by Cody Wagner
“Let me just say that this IS a healing camp,” Wolcott said.
There it was. I hung my head. Why did I even bother?
Wolcott continued, “But not in the way you think. You’re here to come to terms with your sexuality and accept yourselves just the way you are.” I popped up again with a huge lump in my throat. What was the catch? There had to be a catch.
“You’ve probably heard some horrible things about gays from relatives and teachers and friends. But, trust me, you don’t need to change. You can’t change. Take it from a group of gay adults.” Wolcott gestured to himself then to the rest of the staff. My jaw dropped. The teachers were nodding. Two women actually clasped hands and held them up. I heard gasps and a few choked sobs. I wanted to look around, but any movement might make me cry. And I still worried there was a punchline.
“Many of us were sent to the same camps,” Wolcott said. “We went through the same pain you’ve gone through. That’s why we created Sanctuary Prep Academy: to give a group of young adults the chance to grow up away from the hatred and accusations. To grow up comfortable in their own skins.”
He pulled a wired microphone from the podium and walked around to face us without a barrier.
“It’s not going to be easy. Some of you have been brainwashed for years. Removing the self-hatred can be hard. But we’re hoping in an open, honest environment, that can change.”
He looked down for a second. When he began to speak again, his tone was more teacher-like.
“I’m sure you have a ton of questions. We’re going to cover as much as we can today.” He paused to clear his throat, then said, “First off, why you? Of all the thousands of kids, why did we choose you?” He smiled, but it was sad. “If I had it my way, we’d take everyone. But we can’t. Some kids just aren’t ready. But we think you are.
“You were chosen because you went against the grain. You fought against the prejudiced and the hypocrites. Some of you ran away from home to avoid going back in the closet. Some of you fought back at healing camps or seminars. Those are the kids we welcome here. Kids who might be confused but know, deep down, they’re not bad. Well, not because of being gay. I’ve had more than my share of kids I wanted to strangle for other reasons.”
It was a lame joke, but I found myself laughing. Months of pain that drowned me was being scooped away. He could have said, Hi hungry, I’m Wolcott, and I still would have laughed.
I wasn’t the only one. Cassie giggled next to me. I glanced over to see she’d opened herself up, swinging her legs back and forth. Roze still had her arms crossed but a grin appeared.
Grabbing the underside of my seat, I focused back on Wolcott. He was downright giddy, causing the last bits of my trepidation to melt away. He’d probably delivered this speech a hundred times but clearly loved every minute. He was grinning so hard, I could see white teeth from my seat in the rear.
“Next, you’re probably wondering how we found you. You may or may not be surprised to know we plant scouts at the most prominent camps in the country. They’re students, just like you, whose jobs are to recruit kids. They’re well trained and have excellent judgment. They report back on potential students and we reach out to your families.”
He scanned the audience. “I couldn’t be more excited to introduce them to you today. Scouts, will you please stand up?”
A dozen students stood up. Most were older than me, and I wondered how long it took to become a scout. My thoughts were interrupted by gasping and clapping. Apparently, students were recognizing their scouts. Or should I say saviors. I smiled and looked at the back of one guy. He had really messy hair that was oddly familiar.
It can’t be, I said to myself, squeezing my armrests as he turned around and waved.
It was Timothy, the guy from the funeral. I covered my mouth, stunned. What was he doing here? Wasn’t he protesting a gay funeral?
I thought back to the look he gave me at the funeral, when I threw the brochure at him, and it hit me: Timothy’s jockish behavior was an act. If so, he was the one who’d found me. He’d judged me worthy of coming here, to Sanctuary Prep Academy. I started shaking my head in disbelief. It had to be a dream. This random stranger had saved my life. Waves of relief and gratitude washed over me.
Timothy caught me staring at him. I couldn’t turn away—if it weren’t for him, there was no telling where I’d be. Still, I flushed, thinking, Stop staring, idiot. He’s probably been to ten camps and fifty funerals. He doesn’t remember you.
Then he nodded at me and grinned. I looked around to make sure he wasn’t greeting someone else. When I turned back, he was laughing and I found myself smiling back, shrugging. Just before it got really awkward, he winked, playfully, and turned away.
I was floored. Why did he recruit me? Was it because I spit on Justin for asking me to join the protest? I felt I’d done nothing to really help the situation.
“He was at my last camp,” Cassie whispered.
I turned to her and nodded. She kept staring at him, looking like she was going to cry. I knew how she felt and peeked at Roze. She was slack-jawed, staring to our right at a couple female scouts. Grinning, I looked around, hoping no bugs were flying around her open mouth.
“OK that’s enough glory, guys and gals. You can sit now,” Wolcott said.
One by one, most of the scouts sat. A couple of them left and I watched Timothy, hoping he wouldn’t go. I desperately wanted to talk to him, to find out how he found me. Luckily, he sat and I sighed in relief.
I tried turning my attention back to Wolcott, but it was hard. I wanted to hear every syllable out of his mouth, but kept glancing at Timothy, willing him to stay.
“Next, you might wonder what you’re going to be doing here.” Wolcott grinned and held his hands open. “The answer is this: the same things as at a regular school. Going to class, meeting people, doing homework.”
A few people groaned, which made me laugh; this felt familiar.
Wolcott looked around. “You might also begin dating.” He let that sink in. I noticed my throat tighten, and I suddenly felt very self-conscious. I must not have been the only one, because Wolcott laughed.
“What, people don’t date in your schools?”
Of course they do, I thought, but never two guys. The idea was completely foreign to me. I could date! I began biting my lips, stomach churning. As a few people looked around, I suddenly wondered if my hair looked OK. I glanced down at my clothes, hoping they were trendy enough.
“It’s going to take some getting used to,” Wolcott continued, “but dating and socializing are things you might experience. And while we enforce some pretty rigid rules, Sanctuary knows we can’t stop you from it.” Again, a few people shifted uncomfortably.
“Most of you will probably need time to adjust, though. Spend some time making friends and getting used to being yourselves before dating.”
Wolcott let a deliberate pause grow, and became serious.
“I realize this is a lot to take in. You’re all going to be healthier because of it. But you may experience moments of confusion. We’ve all been told this is wrong for so long, you may start to doubt yourself. Especially as you make that first gay friend or, god forbid, get that first crush. That’s why we have a full-time counselor on staff. Ellen Feitell, will you please stand.”
A black woman, about forty and with gray-streaked hair, stood. She was the one holding hands with the other woman earlier. Smiling pleasantly, she waved to the audience and we all clapped for her.
“If, at any time, you’re confused about anything,” Wolcott said, “don’t hold it in. Please. That’s one of the most important things you can remember. Ms. Feitell is here full-time and eager to talk with you.”
I felt a little weird. I had never talked to a counselor before, and thought only people with major problems saw therapists. I figured I was wrong as several students nodded. Still, I wouldn’t be visiting her any time soon.
Wolcott held up his hands again. “Moving
on. Given what I’ve told you so far, most of you are probably wondering about all the posters hanging around, the interesting food names in the cafeteria, and the strange behavior of some of our students.” He glared at one of the scouts, who gave a huge thumbs up and yelled, “Healing!” The teachers laughed and Wolcott shook his head.
“Unfortunately, your parents wouldn’t let you attend if they knew the truth about Sanctuary.”
I nodded, thinking, Ain’t that the truth.
Wolcott continued, “Until people can be more accepting, we have to play along. It’s the only way we can exist. We aren’t proud of it, but the posters and such are there to convince your families. They may be over-the-top, but that’s what people want. The more posters we hang, the more your parents get sucked in.”
I looked around and found a poster taped to the back of a seat near me and laughed. This was all a deliberate joke my parents were too dense to get! It wasn’t ominous anymore. In fact, it was funny. I thought back to the poster of the stereotypical gay guy. Dad totally bought the ridiculousness. Awesome.
“What about the flag?” someone yelled.
I tensed up; I’d completely forgotten about that.
Without missing a beat, Wolcott replied, “Good question. Although I implore you to raise your hand next time.” Without waiting for an apology or anything, he continued, “As many of you have heard, the blue around the flag does represent peace, intelligence, and wisdom. But the colors inside mean something different.” He smiled. “Just ask yourselves what red and white make when mixed together.”
I jerked back in my seat. This place has thought of everything!
Wolcott cleared his throat again. “Moving on. This school has three designated open houses, August fifteenth through the sixteenth, December twentieth through the twenty-first, and May twenty-third through the twenty-fifth. Those are times parents and relatives can visit. Additionally, you might hear three bells in rapid succession, like so.”
A bell, just like the one at my middle school—tinny and loud—began ringing. It stopped then rang two more times.
Wolcott pulled fingers from his ears. “The bells indicate a surprise visit.” He stopped and stared around at us again. “During these times, the school is on what we call a healing lock down. That means we all have to put on our actor hats. If you’re dating, there will be absolutely no shows of affection. If you have friends, you work together under the guise of healing. Later, the school will offer a seminar discussing this further. All new students are required to attend.”
Wolcott walked back to the podium, grabbed a bottle of water from the ground, and took a sip.
“It is imperative that we have every student’s cooperation and participation during the healing lock downs. Failure to comply will result in immediate expulsion from our school.” He stopped to let the words sink in. The mirth was gone from his voice and I found myself glued to him. His eyes were serious. I almost felt guilty, although I hadn’t done anything.
“It’s harsh, but necessary to keep the school running. We’ve only had a couple incidents in the past and both of them broke my heart. Expelling students is the absolute last thing we want to do. Please remember, if you’re confused, talk to someone. Acting out during a healing lock down will only get you expelled. And, if it comes down to it, your parents will believe us. Trust me. And if you’re ‘in love’ and wanting the world to know, it will only get you expelled. You have three hundred and sixty days to shout your love from the rooftops; you can keep it under wraps the other five.” It sounded strict, but I agreed with Wolcott. In fact, I was excited. It was like participating in a covert operation.
The bell rang again in a five-second blast. Wolcott clapped his hands together.
“There are a million more things we could talk about, but it’s time for you to begin your first day of classes.” I jolted in my seat. That’s right. We had school today. Wait, what classes was I going to take? I froze and my mouth dried out. I’d never even completed a schedule.
As if reading my thoughts, Wolcott said, “Your parents have submitted forms on your hobbies and goals. Using these and your school records, we’ve compiled course schedules for everyone. They should be fairly accurate— we’ve been doing this for a long time—but if you require any changes, please see Ms. Ramirez in the admissions building.”
Students stirred in their seats. A few began to stand, causing Wolcott to raise his hand. The place grew quiet.
“Please wait until I finish.”
When everyone was seated again, he said, “Four of our scouts have agreed to hand out schedules. Mr. Borski, please stand up.” A kid with a bright green shirt stood up and began making his way to the northwest corner of the auditorium. “If your last name is A thru F, he’ll have your schedule. Miss Hadley, please stand.” A chunky girl with arms that dangled like my grandma’s stood up and moved to the northeast corner. “If your last name is G thru L, please see her. Miss Lillard, please stand.” A white-haired girl a few rows in front of us got up and made her way to the southwest corner. “If your last name is M thru S, please see her. Mr. Howeth, please stand.” Timothy stood up and walked to the southeast corner. “If your last name is T thru Z, please see him.”
Timothy would be giving me my schedule! I grinned and my hands got clammy. No matter what, I’d get to talk with him. I had so many questions and began thinking, I have to be first in line, over and over, as my legs tensed to run. I pictured myself knocking people over on the way.
“That’s about it, people,” Wolcott said. “Again, I warmly welcome you to Sanctuary Prep Academy and hope you have a wonderful experience here. And please, if you have any questions or concerns, don’t hesitate to find me or one of my wonderful staff. We are here to help you heal.” With that, he grinned and made his way out of the auditorium.
The second Wolcott turned, I barreled past Cassie and Roze. Roze yelled, “Hey!” as I stepped on her foot. I shouted a hasty, “Sorry!” and kept running. First in line, first in line, first in line. That was all I could think about.
I was first in line.
I stopped in front of Timothy, panting. In fact, I was so winded I had to put my hands on my knees.
“Deep breaths,” he said, his voice smiling.
I flushed, feeling like the biggest idiot in the world.
After what felt like an hour, I looked up. He wasn’t muscular, but stocky and solid. His red t-shirt looked a bit too tight, but not in a bad way. I scanned further and caught the scar above his eye. I was about to ask about it when he held out a piece of paper.
“Your schedule, Mr. Trales. All classes are in the classroom center just south of here.”
He grinned as I tentatively took the piece of paper. I didn’t care about the schedule right now. I wanted to talk to him.
Wait, what was I going to ask?
I had so many questions. Wasn’t there something about a scar? Or, better yet, about my coming here? I didn’t know! I had completely blanked. Freaking out and not wanting to ask something stupid, I stood there in silence, looking even more ridiculous.
Timothy gestured behind me. “As exciting as this is, there are people waiting.”
I looked back and saw a group of people lined up behind me.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, I said to myself. Of course there would be people waiting for their schedules. I should have been the last person in line. That way I could have talked to him without interruption.
I became furious with myself. These were the little bone-headed things I did. A lot. I contemplated going to the back of the line, but it seemed so pathetic.
Not knowing what else to do, I inched away as my mind yelled at me to stop, to say something. Finally, after shuffling a few steps, I spun around, and jumped back to him. Without thinking, I blurted, “How did you know about me?”
He tightened his lips and squinted as if to say, what a weird question. It was a weird question, like I was asking if my mannerisms or something gave me away.
; Timothy shrugged. “Those douche bags talked about you. They thought you were gay so I tagged along.”
“I thought you were one of them,” I admitted.
He frowned. “You didn’t see me at the funeral?”
My jaw dropped. “You were there?”
“Yeah, I even waved.”
“Really?” I said.
“I was trying to let you know I was the good guy.” He put finger quotes around “good guy”.
I thought back and couldn’t remember a single thing about the funeral.
“Sorry. I was . . . thinking about stuff,” I said.
He nodded and an awkward silence filled the gap between us.
“Um, there are other people here,” Timothy said, grinning.
I looked back at the line of people. A girl waved her hand like she was brushing me along.
“Sorry,” I said.
Instead of responding, Timothy winked at me again and continued handing out schedules.
I kicked myself all the way to the classroom center. Why couldn’t I have paid attention at the funeral? And why did I have to act like such an idiot? I still had so many questions, but imagined Timothy avoiding me on campus from that point on.
Trying to distract myself, I looked at the schedule. My first class was Algebra II in room 213. I stared at the paper, thoughts of the idiot I’d just been receding to the back of my head. Really? They gave me math first period? Why couldn’t it have been History or English or something easier? I moaned, but it was half-hearted. Even if I had math every period, I was lucky to be here.
I muttered another quick, “Thanks,” to Timothy, took a deep breath, and looked around, exhilaration setting in. The classroom center—a wide, white two-story building in front of me—was alive with students. Several couples held hands and I gasped. Two were athletic guys wearing trendy shirts. They could have been jocks at my school. Jocks at my school who were holding hands and laughing!
I couldn’t breathe for a second. It was like a dream. Gay kids who were allowed to be gay surrounded me. I admit I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t asleep. Then I ducked my head, and allowed the building to pull me in.