Exiled to Iowa. Send Help. And Couture

by Chris O'Guinn

  I was done for. With the PTA and the school board and all the other busy-bodies on his back, there was nothing he could do but toss me out on my ear. It was nice of him, though, to at least show he didn’t want to. That meant a lot, especially coming from him.

  “Th-Thank you, sir,” I told him meekly, my throat constricting.

  “I know you are under a great deal of pressure, so I am very sorry to do this. But the parents have raised a valid concern. Openly gay students are disruptive to the learning process.” I was wishing he would just get it over with already. “However, not too long ago, the same thing was said about people like me.”

  I blinked in shock, staring at him in disbelief.

  “We don’t solve problems by burying them,” Kretchmer went on. “We have to face them so that all the gay students here now and those who come after can get the education they deserve. To that end, I am putting you in charge of creating a Gay-Straight Alliance club. I know, with your workload, this will be difficult, but I wouldn’t trust it to anyone else.”

  I gaped at him. Evidently, I had actually not gotten out of bed that morning and was still having a very nice, wildly unrealistic dream.

  My mom glanced at me and then back at the principal. “Won’t you get into trouble with the school board?”

  Kretchmer shrugged. “I am not defying any instructions. They specifically told me to resolve the issue and I am doing so in the best way that I can think of.”

  “It’s not really fair to put this on Collin, though,” my dad said in a more subdued voice. “He’s got a lot on his plate.”

  “No,” I found my voice hiding behind some crates and forced it at gunpoint to get back to work. “I want to, Dad.”

  “Son, we don’t want you to burn yourself out,” he told me.

  I shook my head and looked into Kretchmer’s face. If he was going to take on the establishment, then I was going to be his lieutenant in the war. I felt a fierce loyalty to him in that moment, one that was sure to lead me straight into trouble. However, there was no chance I was going to let him down.

  “Isn’t this going to make him a target?” my mom asked worriedly.

  “I’m already a target, Mom,” I told her. “That’s why it has to be me, right?”

  Kretchmer nodded to me. “It is my hope that the existence of this club will remove some of the stigma our G.L.B.T. students face and thus lower the tensions in the hallways.”

  “You’re staking a lot on this working,” my dad remarked dubiously.

  I smiled at him. “It’s okay, Dad, I can actually handle some responsibility now.”

  “I have already spoken to Mrs. Harding. She has agreed to be the advisor.”

  Harding was my chemistry teacher, a pinch-faced woman with a callous disregard for the social niceties. I was already putting things together in my head; the flier, who I was hoping to get as officers and when I could fit the meetings in. Once it was up and running, it wouldn’t be nearly as much work as the Drama Club.

  “This means you will be expected to be back at school tomorrow, Mr. Murray.”

  I winced. Yes, there was that. I couldn’t actually do this without being at school. “I understand, sir.”

  “I have made an announcement to the whole school that Hoover High has a zero-tolerance policy for bullying. From this point forward, anyone found committing acts of intimidation on their fellow students will face expulsion.”

  That was something, anyway. It wouldn’t stop a person like Derek, who was far too stupid to care about consequences, but enough people would be cowed into keeping their animosity to themselves. Nothing would keep them from pointing and laughing, but I had to steel myself against that—and I knew just how to do it.

  The next day, Hoover High was witness to the true Collin. My banned couture—all the items that had been mothballed to preserve my classmates’ delicate sensibilities—was back in play. If I couldn’t hide from them, then the next best thing was to blind them with my glorious fabulousness.

  Their jeering did not affect me nearly as much. In fact, I laughed right back at them, which confused the daylights out of them. Now that I knew no one would dare lay a hand on me, I could deflect their hate, their derision and their failure to appreciate a fashion god when they met one.

  It was not all awful, though. I got several appreciative comments from people who were desperate to know where I had gotten my couture. That helped to balance things out. Of course, Jackie went nuts when she saw me and demanded I allow her to peruse my closet.

  The school was abuzz when they saw the fliers I posted for the GSA. It was becoming clear to them that not only was I not going to take my lumps like a good little queer, I was going to throw a few punches of my own. They had awakened my inner Irish.

  The nice girl with the braces said she would pray for me. I told her to pray for some tolerance for herself instead.

  “Jesus, I’m going to need sunglasses to keep dating you,” Austin commented, tugging on my glittery belt.

  “God, fags, get a room!” some big jock called.

  I glowered over at him and then planted one on Austin, right there where everyone could see. It wasn’t bravery so much as it was rebellion. There was nothing I could do to stop them from hating me, from judging me, but I would not give them the satisfaction of making me feel ashamed.

  Austin stared at me in shock. “You’re going to get us both killed.”

  “At least we’ll die pretty,” I told him with a smirk.

  Over the following days, the jeering and commentary died down, surprisingly. It did not go away entirely, but for all but the most hardcore homophobes, Austin and I were just not entertaining enough to keep picking on. Since we didn’t cry or run away, the game of teasing us became a lot less fun.

  Unfortunately, those hardcore homophobes were the worst of the worst. The things they called us and the taunts they issued were so vile I won’t even repeat them. I had to restrain Austin more than once to keep him from assaulting one of the punks. I didn’t want him getting expelled. He was my strength and I needed him with me.

  Inevitably, someone had to test the limits, though. It was, predictably, Derek. He checked me into my locker and then hit me so hard in the stomach that I collapsed. His pack of goons set upon me like wolves on a fresh kill; but for once, I fought back. Shawn had taught me how to throw a punch and how to hurt, so while I had nowhere near their strength, I was able to cause some pain.

  They were halfway to the Dumpster with me when Austin and Billy and a handful of teachers stopped them. The lot of them were dragged off to Kretchmer and I was left shaking and fighting off the urge to vomit.

  “Let’s get you home,” Austin told me.

  I adamantly shook my head. “No. Not this time.”

  “Collin, no one would blame you for bailing,” Austin told me.

  I blinked away tears and fussed with my tattered shirt; another casualty of the assault. “I can’t run away. I won’t. I can’t let them win.”

  Billy gripped my shoulder. “You have a spare shirt?”

  I nodded. “In my locker. I figured it would be a good idea to keep a spare handy.”

  Billy offered to get it and I gave him the combination. Austin took me into the bathroom and helped me clean up. His expression was one of concern laid over murderous impulses. I knew he was laying plans to deal with Derek and his bunch in his own way.

  I blew my nose and then started to wash my face. “It’s okay,” I told him, my voice quavering unpleasantly. “This was totally unavoidable. Now, with any luck, Derek and his goons will be gone and no one else will want to risk getting tossed out just for a little round of smear the queer.”

  Austin helped me get my shirt off, his expression growing even more flinty when he saw the bruises growing there. “It’s not okay. Those animals should be put down.”

  I dabbed at my newly-split lip. “One day, when I’m a world-famous fashion designer and you’re an accomplished artist, we’ll come back and have
them fill up our tanks at the gas station that is their only future.”

  Austin sighed, looking over my shoulder into my reflection. “You’re very brave.”

  I got my shaking under control. “Is it brave when you don’t really have any choice?”

  “You do have a choice.”

  “Yeah, to run and hide. That’s not really a choice so much as surrender.”

  Austin hugged me from behind. “No. We can’t hide from them, can we?”

  We really couldn’t. I would have been far happier to have stayed in the closet to the school at large, but that bridge had burned behind me. Now I had to deal with the reality in front of me. I had my family, my friends and Austin backing me up. I was not alone.

  Billy arrived with my fresh shirt, which meant it was time to get on with things. I went to the office to tell them exactly what had happened. This too was part of fighting back—showing them that I would not cower and let them get away with attacking me.

  After checking to see if I wanted to go to the nurse, they wrote me a pass and I returned to my classes.

  I am vain enough to admit I was pleased to see this impressed some of my fellow students.

  Life at Hoover High School was no longer as pleasant as it had been for those few spare weeks of nigh-popularity, but I coped. I ignored the people who mocked me, I lived for my friends and I focused on getting our show ready. By keeping myself busy, I was able to push past the pain of being hated by people I used to almost like.

  Then, finally, at long last, it arrived: Opening night. The fruits of my (and everyone else’s’) labors at last came to glorious life.

  There were, of course, the usual number of gaffes and technical glitches, but those are all part of theater. For a low-budget, high school production, we did awesomely. Shawna and Billy brought the house down, receiving so much applause the show ended up running over by almost twenty minutes. The rest did admirably as well—Kenny got a lot of laughs as the Argentinean. At the end, we got a standing ovation that went on and on.

  I was so proud I felt I could burst.

  Afterwards, we all stood around outside gabbing with the people who had showed up to watch. Parents and faculty mingled with students, talking about the show and heaping praise upon my club. It went straight to my ego, of course, and I moved from group to group with a proud strut.

  “I told you Shawna would be better.”

  My glee turned to ice and I glanced over at Becca, who had stepped away from her brother and Nick to speak to me. I could not hide the hurt I felt in knowing that she had betrayed me. I didn’t really care that some could argue I had betrayed her first. My betrayal hadn’t gotten her ostracized and attacked.

  “You would have been awesome,” I told her honestly.

  She was searching my face for something—hatred, probably. I didn’t hate her at all. In fact, I still liked her, but it would be a long time before I could trust her again.

  “I wanted to say I’m sorry. I didn’t think—Well, I didn’t think, Col, and that’s what it amounts to.”

  I nodded slowly. “I’m sorry too. I should have—“

  “Don’t.” Becca was near to tears. “I really like you, Col. You’re cute, you’re funny and you made me feel like it was okay to be a girl. I don’t hate you or anything, but I don’t want to be friends. Do you understand?”

  I did, but it hurt. She couldn’t have me the way she wanted me and she wouldn’t settle. I forced a little smile. “Okay, Becca. I get it.”

  She nodded and then went to chat with Shawna about something. I watched her walk away and felt a deep sense of loss. Becca had made her choice, and I was going to have to accept it, no matter how much it hurt.

  “You did it,” Shawn said from behind me, shaking his head in disbelief. “You really did it.”

  “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

  Shawn put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a rough squeeze. Around us, members of the Drama Club were mingling with their friends and family, soaking up the praise. Many were talking about coming to our next performance. I felt very warm and fuzzy inside.

  “I’m going to miss you, Shawn.”

  “You won’t even have time. I figure you’ll own this whole town before I get into college.”

  I laughed and looked up at him. I realized something then, something amazing and wonderful and yet deeply sad at the same time; I didn’t need him to protect me anymore. It was a profound and world-shattering epiphany that sent me reeling.

  Shawn, looking down at me, seemed to understand. He looked at once fiercely proud and deeply sad. It was one of those benchmarks of growing up, when a person truly learns they can stand on their own.

  “You’ll always be my big brother, Shawn. Always.”

  “Damn right,” he told me and put me in a chokehold.

  I laughed. “Damn it! My hair!”

  “Say it!”

  “Okay! I am the Walrus! Koo koo kachoo!”

  Grinning at me, he let me go. He pushed me towards the crowd and told me to go and get my accolades. Again, I felt a symbolism in that action, but I didn’t comment on it. I walked over to where Jackie was talking to her parents and some other people I didn’t know and introduced myself and quickly found myself the recipient of effusive praise. I soaked it up, reveled in it, and felt really and truly that I was home.

  The End

  About the Author

  I’ve been writing since I was fifteen, not that those stories will ever be allowed out of the dark hole I buried them in. I focused primarily on the Fantasy genre for the first two decades, occasionally diverting into modern fiction. In 2010, I embarked in a self-publishing career, focusing on the young adult novel genre. When I’m not writing, I am contributing to TheBacklot.com, a gay entertainment website.

  You can follow me on Facebook and you can keep up to date with my works via Lightbane.com.

  Also By Chris O’Guinn

  Fearless

  At fifteen, Justin is already a cynic. He’s experienced too many betrayals, too many disappointments. He doesn’t want to be involved in anything. He doesn’t want to be popular. He doesn’t even want friends anymore, since they only ever let you down. He just wants to get through high school and the best way he can come up with to accomplish that goal is to simply be invisible.

  His self-imposed exile from high school life is threatened when Liam, the scary stoner, reaches out to him. What starts out as a strange and unsettling encounter with the unnerving, pot-smoking teenager evolves into the sort of friendship that changes the course of a person’s life.

  But as Liam drags the reluctant Justin out of his shell, Liam’s own secret is revealed.

  Fearless is the story of the myriad shades of love, of how friendship can change your life and what it truly means to have courage.

  I absolutely love to swim. I can’t even say how much because no one’s ever invented a word to describe how good being in the water makes me feel. Saying it’s awesome just makes me sound like every other fifteen-year-old ever who thinks energy drinks and rocks bands are “awesome.” I mean, I am and I do, but I’ve had enough teachers sigh like I’d murdered their first-born when I used “awesome” to describe something that wasn’t like a miracle or whatever. I’m trying to not use it as much these days—yes, I am that weird.

  But anyway, swimming for me is happiness and freedom and a vacation from being me. I used to spend every day of every summer in the pool, back when I had a house with one in the backyard.

  You see, in the water, I’m no longer the skinny kid with the glasses who can’t seem to make it to English class without tripping over his own feet. I don’t know why walking is such a difficult thing for me. I know that’s a skill that most people master before they learn to not poop in their pants. And I was pretty good at it until I turned twelve and, in addition to all the other weird things my body started doing and growing and smelling, I grew a whole foot. No, not an extra appendage. I mean I grew from five feet to six
feet in a few short and very painful months.

  It was like my brain had suddenly been put behind the wheel of a whole new body and had no idea how the controls worked. I tripped. I fell. I smacked my head into things. It was a riot—to everyone but me. Every day I hoped that things would get better, that I could be suave and cool and all those awesome—I mean, really great—things instead of being a total loser. And every day brought a fresh batch of disappointments from the “Sucky High School Moments Oven” steaming like a pile of crap.

  Naturally, P.E. was basically torture—state-mandated, unavoidable cruel and unusual punishment. I couldn’t hit a baseball to save my life—though I nearly concussed the catcher once, which didn’t win me any friends. Soccer was sort of my own personal hell, since in addition to my own feet I had to worry about everyone else’s.

  Then there was basketball. Since I towered over everyone in my class, it was naturally assumed that I should be a future NBA All Star. The guy who picked me for his team, Stuart, very soon regretted his decision. I felt bad, since it was the first time I hadn’t been picked last for a team and I wanted to do a good job for him. But it turns out, being tall isn’t all you need to be good at basketball—you need some hand-eye coordination, a lot of dexterity and of course speed. I didn’t have any of those things.

  Plus, the game is more complicated than trigonometry. Seriously, whoever invented the rules for basketball had to be on drugs. At least baseball is simple—you get up to the plate, you try to hit the ball, you fail, you go back and die of shame. I like to keep the reasons for my failures straightforward.

  Anyway, swimming isn’t like that. For one, it didn’t require teams. That meant there was no one to be pissed at me for making them lose. There were no rules to memorize and no one to compete with. It was like track, except without all the sweating, panting and wishing I could lie down and die.