by Alex Gino
The day went along as smoothly as a line from Ronnie’s pencil, until Rick ran into Jeff on their way down to the cafeteria, and they both spotted Kelly hanging a sign in the stairwell. Rick saw it a moment before Jeff did, just long enough to realize what would happen without a chance to do anything about it. It was a sign for the Rainbow Spectrum. There were rainbows at the top and bottom of the poster, and big, bold letters that read All Are Welcome.
Jeff hit Rick on the shoulder to get his attention. “Whoa, Rick. Check this out. A buncha gay kids are meeting up! Gross!”
“You’re the one who’s gross,” said Kelly, with her hand on her hip.
“Whatever.” Jeff snorted. “Let’s get out of here, Rick. I’m hungry.”
“Yeah,” said Kelly. “Get out of here and take your hate with you.”
Jeff banged the side of his fist into the metal handrail as he ran down the stairs. Rick followed, and his stomach bounced on every step, so that by the time they reached the lunch line, his insides felt like a ratted knot and the cafeteria’s greasy hamburgers and boiled carrots appealed even less than usual.
Jeff surveyed the room and directed Rick to join him across from a pair of kids who wore matching blue baseball caps with a green letter C on them. They were in Jeff’s homeroom, and all four of them had sat together for lunch a couple of days the week before. Their names were Mark and Matt, but Rick couldn’t be sure who was who. They were both pale-skinned with a couple of freckles and short brown hair that barely stuck out from under their caps, the kind of kids who became friends because they looked so familiar to each other. Mark was taller than Matt, but sitting down, they could have been twins, or at least brothers.
Jeff interrupted whatever they had been talking about and launched right into the story about Kelly and the Spectrum sign.
“And then that lesbo tried to tell me that I was harassing her!”
“Whoa, dude!” said maybe-Matt. “What did you call her?”
“And before you answer that,” said maybe-Mark, “you oughta know my aunt’s a lesbian.”
“And she could kick your butt!” added maybe-Matt. “She does aikido. She’s scary!”
“So now you guys are gonna go all gay on me too?” Jeff’s voice grew uncomfortably high-pitched as he tried to yell without being so loud that the lunch staff noticed him. “I’ll tell ya this: There was a kid in my class in fourth grade, and he was gay, and I punched him in the stomach.”
“Yeah.” Maybe-Mark snorted. “And we heard he threw up all over you.”
“What?” Jeff’s eyes bore down on Rick. “Did you tell them?”
“Chill out, dude,” said maybe-Matt. “We heard it from this kid in our English class. Wish I had been there to see it. Sounds hilarious.”
Jeff stood, picked up his tray, and said to Rick, “C’mon, let’s go find another table.”
Rick didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want to follow Jeff. But Matt and Mark had already turned their shoulders to block him from entering their conversation. Rick picked up his tray and joined Jeff at the empty end of a long table. A half dozen kids sat at the other end. They were playing table hockey with a ketchup packet as a puck. One of them was Ronnie from homeroom, the one who drew eyes on donuts and trash cans. Rick didn’t recognize the rest. Ronnie gave a quick wave, but the rest of the group ignored them completely.
Jeff speculated out loud about whether maybe-Mark’s aunt was too ugly to be straight, and said that only women who wanted to be men knew aikido. Rick knew it didn’t work like that, but he also knew that Jeff was already in a bad mood, so he watched the ketchup-hockey game instead.
The kids took turns flicking a ketchup packet back and forth across the table. One kid with a pink-streaked ponytail had an especially deft style of catching the underside of the packet, giving it a little lift that soared it right toward the opposing goal. Another kid with long, dark fingers flicked with such speed that the defender never saw the packet coming. Ronnie didn’t have great aim, but he was a good sport about it, and sometimes, when he did hit one in the right direction, the defender was caught off guard and he scored with a shout of surprised glee.
One heated volley sent a packet flying in an arc over the table and landing on the ground ten feet away. That sparked the attention of Mr. Kyle, the vice principal, who meandered through the cafeteria, alternating between chatting with some students and yelling at others.
“I have been to this group every day this week to tell you to cut it out.”
Rick stared down at his hamburger as Mr. Kyle lectured the Ketchup Hockey League.
“If I see one more ketchup packet in the air, every single one of you will spend the rest of lunch at my personal table. Is that clear?”
Mr. Kyle’s personal table was the one by the entrance, right across from the food line, where he and the cafeteria staff had eyes at all times. Kids at that table were supposed to be silent and read quietly once they were done eating.
A kid with blond-tipped hair said, “But what if it’s not one of us?”
“Phillip—and let’s start there, since it’s still September and I already know your name. That is not a good sign. No one around you is causing a disturbance. The boys at the far end of the table do not appear to even have any ketchup packets. Therefore, if there is another incident of airborne condiments from this part of the cafeteria, all six of you will be dining in silence.”
Mr. Kyle swiped the pile of ketchup-hockey pucks and headed off to dump them back into the box by the cashier.
The kids groaned, and Rick heard one of them complain, “Great! I hadn’t put any on my burger yet.”
Jeff grinned at Rick. “Watch this!” He withdrew a ketchup packet from his pocket as though unsheathing a sword.
“Jeff!” Rick hissed. “What are you doing?”
“Rick, the world is chaos. I’m just helping it along a bit.”
“Noooo, don’t …”
Before Rick could say another word, Jeff had tossed the ketchup packet high into the air. It twirled about and about as it rose and then fell, landing at the far side of the table, sliding, and dropping onto the floor.
If Mr. Kyle hadn’t seen the packet in the air, he certainly noticed the commotion as Ronnie and the pink-ponytailed kid dove down to grab it and knocked their heads into each other. Jeff, who had already been smirking, let out a laugh but dropped his face into a blank stare when Mr. Kyle arrived.
“What did I just tell you kids? First, hand over the ketchup.” Mr. Kyle held out his hand and waited until the pink-ponytailed kid planted the packet into his palm, still rubbing the top of his head. “Now, all of you, over to my table.”
“He’s the one who threw it!” Phillip pointed at Jeff.
Mr. Kyle ignored him. “Up. All of you. Bring your things.”
“But it’s not fair!”
“What’s not gonna be fair is if all six of you have to sit at my table next week as well because one of you had to mouth off. Let’s go.”
Each one of the kids glared at Jeff and Rick as they pulled their things together. Each of their glares stung Rick, but it was Ronnie’s that made Rick not want to finish his lunch.
Once the kids were gone and Mr. Kyle was off herding them to the silent table, Jeff let out another laugh.
“What did you do that for?” Rick asked.
“What?” Jeff shrugged. “We didn’t get in trouble.”
“But those other kids did.”
“Oh, lighten up, Rick. You take everything so seriously. Those kids are a bunch of weaklings. Not a single one of them is going to get back at us.”
But Rick wasn’t so sure. Maybe none of them would beat him up, but they weren’t about to be his friends either. And that’s when Rick admitted something terrible to himself: Maybe Jeff was a jerk, even if he wasn’t being a jerk to Rick.
It didn’t make it any easier that Ronnie came right up to his desk after math class and asked, “Why do you even put up with that kid?” He didn’t say which
kid. He didn’t need to. Rick opened his mouth, but no words came out. Ronnie shook his head. “Never mind. Looks like you don’t know either.”
Rick couldn’t get the question out of his head. Not as he packed his bag, not through his last class of the day, not through the bus ride home or even as he took a shower to try to flush the questions out of his mind. Why did he put up with Jeff? Why was he best friends with someone who sometimes made him feel so bad? Ronnie was right—he didn’t know.
Rick rode the rickety, crickety Sunrise Apartments elevator up to Grandpa Ray’s floor, wondering how thick the cables were and hoping that J. L., who had inspected it last November, had done a good job. When the elevator stopped with a ca-chunk, he stepped out carefully and knocked on apartment 4E.
He managed to keep himself from knocking again as Grandpa Ray answered with the speed of an old man who liked to put his slippers on first. But his impatience showed the moment Grandpa Ray opened the door, when he jumped in and asked, “You ready for some more Rogue Space?”
“It’s good to see you too, Rick!”
“Oh, right. Hi, Grandpa Ray.”
“Come on in. Have a seat in the dining room.” Grandpa Ray gestured at a small round table with two aluminum chairs. “Let’s take a moment to catch up before we delve into the Bzorki action this time. Care for some tea?”
Rick tried not to make a face, either about tea or catching up. “That’s okay.”
“Or some hot chocolate?”
“Now you’re talking!” Rick could wait a few minutes for Rogue Space if chocolate was involved.
Grandpa Ray filled the kettle and set it on the stove. He set out a pair of mugs, dropped a tea bag into one, and dumped a packet of hot cocoa powder into the other. Then he took a seat across from Rick and asked, “So, how are things going? Anything worth sharing?”
Rick shrugged. Friday had been terrible, with Jeff saying those things, and then the whole ketchup scene and getting all those kids in trouble. But he couldn’t think about any of it without thinking about the worst part, which was that he wasn’t even sure why he and Jeff were best friends anymore.
Grandpa Ray raised his eyebrows. “Well, if you have nothing, I might have to tell you about my week. It involves a daily walk around the block to check in on the squirrels, multiple episodes of old crime shows, and lots of prunes and fiber supplements. Would you like to hear how that’s going?”
Mom used to give Rick prunes when he had trouble … well … going. He didn’t want to hear any more about Grandpa Ray’s bathroom issues. Even if it meant facing his own problems. “Well, I guess there’s something on my mind.”
“Fiber supplements.” Grandpa Ray grinned. “Works every time. What’s up?”
“Well, remember my friend Jeff?”
“Jeff the jerk?”
“Grandpa, that was two years ago!”
“What was?”
“Wait, you don’t know about that?”
Grandpa Ray shook his head.
“Then why did you call him a jerk?”
“No offense,” said Grandpa Ray, “but any kid who makes fun of another kid for liking Rogue Space is kind of a jerk. Tell me this story. Sounds like a good one if you remember it from two years ago.”
Rick told Grandpa Ray about the day the fourth-grade crew painted sets for their play of Charlotte’s Web. “So I was painting some hay bales, and Jeff was working on the sky, and then a kid came by and dropped a piece of wet painted paper on the back of Jeff’s shirt.”
“Wasn’t he wearing a smock?”
“He said it looked too much like a dress.”
“Well, that’s reasonable.” Grandpa Ray rolled his eyes.
“And it turns out the paper had been painted on purpose so that it looked like one of Charlotte’s spider webs, but with the word jerk inside.”
Grandpa Ray laughed. “Sounds like that kid knew something you still haven’t figured out.”
“Grandpa Ray!” It was one thing for Rick to question his friendship with Jeff. It was another for Grandpa Ray to say something.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t make fun of your friends.” Grandpa Ray’s eyes shifted left and then right. “Not even if they’re jerks!”
“Anyway.” Rick shook his head. “That isn’t even the best part of the story. Because once Jeff realized what had happened, he went up to the kid and punched him in the stomach.” Rick stopped, not for effect, but because he realized he was talking about Melissa, and that Melissa wasn’t a him.
“Okay, so he punched the kid,” Grandpa Ray encouraged Rick to continue.
Rick chuckled, remembering the scene, and told Grandpa Ray, without names or pronouns, about how Melissa had barfed, and how it had flown through the air in an arc as if in slow motion, and how chunks of food had rolled down Jeff’s stomach and landed in a smelly pile at his feet.
“That is disgusting!” cried Grandpa Ray.
“Totally vile!” agreed Rick, still laughing.
“And you’re happy this happened to your best friend?”
“Well, he did deserve it.”
“So you admit it, your friend is a jerk.” Grandpa Ray poured water from the now steaming kettle into the two mugs.
“Only to some people.” Rick sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as Grandpa Ray.
“And that makes it any better?”
“I mean, he’s not a jerk to me.”
“I’m not impressed.” Grandpa Ray narrowed his eyebrows.
“And we have a lot of fun together. Just yesterday, we were playing a video game, and we watched Godzilla destroy our town!”
“And this was fun?”
“Yeah!” Rick grinned, remembering how they had cheered when the beast had appeared out of the ocean and begun eating everything in sight: citizens, cars, buildings, roads, until the population crashed down to one and Godzilla thumped his fists to his chest. “And he waited until I was there to let the monster loose. Thomas would have just played without me and I would have missed it.”
“Well, that’s something, I guess. So what were you going to tell me about him?” Grandpa Ray placed the mugs on the table and sat back down.
Rick sighed when he thought about the ketchup packet flying through the air. “Never mind. It was another story about him being a jerk, I guess.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“You’re lucky.” Rick wrapped his fingers around the cup of too-hot-to-drink-yet chocolate.
“How so?”
“You’re a grandpa. You don’t have to worry about things like best friends.”
Grandpa Ray closed his eyes for a moment and covered his mouth with his hand. Rick could feel a cloud of sadness settling around them. When Grandpa Ray moved his hand, his smile was gone. “You’re right. I already lost mine.”
Grandma Rose.
Rick took Grandpa Ray’s other hand and squeezed it twice. It didn’t feel like an old person’s hand, the way Grandma Dawn’s did, where the veins stuck out and the skin felt like it was tired of holding the muscle and bones inside. Grandpa Ray’s hand was thicker and rougher, more like Dad’s, and he turned it palm-up to squeeze back.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you think about her.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s good to think about Rose sometimes.” Grandpa Ray took a deep breath and let it out through pursed lips. Then he did it again. “She was a big part of my life for a long time, and in some ways, she still is.”
“Does watching Rogue Space make you think of her?” asked Rick.
“It sure does.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“Most of the time, it’s a good thing.”
“And the rest of the time?”
“The rest of the time?” Grandpa Ray echoed. “The rest of the time, it’s a very good thing. Now let’s get to watching the second Smithfield Special.”
Rick had never thought of Grandma Rose as Grandpa Ray’s best friend before. He thought about them wa
tching Rogue Space together. They probably sang the theme song and quoted their favorite lines at each other.
Rick couldn’t imagine having a best friend he got along with like that, much less losing them.
The Rainbow Spectrum signs around school announced that the first meeting would be Tuesday at three o’clock. They also said things like Your Story Matters and A Place to Be Yourself. Rick wondered whether being yourself included having a possibly- a-jerk best friend.
One minute, Rick was pretty sure he was going. The next, he was pretty sure he wasn’t going. Then he was. Then he wasn’t again. Monday turned into Tuesday as the idea of going to the Rainbow Spectrum meeting turned in his mind.
At lunch, after one of the times he decided he was going, Rick told Jeff that he would be checking out the paper-folding club after school. Jeff would tease him for the rest of his life if he knew where Rick was really going, but he wouldn’t be there to find out. The moment the required school day ended, a cartoon puff of smoke would be all that was left of Jeff.
Roughly two thousand decision changes later, in last period, Rick was sure he wasn’t going. How could he go if he didn’t even know why he felt like going? What would he say? Was it enough to say that he’d never felt about a girl the way his best friend did? Was it enough to not know? Rick had already put on his jacket and was in the stairwell between the first and second floors when he saw a Spectrum sign that said Because you have questions.
And that’s how Rick ended up turning around, climbing back up the flight, and walking toward the classroom with the brightly colored Rainbow Spectrum sign hanging from the doorknob. Closer. Closer. The door was open, but he couldn’t see how many kids were inside. He wasn’t sure whether it would be worse if it was empty, with just Kelly, Leila from science class, and the faculty adviser staring at him, or full of gay kids and lesbian kids and bisexual kids and transgender kids.
He walked toward the door. And past it. He reached the end of the hallway, took a sip from the water fountain, and was just about to make decision change 2,002 to head down the stairs and out of the school completely when a chubby white kid a bit shorter than him, with a wave of green hair hanging over one eye, rushed by.
