Date Me, Bryson Keller(65)

“Yes, Isaac?” Mrs. Henning calls when she notices a hand waving in the air. “Would you like to read?”

“No,” Isaac says. “But I think Kai might. I think he’d be perfect for the role.”

I startle at the mention of my name. And it hurts more because it’s him. The snickers start then.

“What’s so funny?” Mrs. Henning asks. “The roles of women were often performed by men. Kai, would you like to?” That she doesn’t get it makes this worse. Her question is another jab to the heart. I can’t think. I can’t speak. I can’t breathe.

Everyone is watching me, judging me. I want to crawl out of my skin. I want nothing more than to run from this room and never come back. I swallow and lean forward. Do I do this? Do I give everyone the satisfaction of performing as Juliet, like they want? Or do I ignore it?

“I’ll do it.” Just like last Monday, Bryson walks into drama late. His voice is loud and clear. Everyone watches Bryson as he makes his way to the stage. I don’t. I can’t.

    “You’re late, Mr. Keller,” Mrs. Henning says. “See me at lunch.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bryson says. “But even so, please let me read the role.”

“As you wish.”

Bryson sits. I want to ask what happened, where he went, but I’m in no position to do so. Instead, I turn my attention to the page in front of me. I stare at it right until the bell rings.

I don’t wait for anyone. Not even Bryson. I’m off the stage and out the door even before the bell finishes ringing. I walk-run toward my next class with my head down. It is my sole focus. I realize too late just what hell awaits me next.

Fairvale Academy is on a two-week schedule. So every two weeks the same timetable is followed. Last week, I didn’t have PE second and third period, but now I do.

It’s well after the changeover has ended, and I’m standing and staring at the doors to the gym. I’m trying to convince myself to enter when someone comes to a stop next to me. In a daze, I turn to find Bryson there. His chest is heaving because he ran all the way here, ran after me. We’re the only two in this hallway.

“You don’t have to do this,” Bryson says. “I’ll take you home.”

“Go to class,” I say. Bryson doesn’t have PE with me. “I don’t want to be the reason for you to be outed, too. I refuse to let them do it to you, too.”

Before we’re seen together, I head into the gym and walk toward the locker room. I can hear the other boys already in there. Dread turns my blood to stone. The door swings open and everyone stops to stare at me.

    “I think you’re in the wrong room,” one of the boys says. “The girls’ locker room is next door.” I flinch. The words are like rocks.

Anyone who thinks that homophobia doesn’t exist in this day and age has never been the gay boy standing in a boys’ locker room. I should say something. Defend myself. Make a quip or a joke or something. But I don’t. I can’t.

The door swings open behind me. Briefly, I hope that it’s Bryson. That he didn’t listen to me, and he’s come to defend me, to save me yet again. I know it’s unfair to expect that of him, but my heart doesn’t care.

“I warned you.”

I turn to stare into the face of Dustin Smith. He has a freshly busted lip, but he looks smug—happy, even. Rage floods my whole being. I turn to him and grab him by the shirt. Dustin is everything I thought he was before….No, actually, he’s worse. “I told you I’d use the pic. I was going to delete it, but I saw you yesterday at his house. You don’t listen. I figured Shannon would know what to do with it. I didn’t realize she’d been working on an article all along. I guess it all worked out, huh?” Dustin says.

“How could you?” My voice is low, but somehow everyone in the locker room stops what they’re doing and watches me.

Dustin smirks. “Listen, Kai, I’m flattered and all, but I really don’t like dudes.”

    The boys at my back snicker. This is all funny to them. It’s like they haven’t realized they’ve changed my life forever.

I step back, dumbfounded. Dustin isn’t sorry about this at all. I retrace my steps until I’m outside the gym.

“Kai, are you okay?” Tears blur my vision, but even without being able to see him clearly, I know that it’s Bryson. He hasn’t left. He was waiting for me. “I don’t like seeing you like this. Let me help you. Please.”

The sincerity of his request is like a tidal wave crashing into my resolve. I almost give in—almost. I study him. Bryson’s uniform is untidy, and his fists are bruised. Is he the cause of Dustin’s freshly busted lip?

“I want to be alone,” I say. I turn to walk away. Bryson calls after me, but I ignore him.

I need to think.

I need to feel.

I need to break.

And I need to do it all by myself—I need to do it alone.





31


I walk with no real direction, only the will to leave this place and never come back. My feet carry me, and I follow them without argument. Those students who linger in the halls stop and stare, but I don’t care. I’ve shut down from the hurt.