by Harry Cook
Then the final figure storms the stage, flinging away an expanse of pure white robe to reveal himself in glorious, sequined, rainbowed outrageousness.
“Rye?” I gasp, my voice lost in the music as the choir belt out “Like a Prayer” while voguing with enough panache to make Madonna herself proud.
I take in the vision before me and I can’t help it. The anguish of the week washes away in a tide of relief and joy. I’m laughing and crying simultaneously. Clare is shell-shocked next to me. I grin at her, then take her hand in mine and squeeze it.
This band is hardcore after all. (Martha Stewart did go to prison I guess.)
Rye is pointing at me and I can see Poppy, June, June’s parents, Poppy’s mum Isla, and Elliot all on stage and raving like fabulous queer lunatics and I’m LIVING for it.
A medley of songs blasts through the hall as they rock out and flip the bird to Taylor and Greg. Those two look like creepy, unwanted twins, stock still with their mouths hanging open in horror. I’m really hoping this is hurting them. A lot.
With a circus-master flourish, Rye takes out a microphone from one of his costume’s hidden pockets and flicks the switch.
“Fin,” he shouts with no preamble. “Fin Whittle, I love you.”
The rest of the choir cheer and woot-woo and raise their hands to the sky. OTT, much?
Clare nudges me. “Respect,” she whispers with a bright-eyed grin.
“And these Re-Souled idiots don’t have a clue,” Rye goes on. “Their days are numbered.”
The room turns tense and I’m worried that a war is starting to brew. But the Re-Souled crew are totally outnumbered and, almost literally, floored by the spectacle unrolling before them.
“You, Fin Whittle, are PERFECT just the way you are.” Rye carries on, pointing one at a time to the guys and girls from my group in front of us. “And so are you. And you. And you!”
The, he jumps off the stage like a rock star and strides up to me.
He puts his hands on my shoulders then plants a massive kiss on my lips, sending a shockwave through the hall. Not to mention my love-starved body.
Taylor and Greg are still frozen and I wonder if they’ve died standing up.
“One more thing,” Rye says, taking my free hand. “Hit it!”
The track changes and bass rolls along.
I take a few steps towards the stage as the bass thrums some more.
Cher’s voice comes from the speakers.
I grin helplessly and look around the hall. Trust Rye – and his mum – to go full-blown musical theatre on this.
The choir on the stage part and there, in the middle of everyone, is Mum and Dad.
How could I have missed them? I shake my head in disbelief.
Rye grabs my hand.
“We’re outta here,” he says, tightening his grip on my hand. “Let’s go disco.”
A chorus of “Turn Back Time” bellows from the stage as I turn to Clare. “Come with us,” I say.
Clare blinks, obviously struggling to speak. “I . . .”
“Clare, come with us,” I say again, to which she whispers: “Okay.” Softly. The only answer I need.
Everything’s chaos. Cher’s still going full blast on stage. I can’t help but laugh at the sight of Mum and Dad. They’ve actually started to get into it: their arms are linked with Elliot’s and he’s belting like he’s the real deal.
I rush the stage and wrap myself up in my family, linking arms and grinning fit to burst. Clare and Rye run up alongside us and together, forming one enormous, ridiculous, glittery, rainbow-crazed choir, we sing our way back down the aisle to the van.
Taylor’s coming straight for us as we near the exit. “You . . . You can’t just –” she protests.
“Can’t what?” June asks, glaring up and down at her.
“Can’t what exactly?” Poppy echoes.
“This is against protocol,” Greg declares, trying to gather his wits. “This is totally unacceptable. You’ve had your fun, but I really must insist that Mr Whittle remains for his Re-Souled transformation. It’s a vital component of –”
“That is enough!” Mum literally growls. She takes a threatening step towards him and Greg’s harping comes to an abrupt stop. “What’s vital is that we get Mr Whittle away from you and your toxic propaganda.”
Dad’s face has turned to stone and he’s now moving with the unstoppable authority of an army sergeant towards the van.
“Fin is our son,” he says. “And we love him.”
Elliot’s in the driving seat as we pull the doors shut and the van rumbles to life.
Rye takes my hand and we lurch forward. The music’s on and we’re still singing as we head off away from this horror show and into the night.
44
Fin
It’s been six weeks since our escape from Re-Souled and when the school bell for the day rings I throw my backpack over my shoulder and bolt for the door. I haven’t seen Rye properly in the last couple of days. But I know that his mum’s been a star, sorting out government support and temporary accommodation for Clare. It’s far from ideal, but we’re going to make it happen. Chosen family or not, we’re on side to get her through this next part of her life.
Not so great is the fact that Re-Souled is still somehow open for business. It baffles me how it can even be allowed to operate in a legitimate way. My time there gives me nightmares and I worry about the kids who are subjected to their poison. Still, I’m managing to put together an article about my experience there, and June and I have set up a campaign to get them closed down once and for all. We’re working on it . . .
*
But here in Lochport, today, the sky is purple and the air is soft and warm. This is my favourite kind of weather. It makes me feel like everything’s going to be okay.
Mum and Dad still have their moments. I’m not going to pretend it’s now all sunshine and rainbows – it takes more than six weeks to rethink a lifetime of preconception and prejudice, but they’re getting there. Elliot has been amazing. Whenever things get tense or awkward he’s sure to jump in with some fun fact about LGBTQI+ youth that he’s been researching since we got home. He’s started a course and a volunteer placement so he can train to be a youth support worker. It’s a job he’ll be phenomenal at. After a stint mucking in at an orangutan sanctuary, he can cope with anything. He’s pretty awesome, my brother.
I find my way to our spot at Kettle Lake and shake the blanket to throw off the dried leaves before sitting down and taking a deep breath. The lake is salty and perfect and the breeze is just right. For the first time in as long as I can remember I feel genuinely okay. Not great, not phenomenal. There’s still a lot I need to sort through. But okay. I feel okay. I am okay. That’s more than enough for now.
*
When I see Rye making his way through the bush I stand. A cockatoo squawks and flies overhead; my heart feels just like the flutter of its wings.
“Hey,” Rye says, wrapping me in his arms and planting a kiss on my lips.
“I’ve missed you,” I say.
“Missed you more.”
We sit on the blanket together and he puts his arms around me.
Bliss.
And everything else has been pretty awesome, too. Poppy and June are steady and genuinely happy, so there’s no drama there. For now. And we’ve been going at our own steady, lovey-dovey pace and life is sweet.
The sun is starting to go down as Rye pulls out a flask of chai latte from his backpack.
“So, you know that lyric from Hairspray where Tracey sings to Link about being in love with him for ever? Like even when they die and stuff?” I ask, rolling over to look at Rye who now has an expression that reads nothing other than, What in the fresh hell are you talking about?
“No, Fin. I haven’t seen Hairspray, but from that little synopsis it sounds like a horror. Are you sure you’re not thinking of Misery with Kathy Bates?”
He offers me a sip of chai latte.
&nb
sp; “No, it’s romantic,” I insist. “She’s talking about how much she loves him and how they are going to have all these awesome memories together. Forget the weird thing I just said. I meant it to be cute. Definitely came across as much more frightening than I intended.”
Rye laughs. “Well, I’d be happy with this for ever,” he says, looking at me.
“Me too,” I say. “None of this, one day when one of us is old and goes, I want you to move on without me. Nope. My jealousy is strong. Get in the casket with me.”
“You’re being creepy again,” Rye says, with a belly laugh.
“Okay fair,” I say, offering him back his flask. “I played up to it that time.”
We sit for a while as the sun finally disappears.
“I can’t help thinking about Clare,” I say. “I so want life to pan out happily for her.”
“Yeah,” Rye says, gazing out across the water. “Clare’s doing good. That counsellor she’s seeing is brilliant, she’s really helping her process everything.”
I sigh in relief.
“And you?” Rye asks, looking at me and taking my hand in his as he brings it to his mouth and kisses it lightly.
“Me what?”
“How are you doing?”
I shrug. “Not too bad,” I say.
Rye smiles, his dimples showing.
“Good,” I follow up. “I’m good. Now that you’re here. And I’m here with you.”
He kisses my hand again.
The first few fireflies blink to life and I feel warm and fuzzy inside.
“I couldn’t be happier,” Rye says as more and more fireflies flicker and hum across the surface of the lake.
I turn to look him in the eye. “I guess there’s no need to come here anymore,” I say, holding back a smile and attempting to be as serious as I can.
“Umm . . . sorry?” he says, seemingly offended that I’d even dare suggest such a thing.
“Well, I mean. The fireflies help with feeling worried, right? And . . . I don’t have a whole lot to worry about anymore now, do I?” I say, letting my smile break a little.
He’s on to me. I can tell because he nudges me cheekily and looks at me with smiling eyes.
“True,” he says. “But it’s a pretty good place for kissing . . .”
He moves in for the kiss and I kiss him back.
The only light around us comes from the thousands upon thousands of warm, yellow fireflies.
Acknowledgements
Firstly, and above all, I want to thank my beautiful family. Mum, Dad, Max and Poppy. Thank you for everything. I would never have dared to dream as big as I do if I didn’t have such incredible support from you lot. I love you all loads.
Pearce Jacobs, thank you for showing me what a true love story looks like. I am so grateful to have you in my life and I am beyond excited for the many more adventures ahead. I love you more than I could ever put into words and I can’t wait to keep writing our story together.
Nan Diane and Granddad Neil, thank you for forever making me feel like your Special Boy. I love you both gazillions. Thank you for everything.
Nan Barbara, you mean the world to me and I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am for you. I love you to bits. Thank you for always making me feel like a somebody.
Buckets of love to Uncle Tony, Kate, Laila, Faye, Dillon, Aunty Debbie, Mollie, Alex, Nick Fallows.
Geena Davis, I love you a ton. Thank you for everything.
A huge thank you to Dustin Lance Black, Scott Evans, Becky Albertalli, Matthew Mitcham, Jeremy Lachlan, Anthony Rapp and Wilson Cruz. Chris Csabs, thank you for all of your help and support.
My incredible agents at Marquee, you’re phenomenal.
Thank you so much to Kai Spellmeier for your awesome contributions to the editorial process.
And humongous thanks to the incredible team at Black & White Publishing and Ink Road Books. Emma Hargrave, Janne Moller, Alice Latchford and Campbell Brown, thank you for your amazing support from the get-go right the way through editorial process.
My amazing friends, there’s a sprinkle of all of you within this young cast of characters.
Hayley Thomson, thank you for being such an incredible friend from the get-go.
Tanja Edwards, you’re a one in a billion friend and a gem of a human.
Sally Curlewis, Elisa Vitagliani, Sarah Colonna, Jon Ryan, Josh Wolf, you’re all spectacular.
Lots of love to Michelle and Paul Hosking. Thanks for raising such an amazing son that I’m proud to call my partner and for making me a part of your beautiful family.
Stacks of love to Luen and Patrick Free. I can’t wait for many more laughs together.
To every young queer kid reading this and wondering if it’s possible to write books, be in movies, get on the TV, perform on stage or tell stories: you can and you must.
Queer representation matters more than anything right now.
Go out there and make magic.
“I wanted him to know that someone is here if he needs to talk.”
If you’ve been affected by anything you’ve read in Fin & Rye & Fireflies, if you would like to talk or are worried about someone in your life, there are organisations in the UK who can offer free advice, help and support, and will listen to you in confidence. Words have power. And if you can’t always find the words for someone you know, please consider contacting one of the organisations below.
Stonewall Youth
For all young lesbian, gay, bi, pan and trans people – and those who are questioning – to empower and let them know they’re not alone.
www.youngstonewall.org.uk
Childline
A counselling service for young people up to age 19.
www.childline.co.uk
Samaritans
Round-the-clock support for anyone who needs to talk.
www.samaritans.org
Mind
Dedicated to better mental health. They can offer details of help and support in your local area.
www.mind.org.uk
Papyrus
An organisation dedicated to the prevention of young suicide.
www.papyrus-uk.org
For readers in Australia, the following might be helpful:
Twenty10
Minus18 Youth
Black Rainbow
PFLAG Australia
The Pinnacle Foundation
QLife Australia
Acceptance Sydney
And if you’re in the United States, please check out:
The Trevor Project
GLAAD
HRC
The True Colours Fund