Tales from Foster High

by John Goode

  I sat down at my desk, still not sure what was so funny.

  Tony pantomimed punching someone. A couple of his other friends were almost crying from laughing so hard. I wasn’t sure where Brad was, but it was getting pretty late; we had made an agreement not to push things by walking into class together like we were a couple. After all, Foster, Texas, could only handle so much before it broke, so we had decided on trying to keep it as normal as possible. Still, I would have assumed he would have been in class by now since he was dangerously close to being tardy, and he didn’t need any more points against him in addition to his academic performance, or lack thereof.

  Mr. Gunn walked in, and everyone settled pretty quickly. There were few teachers on campus who attracted the kind of respect Coach Gunn did. It wasn’t just the fact that he looked like he could bench-press a dump truck, though it helped. He was just a very no-nonsense kind of man, and no one ever dared to see if they could push him even a little bit. The jocks quieted down because they knew he could end their little jock lives in seconds. Everyone else went quiet because Mr. Gunn always looked like there was an even chance he would slug you if you pissed him off.

  The tardy bell rang, and still no Brad. Worry stood up and began to wave a hand for attention.

  Coach Gunn had begun to go over the homework we were supposed to have done over the weekend when Nurse Wilder walked in with a note. Everyone stopped, wondering who she had come for since she rarely left her office unless she was pulling someone out of class. Coach Gunn paused as she whispered something to him and handed him the folded paper. He glanced at it, and both of them looked over to where Brad usually sat. Tony and his pack of idiots burst out laughing but tried to cover it when Coach Gunn shot them a look.

  That was when I knew something had happened.

  It was like sitting on a hot plate knowing something was wrong with Brad and not being able to do anything about it. Nurse Wilder walked out, and Tony and his idiots went through another round of chuckles, which just pissed me off even more. Coach Gunn cleared his throat, which was the equivalent of DEFCON 2 for him. The room quieted down some, but being quiet didn’t mean squat to me. They obviously knew something, and the fact that I didn’t was torture.

  Time ceased to have meaning; my mind kept narrowing in on what had happened to Brad. I knew Coach Gunn was talking about something, but my entire focus was on Tony and the way he whispered to his friends when he thought the coach wasn’t paying attention. I wished I had some kind of super hearing or could read lips like a spy so I could decode what Tony was saying. I must have been staring like a freak because one of his friends noticed and pointed it out to him.

  He turned and looked at me angrily.

  Obviously homophobia outweighed common sense, because he interrupted Coach Gunn out of nowhere and screamed at me. “See something you like, fruitcake?”

  Last week I would have looked away quickly. The Kyle I was last week would have been intimidated by his attack and would want nothing more than for people to forget I existed. Seven days ago, Tony would have been able to do that with impunity.

  Unfortunately for both of us, it wasn’t last week.

  “No,” I answered him from across the room. “I’m into guys.”

  Obviously most of the class had been just waiting for some sort of action: we had everyone’s attention almost instantly.

  “What the fuck did you just say, faggot?” Tony jumped out of his seat.

  I stood up as well. “I said I’m not into ugly girls!”

  As with most high school conflicts, the atmosphere automatically turned toward the gladiatorial. The “fight, fight” chant began somewhere in the back of the class, and the effect of the word on Tony and me was almost chemical. I have no idea what I thought I was going to do to him, but I did know I wasn’t backing down. He knew exactly what he was going to do, and we both knew he wasn’t backing down, either. His fists were clenched, and it was painfully obvious that he intended to take a swing at me. I’m sure this was an intimidating concept to most guys my age since nine out of ten “fights” in high school ended up like Kelly and me: some shouting followed up by chest bumping and snarling with an occasional shove or two. Throwing an actual punch was as rare as it was surprising, so I am sure Tony thought the threat of a punch would be all he needed to do.

  What Tony didn’t know was that I had been punched before.

  In fact, I had been punched by guys much older and much bigger than he was, so the thought of having him swinging at me was not that scary. It was simply an annoyance. There had been times when my mom hadn’t wanted to discipline me, for whatever reason. At those times, she sent her boyfriend du jour into my room to take care of the problem.

  Tony started to swing, and I ducked under his reach easily. Coach Gunn grabbed me from behind, but instead of my shirt, all he had was a handful of my backpack. I jumped at Tony’s stomach as I shucked the pack off my shoulders. I connected with him, and we both went flying backward. His desk was knocked to the side as we fell; he grabbed the front of my shirt before we hit the floor.

  Which was when my knee connected with his groin.

  I wish I could say that when I jumped at him I had a whole plan to take away the advantage of his superior reach and follow it up by a shot to his balls, but I didn’t. All I knew was that there was something wrong with Brad, and this asshole wouldn’t stop laughing about it. The blow was more about my legs being too long and his crotch getting in my way. He let out a satisfying scream as every single part of his body froze, waiting for the inevitable explosion of agony that every man loathes.

  He let go of my shirt as he went from the offensive to the defensive instantly. His hands moved up to block his face, which might have been the end of it, if something in me hadn’t snapped. He stopped being a human being to me, ceased being Tony and became something else entirely.

  He was something weaker than me. And he had hurt Brad.

  Seeing him flat on his back, unable to defend himself, I kneed him again, this time not for Brad but for me. I didn’t know anything until Coach Gunn yanked me off Tony in one solid motion. I struggled in his grasp, but I was like Mario trying to get free from Donkey Kong. It just wasn’t happening. There were sounds coming out of my mouth, but honestly they weren’t in any language civilized people spoke. I had a flash of Tony’s eyes, wide in shock, as he lay on the floor, wondering where his day had gone horribly wrong while the rest of the class looked on in voyeuristic glee.

  And once again, I was the bad guy.

  “Kyle!” Gunn said, shaking me back to my senses. I stood tiptoe so he wasn’t holding me up off the ground, and I felt like a little kid being scolded by a father I never knew. I tried to shake him off me, but the man was no fool; he held the back of my shirt like you hold a puppy by the scruff of its neck. “Tony, get your ass off the floor now,” he barked, ignoring me completely. As the other boy got to his feet, he said in a voice barely above a whisper, “If I let you go and you go at him again, you’re going to have to deal with me. Do you understand?”

  I did indeed understand.

  Tony stood a few steps back from me, the other two jocks flanking him on either side like secret service agents in football jerseys. He was trying to regain his game face, but I could see the very real shock in his eyes as he looked at me. There was being surprised by something and then witnessing something impossible, like water bursting into flame or something falling skyward. What had just happened was honestly beyond his level of comprehension, and it was going to be a while until he was okay with the idea that not every nerd would take being bullied without doing something back.

  “What was that about?” the coach asked once it was clear that I wasn’t going to pull a Wolverine and try for two in a row. Of course he said nothing, since I had broken the cardinal rule of high school existence. I had landed the first punch. Like some ancient chivalrous code of conduct or the whackjob coeds on reality TV, the person who hit the other first was always at fault.
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  “He just came at me.” Tony was obviously trying to walk that fine line between being the victim who had just been attacked and the jock—the cool guy who was, of course, at no time threatened by the situation. “Maybe it’s his time of the month,” he added with a smirk.

  I took a step toward him, and he flinched closer to his two clones.

  Gunn wedged himself between us, but I had made my point so stood my ground. “Kyle, explain yourself.”

  Before I could answer, Tony interjected, “He’s a fag, Coach. He’s mad because I don’t swing that way.”

  The coach spun on him and screamed, “Wright! Stow that shit!” A couple of people chuckled, and Tony realized he wasn’t on a football field surrounded by like-minded muscle heads. Jocks on football fields responded to swearing, but in a classroom words like that caused far more trouble than they were worth. In a more subdued tone, he said, “We don’t call people things like that here.”

  “But I’m not calling him anything he isn’t, Coach!” Tony pointed at me. “Ask him!”

  Gunn turned to look at me. “Is this true?”

  Remember the good old days when I was just invisible and miserable? Good times.

  “Am I gay?” I said as confidently as I could. “Yes. Am I attracted to him?” I said, locking eyes with Tony. “No, since I only like men and not little bitches who can’t take a hit.”

  Tony took a step at me, his fist raised, but obviously Gunn was ready. His hand engulfed the enraged jock’s fist before it even got close to me, stopping him in his tracks. “Next time anyone takes a swing at anyone, I am going to be the one hitting back.” He glanced at both of us. “We clear?”

  Tony took a step back, rubbing his hand. “Yes, sir,” he answered, half pouting.

  I just shrugged.

  “Stilleno, to the office. Wright, sit down now,” Gunn ordered after a second.

  I was going to argue the punishment until I remembered that the office was where I had been wanting to head to before this asshole had opened his mouth. Instead, I just turned and walked out of class; the only thing on my mind was finding Brad.

  Brad

  I MUST have passed out, because when I opened my eyes again, Kyle was there.

  “Am I dreaming?” I asked as I tried to sit up. There was an ache that felt like I had just done a thousand crunches, and I instantly fell back onto the cot. “Okay, so not dreaming.”

  “Don’t get up,” he said a little bit too late. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded, keeping my eyes closed as I tried to focus past the pain. “Peachy.” I was unable to keep myself from wincing.

  I heard him sigh and mumble, “So I guess we’re broadening the definition of okay to include massive abdominal pain.” I cracked one eye open and saw the worry on his face. “Did Tony do this?”

  That brought me up short. I didn’t care how much it hurt, I moved myself into a sitting position. “Where did you hear that?”

  Something moved across his features so fast I thought I might have imagined it. His eyes got cold, and his lips pursed in what anyone else would have called fury. I had never seen anger from him before. Even back at the diner he hadn’t shown this much emotion. Just as quickly, though, it passed, and my Kyle was back. “I didn’t hear it, I just figured it out.” I gave him a look that made it obvious I did not in any way believe that. He was smart but not even Sherlock Holmes could have come to that conclusion. When Kyle saw I wasn’t buying it, he added, “I heard him bragging about it in History.” My pulse began to race, and I clenched my fists in frustration. He put his hand over mine and said with a smile, “It’s okay, I’m pretty sure his stomach isn’t feeling any better right now.”

  I looked at him in shock. “Did you hit Tony Wright?”

  He looked down shyly and shrugged. “I didn’t actually hit him,” he answered quietly. “I may have tackled him to the ground and then kneed him.” I know my mouth fell open in amazement when he amended it with a proud, “Twice, to be honest.”

  I have had friends before.

  I mean, I had a lot of people who called themselves my friends over the years. When someone is the golden boy of the school, there is no shortage of people trying to gain favor in one way or another. I don’t say this to brag; I am just making you aware. I have never felt as if I had been lacking in the companion department. But as I looked up and realized that this guy, this wonderful boy who never wanted more than to be invisible, had just gone toe to toe with the school’s running back to defend my honor, I knew for a fact that everyone who had come before meant nothing compared to him. I had possessed acquaintances and lackeys, sycophants and hangers-on, in every shape and variety. In all my eighteen years I had never seen what I saw sitting on a crappy nurse’s bed as he knelt next to me.

  It was at that very moment I realized I was in love with Kyle Stilleno.

  If you’d asked me last week, I would have told you I never wanted to be saved by someone else. The very thought that I might be so weak as to need another person to come charging in to rescue me would have been insultingly ridiculous. I stand over six feet tall, weigh 179, and can bench press 275 pounds on a good day. Until that moment, lying beat to hell on a cot in the health office, the thought that I needed to be saved from anything had never entered my mind.

  The cold hard fact was that I hadn’t needed to be saved now, but it just felt so fucking awesome that someone had tried that I couldn’t help myself.

  I leaned forward and threw my arms around him. He stiffened in surprise as I squeezed him tight while I forced myself not to cry. He relaxed and hugged me back. I could feel him rest his head in the crook of my neck as we both surrendered to each other for a moment. “You’re crazy,” I whispered to him.

  I felt him chuckle. “That’s one word for it,” he replied tiredly.

  I pulled back and looked into his eyes. “What’s another?”

  His eyes were watering too, as we stared directly into each other’s souls for a brief second. “Love?”

  I felt my mouth explode into a smile before the emotion actually registered with my brain. There was literally nothing I could do to stop myself from kissing him.

  So I did.

  It was a perfect moment, and for a few seconds, the pain and anguish of the day seemed to fade away as I was engulfed in the emotion he generated effortlessly in me. I had never felt like this about anyone before, and I didn’t know about him, but I didn’t want it to ever end.

  Which of course it did, seconds later.

  “That’s enough of that,” a voice warned from the doorway. Kyle practically shoved me away as we both looked over to find the assistant principal, Mr. Adler, standing in the doorway, scowling. “If you’re feeling better, Mr. Greymark, perhaps you and Mr. Stilleno will join me in my office?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer; instead he just turned around and walked away.

  Kyle looked over at me nervously, and I had to laugh. He could fearlessly face off against football players but the possibility of getting dressed down by an assistant principal caused him to shake in his boots. It was just too cute.

  “Well, if it gets too bad, you beat the hell out of him while I’m on lookout,” I said to him wryly. He lightly punched my shoulder, but I had made him smile, and that was enough. I tried to stand, but my stomach rebelled on me again, and I paused, unable to suppress a groan. It was the wrong thing to do, of course, because now he knew how hurt I was.

  “Don’t get up!” he said, almost pushing me back onto the cot.

  “How long you think he’s gonna wait for us?” I asked, trying to keep my balance. “Just help me get upright. I’ll be fine.” Of course I had no idea if that would be true or not, but I couldn’t worry him about it. It was pretty evident by the look on his face that he knew I was conning him, but there was no denying that Adler was waiting for us to show up, and if he had to walk back here again to get us, it was only going to make it worse.

  “I’m fine,” I assured him when he didn’t mov
e to help me. “I promise.”

  He tried to stifle the sigh of frustration as he helped me up, but I could still hear it.

  It hurt like hell, but by leaning on his shoulder I was able to get upright. Once I was standing, the pain wasn’t so bad. As long as I didn’t clench my abs by bending over or laughing I should be fine. I looked over at him and nodded. Kyle had a look on his face that made me feel like I was going to collapse at any point. He stayed close as we walked out of the nurse’s room and toward Adler’s office.

  Everyone tried not to stare, but they were about as subtle as a car wreck as they looked at us and then away quickly. The whispering didn’t help any, either, but what was I supposed to do? Shout at them? Demand to know what they were saying? I knew what they were saying. So those are the gay kids, and I heard the red-haired one used to be straight, with a girlfriend and everything. It wasn’t the curiosity that pissed me off, it was the look of pity in their eyes. They watched us like we were condemned men walking toward the electric chair.

  No, that’s not right. Let me rephrase that.

  We were rightfully condemned men walking toward the electric chair; sad, but it was what we deserved for what we had done. That was what really pissed me off.

  “Take a fucking picture!” I snapped at them when their curiosity became too much to deal with.

  Kyle put a hand on my shoulder and whispered, “Just ignore them.”

  I felt like turning around and kissing him right there to make a point. Throwing him down on the ground and making them watch us was a nice pipe dream but probably had more to do with my attraction to him than anything else.

  Adler wasn’t alone when we walked into his office.

  He had another assistant principal with him along with Mr. Davis, the head principal of Foster High. The only time I had seen Davis out of his office was when he accepted all the credit for one of our teams going to state. Like it was his fat ass that had been sweating blood, sweat, and tears on the field. Having him in the room stopped me cold, though; he did not spend his hard-earned calories for anything this side of an apocalypse.