by Beth Goobie
It took me all of two seconds to shrug off Mr. Brennan’s invitation to rehash things. Why bother, if it wouldn’t change anything? Besides, the last thing I wanted to do right now was discuss my reasons for putting Foxfire into the girl silhouette’s groin with anyone, much less my school principal. I was starting to wish I’d never heard of that crazy girls’ gang. Why hadn’t Mr. Cronk assigned us a normal, average, run-of-the-mill book to read like Lord of the Flies?
Grumpily I scrubbed off the burnt bits stuck to Dad’s casserole dish and put it into the dishwasher. Then I started down the hall, intending to head upstairs to my room and get to work on some homework. But as I passed the living room doorway, I overheard Keelie say something that brought me to a dead halt.
“Who’s that guy, Danny?” she asked, pointing at the TV. A weekly sitcom was on, one she normally wouldn’t have been watching. By now she was usually in the tub, singing to her rubber duck—because of Dad and Mom’s garden-hose frolic, things were a little behind schedule.
“Which guy?” asked Danny, so absorbed in the show that he was only half-listening. Or not listening at all. Because it was obvious which character Keelie was asking about—a gay architect who lived next door to the main character.
“That guy,” said Keelie, pointing again at the screen.
“Oh,” said Danny. “He’s a faggot.”
“A what?” asked Keelie, screwing up her nose.
“A fag, Keelie,” said Danny, half-glancing at her. “That means he likes guys.”
“Oh,” said Keelie. A confused frown settled onto her face and she stared at the TV.
“C’mon, Danny,” I said, stepping into the room. “You can’t talk to her like that. How’s she supposed to know what it means?”
Danny shrugged easily. “You explain it,” he said, without glancing away from the screen.
For a second I hesitated, then sat down beside Keelie. She gave a little wriggle, working her way in against my arm, then looked up at me with an expectant wide-open expression on her face. Whatever I told her next was important, I realized. She was going to take it deep into herself and believe it completely.
Foxfire, I thought, looking down at her. Will you ever read that book? Will it screw up your life as much as it’s screwed up mine?
“‘Fag’ isn’t the right word, Keelie,” I said, thinking my way slowly into what I wanted to say. “It’s ‘gay.’ And what ‘gay’ means is...,” I took a deep breath. “Well, it’s what Danny said. It’s when a guy falls in love with a guy, or a girl falls in love with a girl. The word for two guys who are in love with each other is ‘gay,’ and the word for two girls is...”
Pausing, I took another deep breath. “Well,” I added reluctantly, “it’s ‘lesbian.’”
One of my power blushes kicked in, eating up my face, but Keelie didn’t seem to notice.
“Lesbean?” she demanded, staring up at me. Beside her, Danny gave a muffled snort.
“Not lesbean,” I said, trying to think down the temperature of my face. “LesbiAN.”
“LesbiAN,” Keelie echoed loudly. She repeated it just as loudly several times, then looked up at me again and said, “That’s two girls?”
“Uh-huh,” I said, feeling my face heat up a few more degrees.
“And they’re like Mommy and Daddy?” she asked. “Sort of,” I said. “A mommy and a mommy, I guess.” Another confused frown appeared on Keelie’s face. “But how can they make a baby without a penis and a vagina?” she asked, putting her hand on my arm.
A gurgling sound came from Danny and he shot me a grin. “That question is definitely yours,” he said.
“Well,” I said helplessly. I knew Mom and Dad had given Keelie the basic facts on baby production. Obviously they hadn’t gotten around to cluing her in on the gay scene yet. “Gay and lesbian couples don’t make babies,” I said carefully. “They just live together and love each other.”
Keelie’s dark eyes bored into mine. “Do they sleep in the same bed?” she asked.
“Probably,” I said.
She tapped her toes together thoughtfully. “But Mommy and Daddy loved each other to make me,” she said slowly. “Daddy told me he put his penis into Mommy’s vagina and his sperm found Mommy’s egg, and then I growed into a baby and got born.”
“Yeah,” I said, “that’s true. But lots of times Mommy and Daddy love each other without making a baby. They just love each other because they like doing it.”
Danny gave a loud unhelpful snort and grinned at the TV.
“Like kissing and hugging?” asked Keelie, ignoring him.
“Yeah,” I said quickly. Finally, a G-rated question.
“And putting his penis into her vagina?” Keelie added.
“Yeah,” I said reluctantly. “Except it’s different when there are two daddies or two mommies.”
“They do something different?” asked Keelie.
“Yes,” I sighed. I was going to have to figure out how to put the brakes on here. I mean, Keelie was taking us down the road to sheer and utter pornography at breakneck speed.
“WHAT?” she demanded loudly, getting to her knees and poking her face into mine. At the other end of the couch, Danny let loose with a howl of laughter. I wanted to slug him.
“Whatever...they want,” I said finally. Reaching around Keelie, I gave Danny a shove.
“Oooooooooooooooh,” Keelie said thoughtfully. I could almost see the gears spinning in her brain. Hundreds of questions were forming there—eager, hungry, detail-specific questions.
“Mom,” I shouted, getting up hastily from the couch. “Is Keelie’s bathwater ready yet?”
“Send her up,” called Mom. Quickly I lifted Keelie down from the couch, and she took off like a shot, hollering at the top of her lungs.
“Mommy, Mommy,” she bellowed as she climbed the stairs. “Dylan just told me about lesbiAN and gay. It means there’s a mommy and a mommy, or a daddy and a daddy, and there’s no penis and vagina, they do whatever they want.”
“Oh,” said Mom in a startled voice and I dropped back onto the couch, horrified at the mishmash Keelie had made of my explanation. Beside me there was a thud as Danny rolled off the couch and hit the floor, howling in glee. Grabbing a throw cushion, I began bashing him mercilessly about the head.
“No penis and vagina,” he spluttered, clutching his stomach. “They do whatever they want.” More howls claimed him. “Wait ‘til Cam hears this one,” he moaned.
Instantly my body went cold. “No,” I said, leaning into his face. “Don’t tell Cam, okay?”
“Okay,” said Danny, going quiet. Rolling onto his back, he studied me curiously. “If you want. But what’s the big deal? He’d get a real kick out of it. You should tell him, he’d—”
“No,” I repeated firmly, getting to my feet. “Just don’t tell him. And y’know those titles that used to be under the censor strips? You haven’t told anyone what they were, have you?”
“No,” said Danny. “It’s your secret. Guys have been bugging me, but I kept mum.”
“Thanks,” I said, flashing him a relieved smile. “Just keep on keeping mum, okay?”
“Okay,” he said, obviously bewildered.
My eyes slid from his and I started for the door. “Thanks again,” I added lamely. “I really appreciate it, Danny.”
With that, I headed to my room. The stairs to the second floor seemed longer than usual, and the air kind of heavy, in a way I hadn’t noticed before. But I managed to shrug it off, and got to work on a history assignment that was due the next day. When I finished, I spent some time practicing my mystery smile in front of the dresser mirror. Then I crawled into bed, but though I lay waiting for the phone to ring, Cam didn’t call. This wasn’t unusual. He didn’t call every night, and if he didn’t call me, I didn’t always call him. There was a natural rhythm to it, sort of like breathing, something I’d taken for granted. Tonight, however, I lay in the dark, waiting out the silence and willing him to call. My whole
mind formed itself into a hook, trying to snag him with my thoughts.
C’mon, Cam, I kept thinking. Call me, man-of-my-life. Please, just call.
Several times I reached for the phone, but my hand always stopped midair. About me the silence deepened, and the darkness grew more intense. Finally, with my hands above my waist and my pajama bottoms firmly tied, I fell asleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Just as I’d figured, the phone patrol had been active last night. I got a rundown on their basic chitchat from Joc when I picked her up the next morning.
“Caitlin van Doer called me last night,” she said, hanging on tightly as I pushed off from the curb. “She said you said something about Len Schroeder’s dick having been everywhere, and you’d wait longer than five minutes before letting him stick you with every STD known to the human race.”
“Actually,” I said, pedaling grimly down the street, “I said two weeks. And I didn’t say anything about STDs. Lucky for me, Caitlin didn’t think of leprosy and the mad cow virus too.”
Joc gave me a sympathetic forehead thump on the back. “Don’t take a hairy,” she said. “The STDs were my extra little bit, just to perk you up.”
“I’m feeling quite perky already, thanks,” I said, turning onto the Dundurn Street bridge. “And would you mind terribly much keeping that extra little bit to yourself from now on? I’m in enough shit with Julie Crozier already, without your creative additions getting back to her. Why didn’t you call me last night and tell me about this?”
“Because you would’ve started freaking out, just like you’re freaking out now,” Joc said reasonably. “And then you wouldn’t have slept a wink and been a very grumpy owl all day today. Besides, Dikker called right after Caitlin hung up. We had things we needed to discuss.”
Dikker had called Joc, but Cam hadn’t called me. A sick feeling oozed through my gut.
“I am in such deep shit,” I moaned. “I apologized twice to Julie, but she’s never going to forgive me. Never ever ever. She likes holding grudges. It’s like a badge of honor to her.”
“So what?” said Joc. “You’re such a worrywart, Dyl. Y’know what I told Caitlin when she told me what you’d said to Julie? I said, ‘Three cheers for Dylan. It’s about time someone put Len Creep-Meister in his place.’”
As usual, Joc wasn’t getting it. “For your information,” I said heavily, “Len Creep-Meister happens to be Cam’s friend. So is Julie.”
Gloomily I swerved my bike onto Diefenbaker Avenue and the Dief came into view, looming ominously at the end of the block. “Well, I suppose Julie and Len are my friends too,” I added reluctantly. “Sort of, because I’m going out with Cam. Otherwise they wouldn’t bother.”
“Pack of werewolves,” muttered Joc. “Vampires. Soul suckers.”
“Yeah, well, my parents like them,” I said, coasting up to the bike racks. “And anyway, since when is Dikker’s rep any better than Len’s?”
“That’s just talk,” snapped Joc, sliding off the seat. “At least he doesn’t hang around with fucking pricks the way your boyfriend does.”
With that she took off, leaving me standing openmouthed by my bike. Fucking pricks? I thought, watching her stalk into the surrounding crowd. Maybe a little overdone—as an in-depth character sketch, that is. But, as with most things Joc said when angry, it bordered on the truth.
The question that begged was, of course: Then why does Cam hang around with them? But I just brushed it off. Who else was he supposed to hang around with—the chess team?
Locking my bike, I joined the crowd streaming toward the Dief. Head up, I reminded myself firmly as I flashed a practice mystery smile at a nearby garbage pail. Remember—it doesn’t matter what the phone patrol is saying about you. What’s important is how kids see you acting. So make sure you look them in the eye, but not challenging or mad, as if you’ve got something to hide. YOU’VE GOT NOTHING TO HIDE.
Still, when I pulled open the school door and stepped inside, I couldn’t help holding my breath. I don’t know what I was expecting—a horde of vampires coming for my throat or a herd of wild-eyed boogeldy bears—but to my relief as I started down the hall, no one, absolutely NO ONE, paid me the slightest attention. Everywhere kids were yakking at each other or walking along quietly, carrying gym bags and school band instruments, and no one was giving me a second glance. Or even a snickering first one. Either the phone patrol hadn’t reached that many kids last night, or most of the students at the Dief simply didn’t care what I thought about Len Schroeder’s dick.
“Hey Dylan, liked your library display,” called a voice to my right, and I turned to see Ewen Busse, the Dief’s yearbook editor, standing at his locker. “Can I get a picture of you with those censor strips for the yearbook?” he asked, focusing an imaginary camera on me.
“Sure,” I said, giving him a Kodak smile. “Just tell me when.”
“Lunch, 12:15?” he asked, and I nodded, then headed on down the hall, a grin ruling my face. Had I ever been wrong about things? Like Joc said, so what if Julie never forgave me? I’d said something stupid, but I’d apologized. Temporary stupidity wasn’t a crime, there was no need to go on and on, banging my head against—
Turning into the hallway that led to my locker, I ducked a group of yakking second years and almost ran smack into Maria Gonzales and several of her friends. Maria was Rachel’s younger sister, and their personalities had definitely crawled out of the same gene pool. Huddled together, she and her friends were snickering among themselves as they stood observing a piece of foolscap that had been taped to someone’s locker.
No, not someone’s locker, I realized, as cold dread oozed over me. My locker.
As if on cue, Maria glanced around and caught sight of me. With a smirk she elbowed her friends, and they whirled en masse to gawk at me. Then they all took off down the hall. Stunned, I watched them go, then turned slowly to face my locker.
This is it, I thought, as my knees melted down my legs. The phone patrol has figured out my secret and decided to announce it to the entire world on the front of my locker. It’s all over—Cam, Joc, life, the universe, everything.
Cautiously I took a few wobbly steps forward, then stopped about five feet from my locker and studied the piece of foolscap taped to the front. Across the top someone had written “VIRGIN QUEEN” in large block letters, then drawn a nun underneath with a giant censor strip over her groin. Disbelieving, I stared at the crude sketch. There was that word again—queen, but why “virgin”? The phone patrol knew that category didn’t apply to me. Was it possible they hadn’t figured out the truth, and had decided that I was just being frigid and uptight?
As I stood stock still in the middle of the hall trying to make sense of things, kids kept streaming by. Snorts and comments floated back to me, and some guy patted my shoulder and said, “I can help you with that if you’d like, Dylan.” Stuck in a funk, my eyes glued to the sketch, I didn’t even bother turning to see who it was. Then, as I continued to stand, still frozen, a hand reached out from my left and started fumbling with the tape that held the sketch in place.
“That’s okay,” I said, snapping out of my funk and stepping forward. “I can handle it.”
The hand jerked back. “Oh, sorry,” said Andy Lambard, a guy whose locker stood two over from mine. “I didn’t see you there, Dylan.”
Andy was a minor niner, a shy skinny kid like Tracey Stillman. I’d seen him here at his locker almost every day this year, but so far I’d never spoken to him.
“I tried to take it down five minutes ago,” he stammered awkwardly, his eyes lowered as he turned back to his locker. “But they made me put it up again.”
“They?” I asked quickly.
Andy’s eyes went vague. “Uh, y’know,” he said. “Luke Pankratz and his friends. Those guys.”
Luke Pankratz was Gary’s younger brother. So, I thought grimly, the entire junior jock crowd has been sicced on me. The ooze feeling in my gut was definitely getting oozier.
Slowly I pulled the sketch off my locker.
“Virgin Queen,” I said shakily to Andy, making myself say the words out loud, feel them in my mouth. “What d’you think—is it me?”
Holding up the sketch, I tried to smile.
Andy’s eyes slid from the sketch to my face, then dropped to his feet. “I’m still a virgin,” he shrugged. “Most of the kids in this school are. If that’s who they want to pick on, they’ve got lots of targets.”
All of a sudden his skinny pimply face was the sanest, wisest thing I’d seen all week. “You are so right, Andy,” I said, crumpling the sketch into a ball. “This is prime bullshit, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh,” said Andy, a flush of pleasure riding his face.
“And you tried to take it down, even after Luke told you not to?” I asked. Patting his shoulder, I watched his flush go into overdrive. “Y’know what?” I added, almost kissing him. “You’ve got guts.”
He shrugged again, trying to fake casual, but not enough to dislodge my hand from his shoulder. “Not bad for a Virgin King, eh?” he said shyly.
A shout of laughter came out of me. “Not bad, Andy,” I said. “Not bad at all.”
Grinning like fools, we high-fived each other, and then I ditched my jacket and the balled-up sketch into the bottom of my locker, grabbed my history books and headed for homeroom.
Fortunately Julie and Rachel weren’t in either of my morning classes, and I didn’t run into them in the halls. I did get a few smirks from some of Maria’s friends as I was heading to history, but after my conversation with Andy, it didn’t seem to matter. In fact, even seeing Gary Pankratz in algebra didn’t phase me—at least, not much. As soon as I sat down, he leaned across the aisle, locked eyes with me and said, “Seen any virgin queens lately, Dylan?”