Date Me, Bryson Keller(69)

“I love you, too.”

Because of my late arrival, the halls are empty. Ms. Coleman is the guidance counselor, and while I’ve been to her office a few times, I’ve never been there with an actual honest-to-God problem. I knock.

“Come in,” Ms. Coleman calls.

I enter the office and find her seated behind her large desk. She offers me a warm smile and points at the empty chair opposite her.

    “Have a seat, Kai.”

I do.

Ms. Coleman hands me some pamphlets. I read the first one: It’s Okay to Be Gay. Then the next: My Sexuality and Me. And the final, and maybe my favorite, one: Gay Means Happy, Too.

I flip them to the back to see who wrote them and try to hide my surprise when I read Denise Coleman.

“Uh, thanks,” I say awkwardly.

“Of course,” she says. “If you have any questions or need anything else, my door is always open.” Ms. Coleman reaches into her drawer and places a handful of condoms before me. My eyes widen in horror.

“Always practice safe sex,” Ms. Coleman says. “Gay or straight, remember there should always be no love without a glove.”

I want to hide my face in shame. I want to evaporate and be reborn as rain falling two weeks from now. I want this torture to end.

“Be sure to share those with your boyfriend, if you have one,” Ms. Coleman adds. I’d be surprised if it’s possible for my face to get any redder than it is right now. “Is there anything else you wanted to talk to me about?”

I shake my head.

“Well, as I told your parents on Monday, Fairvale Academy does not tolerate such nonsense,” Ms. Coleman says. “This matter will be dealt with severely, and the Fairvale Academy Herald is under review. We’re questioning the editor and have called in her parents, but she refuses to reveal if she had any help with the article. She claims she’s protecting her source.” Ms. Coleman clicks her tongue. “I can’t believe stuff like this is still happening.”

    And that’s the truth of the matter. A lot of people believe that this stuff doesn’t still happen…but it does. There are still people who have to fight just to exist, just to love. Just as there are still people who will go out of their way to make that very simple human right something unattainable.

“Dustin Smith sent her one of the photos. I’m not sure about the other, but I think that was her doing,” I say. I don’t feel bad about “outing” Dustin. Fair is fair, after all.

“Hmmm. He’s already been suspended for fighting.” Ms. Coleman makes a note. “But I’ll pass that along to Vice Principal Ferguson. We’ll talk to him and his parents when he gets back.” She looks up. “Hang in there.”

Feeling exactly the same as I first did when I walked into her office—if not more embarrassed now that I have a pocket full of condoms—I leave. It’s ten minutes to lunch, so I decide to waste time while I wait for the bell to ring. So far, I haven’t encountered anyone, but I know what awaits me in the cafeteria.

I pull out my phone and open my group chat.

I’m at school. Meet me at Big Bertha.

I head toward the vending machine. I kick Big Bertha and bend to pick up my soda. While I wait for lunch, a freshman runs past. She almost crashes into me, and I barely manage to avoid a repeat of last week. I chuckle.

    The bell rings. Donny and Priya arrive five minutes later. Priya rushes to hug me. I laugh. Donny doesn’t hesitate to join in.

“I’m proud of you for coming back,” Priya says.

“I didn’t have much of a choice. I need to graduate.”

“You could have taken the rest of the week off,” Donny says. “No one would have blamed you.”

“I’m tired of running away.” I finish my soda. “This is me. It’s out there, so I might as well face it head-on.”

“Well, you have us,” Donny says.

“All for one, and one for all,” Priya chants.

I smile. We start walking toward the cafeteria but stop when Shannon comes into view. She sees us at the exact same time but continues as if she will just walk right past us. It pisses me off.

“Aren’t you even going to apologize?” I ask. The students in the hallway all stop and turn to look at us.

“Apologize for what?” Shannon asks. She crosses her arms. “I did my job, reported a story—that’s all. I think I helped you.”

“The Herald isn’t some tabloid,” Priya says. “I thought you wanted to be a real reporter.”

“It got the most views of any story this year. I call that a success.”

“And that makes you proud?” Priya asks.

    Shannon fixes Priya with a look that should kill. “Why are you talking to me? This has nothing to do with you.”

“That’s the thing with you, Shannon. You’re never really sorry when you hurt someone,” I say. “You always have excuses, always have your reasons. And they always matter more than the hurt you caused. That’s what makes you a bad person.”

Shannon rolls her eyes. “Save your speech, Kai. Nothing you say is going to make me feel bad. I did what any reporter would do.”

“I really want to punch her in the throat,” Priya says. “Just right in the jugular.”