Draw the Line

by Laurent Linn

  “Adrian, I’m so sorry.” There’s rustling in the background. Is he even listening to what I’m saying?

  “Where are you?” I ask. “What’s that noise?”

  “Oh, I’m at our kitchen table cutting out bats, you know, from black paper? We need about a hundred or so to put all around the gym.”

  I look at the ceiling. “How about if we go tomorrow?”

  He makes a sad sound. “It sucks, but I can’t. We’re going over to my grandma’s in the morning and then I have more Pep Club stuff to do after that.”

  “What about the Adrian Club?” I sink onto my bed.

  The snipping sounds stop on his end and we’re both silent for a moment.

  He clears his throat. “I have another idea. I wanted to ask you before, and since we’re talking about the dance . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “So I know we’ve only really been together, like, a week, but by next Saturday it’ll be two weeks.”

  I sit up. “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you want to go to the Halloween Hoedown?” He lets out a breath, then says fast, “I mean with me. With me.”

  My stomach flips. “Like, as a couple? At our school? But weren’t you telling me how glad you are no one’s figured out you’re gay? This’ll sure clue them in.”

  “We don’t have to dance together or hold hands or anything. It’ll look like we’re just there as friends. But it would be fun. I mean, I’m putting a lot into this event and I want to enjoy it with you. And . . .”

  I hold the phone closer to my ear. “Yeah, and what?”

  “Well, I mean, look at you. You’re out there now and not hiding, putting your name on your website and all. Maybe it’s time I stop dreading the day someone figures me out.”

  Wow.

  “And there’s something else I wanted to tell you.” He clears his throat. “I already thought of our costumes!”

  “You did?”

  “We could go as Bert and Ernie.”

  “What?” I stand so fast Harley jumps. “But . . . but wouldn’t that make it kinda obvious we’re more than just friends?”

  “Don’t worry, it’s not like a prom. People don’t have to go as couples. Kathleen could go with us. She could be Cookie Monster, maybe. And Trent and Audrey could be, I don’t know, Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch? He’s tall and she’s, well . . . anyway. We’d be a group!”

  I snort. “Trent and Audrey? As she would say, ‘That ain’t happenin’.’ ”

  He gets quiet, then sighs into the phone. “Maybe it’s a stupid idea.”

  “Let me think about it.” I reach over and scratch Harley behind her ears. “If we do go, I’d be Ernie, right?”

  “Um, I thought I’d be Ernie.”

  Really? “I need time to wrap my head around this.” I look at the pile of shirts on the floor. “So, what’s the number for the LGBT center?”

  I write it down and tell him not to call and cancel the appointment. I’ll call myself. He repeats how sorry he is over and over and for me to think about Halloween.

  After we hang up, I lie back on the bed and close my eyes. Maybe he does want to be with me, but do they really need a hundred freakin’ bats on the walls? Is that more important? But he does want to go with me to the dance, which is holy-crap-terrifying. And Bert and Ernie? If I’m going to a costume party, there’s only one character I want to be.

  Speaking of which, I get up and log in to my Graphite site, bracing myself for more crap comments.

  And there they are. But wow, more good ones, too. One from ShikamaruKicksButt says: I don’t draw as good as you, Adrian, but check out my stuff. I click the link and, hey, it’s that bleached-blond-haired kid at school who showed me his sketchbook yesterday. He’s got photos of himself in cosplay costumes. His drawings are a lot of Naruto fan art—a whole lot—and some are really good. I comment on his page that I like his art a lot.

  I go back and scan my comments. Nothing from Lev. Has he even looked at my site again? Probably too busy weaving homemade spiderwebs on a loom for his hoedown.

  No comments from BigGreenBro, either.

  But there is another from Audrey, yelling at the haters again. I love her.

  I eye the LGBT center number I wrote down, then jump up, grab the phone, and dial Audrey. She answers right away.

  “So,” she says, “are they going to let you teach young artistic minds how to draw moody superheroes on the moon?”

  “Not yet. The appointment’s not till three this afternoon. And there’s a problem.”

  I fill her in on the details of how Lev backed out of his promise to take me.

  “Typical male,” she says.

  “Well, I don’t know about that. Do typical males ditch plans to take their boyfriends to the gay center so they can stay home and do arts-’n’-crafts?”

  She laughs. “Okay, you got me there.”

  “So will you take me instead? I could use your good energy. Well, and your car. It’d be fun and we could hang out after.” I’ll tell her about baking cookies, but later.

  She gets all excited and starts asking what she should wear. I explain that’s exactly my problem, so she says, “Ooh, I’ll be right over.”

  Before she arrives I decide to go with honest and true, so I wear the blue shirt. As soon as she gets to my house, she points at me and says, “Yes, that’s perfect.”

  She’s all in autumn earth tones with very little jewelry, for a change. “I went with Saturday casual,” she says.

  I call Trent to see if he’ll join us.

  “Accompany you to the Lesbian Gay Bisexual Transgender Community Center?” he says. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  So I grab the folder with all of my art and we head out to pick him up.

  As we drive up, Trent’s waiting for us outside, thank Obi-Wan. There’s no way I want to go near that house again.

  I say “Hey” and step out of the front seat so he can take it. I eye the windows but see no sign of his mom.

  He glances back at the house too. “Don’t worry, it’s still as joyous as when you were here.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish . . . well, you know.”

  “I’m tryin’ to be that stoic Willow.” He looks at me and shrugs. “Besides, only five hundred and eighty-nine days on the Graduation Countdown Clock.” He folds into the front seat.

  Damn. At least maybe getting out today will be a good distraction for him. I hop in the backseat and we take off.

  Twisting to look at me, he says, “So . . . is this the fun thing you said we’d do this weekend?”

  I smile. “Woo-hoo!”

  We make a stop for car snacks, but I’m too nervous to eat a thing.

  “All righty, then,” Audrey says. “More for us!”

  Bouncing along to Audrey’s current peppy playlist, we’re on our way.

  I fill them in about Lev wanting me to go to the Halloween Hoedown with him. When I say he thinks they should go too, dressed as Muppets, Audrey almost drives us off the road. “He said what?”

  Trent grips the door handle. “Whoa there, Audrey. I don’t wanna go to some stupid dance either, but I do want to live.”

  I laugh. “I told him neither of you would be interested in going at all.”

  “Understatement,” Audrey says, back in our proper lane.

  I tell them about Lev’s Bert and Ernie costume idea but that, if I do decide to go, I’d rather be Graphite.

  “Aww.” Audrey smiles at me in the rearview mirror. “But you’d be an adorable Bert.”

  “Ernie! I’d be Ernie.”

  Trent says, “Well, whatever you do . . . have fun with that.”

  Following Audrey’s GPS, we arrive in the gay neighborhood. As we drive down the main street, I spot a boy couple walking hand in hand down the sidewalk.

  Lev should be here with me.

  We turn down a side street. “Hey, there it is.” I point to the center and we pull into the parking lot, which is pretty full. A couple guys come out of th
e building and go to their car. “Looks so different in the daylight.”

  “How?” Audrey glides into a space and parks.

  “Well, looks smaller, maybe, and more like a regular building, I guess.”

  Trent scans around. “Yeah, where’s the rainbow unicorn parking valet to greet us?”

  “Ha-ha,” I say.

  “That’d be cute.” Audrey turns off the car and opens her door.

  I grab my art folder and we get out. As we head toward the entrance, I spot the wall off to the side where Lev and I made out, pressed against the brick. Remember his amazing lips. And the moonlight. Getting all tingly.

  Maybe I shouldn’t be so frustrated with him. He does have a lot to do and he did set up this whole meeting, right?

  Just before going in, I take a deep breath. “Okay,” I say to both of them, but look at Audrey. “Let me do the talking.”

  She holds up her hand. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”

  Trent smirks at her.

  I open the door and we enter. The little lobby looks the same but is much brighter, filled with sunlight from the front windows. I glance at the wall clock: 2:52, we’re right on time.

  I clear my throat. “Hi,” I say to the same woman who was at the desk last week. “You’re Maria, right?”

  She smiles. “Yes?”

  I explain I’m Adrian Piper but that Lev couldn’t come so I’m here with other friends. She’s really sweet and points us down the hall. My heart speeds up as we turn the corner.

  Alone in the art room, the same bright-red-haired woman is pushing stacks of little chairs into the center of the space. She spots us standing in the doorway. “Hi, I remember you. Jimmy gave you his painting.” She offers her hand. “I’m Clare.”

  We shake and I introduce myself and my friends, explaining that Lev couldn’t make it. I tell her I still have Jimmy’s art on my wall at home.

  “That’s really sweet. Well, come on in. Sorry there’s nowhere to sit, though.” She gestures to all the little-kid chairs. “After the adult art class ends I always have to move the grown-up chairs into the hall and bring in these kid ones. They look small, but they’re surprisingly heavy.” She mops at her forehead.

  The smells of turpentine and oil paints and charcoal linger in the air.

  Trent and Audrey check out the room and the art lining the walls. “So colorful!” Audrey says.

  “We have a lot of talented kids. And talented adults.” Clare gestures to the corner, where, resting on easels, there are some serious paintings in progress, the styles so loose and free. There’s even an oil painting of two guys holding each other.

  Trent blows his bangs from his eyes. “Expressive.”

  “So,” Clare says, “I understand you’re interested in helping out with art classes?”

  I nod. “You may not be even looking for someone, but it’d be fun to work with the kids and I’m an artist.” I hold up the folder of my drawings.

  “Let’s take a look.”

  Standing around one of the big drawing tables, I place the folder in the middle. “Now, you may not like comics or stuff—”

  “Oh, Adrian,” Audrey chimes in, “hush up. Your art is amazing.”

  I shoot her a look, but she just raises an eyebrow at me.

  I inhale and take out my sketches, drawings, and some printouts of what I posted on my site, explaining who Graphite is and about his world.

  Clare leans in and pores over everything. “Wow, this is impressive. How old are you?”

  “Sixteen.”

  She looks me up and down. “Your skills are really advanced.”

  “Right?” Audrey peers over Clare’s shoulder.

  Trent elbows me.

  I beam. “I’m glad you like it.”

  She asks what media I use and how I learned to draw so well. I explain my process and that I’ve just always drawn but haven’t taken classes since middle school.

  She scrunches her forehead. “Why not?”

  “Let’s just say no one ever got what I was doing.” I eye the paintings in the corner. “I’m not so worried about that here.”

  She smiles. “I think you’re right.” She turns to face me. “So let’s talk about what you could do for us.” She explains that she doesn’t know Lev, but that Maria thinks the world of him and says anyone Lev recommends must be special.

  I tell her I’m super-honest and work hard and think I could be a good teacher.

  “Well, you wouldn’t be teaching. That’s my domain.” She points to the chairs. “You’d be stacking and moving chairs, tables, setting out art supplies, cleaning up, making sure no little ones run out in the hall . . . that sort of thing. Not so glamorous, I’m afraid.”

  Oh. Still . . . “That’s okay.”

  She goes through all sorts of details, like how most jobs here are volunteer. But she’s really overwhelmed with the classes and does need the help, so my timing is great. She thinks they could pay something, even if it’s not much. It would have to be on a trial basis for a few weeks to be sure. “And, of course, I’ll need to speak with your parents.”

  I sense Trent and Audrey glancing at me.

  “Really? But I’m sixteen.”

  She smiles. “I understand. But let’s just say we’ve had a couple of surprises in the past when certain parents found out where their kids were working. I just need to make sure everyone understands from the start.”

  “That’s no problem,” I say. “They’d love it if I got a weekend job. Even here. Oh! I don’t mean even here, just—um, they’ll be fine with it.”

  Clare stifles a smile and nods. “Great. So we’ll take it one step at a time.”

  I gather my art and we exchange info, make plans to talk again, and say bye.

  It hits me—this may actually happen.

  No idea right now how I’d get here every weekend. But, as Clare said, one step at a time.

  Out in the parking lot, Audrey and Trent start talking all at once.

  “Hold up, hold up!” I put my hands in the air. “First things first. Tex-Mex. All I want right now is a gargantuan plate of nachos, dripping with way too much cheddar cheese.”

  Trent’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m in.”

  Audrey smiles. “You had me at Tex-Mex. But we have a lot to talk about.”

  “Yes, we do.” I turn and hop through the lot to the car like some bouncy little kid, clutching my art to my chest.

  IT’S SUNDAY MORNING, SO I sleep late late late. As does trent, who stayed over.

  He probably hasn’t slept this soundly in forever, never knowing which Mom he’ll be waking up to—happy or hungover?

  But I guess this morning counts as a surprise too, since he wasn’t expecting Harley to walk across his face at 6:00 a.m. He kinda freaked but then fell asleep again just fine, even though he was sleeping on the floor.

  By the time we get up for real, Mom’s already left for her church with all the cookies we made after we got back from the LGBT center.

  Shockingly, Audrey jumped right in and helped. It turns out she knows how to bake awesome cookies. Who knew?

  After dinner, I offered Trent peanut butter peppermint pretzel ice cream as promised, but he declined. It’s no wonder, considering his main contribution to the cookie making was eating a whole batch that kinda burned.

  “I’m just assuring that your carbon footprint doesn’t go to waste,” he said.

  I splash water on my face and run a toothbrush through my mouth.

  Trent and I stumble to the kitchen and I throw together a ton-o-pancakes for us and Dad. Sunday means all-day nonstop football on TV, oh, joy, so Dad’s all settled in for the long haul. While we devour pancakes—god, I love pancakes—we sit on the couch with him and watch for a while, because why not?

  As he has since I was a teeny toddler, he attempts to explain what’s going on. I nod and ask questions, but I don’t get it. It’s probably not too hard to understand. It’s just that I really don’t care.

  At least t
here are those tight tight pants running around to watch.

  I want to show I’m trying, though, so I talk about the uniform color choices and the team logo designs on the helmets. “I like the pissed-off red bird better than that blue lion. That one’s got no personality.”

  He laughs. “Just like the team. See, you may have some football instincts yet.”

  “Oh, good.” I guess.

  Trent just sinks into the couch. And smiles.

  I contemplate bringing up my potential part-time job with Dad, but I don’t want him telling Mom before I do. So when we’re done I clean up, and then Trent and I head back to my room. Since I’ll soon be needing to use Mom’s car—our only car, as she likes to remind me—and Clare needs Mom’s approval for me to work at the gay center, I’ll have to find the right time to tell Mom about it. I’ll definitely need to catch her in the right mood. Oh, man.

  Because I have a mountain range of homework about to collapse and bury me alive, Trent says he’ll head home so I can attempt to catch up.

  At the front door, he pats his belly. “Thanks for the fluffy pancakes.”

  “My pleasure.” I lower my voice. “And thank you for going with me yesterday.”

  He bows. “I’ll send out positive vibes in the general direction of La Señora Clare.”

  Once he’s off, I get to my room and sit at my computer. Dive in.

  Holy crap, there’s a lot to do.

  Just as my eyes glaze over from staring at the periodic table of the elements for too long, a new message pops up.

  Oh! From Kobe: Hey, you around to talk? Then he wrote his phone number.

  Uh-oh, what’s this about? I grab the phone and dial.

  “Hey,” I say. “It’s Adrian.”

  “Wow, talk about instant gratification,” he says.

  “Well, I saw your message, and is everything okay?”

  There’s a pause. “No.”

  I sit up in my seat. “What is it?”

  “I’ve been reading all the comics on your site.”

  Uh-oh. “Yeah?”

  “Don’t ya think you could’ve drawn Kerosene a lot hotter than that? I mean, come on.”

  “That’s what’s wrong?”

  He sighs. “I’m serious. You and Lev, oh, excuse me, Graphite and Oasis—get dreamy much?—are superstuds. What about poor me? Couldn’t I be more hot? I mean, c’mon, you named me Kerosene.”