I'd Give Anything(38)

I wondered if Gray had created that distance between them or if they’d done it. Maybe it had just happened, without anyone meaning for it to. Either way, now, when Gray could use a real, true blue ally on the team, someone to go out on a limb for him, tell Mongo and his henchman to go straight to hell, there’s no one there.

Even so, next Saturday, Lucretia Mott is going to the football finals for the first time in thirty years. And it’s all because of Gray.





November 24, 1997

We were sitting at lunch, when Coach came up and asked Gray if he could have a minute in his office. When Gray came back, for the first time since he’d come out, he looked shaky, unsure of himself.

“Whose ass do I need to beat now?” asked CJ.

Gray swallowed. “The parents of a couple of the guys on the team are demanding that I be kicked off.”

“You?” I said. “You’re the only reason we’re in the finals.”

“Not the only reason,” said Gray. “But thank you. I guess they think I’m a health hazard.”

“If this is about HIV, I will start screaming,” I said.

Gray shrugged. “Coach asked if I’d consider getting tested before the game.”

“Are you serious?” said Kirsten. “So he can share your personal medical information with moron Mongo’s and moron Kenny’s moronic parents? Hell, no.”

“Actually, I saw Mongo’s parents here this morning. I got here early to fine-tune my bio experiment. But it wasn’t Kenny’s parents they were with,” said CJ.

“Who were they with?” asked Kirsten.

“Robby Fulton’s.”

“Robby’s?” said Kirsten. “He’s kind of a decent guy. I don’t think he’s friends with Mongo.”

“He’s the backup quarterback,” said Gray.

“Oh shit,” said CJ.

“But he’s nowhere near as good as you,” I said. “We can’t win in finals with Robby out there.”

“His parents might not agree with that,” said CJ.

“You told Tremblay he was insane even to ask, right?” I said.

Gray’s face turned red. “Uh, I said I’d think about it.”

“No,” said Kirsten. “No way.”

“I agree,” I said. “Hell, no.”

Gray groaned. “Ugh. I know. You’re right. But I just want to play.”

“Coach said you can’t play if you don’t take the test?” I said. I wanted to leap up, march straight to Coach’s office, pound the living crap out of him with my bare fists, and then slap him with a lawsuit until he screamed for mercy.

Gray shook his head. “No. But he wanted me to take it. He said, ‘Let’s prove ’em all wrong, son.’”

“I hate him,” said Kirsten. “I hope he drops dead.”

“Don’t do it, Gray,” I said. “Rise above, remember?”

“I won’t,” said Gray. “I won’t do it.”

I wanted to grab his hand and squeeze it, but, instead, I rested my hand on his wrist. “I’m sorry this is happening. It sucks.”

“It’ll be okay,” said Gray.

But then tonight, he quit the team.

Not because of the HIV test. Or not only because of that.

When he opened his gym bag after practice, it was full of women’s underwear and fishnet stockings.

And when he opened his football locker, it was full of maxi pads and tampons dangling from the hooks, damp and dripping with ketchup.

I will be forever glad I wasn’t there to witness his face when he opened that locker door.

Gray took out the underwear, removed his ketchup-stained clothes and equipment from the locker, and walked out, never, ever, ever to return.

I hope one day those boys look back at what they did to Gray and are eaten up with remorse. But I’m not betting on it.

Sometimes, it’s hard, it’s all I can do, not to lose faith in humanity.





November 29, 1997

Kirsten, CJ, and I were going to boycott tonight’s game, but Gray asked us to go and then report back to him tomorrow. He’s going to be working at the fire station with his dad all night. He says his father is talking to him more now, although they’re still not back to what they were.

What’s crazy is that I think Gray still wants LM to win tonight, which I’d say is carrying the nice guy thing a bit far. But we’re playing the Cole School, our archrivals since the beginning of time, and old habits die hard, especially, it seems, when it comes to high school football.

So we agreed to go, on the condition that we could all wear sweatshirts with Gray’s name and number. When he handed them over to us, he said, “Keep them. I don’t need them anymore.” But he sounded so downcast that I said, “I won’t hold you to that,” and he smiled and said, “Thanks, Zin.”

I hope that, whatever else happens to me in the future, I find a way to get over Gray Marsden. I hope I move on and fall dazzlingly in love with someone else. I can even believe—just barely—that I will someday.

But here, now, just the sound of his voice saying my name makes me want to run out into the wilderness and cry for days.