you nightmares.”

“No, Mrs. Carney, I was just…” I stopped. “Do you like me, Mrs. Carney?”

She sat down on the corner of her desk. “I can't think of anyone I dislike. Have I done something to make you think …?”

“Oh, no,” I said quickly. “No, just the opposite. I think you're the only teacher at Southside who treats me like a human being.”

She frowned. “I'm really sorry to hear that. I hope it's not true, but I'm sure that must be how it seems. Is it something you wanted to talk about?”