Kickass Anthology (36 page)

“Thanks for being with me today,” I said quietly, and with great sincerity. “I wouldn’t be able to do it alone.”

Serg grunted slightly, obviously comfortable and at peace. “You wouldn’t be alone, Ev, even if I wasn’t here. You got every kid in this town with you.” He paused, and then, almost hesitantly, he allowed an audible sigh.  “I guess they see the same things that made
me
fall for you.”

I let his words sink in, still stunned that any of those other kids saw me the way they did. I’d never thought of myself as very special, and because I was gay, I figured staying in the background was better. But now I was front and center of a potentially big controversy - and I dreaded it, and….

It suddenly hit me what Serg had just said.

I sat up and looked into his beautiful face. “Did you just say you fell for me?”

Serg nodded shyly, which was so unlike him I almost gasped.

“As in, like, you’re
in love
with me?”

Serg nodded again, the grin I was so crazy about creeping unbidden to his face.

My heart started thumping loud enough for me to hear, and my breathing got what you might call ragged.

Love? He loves me?

I couldn’t help myself. PDA or no, I leaned in and kissed him for all I was worth. And he kissed me right back. It was the most powerful kiss we’d ever shared, because at that moment we knew what we meant to each other.

When I finally released him, I was gasping for air, and so was Serg. But still he grinned.

“I guess that means you love me too, huh?”

He tossed off that haphazard laugh and I could do nothing but nod vigorously and look sort of stupidly into his wide eyes.

My whole body… well, it sang with this joyful energy. Neither of us had ever said those words aloud to anyone, well, anyone not related to us by blood.

Until now, I hadn’t managed to find the words (or the appropriately timed nod, in this case), even though I’d been pretty sure for the last couple of months that Serg was “the one” I’d dreamed of sharing this bench with since I was fourteen.

Now nothing mattered—not the BLA, not my job, not my school books. Nothing. All that mattered was this man in my arms, this man who loved me despite my lack of confidence or good looks or special talents. This man who, like Blake and those other kids, loved me just the way I was for being exactly who I was. So, I had to force myself to conclude, as I settled back against Serg’s chest in silence, that I
was
okay after all.

THE COTTONHEAD TOWN HALL was a plain looking, but relatively new building built because the meeting room in the old City Hall was way too cramped. The population had grown since I was a boy, and the Town Hall was where we’d had all our BLA meetings from the moment it opened three years ago. Serg commented on the ugly mustard yellow of the stucco and the very phallic-looking cacti adorning the front. I elbowed him in the ribs good-naturedly, but also secretly thanked him for making me laugh.

I was nervous as hell.

As I approached the building, I thought back on the phone call I had received this afternoon, and smiled. Blake had called late in the afternoon to tell me, “Just stand in back and let funky boy take care of business.”

So that’s exactly what Serg and I did. I will confess that I
nearly flew into panic mode when I entered the venue – it was packed! Every seat was taken, and more people lined the walls. Every kid on Blake’s petition, plus their parents, must’ve been in attendance! I so desperately longed to grab Serg’s hand for support, but under the circumstances thought that would be a bad idea. Instead, he tossed off the sideways grin that always melted me, and I couldn’t help but relax as we found spots to stand in the back.

Up front, seated behind a kind of long desk that extended the width of the room, were Marcus Brent and the other eight members of the BLA Board of Governors. I’d had to interview with them last summer for the counselor job, and that interview had been a piece of cake. I’d basically grown up with these people. Their kids were my classmates and my friends in the BLA. Some of them had been co-counselors, too. Mr. Brent was my dad’s age, forty-five. They’d gone to high school together, but my dad went to trade school while Mr. Brent went on to the university. He always wore a suit and had his hair styled just so, as if he expected that there might be photographers waiting to snap his picture at any moment.

Mr. Brent looked up, spotted me standing in the back, and scowled. He leaned in to Mrs. Owens beside him and indicated me with a nod of his head. She turned her gaze out over the chattering crowd and fixed it on me. Or more accurately, on
me and
Serg.
She gave a slight shake of her head; whether it was directed at us as a same-sex couple, or was just a general headshake of disgust that we had the gall to show up at the meeting, I couldn’t tell. In any case, I already knew this wasn’t going to go well.

Screw it, I decided as I leaned into Serg and took his hand in mine, clasping them behind our backs so as to not make it an obvious PDA. But in truth, I didn’t really care if anyone there thought I was trying to make a statement—I just needed my boyfriend’s strength now more than ever.

With a slam of his gavel, Mr. Brent called the meeting to order. All the kids wore their BLA uniforms, I noticed, including Blake, who sat right in the front row with his awesome mom, Brenda, and some of the other campers I had in my troop last summer. At the sharp banging sound, the huge crowd gradually settled their chatter. Those with chairs sat, and the rest of us stood and leaned against the wall. I knew Dad was here somewhere, but couldn’t find him in the vast crowd.

I noticed many of the kids and their parents turning to look behind them, craning their necks to find me. It made my heart sing to see the parents smile when their gazes met mine, but it was even better that the kids tossed off the chin-raise greeting in my direction.

“As you all know,” Mr. Brent began, the microphone booming the sound of his voice off the walls, “in two weeks our BLA summer camp season begins, and tonight we need to take care of last minute details. I must confess, I didn’t expect such a large turnout for this meeting, but I would like to welcome everyone.”

For some reason, I thought I felt his eyes stop on me for a split second. Or was that my imagination?

“Before we begin, Brenda Jackson would like to address the board. Brenda?”

He looked at Blake’s mom, sitting in the front row, and nodded so that she stood. Still wearing her nurse’s scrubs from work, she looked up at the board respectfully.

“Thank you, Marcus. But actually, it’s my son, Blake, who wants to address you. And for the record, I agree with everything he’s going to say.” I watched as she sat back down.

A rolling murmur, like the wave if the wave was a soft chuckle, wafted across the room, and Mr. Brent frowned. So did some of the other board members. I held my breath for a moment as Blake stood and approached the large desk. He was dressed in his uniform, and looked so different from his usual appearance that he could almost be another kid. But one thing I knew was that he’d always taken the BLA seriously. As funky and quirky as he dressed in regular life, within the world of the BLA, he never tried to goof up his uniform.

Blake reached for the extra wireless mic that Mr. Brent handed to him, and then he turned without hesitation to address the crowd. “Thanks, you all for showing up tonight. Mr. Brent said something about last minute details, but my detail is first minute, not last, and I know you all agree.”

Everyone burst into applause, which caused me to choke up and grip Serg’s hand more tightly. Mr. Brent and the board members looked bewildered as Blake turned back to face them.

“Mr. Brent, members of the board, we know you fired Evan Brooks as a summer camp troop leader. And we know why.”

The board members suddenly looked very uncomfortable, and Mr. Brent’s face flashed with anger.

“That information was private, Funk–, I mean, Blake,” the man said testily. Despite my trepidation, I almost smiled when he started to call Blake by his nickname. “It is highly inappropriate and unethical for
that young man
to have shared this information with the public.” He flashed eye-daggers in my direction; I could practically feel them piercing my heart. Somehow Serg anticipated my feelings—he squeezed my hand and pressed in closer.

Blake shook his head. “What’s inappropriate and unethical, Mr. Brent, is how you all are prejudiced against the best counselor we got. I known Evan since I was born, prac’ly, and he been my Boy Leader since I joined the BLA. We want you to give him his job back.”

There were head nods and murmurs of assent from the crowd. Their support for me filled my heart and soul with what I think you could call
pure
unadulterated
joy
.

Mr. Brent cleared his throat rather awkwardly. “Blake, I’m not sure that we should discuss this sensitive topic in public.”

“Why not?” the boy shot back. “You don’t wanna talk about gay people like they’s real people?” He turned back to the crowded room behind him. “Any ’a you out there give a flying rip that Evan is gay?”

“No!” all the boys shouted in unison, and I could see Mr. Brent’s mouth drop open, even as my breath almost ceased.

And then Blake pointed right at Serg and me. My hopes of fading into the woodwork were short lived. “That guy there standing back there, that’s the boyfriend,” Blake went on, tossing off a lopsided grin. “I already checked him out and he’s cool. But, I warned the guy what would happen if he messed up our favorite troop leader.”

The boys all laughed and clapped.

“So say hi to the boyfriend, you guys,” Blake went on, his voice encouraging.

The huge crowd of boys shouted, “Hello, boyfriend!” and I admit that I laughed out loud at Sergio’s stunned expression. Obviously, Blake had set up this scene ahead of time. That kid was craftier than I’d thought.

Blake turned back to the board, all of whom looked really uncomfortable, like they’d rather be anywhere else but here. “See? None of us care. So you can re-hire him.”

Marcus Brent leaned in to Mrs. Owens and listened as she whispered something in his ear. Then he sat up straight and cleared his throat. “No we can’t. The national policy clearly states that homosexuals may not be Boy Leaders or counselors.”

“Why not?” Blake challenged, and I held my breath.

Now Mr. Brent looked even more uncomfortable, shifting in his chair like a squirmy kindergartener. “Because homosexual men cannot be trusted around boys,” he stated, as though quoting someone else. “They might be, well, tempted.”

I felt Serg stiffen with rage, and squeezed his hand this time.

Blake looked right up at those board members like he was a peer, rather than a subordinate. “Mr. Brent, you make ‘
homosexual
’ sound like that’s being a criminal. Evan is no criminal. My dad’s a criminal, and that’s why he’s in prison.”

I gasped. Blake almost never talked about the father who abandoned him as a young child and later ended up in prison for murder.

“Evan is a kid you known his whole life. You and these others seen him grow up in the BLA, same as you seen me. You know bettern’ me that he’s a great man, the kind of man you all say the BLA is supposed to create, a leader for the next generation. Evan been like my big bro and my dad all rolled into one, and I know these younger kids feel the same way.”

Applause burst out amongst the boys, especially the younger ones I’d helped shepherd through the years.

“Blake, I hear what you’re saying, and I agree with you about Evan,” Mr. Brent said, his voice stiff and uncertain. “But rules are rules.”

“I was taught that some rules was meant to be broken by my first counselor in the BLA. He told me that, back in the day, blacks and Latinos weren’t allowed to join till one local chapter decided to break that rule and start admitting kids like me. Know who told me that?”

Marcus Brent squirmed around in his chair and his face whitened. “I did.” The room erupted in surprise and Mr. Brent had to gavel for quiet. “But this is different, Blake,” Mr. Brent went on, looking more ashen by the minute.

I had to admit, I’d never been more proud of Blake than at this moment. Had I helped to build that spirit in this boy, this funky kid who stood up for what was right?
He
certainly thought I had. Wow!

“People like, well,
gay
people, aren’t like you or the Latino kids we have,” Mr. Brent went on thickly. “I mean, well, what if something happened to one of you? This policy is for your protection.”

Blake snorted into the mic, generating a big laugh. Then he turned to the crowd. “How many you guys out there be afraid to share a tent with Evan? Throw up them hands if you have a problem with it.”

Not a single hand went up, and I felt my face flush red with emotion. And damn, if those pesky tears didn’t burn my eyes and blur my vision.

With a triumphant grin, Blake turned back to the board. “See?”

Marcus Brent shook his head. “Sorry, Blake, but the policy stands. Evan Brooks will not be re-hired.”