The Alliance

by Gabriel Goodman

  He took a manila folder from his desk and opened it up. “Any faculty member who signs the petition is putting their reputation on the line. Signing that document is the same thing as saying, ‘I believe Carmen Mendoza has the ability to create and run this organization.’ But I think you’ll have trouble finding someone to express that much faith in you. A few comments from your most recent report cards…” He squinted at what was inside the folder. “’Carmen’s grades are fine, but she shows little ability to follow through …’ And ‘Carmen has to be encouraged to complete projects on time …’”

  Winston closed the folder, put his fingers together like a steeple, and lifted them to his chin. “Now…do you really think you have the faculty’s confidence? It seems to me, Ms. Mendoza, that maybe you should be focusing your energy on learning to follow through on your current commitments instead of taking on a new project that, all signs are, you won’t be able to complete.”

  My ears burned. A hundred Spanish curse words danced on the tip of my tongue. It was all I could do not to lay into him. He sat there, so smug. It was his pretending like he was only thinking of my well-being that really ticked me off.

  I thought about showing him the death threat I found in my locker. It was still in the bottom of my messenger bag. Even though I’d promised to tell my parents if anything like that happened, I’d kept quiet. It was just one note. Probably someone trying to freak me out.

  But I would have loved to see how Winston would react to it. I’d been shoved, taunted, called names, and bullied in just about every way you can think. This was the first time someone had threatened my life. That was something he couldn’t ignore.

  But, no. He’d only accuse me of making it up. Which only made me angrier. He could call me a troublemaker all he wanted. I’d own that. But no one calls me a liar. If I gave him that chance, I’d say things I could never take back.

  “I guess we’ll just have to see, Mr. Winston,” I said, doing my best to smile. I probably looked sick. “May I go now?”

  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?”

  I shook my head. “No, not really. I just…” I got out the petition. “I’m trying to start a GSA. I need to get three faculty members to sign but … well, teachers aren’t exactly beating down my door. Vice Principal Winston says it’s because I don’t follow through.”

  Mrs. Carney looked over the petition. “I haven’t had you in class long enough to know if that’s true. You seem like a great student. You ask good questions, you participate in discussion. But, to be honest, I’ve heard that about you from other teachers.”

  I groaned. “Teachers talk about me?” Great. I really was doomed.

  She smiled. “Teachers talk about all the students. You’re not being singled out. I don’t get the impression that people dislike you. But they think you’re capable of more than you achieve. Getting this GSA started could show everyone they’re wrong.”

  “But that’s the problem,” I said. “I could prove that I can follow through. This GSA means a lot to me. I think it would really help people, and I’d work hard to keep it running. But I need a chance first. Is there any way you’d consider signing this?”

  Mrs. Carney tilted her head as she thought. “You know, you still need to get thirty students to sign this.”

  I waved my hand. “Oh, that’s not a problem.”

  She seemed impressed. “Really?”

  I shrugged. “Not to brag, but I have a lot of friends. I’m not über-popular, like Jessie Reed, but I fit in with lots of different groups. Thirty signatures isn’t a problem. It’s just those three.”

  She pursed her lips and handed the petition back to me. “I’ll tell you what: can you come here tomorrow morning before the first bell rings? I might have a solution to your problem.”

  I tried not to look devastated that she hadn’t signed it. I just took the petition back and signed. “Sure thing,” I said. “I’ll be here first thing in the morning.”

  As I headed for my locker, I wondered what kind of solution Mrs. Carney had in mind. Because if she couldn’t deliver those three faculty signatures, the GSA was over before it had even begun.

  M

  y phone started playing “Yellow Rose of Texas.” Cory’s ringtone. I tapped a button and sent it to voicemail. It was the fifth time she’d tried calling since our fight. I so wasn’t ready to talk to her yet.

  I sat at my laptop in my bedroom, trying to ignore the petition next to me that still only had my signature on it. I was ready to give up completely. I almost went to Mr. Winston to ask permission to recruit during the other lunch periods, but then I thought about Shelly and Maggie. Yeah, I was a jerk to them. I used to be a real jerk to a lot of people. I stopped all that when Jamie came out to me. I couldn’t get over how brave he’d been. And he was right: if I wasn’t going to tease him about being gay, I couldn’t lay into anyone else either.

  But just because I’d quit being a jerk didn’t mean that people quit hating me for what I’d done. How many people hated me as much as Shelly and Maggie? Was it even worth it to figure out?

  My phone buzzed, and I was just about to pick it up and tell Cory off when I realized the phone wasn’t playing “Yellow Rose of Texas.” I checked the screen. It was Mr. Ballard.

  “Hey, Mr. Ballard,” I said.

  “Hi, Scott. How are you?”

  “Well … you know.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I know. Listen, the police are still looking into whoever was harassing Jamie. Did he ever say anything to you?”

  “No,” I said quickly. “You gotta know, Mr. Ballard, that if I knew anybody was giving Jamie a hard time—”

  “I understand. I didn’t mean to say you weren’t a good friend to Jamie. I just thought maybe he said something to you. Even if you didn’t realize he was trying to tell you something. Anything that might be able to help the police …?”

  I thought about it. The week before he died, Jamie had been all smiles. He couldn’t stop talking about this guy he met on-lin
e who went to Northside High. They were talking about meeting in person to get some coffee. I’d never seen him happier.

  Then, the day before he killed himself, we hung out at the mall, talking about senior year. He hardly cracked a smile all night. He didn’t mention the Northside guy at all. When I asked him what was wrong, he said he was worried about passing all his classes and getting into a good school. It didn’t make sense. Jamie was a great student. I just thought he was nervous about senior year. But I never got to ask him about it more because the next day he was dead.

  “I can’t think of anything, Mr. Ballard. But if I do, I’ll let you know.”

  Mr. Ballard thanked me and hung up. I turned back to my laptop. Mr. Ballard had given Jamie’s cell phone to the cops to see if they could figure out who’d been harassing him. I remember him saying that the jerk who was harassing him had done it on-line too. Which meant he probably left a trail …

  I pulled up Jamie’s Twitter stream. A lot of it was flirting with @NHSDramaGuy. I assumed that was the Northside guy he liked. But as I scrolled through the stream, I started finding other tweets.

  @HoustonJamie if u killed yourself no one would care

  @HoustonJamie houstons dirty enough without fags like you messing things up

  @HoustonJamie really just die already cant stand seeing your face in the halls

  They were all from somebody named VictorEE. I didn’t know anybody named Victor. I looked through last year’s yearbook for the initials E. E. Nothing.

  Cant stand seeing your face in the halls.

  That could only mean one thing. Whoever it was went to Southside.

  I clicked on VictorEE’s profile to see if I could figure out who they were. They didn’t list their real name, of course. Most of their tweets were talk about the Cowboys and the Oilers. When VictorEE wasn’t talking sports, he—it had to be a he—was mocking people. He told someone named @RainbowTexan they should drink acid. He told @TerryHarlow that AIDS was God’s vengeance.