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“I should go,” Tyler said, bending down to find his socks.
“No, you can stay. I mean if you want to listen to me readPiggies on Parade,” I hurried to say—hopeful that he would stay, but sure he wouldn’t. I mean, who wants to sit around and listen to a kid’s book being read by someone who sounded like they had cotton batting in their sinuses?
“Sure, yeah, okay,” he said a moment later, pulling on his socks, then whispering a shy thanks to my mom for the tiny bottle of juice and box of dollar store graham crackers. “I’ve never read that one.”
“Piggies parade,” Polly mumbled. I smiled down at her, then over at Tyler. He smiled back. My mom smiled down at us. So much smiling was taking place. “Jo-bah, read!”
“Sorry, your highness,” I replied as my mom left us to the story of four piggies planning a parade for Pride. Inclusivity was big around here, which was good because I suspected I’d be having a big sit-down with the folks soon about their only son wanting to date boys. Or one boy in particular…
I gotthree days off to recover from the punch in the face.
During that time, Tyler came over three times—twice alone, and once with Soren. Felix was noticeably absent on that third visit, and Soren did his best to not talk too much about his boyfriend, which I appreciated, but wasn’t necessary. Felix and I would sort shit out in our own time. We would have to eventually. It would get super uncomfortable to be on a school bus with the team riding all over the state with that enormous dark cloud still floating over our heads.
Even with the elephant in the room, Tyler, Soren, and I had a good time that night. Soren was a streamer and an avid gamer, so we’d spent several hours sitting on the floor of my room playingMinecraft. We built a massive village that we could all access and work on when we were home. It felt good to add Tyler and Soren to my friends on the server.
Also, it was funny how stepping up had made me into something popular. Seemed a lot of kids in school had found that heroic. My friend requests and follows were climbing. Quite a few were the Coyotes, sure, but about thirty had been kids I barely knew. Tyler had pointed out that several were from the GSA, but many others were just good kids who stood behind me standing up to Miles.
My first day back, Tyler met me at the front doors, Soren, and a pouting Felix with him, and we made our way into the hallowed halls. Several girls called greetings, and a few guys nodded at me, one flashing a peace sign.
“That’s Rudy,” Tyler explained as we hustled to first period. “He’s the president of the GSA, if you’d like to talk to him about maybe joining,” he said on the sly.
Soren and Felix, behind us, talked to a few of the Coyotes, who were lingering outside the history classrooms.
“I’d rather talk to you,” I confessed. He glanced up at me, his face cloudy, the expression hard to read. “About joining.”
“Oh, yeah, sure. Just let me know when you think you’re ready. I’ll be there.” He smiled at me. The apple-cinnamon oatmeal I’d made for me and the girls while Mom and Dad had eggs with scrapple—gross stuff that scrapple—did a flip-flop. I burped silently, gave Tyler a bob of my head, then raced off to English for first period.
The day went… incredibly well. I saw no sign of Miles. He was still in school as far as the news network went. There was a hearing he had to attend before he could be suspended, but wherever he was, he was not in my line of sight. Maybe he was keeping his distance. I hoped so. Even at lunch, there were no sightings. I sat with the team, Tyler sitting beside me, and while I didn’t talk much, the guys were much warmer. Felix was touchy, shooting looks my way, then jerking his sight away when I glanced up, but that was okay. Not great, but I could handle it.
Thanksgiving break started next Wednesday and ran through the following Monday, and I had fallen behind on my newspaper work. Mr. Wheeler met me in theChronicleoffice after last class, and we spent about an hour sorting through my pictures and downloading them to the paper’s computer. Mom was working a later shift, so Dad would swing by to pick me up after he was done at work. With an hour or so to kill, I opted to visit the school library to do my homework. It was quieter at the library than it was at home.
The halls were empty now, my footfalls bouncing off the tiled floors, as I made my way to my locker. The janitorial staff were now at work, cleaning the classrooms, mopping the floors, scouring the bathrooms. I rounded a corner by the teachers’ lounge, saw the bright yellow wet floor sign propped up in the corridor, and slowly made my way down the hall to my locker.
“Hey there, Jonah,” a grizzled voice called.
I paused, turned, and saw old Desmond Parks exiting the teachers’ lounge with a small blue tote of cleaning supplies. He was wearing coveralls with some bleach spots and old sneakers. I’d taken some shots of him for a project that Soren and Felix had been working on, but the fact that he remembered my name was surprising.
“Yes, sir?” I asked, taking care to not move as I assumed he was going to bitch at me for walking on his freshly mopped floor.
He padded over the wet tiles, his sneakers squeaking. Guess he wasn’t worried about the mop job. I met his gaze as he neared the cart, then placed his tote atop it.
“Glad to see that you finally yanked your head out of your ass,” he remarked, the overhead lights highlighting the silver strands in his closely cropped hair.
“Sorry?” I asked after I found my tongue. What kind of right did this old Black dude have to talk to me like I was a jerk. I mean, I was—or had been—but who was he to call me out?
“You heard me,” he replied, turning to look right into my soul. “You’re a smart young man. Got a scholarship to this school for your photography. Yeah, I know about you. I like to keep an eye on the kids of color that come through this school. Most are good, but you, well, you were a rotten egg for a while.”
Oh. Okay, well, yeah, I sort of was at that. “I’m not that way anymore.”
“That remains to be seen.” He dug into the front pocket of his overalls for a stick of gum as he talked. “You did a good thing the other day sticking up for that boy with the pink hair.” He unwrapped the light green stick of spearmint, folded it in half, then put it into his mouth. “I can’t rightfully say why a boy wants to have pink hair, but just because I don’t understand it, don’t mean he shouldn’t be able to have his hair the color that makes him happy.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled, unsure of where this was going other than Desmond calling me an asshole. Previous asshole.
“So, you taking that shot says a lot about your character. Ditching that moron Miles was another. I never understood why you would take up with a racist jerk like that boy, but then again, lots of people of all colors do stupid things. Thankfully, you wised up and kicked his ass to the curb like the bag of trash he is, and trust me, I know trash.”
“Yes, sir,” I said wishing this little pep talk, or whatever it was, would wrap up. I didn’treallylike being reminded of my jerkoff status.
“You got a real chance here, Jonah. I wish I’d have had the opportunities that you young kids have now. Don’t screw things up. Keep your head on straight, pick good friends, listen to your parents, and be smart. Go to college, take pictures, and find fame. You got the talent.” He poked me with a calloused finger. “Do not go back to being a stooge for some gorilla. You need to represent for all the other kids with darker skin that are going to come along after you graduate. Make a legacy to be proud of, Jonah.”
