Arms tight over my chest, I stand there, refusing to say a word.
“I was scared of what they’d do to you. Of what they did to you. I just thought your mother should know before something really bad happened to you.”
“It wasn’t your place to tell her.”
“You’re right. It wasn’t. I had no idea Brother Mark would take it so far. He was wrong—you are not broken.”
I’m shocked that she admitted to being wrong, and I’m relieved she doesn’t think I need to be “fixed.” “It doesn’t matter, because I’m not going.”
“Your mother changed her mind? Oh, thank God. And honestly—”
“No, she didn’t say she wasn’t sending me. But I’m not going. And she knows she can’t force me.”
Sarabeth drops her head down and makes circles in the dirt with her foot. “Well, that’s good, because I feel like this was all my fault. Maybe if I hadn’t been so jealous of you and Van—”
“Jealous?”
“Yeah. Can you blame me? You two have something in common I am never going to understand. I was hurt you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. That you didn’t tell me because you thought I was just another homophobe or gay basher or whatever you call those mean people. Maybe you were right not to trust me. Not because I like those mean people, but because … I had my own selfish doubts.”
“Doubts about what?”
“Well, I thought if you were gay, it would mean we could no longer be friends. I thought if you finally admitted you were gay, then somehow, I’d lose you. That I wouldn’t be able to be your friend because you’d hit on me or something, and then everybody would think I was gay too.”
“God, no. I’m not attracted to you, Sarabeth. Never. Just like you’re not attracted to Van. It doesn’t work like that.”
“I know. All these years we’ve been best friends, it’s always been just friendship. Nothing else. And then I finally find out you’re gay and what do I do? I flip out because Van wins BFF of the Year, and I didn’t. It’s stupid. And I said some pretty horrible things to you that night, and it cost me my best friend because of it. I don’t know if you can forgive me for abandoning you when you needed me most, but I’m here now.” She shrugs.
The apology sounds so familiar. It’s the same thing I said to Van. A lifetime of friendship and one mistake wipes it all away? I don’t think so. If Van was able to forgive me, then I can forgive Sarabeth.
“Well, I should have trusted you, told you what I was instead of spending all my time being something I’m not. It wasn’t really fair to you either.”
“So, does this mean we’re good?” She sways back and forth, waiting for me to answer.
“Yeah. We’re good.” I give her a long overdue hug. “Though I can’t say Andrew is going to be happy with you in the morning.”
“Well, yeah … about him. Nobody calls my BFF a dyke and gets away with it. I told that closed-minded country hick to kiss my lily white—”
“You did not!” Van gasps.
“Eavesdrop whore,” I say, turning to Van. “What the heck is on your face?” Rainbow stripes cover his cheeks.
“War paint.” He nods his head all serious like. “It’s camouflage.”
“What, you planning on hiding in a rainbow?” Sarabeth asks. “Don’t even think about putting that stuff on my face.” Sarabeth pushes his rainbow-colored fingers away.
Van just shrugs and smears his purple-, blue-, and green-coated fingers on my face. “Nice, Van. Thanks.” He dips his fingers into the cheap plastic face paints and globs the second half of the rainbow on my other cheek.
“Are we done with the clown makeup?” Sarabeth asks Van as he cleans his hand on a cloth. “Good. What’s the plan?”
“Operation Rainbow is fairly simple—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Operation Rainbow?” Sarabeth asks. “Seriously. I’m not feeling the whole unicorn love here tonight. Can’t we call it like Operation Gays Kick Ass or Operation Hetero Takedown? You know, something tough that we can be proud of?”
At the same time, Van and I ease our heads toward each other, then we turn and glare at her, folding our arms over our chests in unison. “You’re not proud?” Van asks.
“Come on guys, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m so proud of my gay buddies. I’m here, aren’t I?” Sarabeth’s eyes dart between the two of us, but we stand there, impassive. “I dumped my boyfriend of two years and stole my father’s truck to help with a secret gay mission. I can’t be any more proud.”
We say nothing.
“Okay. Fine,” she says as she unzips her hoodie with flourish. Underneath is a nubby polyester shirt—fitting a bit too snug—with a big fat rainbow Care Bear on the front.
“Aw, he’s so cute. I remember those pj’s,” I say, and give her a cuddly hug. “I’m proud of you for being my ally.”
“Ahem. We have a mission here, ladies.” Van clears his throat and tears out a piece of notebook paper with a crude pencil map of the Goodman’s’ property. He gives Sarabeth the onceover. “Nice T-shirt.” He tries to hide his smile but fails.
“You are the stick art king,” I say once I get a look at his plan.
Van puffs up proud. “Thanks. Sarabeth, you drive the truck up to the edge of the driveway with the lights off. Kill the engine and reverse back down in neutral.”
“Aw, look, Sarabeth, he actually drew you inside the small truck on the map.”
“Adorable,” she says all deadpan.
“The slope of the driveway will help the truck roll, then Kaycee and I can push it the rest of the way to the shed door. The metal garage door will be loud as heck. The house is a good hundred yards away, so if we move it slowly, we’ll probably be fine, but we shouldn’t take any chances. Once we wrench it open, we’re going to have to move fast to hitch up the trailer and take off before anyone notices what’s going on.”
I’m feeling pretty confident with Van’s last-minute plan, and it’s looking way better than my streamers idea. If everything falls into place smoothly, we should be on and off the property in under ten minutes. We shuffle down the road and survey the shed for a good five minutes. Lights are off at the house, and nothing has stirred.
While Sarabeth goes to get the truck, Van and I use Sarabeth’s key to unlock the office. The same office with the couch she and Andrew used to make out on. Ew.
“Don’t turn on the overhead because somebody from the house might see it,” I say.
Van leads the way but stops abruptly. I ram into him. He bounces me back, and I fumble over something that sounds like a plastic trash can. He curses. “Did you bring your penlight?”
“Oh, now you’re loving the penlight.” I whip it out. The tiny beam shines around the room until I find the office door that leads to the main garage of the shed.
“Hey, if it wasn’t for me calling Sarabeth, we’d still be figuring out how to break in.”
“Whatever. You’re such a glory hog. You know, if I hadn’t—”
The overhead lights flip on to illuminate the entire shed. For half a second, I have a mind to scold Van, but the two huge guys leaning against the combine tractor shut me up. Center stage, Andrew stands with his arms crossed over his chest and smirks. A third kid walks over from the light switch panel on the wall, a junior linebacker. The boy who flanks Andrew graduated last year; he’s a big dude. I expect Chuck the Buck to emerge at any moment.
Dang it. Obviously Van let our plan slip to the wrong person.
“Oh crap. It’s the plaid KKK,” Van mumbles to me.
“You got that right.” Andrew cracks his knuckles.
“Wait.” I stand in front of Van with my hands up, as if I could really stop a two-hundred-pound bull. “We just wanted to make a few changes to the float. No big deal.”
Andrew and his buddies chuckle. “Did you hear that boys? No big deal. If
you think you can put one piece of that gay crap on my float, you’d better think again.”
I’m rethinking the Rainbow Pride warrior stripes we both have on our faces. Why in the world did I ever think we could pull this off?
“It’s not your float. We all worked on it.” It’s a pathetic argument that loses wind the second it leaves my lips. This is a lost cause now. Nothing we can say will convince Andrew or his cronies to let us take the float, much less make any changes.
Operation Rainbow dies here.
My hopes that this town could ever grow past a certain mentality die too. My attempts to speak up for the wrongs that have been done toward Bren and her family will now go unheard. All I wanted was a chance to show it doesn’t always have to be about violence. That we can all be bigger than that. That it can be about love and acceptance, or at the very least … tolerance.
“Let me ask you something, Kaycee,” Andrew says. Something about his sneering causes me to shiver. “How do you decide who’s the bitch between you and the dyke whore Bren. Huh?”
I freeze, terrified to say anything.
“If you see that half-bred lesbian again, ask her if she liked my Photoshop skills.” Andrew gets appreciative laughs from his plaid cows. “We ran one dyke out of town. No reason why we can’t do it again.”
My body grows ice cold. I can’t tell if it’s anger or fear or shock I feel from knowing that someone I’ve known most of my life could be this cruel. Or worse, that I allowed myself to ignore the tiny comments and actions over the years for fear I’d be found out. I’m at a loss for what to say or even do. If Bren were here, she’d know how to smooth things over, keep the peace, and make everything all right. But she’s not here. She’s never coming back thanks to this jackass. As much as I want to explode all my anger on him, I know it’s pointless. The loss of this night feels like the death of hope. Some people, no matter what anyone does, will never be able to see beyond their hate.
Behind me, I hear the office door open. “Why’d y’all turn the lights on? It’s bright as heck out there—” Sarabeth looks up from her phone and skids to a stop.
Andrew stands to full attention. The shock of seeing Sarabeth with us wipes the smug grin off his face. “Don’t tell me you’re helping these freaks, sugar. Don’t do this to us.” He makes a move to approach her, but she scoots next to me.
“These freaks are my friends. And there is no us. Not anymore.”
Andrew jabs a finger in the air. “That was your doing, not mine. What you and I had was good. Don’t tell me they converted you to that gay stuff too?”
“Did you get dropped on your head as a baby or something? Do you even realize how stupid you sound? Convert me to being gay,” says Sarabeth. “Yeah, that makes about as much sense as converting me to black. They’re born that way, you idiot.”
Words fly between them. Crappy parts of their relationship that have been a long time coming are flung back and forth. They argue a bit, and finally Andrew says, “Fine, ruin your life with these clowns. When your reputation goes down the toilet, don’t come crying to me for a good time. You, that dyke, and her faggot friend need to get your asses off my property.”
“What is all this yelling about? I can hear you all the way outside.” Chuck the Buck strolls in through the office door.
Crap! I look to Van and shake my head. We are screwed now.
“Oh hey, Andrew. How’s it going?” Chuck’s eyes go big as he looks to Sarabeth, confused. Now I’m not so sure why he’s here.
“I thought we were friends.” Andrew seems shocked as well. “You picking their side now?”
“Come on, man. They just want to throw a little pink on it, spruce it up. Why not let them do their thing?”
He’s here for us? My heart goes pitter-patter for the big lug. Something always told me he was a softy under all that hayseed plowboy.
“And yeah, I guess I am on their side.” Chuck tugs proudly on his pink shirt. Holton County Pig Catching Contest is stamped on the front, and a pig’s rear end, complete with coiled tail, is on the back.
“Chuck, I said rainbow, not pink,” Sarabeth scolds. It’s a harsh whisper we all hear.
Chuck throws his hands out. “It’s the only gay shirt I’ve got.”
“Just because they’re gay, doesn’t mean they all wear pink.” Sarabeth turns to Van. “Do they, Van?”
“Why am I the expert on gay attire all of a sudden?”
“Are you girls done?” asks Andrew. He steps forward. “You pansies talk shopping somewhere else. If you think you can take this float all by yourself, Chuck my boy, then bring it on.” On cue, Andrew’s plaid buddies step up to the plate behind him. It’s a lot of USDA beef staring us down. Even though Chuck is a linebacker, I don’t think he can take them all on.
“Come on, man. It doesn’t have to be like this.” Chuck sidesteps over to the huge shed door. His hand pauses on the handle just before he rolls it up. A loud clickety-clack repeats until it’s completely open. Just outside, Terrance Carver and a few boys from the basketball team sit in the back of Chuck’s truck. From the passenger window I see LaShell; she gives me a small wave. The sight of more allies gives me the tiniest hope. I scan the faces of the few kids who came to help—a small group, but I’m grateful for their presence even if we don’t get the float.
“Ooh,” Van says, sucking in a mockingly painful gasp. “There’s like one, two, three, four … nine of us and three of them,” Van says to me, not so much a whisper. I nudge him in the ribs. Andrew gears his shoulders back, as if numbers don’t matter to him.
“He’s got a point,” I say. “What are the three of you going to do? Fight us all, girls included?” I make a shaky laugh and pray like the dickens that’s not what he’s planning. For a moment, Andrew’s boys waver, looking to one another as if deciding whether or not this is worth the fight. I seize the opportunity. “Chuck,” I call over my shoulder, “hook up the truck.”
Chuck the Buck doesn’t waste a second. He tells one of the guys to back his truck into the garage, and he readies the hitch.
“We’re taking the float. You can’t stop us all.” I hesitate only a moment before willing myself to move despite my fear. I toss my car keys to LaShell, tell her to follow Sarabeth, and drive my car back into town.
Terrance—like the pit bull he is—keeps a guard-dog watch on Andrew and his buddies while they have a whispering powwow on what they should do. Before they can make their minds up, Chuck and the guys have the trailer hitched and secured.
I look at Andrew. “I’m sorry.” I don’t know why I’m apologizing. Maybe I feel sorry for Andrew because no matter what, he’ll never see the wrong of his part in all of this. Van and I hop into the back of Chuck’s truck with a few guys from the basketball team. I know Van’s feeling the same need I am, to protect what is ours.
We tear off down the long country road back into town. Chuck the Buck leads the way with our Tennessee Treasures float trailing behind. Sheets of tinsel tatter in the breeze, and the backdrop of the Grand Ole Opry bends against the pressure of the wind.
I bang on the cab roof. “Slow down, Chuck. Or you’re gonna rip Elvis’s head right off.” He slows just enough to stop Elvis from being decapitated. The stapled-down tinsel sheets no longer flap madly.
A whooping “Yeehaw,” screams through the night. Chuck shakes a victory fist out the driver’s side window, honking his horn. Hell yeahs and high fives make the rounds in the back. Sarabeth honks her horn like a mad woman behind us. LaShell does the same.
The night sky sparkles with starlight. An exhilarating thrill runs up my spine when I think about what we are about to do. People who I never thought would support me now stand with me. They are taking my cause and making it their own. After this night, Sunshine will never be able to go back to being the same place it used to be, at least not with the youth. We’ll spend the rest of tonight conv
erting this float into a thing of beauty. Tomorrow, our voices will be heard. Tonight has been just perfect.
Well, almost perfect.
If Bren were here to see me now, maybe she would forget all those awful things I said to her last. I face toward the side of the truck. The wind whips my hair into a bird’s nest around my head, hiding my tears. Van squeezes my hand. I can’t hide anything from him.
Who knows, maybe at the end of the school year I’ll make a road trip to Boston. See her again. Probably won’t ever happen, but I let myself believe for a moment that I would actually drive there … and that she would want to see me.
Chapter 23
My eyes zoom out of focus as I stare at the colorful spray paint on my hands. An entire night of no sleep is starting to mess with my consciousness. It’s in these moments of exhaustion that I’m weak and let my mind slip to thoughts of Bren. I can almost see her lifting my knuckles to her lips and kissing them. The pain of not having her is too strong. I shake the thought from my head. A vague awareness slowly lifts the fog; I wake out of my revelry. Sights and sounds snap to life like a rubber band.
“You all right?” asks Van.
“Yep, all good.” Voices of chatter and a flurry of activity buzz all around me. It takes a minute or two for my brain to get back online, and then I remember where I am: the auction warehouse off Bells highway. It’s a property owned by LaShell’s uncle. Someplace large enough to work on the float, but nowhere Andrew and his plaid cows would ever think to search.
“Here, drink this.”
I accept the Red Bull that Van shoves in my hand and guzzle down the sweet nectar.
“Your mother called a few minutes ago on Sarabeth’s phone to check in. You should call her back.”
“Thanks.” When I knew I wouldn’t be home by midnight, I called Mother from Sarabeth’s phone to tell her we were pulling an all-nighter to fix the float. Last-minute sabotages have been known to happen in the past. Technically, we were the ones sabotaging—minor details. I think she was so happy I had my friends back, she called off the so-called suicide watch—not that she really needed to worry about that to begin with.
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