by Alex Gino
“You know what I’ve had a hankering for lately?” Grandpa Ray asked when Rick showed up for their weekly visit. “A big old bowl of popcorn! Sound good?”
“Sounds great!” said Rick, looking over at the kitchen nook. “But where’s your microwave?”
“Don’t have one. Rose always used to say she’d leave the gamma waves and the infrared lasers to science fiction, thank you very much. So we never got one. And after she passed, well, it seemed silly by that point.”
“But then, how are you going to make popcorn?”
“The same way I always have. And the way everyone did, back before people started nuking their food.”
Grandpa Ray set a large aluminum pot on the stove, poured in a stream of thick yellow oil, and swirled the pot by its handles to spread the liquid across the bottom. He dropped in three kernels and turned the heat on high.
“How’s school been, grandkid o’ mine? Anything interesting?”
“Not much,” said Rick. “Homework, mostly.”
“Sounds like school to me.”
The words not much popped around in Rick’s head like Senator Smithfield and her crew flying through space. Like the Bzorki, they couldn’t find a place to settle because they didn’t fit anywhere. What part of school was not much? Jeff getting kids in trouble over airborne condiments? Going to the Rainbow Spectrum? Learning the word asexual? Not to mention trying to remember which teachers had which rules about how to turn in homework and whether they freaked out if you whispered to your neighbor for a pen.
Grandpa Ray melted butter in a small pan. After a minute, Rick heard a kernel pop. The second and third soon followed. Grandpa Ray turned off the flame under the butter, poured a large handful of popcorn into the pot, put the lid back on, and gave it a few shakes. The kernels started exploding soon afterward, with a metallic clink as they bounced off the lid. The trickle grew to a flood, as if each kernel landing sparked two more to pop.
Every few seconds, Grandpa Ray would give the pot a shake that released a puff of steam and the smell of fresh popcorn, until the pops slowed and then ceased, like the last few kids dashing into the classroom when the bell rang. Grandpa Ray lifted the lid to reveal a batch of popcorn that perfectly reached the brim of the pot.
“Wow!” said Rick. “I’ve never seen popcorn made like that before!”
“The world is a wonderland of adventures,” said Grandpa Ray, pouring the fluffy nuggets into a large, wide bowl. “Here, taste one.”
Rick took a large handful and stuffed it into his mouth. They were bland, and chewing them was like gnawing on Styrofoam.
Grandpa Ray laughed. “I said taste one. We haven’t put salt or butter on them yet. Go get yourself something to drink.”
Rick opened the fridge to find some lemon seltzers and a six-pack of blackberry soda. He took one of the sodas and drank a third of it in one gulp.
Grandpa Ray took the melted butter from the stove and poured it over the popcorn. Then he salted it generously, tossed it around, and offered the bowl back to Rick.
Rick picked up a single kernel and eyed it suspiciously. He placed it carefully between his front teeth and crunched. “Not bad.” He picked up a small handful and tossed them into his mouth. “Pretty good, even.”
“My pleasure. Rogue Space?”
“Rogue Space!”
Rick and Grandpa Ray sat on the couch, munching away, as Senator Smithfield, a Citruvian refugee of Garantulan raids, rose through the Bzorki ranks to become the only non-Bzorki member of the Legion of Truth.
Neither of them said another word until the credits rolled over a Garantulan night sky and Grandpa Ray turned to Rick. “So, what’s this secret you’re holding?”
“What makes you think I have a secret?”
“Kiddo, there is not a thing about you right now that doesn’t just scream, I have a secret. Now, spill.”
This was the point of no return. From here, he could lie and say some other thing. Something, anything, other than the thing. But the way that Grandpa Ray looked at him—not expecting honesty, but hoping for it—Rick opened his mouth. And nothing came out.
“Or if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay too.” Grandpa Ray shrugged, but his voice dropped with disappointment.
“No, it’s not that. I want to talk about it a lot. It’s just …” Rick felt a dozen sentences aiming for his mouth tangle into a traffic jam mess.
“Take a deep breath,” Grandpa Ray advised.
Rick did, and held it before releasing it, the way his dad did.
“And another.”
Once the words stopped chasing each other, Rick tried again. “You know how guys are always talking about how hot girls are?”
“Some guys, anyway.”
“Well, I don’t like to. I don’t even think it. I don’t want to do the things with girls that most guys talk about. And I don’t want to do that stuff with guys either. Like, I don’t think I even really want to kiss anyone.”
“I see.” Grandpa Ray twirled a tuft of his white hair around his finger.
“And then I learned the words asexual and aromantic.”
“Ahhhh.” Grandpa Ray nodded slowly. “Sounds like what you’re describing.”
“That’s what I thought. I’m not sure which one I am yet, though.”
“And that’s okay.” Grandpa Ray gave a sharp nod of approval. “I’m glad you told me, and I hope you’ll keep sharing as you know more. And, Rick?”
“Yeah?”
“I’d love you however you are. Even if you were a Garantula.”
“Grandpa Ray, if I were a Garantula, I don’t think even I would love me.”
Grandpa Ray laughed, and Rick did too. Being a Garantula was pretty awful, even to other Garantulans.
“So you believe me?” asked Rick.
“Of course I believe you. You are the person who knows yourself better than anyone else. There are lots of different ways of being. Lots of different kinds of people, and lots of different kinds of relationships.”
“Maybe,” said Rick, and the room grew silent, like there was still more important conversation to have. “But what if it changes and I like girls at some point? Or boys?”
“Then it changes and you like girls at some point. Or boys. Or both. Or other people too.”
“Dad says I’m a late bloomer.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you’re blooming now, and you’re just not the kind of flower he was expecting.”
Grandpa Ray’s eyes stared at nothing in particular. Rick tried to figure out what he was focusing on, but he couldn’t see anything special. It was as if Grandpa Ray was looking at something, or someone, from twenty years ago. He opened his mouth, but instead of saying anything, he closed his lips. He did that again, and then a third time.
“Are you okay?” Rick asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Grandpa Ray paused. “But if we’re sharing, I should probably tell you something about me. I know you never met your Grandma Rose, but she was fabulous. Simply remarkable. She loved Rogue Space even more than I did. And we had this secret thing we did, where we would dress up like some of our favorite characters and go out together.”
“Like in public?”
“Yep,” Grandpa Ray said, his voice quiet. “We would go as a Bzork/Garantula couple to conventions, and it would freak people out when we would kiss right in the middle of the exhibit hall.”
“I’d be freaked out to see a Bzork and a Garantula kissing too. But I’m not really sure that counts as a secret.”
“Well, there’s more. It’s something I haven’t talked about in a long time, and something I haven’t talked about with anyone since Rose left us.”
“Why me?”
“Because I’m not getting any younger, and not telling anyone isn’t doing me any good.”
“Wait, are you sick?” Rick jumped up. “Are you dying?!”
Grandpa Ray laughed. “Not yet! And hopefully not for a good long while. But I am sick of keeping a secret.�
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“Oh, phew.” Rick sat back down. He had never seen an adult quite so nervous to say something before, especially not to a kid. He put his hand on Grandpa Ray’s knee and patted it a few times. Grandpa Ray put his hand on top of Rick’s and rested it there. Rick could feel Grandpa Ray’s bony knee through his pants.
“Your Grandma Rose used to make the most beautiful Bzork.”
“You were the Garantula!” cried Rick.
“Not only that,” said Grandpa Ray. “I was a Garantulan woman.”
“Ohh.” Rick tried to act calm, but the inside of his head was screaming.
“Quite the detail about your old grandpa, huh?” Grandpa Ray smiled, mostly with his eyes.
“Are you still my grandpa?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Are you saying you want to be a woman? Or, I mean, you are a woman?” Rick added, remembering what he had learned from Melissa and Spectrum about wanting to be something versus being it.
Grandpa Ray shook his head. “Oh no, not at all.”
“Wait. If you’re not a woman, then what are you?”
“Well, you could call me a crossdresser, but really, I’m the same Grandpa Ray I’ve always been. Just like you’re the same Rick you’ve always been. We know a little more about each other now. That’s all. And just like I wouldn’t tell anyone about you without your permission, I hope you won’t tell anyone about me.”
“Of course not,” said Rick. Then he asked, “Does Dad know?”
“No.”
“Thomas? Diane?”
Grandpa Ray shook his head.
“Well,” said Rick, “thanks for telling me.”
Grandpa Ray ran his finger along the bottom of the empty popcorn bowl and dabbed the salt onto his tongue. Rick did the same. It was the perfect ending to a conversation that was meaningful but not exactly sweet.
“So, how was your visit?” Dad asked Rick on the way home.
“It was okay.”
“That good, huh?”
“It was fun.”
“More Rogue Space?”
“Yup, and Grandpa Ray made popcorn. Right on the stove.”
“He’s been saying that he’s been having a craving lately. Did he drizzle melted butter on top?”
“He did! It was delicious.”
“I’m sure it was.”
The car was quiet for a bit after that, but the question in Rick’s head got louder and louder, until he had no choice but to release it. “What was it like growing up with Grandpa Ray and Grandma Rose?”
“Oh, you know, what’s it like growing up with any parents? What’s it like growing up with me and your mom?”
“No, I mean, is Grandpa Ray now like he was then?”
“Well, he’s got a lot less hair now, and the hair he’s got is a lot more white.” Dad chuckled.
Rick didn’t care about Grandpa Ray’s hair. “Did you watch Rogue Space together when you were growing up?”
“Rogue Space didn’t even hit the air until I was in high school,” said Dad, “and by that time, I was too busy going on dates to stay home and watch a television show with my parents. Besides, it was your Grandma Rose who was really into the sci-fi and all that. I think he got hooked on the show because of her. He was deeply in love with her.”
After they pulled up in front of the house and Dad turned off the ignition, he turned to Rick. “My dad and I are different people. Real different. But he’s a good man. And you’re a good kid, bud. I’m glad you two are getting along so well.”
“Me too,” said Rick, thinking Dad had no idea how much. It sounded silly in his head, but Grandpa Ray felt like family in a way that Rick had never noticed before and couldn’t explain. Dad, Mom, Diane, Thomas—they were all part of his family, of course. But Grandpa Ray? He felt like the pillow on the couch at home that said Family is where you store your heart.
“Oh, look! It’s one of the new signs for that gay group!” Jeff pointed at a Rainbow Spectrum poster on the way down to lunch. “They’re gonna have a cabaret.” Jeff said it like he was making fun of a fancy French cheese.
Rick had known that Jeff would find out about Cabaret Night, but he hadn’t realized it would happen so quickly.
“Probably a bunch of freaks dressing up like girls.”
“I don’t think it’s just that,” said Rick, his voice barely a whisper. He thought about Ronnie and Green and Ellie and Xavier and Zoe and … okay, Yaya said he wanted to dress up like the pop star Miss Kris for the grand finale, but that didn’t make him a freak.
“Cover me,” said Jeff, pulling a marker out of his bag.
Rick wasn’t sure how to do that, much less whether he wanted to, but in the jostle heading downstairs, no one really noticed two kids stopped on the midflight landing. Jeff worked quickly, and within seconds, he was done.
“Check it out!” Jeff beamed.
“Oh. Wow.” Rick stared at the sign. Leila had designed it, and Kelly had probably hung it. And Jeff had totally destroyed it with a dirty doodle.
“C’mon.” Jeff tugged at Rick’s shirt sleeve. “Let’s get out of here.”
They made their way downstairs.
“Just play it cool,” said Jeff as they entered the cafeteria.
Rick knew Jeff’s prime rule for mischief: Never talk about the incident before other people did, because it made you a prime suspect.
Rick was happy not to talk about it. But the defaced sign stuck in the back of his mind. It floated around him through the rest of the afternoon, bounced up and down with him on the bus home, and tucked in with him when he went to bed.
Could he get in trouble for not telling anyone about something Jeff did? And worse than getting in trouble, was it wrong? And if he had done something wrong in not telling someone when it first happened, did the amount of wrong grow the longer he didn’t say anything, or was it just the same amount of wrong that he started with?
Being Jeff’s friend was a challenge. Some challenges were good. They made you stronger, braver, better. But maybe Jeff was the other kind of challenge, the kind that made you do things you thought you’d never do, like the Donner Party, who got stuck in the Sierra Nevada Mountains and had to eat each other to survive.
When the bell to end the regular school day rang, Rick made his way to Spectrum. He wondered whether anyone had seen what Jeff had done. Anyone other than Rick, that is.
The room was crowded, with more students filing in behind him. Mr. Sydney sent students to pull in chairs from the next room and even then, a bunch of kids sat on tables and a few plunked down on the floor.
After their name and pronoun-optional go-round, Mr. Sydney addressed the group. “Good afternoon, everyone. I’m glad to see so many new people here today, especially given the circumstances.”
“Why? What happened?” asked Sam.
“Didn’t you hear?” said Leila. “Some jerk went and messed up our poster in the cafeteria. I had to take it down.”
Rick’s breath stopped. The poster Jeff messed up had been in a stairwell.
“I thought it was the one by room 215,” said Yaya.
How many posters had Jeff ruined?
“Rude!” proclaimed Ronnie.
“Not just rude,” said Zoe. “This is downright dangerous. It might seem like a small thing, but this is the sign that there are serious haters at this school.”
“Well, at least one, anyway,” said Green. “They could all have been done by the same person.”
“Yeah,” said Leila. “But all those times? Someone must have seen them do it. Someone might have even been playing lookout. That makes them an accomplice.”
Rick felt himself sliding down, trying to melt into the chair.
“I don’t want to be at the kind of school where people think they can do stuff like that,” said a kid who hadn’t been to Spectrum before.
“I’ll bet it was one of the kids from Handel Elementary,” said another with a bunch of thin bracelets on his right wrist. “Those
kids are so backward.”
“Hey!” said Kelly. “Melissa and I went to Handel.”
“So did I,” said the kid with the bracelets, “and I got teased for doing ballet until I got to Jung.”
“It’s because so many of us are Baptiste kids,” said Ellie. “We had a whole mindfulness program that was actually kind of cool.”
“Kindness inward, kindness outward,” said Zoe, putting her thumb in the air and wiggling it around.
Half the class copied her movement, whispering, “Kiko, kiko, kiko.”
“It’s a thing we learned at Baptiste,” Xavier explained to the sixth graders who hadn’t gone there. The seventh and eighth graders from other schools had seen it before, and some of them had even started to join in when they noticed kids doing it.
“Yeah, well, it works,” said Zoe. “No one at Baptiste ever got pushed or shoved or yelled at because anyone thought they were gay. We even had a trans kid come out in third grade. I’ll bet there are more now.”
“I remember that kid,” said Xavier. “We were in fifth grade then. That means he must be in, like, sixth grade by now.”
Green cleared their throat and gave a little wave.
“Oh!” said Zoe. “But I thought that kid was a—”
Green cleared their throat again, louder this time. “Yup, that was me. And yeah, there were a couple of trans kids when I left. I was the only enby, though.”
Sam raised their hand slowly.
“Okay,” said Green, “the only one who was out at the time. But I don’t know if I would have been out in third grade if I was at Handel. Some of those kids are brutal.”
“You went to Handel, right, Rick?” asked Ellie.
“Uh, yeah.” Rick studied the tile pattern on the floor.
“Was it really as bad as all that?”
Rick shrugged.
“Well, I mean, there’s a range of kids anywhere, right?” Xavier said. “And we don’t even know that the kid who did it went there. Maybe they went to London Elementary, or maybe they moved in from out of town. Or maybe they were even a Baptiste kid.”
