Sprout

Because some bigot in Topeka will keep you from winning the contest you deserve to win. From getting the scholarship that’ll help you go to the college of your choice, and heading towards the life you deserve to have.”
    I started to protest again, then closed my mouth. It was so confusing. On the one hand, there was what I’d said to Ruthie about how I wouldn’t come out at school because I didn’t want everyone to think of me as the gay kid. But on the other hand there was this feeling that if I couldn’t write about being gay for the State Essay Contest, then I wasn’t actually representing myself. And even though I understood that it wasn’t my fault people got all bent out of shape when they saw the words “gay” and “teenager” next to each other in a sentence, still, I knew I wasn’t doing a very good job dealing with the problem.
    So what’d I do? What anyone would, I guess. I changed the subject.
    “I don’t need the scholarship. My dad put aside money—”
    But Mrs. M. was shaking her head. “There’s no money, Sprout.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “I asked Bob. He says he doesn’t know where you got that idea.”
    “I got the idea from him telling me he put money aside. When he sold our house on Long Island.”
    “If he ever said that, he doesn’t remember.” Mrs. Miller’s raised eyebrows acknowledged that there were probly a lot of things my dad didn’t remember about the last four years. “At any rate, there’s almost nothing left. He’s looking for a job now. You don’t think he’s shaving for me, do you?”
    I ignored her weak attempt at a joke.
    “But how am I going to pay for college?”
    “By getting good grades. By winning this contest, and getting the scholarship you deserve. By giving up the idea of saving Ty, and concentrating on yourself.”
    “I don’t want to—” I stopped. I was a lot of things, but I wasn’t a liar, and I knew just as well as Mrs. Miller that I really did want to save Ty.
    Mrs. Miller let the silence sit between us another moment, as though it were cementing our agreement. Our alliance. Then she glanced at her watch. “Oh dear, look at the time. I need to be getting you home.”
    “Yeah, um, sure.”
    “Don’t forget this.” She tapped my essay like it was one of the twenty-dollar bills my dad left on the counter for me.
    “Sure,” I said again, stuffing the pages in my pocket. “Whatever.” I stood up slowly, followed her out of the office.
    You’d think the day would’ve thrown enough at me by that point, but apparently the universe still had one more surprise up its sleeve. As we stepped from Mrs. Miller’s classroom, I saw a pair of figures halfway down the hall, their bodies glued together at lips, hips, and ankles.
    “Ahem.” Mrs. Miller did that fake clearing of the throat thing, and then said, “Ahem” again, because whenever you do that fake clearing of the throat thing you usually end up having to clear your throat for real.
    The figures separated. Not that I needed to see their faces to know who it was.
    “Oh, hey Sprout.” Ian Abernathy rubbed fuchsia lipstick off his mouth with what looked like a sigh of relief. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”
    I ignored him. Ian and I’d had two classes together that day, like we did every day. My eyes were glued to the second person, who was busy reapplying the lipstick she’d smeared all over Ian’s lips before she actually looked at me.
    “Oh, hey Sprout,” Ruthie Wilcox said, her voice brighter than all the lighters at a Pearl Jam concert when they sing “Jeremy spoke in class today-ay.” Her and Ian’s fingers tangled together like a pair of mating octopuses. “I’m so glad this happened. Now we can finally tell you our big news.”

Cave Canem
    “—and I mean well of course I knew him. How could I not know him? My folks got divorced when I was six and my mom and me moved to Prairie Dunes that summer, so I started first grade at Union Valley and of course Ian here”—shoulder squeeze, in case I didn’t realize which Ian Ruthie was referring to—“this big ol’ hunk-a soccer-playing beefcake-in-the-making lived on north Lorraine and already went to UV. And so anyway, yeah, I guess I’ve known him for a whole decade now. Ten long years, yet somehow I never saw his best qualities. Who knows? Maybe it was just”— BLEEP BLEEP BLEEP —“I mean, ever since I got these babies”—Ruthie took her hand from Ian’s shoulder