Rainbow High (5 page)

“Get with it,” Dwayne hissed. “Stop playing like you’re gay.”

Jason disregarded the taunt, more angry at himself for messing up than at Dwayne. Nevertheless, the comment rattled him. And during the next play, he lost the bal .

Dwayne shouted, “Man!” and elbowed him in the side. That was too much. Jason spun around, shoving Dwayne. The referee blew his whistle.

Corey intervened, thrusting his arms between the boys.

The coach yel ed, “What the hel ’s the matter with you two?” He shot Jason a disappointed look, as if Jason had let him down, and ordered both boys to the bench. In the stands the crowd booed.

Jason hung his head and stared at the floor. It was the first time in his career he’d been benched for an altercation. To make matters worse, Whitman lost the game.

In the locker room afterward, amid the shouts and lockers slamming, Coach cal ed Jason and Dwayne aside. “Al right, you two, what the hel In the locker room afterward, amid the shouts and lockers slamming, Coach cal ed Jason and Dwayne aside. “Al right, you two, what the hel happened?”

“I didn’t mean to bump into him,” Dwayne whined. “I don’t know why he got so upset. He’s so . . .
sensitivel”
Jason strained every muscle not to strike the jerk.

“That’s crap!” the coach told Dwayne. “I don’t know what’s with you two, but I won’t tolerate it, understand? I want to see each of you Monday.” Jason nodded, too angry to think beyond the present moment. Quickly he undressed, hurrying to cool off in the showers.

Not even Kyle and Mr. Meeks, who were waiting eagerly for him, buoyed his spirits.

Al weekend Jason racked his brain, debating what to tel Coach. He knew he’d let Coach and the team down by getting into it with Dwayne.

But he was sick of the name-cal ing, sick of rumors, sick of hiding. The fight wouldn’t have happened in the first place if Dwayne weren’t such a homophobe.

He should simply be up-front with the coach. Even though Coach yel ed al the time, he’d always been fair with Jason. And it was thanks to him that Jason had the scholarship to Tech. Except. . .

This was different from missing practice or screwing up a reverse. He’d heard Coach himself use the word “fag” enough times. How could Jason admit to being one?

Monday morning at school Jason headed toward Coach’s office—one moment stepping quickly, determined to come out, but with the next step slowing, as his resolve flagged.

Turning the hal way corner, he saw Coach. In one hand he carried a steaming coffee mug, captioned WORLD’S GREATEST DAD. With the other hand he hauled a nylon bag of kickbal s.

“Hi, Coach,” Jason said, his voice quavering.

“Carril o, give me a hand with these.”

Jason grabbed the mesh bag and fol owed the coach to his office. On the wal hung photos of Coach standing proudly by past years’ teams, alongside a picture with his wife and kids—known to Jason from the times Coach and his wife had the team to their home for dinner.

Coach took the bag of kickbal s and placed it by his gray metal desk. “Close the door, Carril o. Take a seat.” Jason thought back to the last time he’d sat in the low vinyl chair, only a few weeks earlier, when Coach handed him the scholarship offer from Tech.

“Smith was here earlier,” Coach said, bringing Jason back to the present.

What had Dwayne told Coach?
Jason wondered. Had he mentioned the GSA meeting?

“Carril o ...” Coach cleared his throat. “What the hel happened the other night?” Jason shifted his feet, glancing down at his sneakers. “Wel , first Dwayne said something, then he jabbed me—”

“Carril o!” Coach brought his hands together, cracking his knuckles. “I don’t want to get into this who-started-what, as if you were a couple of playground sissies.”

Jason kept his gaze fixed on the tile floor as the word “sissies” echoed in his ears.

“If there was a problem,” Coach railed on, “you should’ve come to me. Al this year you’ve been holding something back—in your game, with the team, with me. Now, I want to know: What the hel is going on?”

Jason slid his feet, trying to think what to say. “Um, I’ve been dealing with a lot. My dad . . . I told you he left home. I guess it’s bothered me.” He glanced up, checking to see if that explanation might suffice.

The coach leveled his eyes and took a sip of coffee. He set his cup down and rubbed his forehead above his glasses, al the while studying Jason. “Look, Jason, I know you’ve got a tough home situation. But you can’t let that interfere with your game.”

“I know,” Jason mumbled, but the coach spoke right through it.

“You’ve got your scholarship to think about. I imagine to you that means getting away to col ege, the thril of playing NCAA. But to the university, it’s strictly business. You’ve got to understand that. They’re not going to pay for someone who flies off the handle like you did. The way these signing letters are written, they can take it away from you just like that!” He snapped his fingers. “For any damn reason. That’s the reality. I don’t want to see you screw this up for yourself.”

Jason sank into the cracked-vinyl chair, relieved by the coach’s softening tone, but more confused than ever.

“Not to mention,” Coach added, “I don’t know if you realize it, but many of the younger boys look to you as a role model.” Jason recal ed Kyle using the same two words. Was this some sort of conspiracy?

He flashed back to times he’d helped the freshman and JV squads. But what kind of role model lived a secret life? And if people already saw him as a role model, why should it matter if the special someone he liked was a girl or a guy?

Jason’s thoughts returned to Kyle—his soft hazel eyes looking up at him as he encouraged Jason to tel Coach the truth. If the whole world expected him to be a role model, he had to be honest—with both himself and them.

Jason clasped the wooden arms of the chair and took a deep breath. “Um, Coach, can I ask you something?” The coach swigged the last of his coffee. “Sure, but hurry up. I need to get ready for class.” Jason glanced down at his hands gripping the chair arms. His knuckles were bone white. A voice screamed inside his head,
Don’t say it!
He gave an anxious cough. “Um, what if someone on the team told you they were, um, gay?” In the gaping silence that fol owed, Jason swore he could hear the sweat trickling down his back.

Coach Cameron stared at him, adjusting his glasses, as if to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. Then he broke into a wide grin, as if he’d been told a joke. “Carril o, are you pul ing some kind of crap on me?” His smile abruptly vanished and his face turned red with anger. “’Cause if you are—”

Jason squirmed in the chair. The back of his sweat-soaked shirt slid across the vinyl. “No, Coach. I wouldn’t joke.” Coach Cameron turned silent. Then he gave the deepest sigh Jason thought he’d ever heard. When he spoke again, his tone was gentler.

“Look, son, when you’re young, it’s not uncommon to go through phases when you feel, um . . . close to another boy. That doesn’t mean . . . you know . . . I mean, what about Debra? You’ve been together for how long now? Two years?” Jason shook his head, and though he hated to disappoint Coach, told him, “We broke up a couple of months ago. We’re just friends now.”

“Oh,” Coach said. He rubbed his chin, his gaze softening.

Jason felt his grip on the chair relax. “I’ve wanted to talk with you about al this, but I was afraid what you’d say. I guess it’s what I’ve been holding back.”

The coach leaned back in his swivel chair, folding his arms, and peered at Jason, as if unconvinced. His mouth opened to say something but closed again. He scratched his head. At last he leaned forward.

“Have you told anyone on the team?”

“Only Corey. I wasn’t sure what everyone would say. I
want
to tel them.” Coach raised an eyebrow. “How did Corey react?”

“Wel , at first he didn’t believe me. Then he said it didn’t matter to him. Except he’s scared ...” Jason heard his voice breaking. His throat was choking up. He took a breath and swal owed, composing himself. “Coach, what’l happen to my scholarship?”

“I don’t know,” Coach muttered. “I recal the NCAA added sexual orientation to the charter’s nondiscrimination clause. With no opposition, in fact. But whether a school would actual y abide by that . . . Are you participating in that new group?” Jason knew Coach meant the GSA. Dwayne must have ratted on him. “Um, yeah. I went to the first meeting.”

“Was it helpful?”

Jason hesitated. “Um, yeah. I mean, I guess so.”

The coach picked up a pencil and tapped it on his desk, as if thinking. “Who’s in charge of that group, MacTraugh? Have you spoken to her about al this?”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe you should. Maybe
I
should. Would you mind?”

Jason shrugged, not sure why Coach wanted to talk with her.

As if reading Jason’s thoughts, the coach continued: “She might have some ideas about the team and how ...” He tossed his pencil aside.

“Have you thought about how you’d tel the team?”

Jason shook his head. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I guess I’l just start tel ing people.”

“Hmm,” Coach grumbled. “I should probably mention it to Muel er, too.”

Jason sat up in his chair. Principal Muel er? “Why?”

“He’s the principal,” Coach said grimly. “If you’re going to do this, I think he should know. It could have an impact on the whole school.” Jason bit into a fingernail. He hadn’t expected al this. It felt like his life had suddenly accelerated to fast forward.

“In the meantime—” Coach’s voice became stern “—the same thing I told Smith goes for you. At practice this afternoon I expect you both to shake hands and play like a team. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Jason stood up, taking the hal pass Coach handed him. “Thanks, Coach. I mean it.” Coach leveled his gaze at him. “Don’t thank me yet, Carril o. This is one hel of a move.” Outside Coach’s office, Jason slumped against the concrete wal and closed his eyes. Not only had Coach failed to reassure him about his scholarship, he’d dragged MacTraugh and Muel er into it. What was
that
al about?

“You okay?” a voice asked, startling him.

Jason’s eyes opened to a shocking blue head of hair.

“Wha’s up?” Jason said. He’d grown to kind of admire Nelson, partly for his nerve to do over-the-top crap like dye his hair blue.

“You feeling okay?” Nelson repeated.

“Yeah,” Jason said, standing away from the wal . He debated a moment before tel ing Nelson about having come out to Coach.

Nelson snapped his fingers in approval. “That’s awesome! Can I tel Kyle?”

“I guess so. Just don’t tel anyone else, okay?”

“Don’t worry.” Nelson patted him on the back. “You’re doing great.”

“Hey!” A voice boomed from the end of the hal . Jason turned to see Muel er marching up, his eyes darting between Jason and Nelson, as if puzzled. His scowl settled on Nelson’s blue hair. “Glassman, you have a hal permit?” He grabbed Nelson’s pass and scrutinized it. “Get back to class.” He snorted and shoved the pass back. “Hurry it up.” Nelson made a defiantly bored face and said “later” to Jason before strol ing away, not at al hurrying.

Jason held out his own hal pass, but Muel er showed no interest. Instead he rested a hand on Jason’s shoulder and began walking alongside him, giving him a lecture for having lost the game.

Jason had known it was coming. Whenever the team won, Muel er always gave Jason a pat on the back, tel ing him, “We did it! Let’s keep up the good work.”

But if they lost, he’d frown and grouse.

Either way, Muel er took the team’s performance personal y—as if he were part of the squad.

How would he react when Coach told him Jason was gay? Would he take that personal y too?

“I saw your future husband today,” Nelson told Kyle as they drove to the doctor’s. “He said he came out to Coach Cameron.”

“He did?” Kyle’s voice rose, excited. “Did he say anything about his scholarship?”

“No. Muel er nabbed us—me, anyway. He treats Jason like some jock goddess.” Nelson flicked his cigarette out the window and lit up a new one. Ever since his HIV test, he’d practical y been chainsmoking.

“This has been worse than waiting for my SAT scores. What if I test positive? Tel me honestly, Kyle. Do you think I got it?”

“Nelson . . .” Kyle let out a sigh. “Whatever happens, we’l deal with it.” His calm reassured Nelson, but annoyed him too.

“You
do
think I got it, don’t you?”

“Nelson! I don’t know.” Kyle pul ed into the doctor’s parking lot.

“I’m so stressed,” Nelson said, exhaling a stream of smoke. Inside his head he promised God that if he tested negative, he’d always use condoms from now on. But what if he slipped again? What guaranteed he wouldn’t mess up a second time?

“Maybe I’l become a monk,” Nelson said, pointing to a parking spot.

“Nelson, you’re Jewish.”

“Barely,” Nelson grumbled. Didn’t Kyle realize he was trying his hardest to avoid being serious, in order to keep from total y freaking out?

“Wel . . .” Kyle grinned. “If you’re going to convert, I see you more as a nun.” Nelson swatted him. “Seriously, I’m scared.”

“You’l be okay,” Kyle told him. And Nelson wished he could believe him.

Inside the reception room Nelson signed in and huddled into a chair beside Kyle, while Kyle picked up a
Reader’s Digest,
turning to an article titled “Sex Secrets for a Happy Marriage.”

Oh, puke,
Nelson thought.

Why couldn’t Jason just go away to some remote sports camp for indecisive bisexual jocks and never return?

Granted, Nelson had grown to like him—especial y after Jason rescued him from getting beat up. And it was heartwarming to see Kyle and Jason final y together, after hearing Kyle pant over him
ad nauseam
since freshman year.

But why couldn’t Kyle have become
his
boyfriend instead of Jason’s? Then none of this HIV crap would’ve happened in the first place. It stil irked him that Kyle couldn’t see how perfect they were for each other. They liked the same music, same TV shows, same foods. They liked
each other.