Guyliner

by J. Leigh Bailey

  “Ryan, please.” His mom reached out to touch his arm, but his dad turned away and resumed pacing.

  Connor had enough. “If you want someone to blame for my behavior, look in the mirror. I’ve tried so hard for so long to be someone you’d be proud of, someone you’d love. The pressure of it was killing me inside. So I said screw it and did something for me.”

  His dad dropped into a chair and covered his face with his hands. “We’re getting off topic.”

  Of course we are. Connor wanted to scream. No matter what he said, his dad was never going to get it. He bit his lips to halt their quivering. The last thing he needed was for his dad to see how much this was hurting him.

  His mom reached out and took Connor’s hand. “Talk to us. You stopped talking to us a long time ago.”

  He tore his hand from her grip and shoved his fingers into his hair in frustration. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “Let’s start with the important question. Are you”—she swallowed—“gay? Or was that some kind of prank?”

  He looked at her and then at Dad. “How to answer that? Would it make you feel better if I said it was a joke? I could say that. It would be a lie, though. No, Mom, it wasn’t a prank. I’m gay. Graham is my… well, he’s more than a friend.”

  “You’re not gay!” his dad burst out. “You can’t be gay. You have a future.”

  “Ryan!” his mom snapped. “That’s hardly productive.”

  Connor’s laugh was as bitter as the aspirin he took for his knee. “And you wonder why I don’t talk to you. Are you disgusted? Maybe now you have an excuse to kick me out of the house. One less mouth to feed.”

  “Connor!” Mom’s eyes widened.

  His dad reared back in his seat, face slack. “Why would you say that?” His eyes narrowed. “And you believe it. I can tell. What have we ever done that would make you think that we’d kick you out?”

  “People do a lot of cruel stuff when they find out their kids are gay.” His voice cracked. “Jesus, Dad, I know you already regret that I was even born, being gay must make it that much worse.”

  His dad’s face was pale now. “I don’t regret you were born. I love you. I’ve loved you since your first heartbeat.”

  “Even though I ruined your life?” Connor crossed his arms tightly over his chest, as if they could keep the emotions from bursting out of him, keep his heart from breaking.

  “Connor. Where is all this coming from?” His mom leaned over to grab his hand again, but he kept it tucked between his arm and his chest. He tried not to react to the hurt that flashed across her face.

  “You didn’t ruin my life,” his dad protested.

  Connor slapped away a tear that had escaped, despite his determination not to cry. “How many times have you told me that getting Mom pregnant and having a child ruined your life? All of your plans and dreams, gone. Because of me. That if you had it all to do over again, you’d do things differently. Well, doing things differently would mean I don’t exist. What else am I supposed to think?” He was panting now, lungs pumping furiously to draw breath through his constricted throat.

  “Oh God.” His dad covered his eyes with a broad palm and seemed to sink even farther into his chair.

  “You push me and push me, and I work harder and harder. I don’t know what else I can do to make you proud of me.”

  Dad’s head jerked up. Connor looked into a pair of hazel eyes identical to his own. His dad’s were red-rimmed. “I am proud of you. So proud of you.”

  “Then why do you push so hard? Why are you so critical? Nothing I do seems to be enough for you.”

  “Because you deserve so much more than this!” His hands swept out from his body in a wide arc, encompassing the room, the house, and even the town. “You deserve so much, and I can’t give it to you. The only way you’re going to get what you deserve, what you’re worth, is if you do it yourself. I don’t want you to make my mistakes. Not because I regret what happened. I wouldn’t change anything about my life, about your mom and you kids. If things hadn’t happened the way they did, if I wasn’t an idiot who made an irresponsible choice, I could have made a better life. For you, Connor. For you, your mom, Becca, Kory, Kaleb, and Abby. If I’d gone to school instead of working in a shop, I might have been able to get a better job and afford better things for you guys. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t give to you if I could. I have the shop and my family. That’s all I want for me. I hate that I can’t afford to pay for you to go to school, that you have to do it yourself. I hate that Becca has to work all summer to afford to buy her cheerleading uniform.”

  His dad stood up and squatted by Connor’s chair, looking up at him. “You are such a good person, Connor. You have so much potential. I don’t want you to struggle any more than you have to. There are great things out there for you. I don’t want you to miss out.”

  Connor couldn’t talk through the emotion flooding him, so he did something he hadn’t let himself do in too long. He flung his arms around his father and hugged him tight, trusting in his strength and believing in his love.

  “SO WHAT happens now?” Connor toyed with the salt shaker in front of him. It had taken a couple minutes to compose himself, and for the first time in months, he breathed a little easier. He’d told his parents, and the worst hadn’t happened. Or, at least, he and Dad had cleared the air.

  “What do you mean?” His dad leaned back in his chair, looking as wrung out as Connor felt.

  “I guess I need to know if you are, or at least will be, okay with it. With me. I mean, I’m gay, and I can’t imagine you were prepared for that. I mean, does it, will it, change the way you think of me?”

  His mom pulled her chair next to him and took his hand. “Honey, I love you. Nothing will change the way I think of you.”

  Connor turned to face his father. His breath caught at the struggle visible on his dad’s face. “Dad?”

  “Are you sure about this? That it’s not a phase, or something about this guy that makes you feel this way?” He held up a hand, halting Connor’s instinctive protest. “I want you to be sure. It’s not going to be easy, especially around here. Most of the people in this town are set in their ways and won’t understand. It could be tough.”

  Connor took a second to let Dad’s words sink in. He thought of Graham’s story, and then he nodded. “I’m sure. Believe me, I know it’s going to change how some people see me. I wasn’t going to say anything, do anything, because of it. Not just because of how people might treat me, but how they might treat Becca and the twins. I didn’t—don’t—want my issues affecting them.”

  Dad folded his arms across his broad chest. “Anyone gives my kids trouble, any of my kids,” he added with a significant look at Connor, “will have me to deal with.”

  “You know, what we need to do is foster some community support and understanding.” Mom tapped the tabletop with a finger. “Maybe we could put together a parade or event of some kind.”

  Connor and his dad locked gazes in mutual horror. “Mom, no. Please no.” Green Valley wasn’t ready for Pride parades.

  “Maybe not right away,” she said. Connor could see the plans forming in her head. “But we could start with a discussion at the library or the community center. I’ll have to see about setting up a PFLAG group here. I wonder what’s involved?”

  “You know it would probably only be you attending these, right?”

  “Not necessarily. What about that other boy, the one from the pictures? Surely his parents would be interested. And you know, in a town the size of Green Valley, statistically you and he aren’t going to be the only LGBT people. Maybe others would be open about it if they knew there was support and understanding. Hiding who you are, hiding such a big part of your life, can’t be good.”

  “Slow down, Jackie.” Dad reached over and covered Connor’s mom’s hand. “Let’s take things a day at a time. We’ll need to talk to Becca and the boys before we tackle the town. They should know before th
ey find out about it from others. Get the truth from us, not gossip.”

  “Becca knows.” At his parents’ questioning looks, he added, “She figured it out. There were pictures, like these”—he pointed to the poster that had started the confrontation—“posted to the GV Viking Net.”

  “Are you being bullied?” Dad’s voice was harsh. Connor’s throat constricted. He hadn’t seen it in a long time, or maybe he hadn’t noticed lately, how protective his dad could be. He might still be struggling to come to terms with Connor’s revelation, but he wouldn’t let anyone treat Connor badly. It was nice having his dad in his corner.

  “Nothing major. It’s being taken care of.” He thought about Graham’s locker. “It’s worse for Graham, though. A couple of assholes—sorry, Mom, but they are—are being cruel.”

  His dad relaxed slightly in his seat, but the hard look didn’t leave his eyes.

  “You should invite him to dinner. I think we should meet him.”

  Because he was still watching his father, Connor caught the flinch in his face at his mom’s words. Connor looked away. So much for acceptance.

  “Maybe someday,” he said. There were too many variables. Even if Graham agreed to speak with him again, there was no way Connor would bring him over to see Dad’s reaction. “Besides,” he said, smiling at his mom, “you did meet him. He’s the one who came over after the accident to bring me the rest of my gear. The one I went to Chicago with.”

  She nodded. She’d seen his dad’s reaction too. “Someday soon,” she said, emphasizing the words with a stern look at his dad. “He’ll be welcome.”

  His dad shifted in his seat. “Of course.” Then, with more confidence, “Of course. You should bring him by.”

  Connor caught the time glowing on the microwave. He scooted his chair away from the table. He wasn’t sure he could handle any more emotional upheavals today, at least not before he put his plan into action. Then there might be more upheaval than he could handle. “I’ve got some stuff to take care of. Is Becca going to be home soon?”

  “Any minute now.” Mom bit her lip, eyes darting between Connor and his father.

  “Good.” Connor grabbed his crutches and had maneuvered halfway across the room before Dad spoke.

  “Connor?”

  Connor looked over his shoulder. His dad stood behind his chair, gripping the back. “I’m trying. It might take a while before I’m completely comfortable with it, or even understand it, but I’m trying. I love you. Nothing will change that. This has been a bit of a shock, so try and be patient with me.”

  Connor swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, okay. I can do that.”

  “And Connor? If anyone gives you shit, let me know. We don’t put up with that around here.”

  Blinking away tears, he left the room. Becca was leaning against the wall outside the kitchen where she’d clearly been standing for a while.

  “You heard?” he asked.

  “Yep.” She reached up and hugged him. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Good, because I need your help.”

  She quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I need to raid your makeup supply.”

  She grinned. “This is going to be fun.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the stairs.

  Chapter 38

  THE SPRING Sports Awards Banquet was in full, monotonous swing. A hundred students and their families sat at round tables in the cafeteria, listening to speeches from the coaches and waiting to eat catered chicken served with a side of pasta salad. Graham ignored the presentations and the chitchat. Instead, he watched the condensation bead up on his glass of ice water and roll down, forming a dark ring on the paper tablecloth.

  Graham wouldn’t be here if his parents hadn’t forced the issue. He hadn’t told them about that morning, about the vandalism or his outburst. He hadn’t even told them he’d skipped school the rest of that day. Instead, he’d driven to a neighboring town and spent the day sulking in a coffee shop. Now he was an overcaffeinated, grumpy mess.

  His dad leaned over and whispered, “You’re glaring at that glass.”

  Graham ignored him. He didn’t need to look around to know that people were watching him. They weren’t flat-out staring, but every now and then, he’d catch someone watching him. The surface of the water in the glass rippled, creeping up the sides and settling back, the ebb and flow of miniature ocean currents. When his dad’s hand clamped on Graham’s frantically bouncing knee, his head jerked up. Oh. His bouncing knee caused the table to shake. Right.

  He concentrated on stilling the movement, but as soon as he did, the other knee took up the action. His hands lay flat on the tablecloth, his thumb tapping the top with a rhythm that matched his leg.

  The girls’ track and field coach finished her spiel, including corny puns about the strides the track team had made over the course of the season. She started calling individual members up to receive special recognition in their particular events. He picked up the printed banquet agenda. Really? They’d only gotten through two of the ten different groups?

  Graham shifted in his seat, finally taking his gaze off the ice water to look around the cafeteria. A number of glazed eyes stared blankly at the little raised stage. Yep, he wasn’t the only one bored stupid. The light glinted off a shock of golden hair, and his breath caught, which made him even grumpier. Not Connor. He’d been doing that since the stupid awards banquet started. He shouldn’t care if Connor was coming or not, but that didn’t stop him from watching the doors.

  Scattered applause. Finally, the girls’ track and field team left the stage.

  Graham looked down at the program and saw that boys’ golf was up next. While the coaches exchanged places at the podium, he scooted his chair back and stood up. He had to get out of there, at least for a couple of minutes. “Be right back,” he whispered to his dad, and ignored his mother’s concerned expression.

  His dad started to object, but he must have noticed something in Graham’s expression. He nodded and didn’t say anything.

  Graham wandered down the empty halls, listening to the muted rumble of voices from the cafeteria and the echoing of his footsteps. A scrap of paper lay crumpled in the shadow of a blue recycling bin. Graham picked it up and smoothed out the wrinkled sheet. It was one of the posters. Looking at it closer, Graham could see that it was the same picture that had been posted on the GV Viking Net, blown up until the edges became highly pixilated, and cropped until only Connor and Graham showed.

  He brushed his thumb across the image. He remembered that moment, the thrill and the shock when Connor grabbed him. Someone had taken something special, one of the best nights of his life, and turned it into a weapon. He folded the paper in half and then in half again before tucking it into his pocket. He’d save that picture, keep it as a memento.

  Graham continued down the hall, his feet following the same path they took several times a day. Suddenly he stood in front of his locker. Someone had tried to scrub away the paint and marker. Golf ball–sized patches of dull metal showed where the paint had been scrubbed away. With his finger, he traced the word fag. It wasn’t the first time someone called him that. Hell, it wasn’t even the worst word they could have chosen. Compared to the attack he’d suffered at the hands of Brandon’s brothers, a little locker graffiti was nothing. So why had his reaction been so extreme?

  Because of Connor. Because Connor was too afraid of what people might think if he was seen in Graham’s company. Because Connor had been hurt by the posters and the rumors too. Of course, flipping out and ranting at Connor hadn’t improved anything.

  He spun the dial on the lock, watching the white numbers spin around and around. The flash of white and black, over and over, reminded him of a soccer ball in flight, so he spun it again.

  “He tried to clean it up, you know.”

  Graham whirled to face Marc. He hadn’t heard him approaching, which was saying something since footsteps echoed eerily in the empty halls. His heart stuttered a
gainst his ribs. “Jesus, you scared the crap out of me.”

  “Sorry.” Marc shrugged and leaned against one of the nearby lockers.

  “What did you say? Who cleaned what?”

  “Connor.” Marc nodded to the vandalized locker. “He spent all of his lunch period and an hour after school trying to scrub away that crap.”

  Graham blinked at Marc. “But it wasn’t his fault.”

  “All this emotional crap kind of freaks me out, you know that, right?” Marc shook his head and looked at his feet for a second. It looked like he was debating something. “Here’s the thing. He didn’t want you to come back to that. He’s a pretty focused guy. Determined. I’ve never seen him as determined to do something as he was to clean that mess up.”

  Graham didn’t know what to say to that. “I don’t understand.”

  “Connor told us—me and Allyson—about you guys.”

  Graham’s breath caught. What did that mean? Everything or part of it? “What about us?”

  “I don’t know how to talk about this shit.” Marc crossed his arms over his chest, clearly uncomfortable. “I’m pretty sure he told us everything—you and him, Chicago, the thing this weekend. He told us he’s gay and admitted he’d fucked things up with you. He was pretty busted up about that.”

  No way. Had Connor really done that? Graham had a million things he wanted to say, but his vocal cords had taken a vacation. Footsteps echoed in the hall. His dad walked toward them, looking concerned. When his eyes landed on the locker, his face froze in a predatory mask. His dad didn’t get pissed often, but when he did, well, things got done. He turned his angry glare on Marc.

  “Dude, it wasn’t me!” Marc put up his hands, palms out.

  “Let it go, Dad. It’s no big deal.”

  “No big deal? Someone—” He stopped and took a deep breath. “We’ll talk about this later. You need to get back to the banquet. Soccer’s coming up soon.”