Trouble at School

by J. Tomas

  “You like me like that?” Casey asked. He too held his breath, and Jordan could see a faint tremble in his friend’s hand where it toyed with the blanket.

  Jordan didn’t trust himself to speak so he just nodded. “Yeah,” he finally managed to sigh, his voice shaky. “Like that.”

  For a heart-stopping moment, neither of them spoke. Casey stared at him and Jordan waited, chewing his lower lip between his teeth, waiting for his friend to say something. Anything. Please…

  Suddenly Casey pulled back and punched Jordan in the arm. “You’ve always known and you’re just now saying something?” he asked, relief and anger warring across his face. “Heck, man. It’s been eating me up inside for weeks now, not knowing what you’d say or do or think, and here you’ve felt the same way all along? You ass wipe!”

  Jordan caught the next punch he threw and wrestled Casey to the floor. The once-casual touch of each other’s bodies now thrilled him in new and exciting ways. Once he had Casey pinned under him, Jordan threw the blanket over both their heads and dared to press his mouth to his friend’s.

  His boyfriend’s.

  It was bliss.

  * * * *

  Jordan has never seen the inside of the principal’s office before. Even with the window-walls that display the reception area to the entire school, the inner office itself has always remained a mystery. Whenever Jordan passed by the office, the door was always firmly shut, and the crowd he hangs out with aren’t students who frequent Mr. Form’s company. He doubts the principal even knew who he was before today. When he follows his father into the office, he tries to look everywhere at once without anyone noticing.

  The first thing that strikes him is how normal everything appears to be. The room is somber in tone—the walls are paneled with dark wood, and the same brown, threadbare carpet used in the school library covers the floor. There is a pair of bookcases filled more with photos and trinkets than actual books. There are file cabinets, the drawers labeled with nothing more than a year written in a large, block hand. There’s a large desk, behind which sits a comfortable looking chair and, behind that, a window with open blinds that looks out onto the school’s small courtyard. In front of the desk are two well-worn chairs with tall backs and no arms. They don’t look comfortable at all, but Mr. Form indicates Jordan and his father should take them so they do.

  Jordan sinks back in the chair and feels as if he could continue to sink right into it, as if his whole body is made of jelly. He just wants to lie in a puddle on the floor and let whatever fate awaits him happen without any further incident. Just let today be over with already, please, he prays.

  His father has other plans. Mr. Matthews sits perched on the edge of his chair, one elbow resting almost casually on the desk in front of him. Mr. Form looks at that elbow as he takes a seat behind his desk, but Mr. Matthews ignores the unspoken request to sit back. He’s on the offense, and Jordan isn’t surprised. His father played football in high school, and the man is used to tackling problems head on. Jordan doesn’t even know what he himself is doing here, really. His father and Mr. Form can hammer out his punishment without his help.

  With a smarmy smile, Mr. Form steeples his fingers in front of him and begins. “Mr. Matthews, as you may well know, this school prides itself on maintaining a certain level of propriety where our children are concerned.”

  Mr. Matthews swats the words away like an annoying fly. “Since when is it against school rules for one student to kiss another?” he wants to know.

  Jordan perks up. He wasn’t expecting this. Wait, what?

  Apparently Mr. Form is also caught off guard. “School regulations state—”

  “Bullshit.” Mr. Matthews gives the principal a level stare that dares to be contradicted. “Back in my day, kids were all over each other in the halls. Hell, when I pulled up just now, I saw a couple making out on the stairs when they should’ve been in class. What right do you have to tell my son what he did was wrong when you let everyone else get away with the same thing?”

  “It’s hardly the same thing,” Mr. Form starts.

  Mr. Matthews speaks over him. “Show me where it says a boy can’t kiss another boy on school grounds. Show me in that homophobic, antiquated rulebook you have where it says—”

  “Mr. Matthews, please.” Mr. Form presses his lips together in distaste. Whatever smile he had has disappeared. “We run a family-safe environment here. If another student had seen them, I’d have parental complaints to address. We’re fortunate the only person who interrupted their…their tryst was a teacher, or there would be greater consequences.”

  “It was just a damn little kiss. They weren’t screwing in the hall. A simple little peck. Nothing more.”

  Mr. Matthews looks back at his son and Jordan nods quickly. He wouldn’t have called it simple, really—there was more than a hint of tongue involved—but he’s so stunned his father is taking his side on this, he doesn’t want to argue or interrupt.

  “A kiss,” Mr. Matthews confirms. “And it wasn’t mean-spirited, or bullied, or anything like that. My son happens to be dating someone he wanted to kiss here on school grounds. Unless that’s suddenly illegal—”

  “And you’re not bothered by the fact it was another boy?” Mr. Form asks.

  The look Mr. Matthews gives him silences the principal. “My son can date whoever he wants. He’s been friends with the Sothern boy for years. They’re terrific kids, and they’re great together. No one’s going to tell him he can’t like Casey. Sure as hell not you.”

  Mr. Form sighs. In an effort to steer the conversation where he wants it to go, he shuffles a few papers on his desk. As he speaks, he studiously avoids looking up. “I want you to know I have nothing against homosexuals, Mr. Matthews. But rules are rules, and any boys caught rough housing in the halls need to be disciplined. I believe in-school suspension should suffice, starting today and ending after lunch period tomorrow.”

  Jordan slumps in his chair. He knew it. He glances over at his father, wondering what will happen next.

  Veins like cords stand out on Mr. Matthews’ neck and forehead. His skin has turned red in anger, and his hands shake. When Mr. Form slides a piece of paper across the desk for him to sign, Mr. Matthews snatches it up and, without looking at it, crumples it into his fist.

  “No,” he says. “My son did nothing wrong.”

  “Sir,” Mr. Form tries to explain, “school policy states—”

  “Show me, then.” Mr. Matthews wads the paper in his hand and tosses it back onto the desk, where it sits between them like a used tissue. “You show me where it says any student caught kissing another will be suspended from class. It wasn’t rough housing and you know it. I know it, my son knows it, and soon the whole damn city will know it, because the moment I walk out that door, I’m driving straight to Channel 12 and telling them what sort of bigoted Fascists run this place.”

  Mr. Form extracts a second piece of paper from the pile on his desk, but he doesn’t give this one to Jordan’s father. Instead, he holds it between them as if debating whether he should release it or not. “Mr. Matthews, without a signed consent form, I can’t detain Jordan in ISS.”

  “No shit,” Mr. Matthews spits. “I went here once. I know the drill.”

  “Without your consent,” Mr. Form continues, as if he wasn’t interrupted, “I’ll have no other choice than to suspend Jordan entirely, and ban him from school grounds.”

  OSS. Jordan moans softly at the thought. Yesterday I was a good student and today I’m lumped in the same category as all those bad-ass thugs in auto shop who drop out at sixteen. For one little kiss!

  But he had to admit it’d been worth it.

  “Dad,” he says, sitting up to touch his father’s elbow. “Look, it’s okay, really. One day of ISS isn’t too bad.”

  Mr. Matthews half-turns and frowns at his son. “That isn’t the point. You did nothing wrong.”

  Jordan knows. Better, he knows his father knows, and that means m
ore to him than anything the principal could toss his way, ISS or OSS or all-out expulsion, anything. He gives his father’s arm a squeeze he hopes says everything he can’t say, not here, not now.

  Thanks, for starters.

  With a long look at his son, Mr. Matthews snatches the paper from Mr. Form’s hand. “This goes in his permanent record, right?” he asks, looking it over. He rattles it noisily. “This piece of paper? Right here?”

  “Yes, sir.” Mr. Form offers him a pen, pulling back quickly when Mr. Matthews grabs it from him. “That form states your son’s infraction and your signature attests you agree to his punishment.”

  “I don’t agree with this.” Leaning onto the desk, Mr. Matthews crosses out a block of text on the page. From where he sits, Jordan can see his father write in all capital letters just under the big X. My son did nothing wrong. Kissing his boyfriend is not a crime. Suspending him for it is homophobic. Those who pulled me away from work for this crock of shit should be punished. Not him.

  Under that, Mr. Matthews scribbles his signature, looping his letters large and wide so they run into his little statement to ensure it can’t be cut out or omitted. Then he shoves the paper back toward the principal.

  Mr. Form frowns at the page, the look on his face uncertain, as if he’s debating how to ask Mr. Matthews to sign a fresh sheet. Before he can bother, Mr. Matthews scrapes his desk back over the carpet with an ugly sound and surges to his feet. Jordan hurries to stand by his father. Is that it?

  Apparently Mr. Matthews thinks so. Turning on his heel, he snags Jordan’s arm and heads for the door. “Come on, son. I’ve had enough of this idiot bullshit for one day.”

  Mr. Form doesn’t get the chance to show them out—Mr. Matthews throws the door open wide and storms through it, Jordan right behind him. Without a look at the secretary, who stands at her desk with bated breath, the two Matthews men leave the principal’s office.

  * * * *

  Jordan will never understand how he and Casey managed to keep their relationship a secret for two whole years. To him, it seemed obvious—he was in love, pure and simple. Every waking moment he could spare was spent with Casey; every night, he dreamed of his boyfriend. They chatted on the phone, messaged on the computer, texted until his mother threatened to take his cell phone away. They saw each other at school and rode the same bus home every afternoon, to either Jordan’s house or Casey’s. Whenever they managed to get two seconds alone, they stole a kiss.

  That was their undoing.

  Jordan still remembers the exact moment Casey’s mother found out about their relationship. It was June 8th, the last day of their freshman year of high school, and when they got to Casey’s house after school let out, they were alone. Finally, alone. Mrs. Sothern left a note on the kitchen table saying she had to run to the store for groceries, but they could heat up some mini-pizza rolls from the freezer if they were hungry. She’d be home soon.

  The note was an invitation to Jordan. Taking Casey’s hand, he led his boyfriend into the living room. They often camped out in front of the television when Mrs. Sothern was home, practically sitting on top of each other as they watched afterschool cartoons, secretly enjoying each other’s closeness. Now that they were alone, Jordan clicked on the television for noise and sat on the sofa, pulling Casey down beside him. The giddy happiness shining in his boyfriend’s eyes mirrored Jordan’s own emotions. They were free from school, the whole summer stretching before them, and they were free from prying eyes at the moment, together, finally.

  Cupping his hand behind Casey’s neck, Jordan pulled his boyfriend in for a tender, breathless kiss.

  Eager for more, Casey pushed Jordan down onto the sofa and lay beside him. Curled together, they nuzzled each other’s necks, snickering as their hands crept under T-shirts and tugged at the waistband of their shorts. When the bare skin on their knees and thighs pressed together, Jordan felt a heady ache blossom in the pit of his stomach. “Love you,” Jordan whispered, kissing Casey before he could respond.

  Over the sounds from the television, they didn’t hear the key in the lock, or the faint creak of the front door as it opened, or Mrs. Sothern’s sneakered feet on the carpet. The first indication they were no longer alone came when they heard the solid thud of grocery bags falling to floor.

  They flew apart, but it was too late. Mrs. Sothern stared at them, a stern look on her face. “Mom,” Casey said, “I can explain…”

  His mother held up her hand and walked out of the living room. The two boys sat side by side on the couch and glanced guiltily at each other as they heard her in the kitchen. If Jordan leaned forward a little, he could just see her. He watched as she got a glass from the dish drainer and thumped it on the counter, then opened the door to the liquor cabinet. Something warm and amber glugged into the glass and she drank it back in one quick shot. Refilling her drink, she took a deep breath as if composing herself, then turned.

  She spotted Jordan and flashed him a grin that didn’t quite make it as far as her eyes. Then she returned to the living room.

  “Mom,” Casey said the moment he saw her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”

  “It’s okay, honey.” She sipped from her glass as she sank to an armchair opposite the sofa. This time when she looked at Jordan, her smile seemed real. “I knew this was coming. I told myself, I just knew it, the moment you boys met, I knew.”

  Casey shifted beside Jordan, clearly embarrassed. “Mom, we were just little kids then. This is—”

  “I’m your mother,” she reminded him. “I knew you were gay when you were three years old. I just knew it. The only thing that surprises me is it’s taken this long for it to come up.”

  Casey’s fingers snaked into Jordan’s lap to lace through Jordan’s own. They shared a quick glance, Jordan not quite willing to believe what he was hearing. She knew? And never bothered to tell them she was okay with it before? “So you’re…I mean, this is cool with you?” Casey wanted to know.

  His mother threw back the contents in her glass. “I always knew you’d date eventually,” she said. “I’m not happy, no, but that’s because you’re still a child in my eyes.”

  “Mom,” Casey whined.

  She nodded. “I know, I know. You’re in high school already. I knew this day was coming. I just hoped it wouldn’t be so soon.” Giving Jordan a warm smile, she added, “I’m glad you’ve found someone so early. You’re a great kid, Jordan. I know how much you love my son.”

  Casey’s hand clenched Jordan’s. “What are you going to tell Dad?”

  “Not a damn thing,” Mrs. Sothern said. Jordan felt his boyfriend’s entire body relax with relief. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. But…” She held up a forefinger in warning. “This means things have to change a little around here. I don’t know how long this has been going on between you two, but I’m going to have to treat you like boyfriends now, not just buddies or pals. I’m not okay with you two spending the night together any more. You have to understand—”

  “It’s cool,” Jordan assured her. He and Casey had a similar talk earlier in the year. Boys their age didn’t usually have sleepovers, and the kids at school would grow suspicious of their relationship if they continued to do so. They knew they had to keep what they had together between them.

  “You kids have to be careful,” Mrs. Sothern said. “I read the news. I know times are changing, but many people here are still pretty close-minded. I don’t want either of you getting hurt over this.”

  Casey stood and crossed the room to hug his mother. “Just knowing you’re not mad at me will make it easier. Thanks, Mom.”

  As Jordan watched the tender moment between mother and son, he knew his own mom wouldn’t be as cool about the relationship he shared with Casey. She was one of those close-minded people Mrs. Sothern mentioned—the daughter of a Fundamental Christian, she even still frowned on mixed race relationships, and when Jordan’s oldest sister wanted to invite an African-American friend to a school dance as her
date, Mrs. Matthews refused to allow it. There was no way she’d accept a gay child. If he came out to her, he’d be locked in his bedroom and home schooled the rest of his life. He wouldn’t be allowed near another boy, and seeing Casey would be out of the question.

  In his house, his mother’s word was law, and Jordan feared she’d find out his secret sooner or later.

  * * * *

  Jordan and Casey were always careful at school. They shared a few of the same classes and sat beside each other when they could, except in French, where the teacher had separated them after catching them passing notes back and forth one time too many. During fourth period, they unfortunately didn’t share a lunch time. Jordan had second lunch, which meant he went to fourth period for twenty-five minutes, went to lunch, then went back to his class. Casey was in third lunch—he went to class first, then lunch.

  It only took a few days at the beginning of the school year for them to coordinate their schedules. There was a small window of opportunity where the boys could pass each other in the hall while changing for lunches. On his way back from the cafeteria, Jordan always took the long route, past the upperclassmen science labs, down the back hall, to reach his biology class. In doing so, he invariably caught up with Casey, who had algebra in the back hall. As their classmates clogged the hallway around them, the two boys would lean against the lockers or linger by the water fountain just to say hi.

  Today was no exception, but Jordan had to return a library book and was running a little late, so by the time he met up with Casey, the hall had already begun to thin out a bit. Casey pulled Jordan from the flow of traffic to a secluded spot beside a long row of lockers. It was the first time since second period Jordan had seen his boyfriend, and he couldn’t take his eyes off Casey. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” Casey sighed with a smile. “Neidermain is killer today. Don’t get on her bad side.”