Love Rules

by Marilyn Reynolds

  “Aw! AWW! YOU’RE KILLING ME!!” he screams. “WHOA! ENOUGH! UNCLE! UNCLE!!”

  Mom bursts through the door, looking as if she expects to see a murder in progress. She stops, takes in the scene, then sits beside Conan on the bathtub, laughing.

  Later though, when we talk about the day, she warns us to take care, to stay alert.

  “There are some very angry people out there. There’s a man at work who’s part of that Americans for Family Values group. He says they’ll do whatever it takes to rid schools of ‘perversion’.”

  “What does he mean—whatever it takes?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. But what you did today, walking to class as a group, is probably a good thing to do all of the time.”

  “Don’t worry, Claire. I’ll watch out for Lynn,” Conan says, draping his arm around my shoulder.

  “Small comfort,” Mom says, pointing to the ice pack Conan is holding against his forehead. “Look at the mess you’re in.”

  It is dark when I walk with Conan out to his car. I sit beside him in the front seat. We kiss and argue playfully about which one of us loves the other the most.

  “I’m happiest when I’m with you,” I tell him.

  “I want us to last, Lynnie. Forever.”

  “Me, too,” I say. But I can’t help thinking forever is a long time to keep my existence a secret from his parents.

  “Conan?”

  “Ummmm,” he murmurs, contented.

  “Oh, just . . . nothing,” I say. Why spoil a beautiful moment by asking why his family still doesn’t know we’re together?

  CHAPTER

  26

  Holly and Nicole show up at our Thursday GSA meeting, complete with brown bags.

  “There’s no one to eat lunch with on Thursdays,” Nicole says.

  “Besides, we hate what those guys did to Frankie,” Holly says.

  “And to Kit,” Nicole says.

  They stand back near the door, away from the circle of chairs.

  “C’mon,” I say. “Meet the rest of the group.”

  They follow about ten paces behind me, as if they’re being led to their own executions.

  “This is Dawn. She’s from Sojourner High.”

  Dawn reaches out to shake Nicole’s hand. Nicole hesitates, then extends her hand. Same thing with Holly.

  As I lead them over to Jerry I remember the first time I met him—how I judged him to be an absolute weirdo because of his outlandish looks. Leaf is sitting near Jerry and the two of them . . . well, let’s just say I can understand why Nicole and Holly are holding back.

  “They’re really nice guys.” I tell them. “You’ll see.”

  “Let’s get started,” Frankie says.

  I lead our two newcomers back to a spot where they know people. They sit next to Caitlin.

  We hand out 3x5 cards. Kit explains to Holly and Nicole that everyone writes something good from their past week, and something not so good.

  Emmy starts a bag of Mother’s Cookies around while we’re writing on the cards. Jerry takes a cookie and makes a face. Emmy walks over, takes the cookie from Jerry, pops it in her mouth, and takes the bag from his hand. Those of us who are in on the cookie controversy laugh.

  Jerry gives Emmy a long look. “May I please have one of those delicious cookies?” he pleads.

  “That’s better,” Emmy says, handing the cookie bag back to him.

  Felicia comes in—slinks in, really. She sits next to Kit. who hands her two cards and explains what we’re doing.

  Kit collects the cards and hands them to Emmy, who reads them out loud. Several say the best part of their week was the GLSEN meeting.

  Another card, which I know is Kit’s, says that the best part of her week was that her parents came to the meeting, and that her mom met another mom she liked.

  Jerry, who never keeps what he’s written a secret, says that the worst part of his week was leaving the GLSEN meeting with his mother, and being taunted by picketers. He pulls yesterday’s Hamilton Heights Daily News article from his notebook and holds it up, pointing to a picture of a picketer.

  “My dad,” he says. “I gave up on him a long time ago—no big deal anymore. But my mom—I felt bad for her.”

  Jerry looks down at his desk, trying, I think, to hide his sadness.

  A bunch of the cards say the worst part of the week was the football jerks dumping trash on Frankie.

  Guy says, “Moving GSA meetings to this campus has really cranked up the stakes for the homophobes.”

  “But why?” Kit asks.

  “They’ve been in control, free to say what they want and to believe their way is the only way, pretty much without being challenged. Now they’re faced with a group that supports what they hate—tolerance and acceptance of diversity. They’re angry, and they’re scared. The more visible GSA becomes, the more the Americans for Family Values types will try to put a stop to it.”

  “They don’t scare me,” Kit says.

  Looking around. I’m not sure everyone else is as confident as Kit.

  After all the cards have been read, Guy asks Frankie if he reported yesterday’s incident with the “spilled” milk and garbage in his hair.

  “What’s the point?” Frankie says. “Nothing will happen.” “Nothing can happen, if it doesn’t get reported.”

  “Look what happened to Kit and Lynn when they reported that incident. They got suspended and the guys who did it got to be football heroes.”

  “Frankie’s right,” Star says. “This place isn’t like Sojourner, where people respect each other. Here, if you don’t fit the mold, you’re shit. It’s okay to insult you. Even teachers think it’s your own fault if you’re harassed. You’ve asked for it, because you’re different.”

  “Not fair,” Guy says. “Look at Emmy.”

  “She’s a librarian. Librarians are different,” Star says.

  “Two of my teachers kicked students out of class for anti-gay stuff,” I say.

  “Well, I got kicked out of this rat hole because of anti-gay stuff, too,” Star says.

  “You were doing anti-gay stuff?” Kit asks, wide eyed.

  “No. But, when I got sick of hearing dyke, and homo, and lots worse, and complained, I was the one who was kicked out.”

  Holly nods her head. “In econ Mr. Rini called a guy a fag. And he’s always saying stuff to the Vietnamese students, like ‘eaten any tender dogs lately?”’

  “Good old Rini,” Guy says.

  Emmy sighs and shakes her head.

  “What about the stickers?” Nora says.

  “What stickers?” Kit asks.

  “You know, those anti-gay things . . .”

  No one seems to have any idea what Nora’s talking about. “Where are they?” Emmy asks.

  “One is on Ms. Woods’ door, and two are on the boarded up display case outside the administrative offices.”

  “Describe them.”

  Nora takes out a sheet of paper and starts drawing. Then she holds it up for us to see.

  It is a circle, about the size of a hamburger bun, I guess. Inside it says HOMOS, and there’s a diagonal line drawn through it.

  “HOMOS is in lavender and the circle has a broad, black border. The background is white, and the line is bright red.”

  Frankie groans. “Those people know nothing about how to use color!”

  Ah—welcome laughter.

  Kit gets us back on topic.

  “The stickers, and what they did to Frankie—that proves Guy’s point about anti-gay stuff getting worse.”

  “You should report that thing yesterday,” Jerry says to Frankie. “They can’t keep getting away with that shit.”

  “Sure they can,” Frankie says. “They’ve been doing it for years . . . Look, I’ve only got six months left and I’m out of here.”

  “What about the two hundred or so others, the rest of the ten percenters, who’ll be left behind?” Guy asks.

  “Two hundred? We’ve only got fourteen h
ere today, and this is the biggest group we’ve ever had.”

  “I’m talking about other students who have a different sexual orientation than most people consider to be normal. And who are afraid to come to a meeting. They need to know that someone cares about their safety.”

  I sit chewing on my pencil, remembering something from one of Benny Foster’s handouts.

  “If Frankie doesn’t want to file a complaint, can I?”

  Emmy and Guy exchange looks.

  “Good question. I’m not sure,” Emmy says.

  I rummage through my notebook and find the flyer that tells, among other things, the official, legal definition of harassment.

  “Dumping stuff on Frankie? That was conduct that created a hostile educational environment. That stuff affects all of us,” I say.

  Emmy nods, thoughtfully.

  “We should make official complaints about every little homophobic incident,” Kit says. “Document everything. If Manly Max doesn’t take action, we should go to the school board, like Benny said.”

  Frankie nods. “Okay. I’ll fill out an official complaint, but I want you to fill one out, too, Lynn.”

  Me and my big mouth, I think. “No problem,” I say.

  “I’ll do one, too,” Caitlin says, in a voice loud enough to be heard.

  “Let’s sum up,” Emmy says.

  “Report. Document. If nothing happens, take it to the next step,” Kit says.

  Star stands and raises her arm over her head, closed fisted.

  “No more shit for dinner,” she says.

  I stifle a gag reflex.

  Just before the bell, Conan walks in.

  “Let’s get Frankie and Kit in the middle,” he says, “and we’ll all walk them to choir.”

  Guy walks to the door and looks out into the hallway, then says to Emmy, “You might want to call security.”

  It’s the guys from the jock table, plus Douglas, and about ten other students.

  “Christ First,” Felicia mutters.

  I wonder if she’s trying to tell me something about how to live my life, but then I realize that the non-jocks are members of the campus Christian group. They are standing just outside the door, holding hands, heads bowed. As soon as we walk through the door, they start chanting in unison, “No to perversion! Yes to Jesus!” We walk past them, quickly, and then gather around Frankie and Kit. The jocks are standing a short distance down the hall, blocking our way. Emmy rushes ahead of us.

  “Please move along,” she says to them. “It’s time for class.”

  No one moves. Emmy walks over to Brian and looks up at him, her face inches from his.

  “I said MOVE ALONG,” she says.

  We are nearly up to them now, Conan in front. He keeps walking at a steady pace. Brian takes one baby step to the side, as does Justin, to the other side. Conan walks through the opening. Emmy stays close to Brian, who first yells “carpet muncher” at Kit, then slowly turns away and walks down the hall. The others follow Brian, except for Robert, who walks away from the jocks and over to Holly. He takes her hand and walks with us.

  We stay grouped together, down to the end of the hall and down the stairs. Once on the first floor, the jocks turn to the left. We turn to the right and stop outside the choir room. Frankie, Kit, Caitlin, Nora and I go inside, and the others go on to their own classes.

  “Something else to document,” Kit says.

  Douglas comes into the room just as the bell rings. Mr. Michaels tells us what music to have ready, then calls Douglas into his office. A few minutes later he calls Frankie in.

  Caitlin, who is sitting behind me, leans forward and asks, “What does he want with Frankie?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “But I don’t think it’s to dump garbage on his head.”

  Caitlin actually laughs! I turn to be sure it came from Caitlin. It did. It’s so surprising, I laugh, too. Nora, Kit, and the rest of the sopranos join in. Caitlin laughs harder. It’s a pretty laugh, in her singing voice.

  Mr. Michaels, Douglas, and Frankie come back into the room. Frankie sits down. Douglas stands next to Mr. Michaels in the front of the classroom.

  “Please give Douglas your attention.” Mr. Michaels says.

  “I’m sorry . . .”

  “Speak up Douglas, so everyone can hear you.”

  “I’m sorry if I offended anyone yesterday,” he says, looking way embarrassed. “I was only trying to be funny. I didn’t mean it to be disrespectful to anyone.”

  Mr. Michaels looks at Douglas for what seems like a long time,

  then asks the class, “Apology accepted?”

  There’s a murmur of agreement. Douglas takes his seat in the tenor section, and for the rest of the period we work on making music from our purest hearts, and our purest souls. No unruly thoughts enter my mind, and Douglas’ short solo sounds sweeter than ever.

  After school, Frankie. Kit, Caitlin, and I go to the library to get official complaint forms. Stuck on the door is one of the anti-gay signs that Nora told us about. I try to scrape it off, but it’s got the sticking strength of a bumper sticker.

  We decide that even though Mr. Michaels followed through on the incident with Douglas, it should still be reported—more evidence of harassment at Hamilton High. Caitlin fills out a form stating that Douglas’ gesture in class yesterday was demeaning to gays, and that it disrupted her work, and the work of the class.

  Frankie and I fill out separate reports about the jocks dumping trash on him, and Kit reports the incident in the hall after GSA, including Brian’s “carpet muncher” remark. Emmy has already reported that scene to Mr. Cordova, and she’s filing a vandalism report about the sign on her door. We’ll see what happens.

  It is nearly five when I join Dr. Kit under the tree. She gives me her theory on why Caitlin now can talk and laugh, after she’s been silent for so long.

  “If she couldn’t talk about the most important thing in her life, her brother’s murder, then why talk at all? But now that things are out in the open, she’s free to express herself about other things, too.”

  I lean back against the trunk.

  “Are you going to start charging me for your theories, after you get a license to practice psychology?”

  “Not unless you’re going to charge me for your advice about icing strained muscles.”

  “Let’s just agree right now that spirit sisters don’t charge for advice or information.”

  “Deal,” Kit says.

  “It’s the end of volleyball for us,” I say.

  “Yeah,” Kit says. “I think about that, too.”

  “Now it only lives in our memory banks,” I say.

  We sit quietly, until Wilma’s bark breaks the silence. I go home for a few frisbee tosses and Kit goes inside. Events of the day wash over me as I fall into the thoughtless rhythm of frisbee play with Wilma. I’m saddened by intolerance and hateful judgments. I wonder what my grandparents would say, if I could talk with them about all that’s been going on. Could they advise me?

  You won’t believe this. I barely believe it myself. But moments after I’ve thought about my grandparents, Grampa is standing at my left side. Gramma is next to me, on the right. Their love envelops me. I want the moment to last forever, but as soon as I think that, their presence fades. Was it only my wishful imagination? Were they really with me? All I know is that my sadness is replaced with hope, and I feel a lightness of heart which I’ve not really felt since the first day of Kit’s new image, when friends kept their quiet distance.

  In the house I take thirty dollars from the money I’m saving for Christmas.

  “Can I borrow the car for about an hour?” I ask Mom.

  “The keys are by the phone.” she says.

  I drive to Free Expressions in Pasadena—a place Kit has told me about. I buy ten large rainbow stickers with “embrace diversity” printed across them, and fifteen of those beaded Pride bracelets. Even small steps are important, I think, wondering if the thought came fro
m me, or from the visit with my grandparents.

  In the morning, as we wait for Conan to pick us up, Kit notices the bracelet I’m wearing.

  “Cool,” she says.

  I show her the big rainbow stickers. She looks at me questioningly.

  “To cover the anti-gay signs,” I tell her.

  She laughs. “Let me take two for the signs on the display case boards.”

  At lunch the kids at the table notice my bracelet.

  “Out and proud?” Holly asks, looking from me to Conan and back again.

  “For solidarity,” I say. “Want one?”

  Nora, Caitlin, Holly and Nicole each take one. Frankie already has several of his own. Conan and Robert politely decline.

  Everyone thinks the rainbow stickers are a great idea, and by the end of the day “embrace diversity” has covered the anti-gay signs. The colors are better, too.

  CHAPTER

  27

  Friday night. The first of the play-offs for state championship. Even though we’re playing clear over at Pacific Hills, the visitors’ side is filled with Hamilton High fans. On the football field, you’d never guess that Brian and Conan were at odds. They play beautifully, each backing the other, neither competing for glory. It’s an easy win. As we stand to sing the alma mater, Mr. Maxwell holds his arms up, signaling to the band not to start the song. Then he gets on the microphone and thanks everyone for their school spirit. He has never seen such a fine team in all of his years as an educator, and he’s proud and humbled to be a part of Hamilton High. He praises the coaches and names all of the starting players, asks that we remember them in our prayers, and then, finally, nods to the band to play.

  “I’d rather pray to end world hunger,” Nicole says.

  “It wouldn’t hurt you to add something for the team, too,” Holly says.

  Time for my mind to wander. I look down to where Sabina is sitting on her dad’s shoulders. As if she feels me looking at her, she turns around and smiles. I wave, then watch as the Parkers all stand and move down the bleachers to the field below. They’re talking and laughing, proud of Conan, I’m sure.