by Amy Lane
With the chamber of commerce member, he almost lost his cool. “Harry, you sell handmade quilts and seasoned-wood faux antiques. If you don’t think a third of your customer base is gay, you’re not an awesome businessman.” There was some laughter at that, and some gasps as well, and then he grimaced and remembered himself. “Look, that was stereotyping, and I apologize. But the fact is, much of our commerce comes from the gay community, whether you want to recognize it or not. We sell high-end arts and crafts—not a lot of discount stores here, you guys. If you start turning away the LGBTQ community, a lot of you should probably close up shop, and if you want to make money off their business, you should maybe think about not pretending they don’t exist. That means not ignoring the children who need this organization in their schools, because that’s just hypocrisy right there, and I’m not a fan.”
So his first nine minutes were spent refuting the people who had spoken before, and when he got to his last five, he looked exhausted.
“Okay, folks. I’ve spent a good chunk of my time explaining to you why a GSA is necessary—which is something I had to do to institute the club in the first place. But I think we need to talk about what’s really going on here. Two boys kissed in front of a bonfire. For those of you who haven’t chaperoned a dance or a bonfire or a football game, well, you should know that kids kissing happens all the time. We have to make an exhaustive effort to make sure no kids get knocked up on the dance floor at homecoming, and if you think that’s disgraceful, well, then we sure could use your help chaperoning the dances, because the teachers are outnumbered. If the act of violence hadn’t been perpetrated on an out football player, we wouldn’t be here. But Isaiah got hurt, and the whole community was shocked, and they were looking for a scapegoat.
“Guess what? The kid was gay and you found your reason. So a whole lot of you are here because you think if we don’t have any gay or trans people, all our kids will be safe. I am sorry to tell you this, but there are always gay and trans people. Giving them no place to go only makes them feel alone, isolated, and unhappy. Our kids would be so much less safe if the kids who felt different from the rest of the world were deprived of a place and a time to meet.
“Blaming Isaiah for getting blindsided and stabbed is cowardly. Every person here who is saying, ‘Well, if he hadn’t been… you know… gay’ is trying to blame one of the best kids I’ve ever known for his own attempted murder. I thought better of this town, I really did, but if that’s why you’re here—to blame Isaiah for getting hurt because he kissed a boy in public—then you need to say this to yourself. Look in the mirror and say, ‘I am a coward, because I’d rather blame an innocent kid for my fear of gay and trans people than face my fear and grow.’ Everyone here who wants to kill this program—to tell our LGBTQ kids that they have no place to go—is a coward.”
For a moment there was silence—and then deafening applause.
Aaron stood up, the teachers stood up, and for just a moment, there was glorious, supportive pandemonium.
Heather pounded it into submission, of course, and when she was done, she spoke directly to Larx—which was not protocol at all, but her color was high and her lips were compressed into a flat line of bright red lipstick, and she looked like she’d swallowed a giant bug.
“Principal Larkin, I do not like the insinuation that I am a coward or that the members of the board have a hidden agenda in trying to remove this potentially harmful program—”
“No, Madam Chairwoman, your agenda is quite clear. You would like the children you don’t approve of to be shoved out of sight and out of mind, where they can suffer with their doubts and fears in silence.”
It was a beautiful line. Aaron’s breath caught in his chest, and he stared at Larx for a moment, just filled with pride. The rest of the assembly gasped too, because there was no comeback to that. It was the absolute truth, and voting the program out of existence based on the events at the bonfire would have proven it.
“Wow, Larx, you sound like you know a lot about it. Are you a fucking faggot too?”
God damn Billy MacDonald!
Larx, surprised and pissed off, turned toward him with his mouth open in a snarl. Aaron wanted to groan. No. God, no—Larx, not this way. C’mon, man, don’t say it, don’t let them change the dialogue. You have them on the ropes!
“I am,” Yoshi said clearly from Aaron’s left. “I am gay, and Larx is my friend—does that mean he is unable to speak for me as well as for our kids?”
Larx stared at Yoshi in a combination of shock and irritation.
“Goddammit, Yoshi,” he muttered. The microphone missed it, but those who knew Larx—they picked up every syllable.
Aaron turned to Yoshi with big eyes, and Larx’s best friend looked blandly back.
“What are they going to do?” Yoshi asked. “Fire me?”
But the shock rippling through the meeting room was not promising.
“We got a faggot working at the school?” Billy shouted. “Fucking pervert!”
Larx turned furiously to Heather. “Where’s your gavel now, Madam Chairwoman? This is your ally? Really?”
Heather belatedly called the meeting to order, and just as she was calling on the next speaker, Larx said, “And I still have three minutes to go.”
“Continue on, Principal Larkin.” Aaron was surprised ice crystals didn’t form when she spoke.
“Just remember, people,” Larx said, turning his back on the board itself, “if you are voting to overturn the GSA or to seek retaliation on Yo—Vice Principal Nakamoto—you are letting Billy MacDonald speak for you. Think carefully about that, because it means you’re choosing your prejudices over student welfare, and yes, that makes you a bad person. You have taken your fear and focused it on students you assume have no voice. Bullying is the worst of humanity, and you have let it come to roost in this room.” He turned back to Heather.
“We’re supposed to be the grown-ups here. I taught today, and all I heard, all day, were wishes from the kids that Isaiah was well. Kellan Corker was afraid to go to visit Isaiah in the hospital that night because Isaiah hadn’t come out to his parents, and it’s true, Isaiah’s parents were surprised to find out their son was gay—but they spoke to a reporter and told the world that their love outweighed their shock or their fear, and that the love extended to their son’s boyfriend. Kellan was afraid to go to school, because oh my God, what if the students were going to be horrible to him. But—and this is partly because my staff did such an awesome job of making sure those kids were welcomed and loved, but also because our kids are tremendous—Kellan was loved. He was hugged by friends and straight football teammates and even kids he’d never really talked to, all of them telling him how proud they were of him and how much they wanted Isaiah to be better. So this young man faced his fears and discovered the world was better than one act of violence. We filled a car with stuffed animals and cards and flowers to take to Isaiah—because apparently your kids do know what love is, even if some of the people in this room do not.” He spat that last line at Heather, who flinched.
“And now my fourteen minutes are up.”
It took ten minutes for Heather to tap order into the room with her little gavel.
AARON WAS stoked on the way to Larx’s house. “Oh my God, you were amazing!” he gushed. He could not remember being more proud of another person in his entire life. “I’m just boggled—you were so awesome!”
Larx smiled wanly. “You were pretty awesome yourself—smart thinking taking the podium from Percy. I was hoping you would, but I didn’t even have to ask.”
“Yeah, well, Eamon backed me on it, which was damned awesome.” Aaron hesitated, because he hadn’t mentioned this to Larx before. “He wants me to run for sheriff next year. And I think he wants me to do it out.”
Larx frowned. “Really?”
Aaron shrugged. “I mean, I told him I was”—oh, this was a little embarrassing—“thinking about dating. A man. And he told me that was fine, he’d st
ill back me. But he’s been… almost fatherly, like he’s encouraging a dowry match or something. It’s… weird. Anyway, he surprised me, showing up tonight. I’m glad he did, but I was not expecting it.”
“It was kind of him,” Larx said distractedly. Then: “Kirby got home okay, right? I didn’t realize he was passing out flyers for the student council.”
“Yeah,” Aaron said, wondering what was up. “He texted me about fifteen minutes before we got out of there. Said he was going to bed early but I should wake him up when I got home.”
Larx made an affirmative sound. “Good. I’ll miss you guys tonight, but I hope you get some rest.”
Aaron grunted in irritation. About five hundred yards away was a turnout into a forestry road, with a fence and a cattle guard to keep out trespassers. Instead of passing it by, he took it, then went left into the open space forged by cars using the spot to turn around. The result was a hidey-hole, out of sight from the traffic of the highway, tucked back among the trees. Aaron was almost sorry he was an adult—as a teenager, he would have been here with his girlfriends in a hot second.
“Okay, Larx. Spill.”
Larx looked around, startled, as though surprised to see they weren’t at his house yet. “Spill what?”
“What’s wrong?”
Larx sighed and turned around in his seat. He’d kicked off his dress shoes, and now he undid his seat belt and put his feet on the center console, wrapping his arms around his knees. He looked like a teenager himself in the dark, and Aaron sort of wished he’d turned the other way instead, and laid his head on Aaron’s chest.
“I think Yoshi is going to get put on leave,” he said after a moment.
“I’m sorry?”
“The human resources administrator was there—he’s in Heather’s pocket. I saw them talking, looking at Yoshi—it’s how they work, Aaron. In secret. Nobody talks about it—they just pull you in early in the morning, read you a letter about what a pervert you are, and then put you on paid leave.”
Aaron sucked in a breath. “Oh,” he said softly. “That’s how they do it.”
Larx scrubbed at his face with both hands. “And Yoshi knows it—I talked with him before I left. He’s going back to the school to write up a list of things on his plate and a note for the sub of his one class.”
“How come you both teach classes—you don’t have to, right?”
Larx shrugged and turned his head, looking out the windshield. “Not necessary, no. But we both spent years building up the AP program. It costs money, and convincing people to devote a class so kids can take a test takes some doing. My first class took the test and about 20 percent passed it, because kids have to be prepped for years. Last year’s class had a 65 percent pass rate. Not stellar, no, but—”
“A lot of work,” Aaron said, understanding.
“He doesn’t want to let the AP English class die,” Larx said, voice small. “He’s leaving months’ worth of lesson plans and practice tests.” He leaned his head back against the window. “So tired,” he mumbled. “Don’t know how I’m supposed to do my job without Yoshi.”
Aaron looked at him wordlessly. Oh. This is what Larx looked like when he stopped moving. It was a sad thing—a sort of violation of nature.
“Any way to get him back?” Aaron asked, voice quiet.
Larx shrugged. “Depends on how good our union lawyer is. Usually they’re sort of amazing, but sometimes… I just ended up in the rubber room for a year and a half.”
“What’s that mean?”
“No talking to anyone from your old school, no going to the press, no trying to find another job—just sit at home, take your money, and wait for your lawyer to settle so you can decide if teaching is really what you want to do with your life.” Larx’s voice had gone bitter, and Aaron remembered him talking about this. A year and a half Larx had been suspended in limbo, watching his daughters be mistreated, not able to teach, not able to talk to any of his old friends, angry at himself for a thing he’d done with the best of intentions.
In that moment, Aaron felt that time in his bones. “We’ll do something about getting him back—if they do take him.” Aaron brightened. “We could just be borrowing trouble.”
Larx nodded, eyes still closed. “I know. I just… I feel like such a chickenshit. It’s like he threw himself on the grenade or something.”
“Larx,” Aaron said, frustrated. “I was begging you not to do it, in my head. I don’t care if anyone knows—I mean, I don’t. I want to tell the world. I want to call the girls and tell them, ‘Hey, I’m in love, and I want to move in with him, and I know it’s sudden, but it’s real!’ We could be a sitcom family—it would be great. But tonight? If you’d done it tonight, you wouldn’t be going back to the school to fight for Yoshi tomorrow. And sometimes that’s all you’ve got. Once Billy threw that bomb, if Heather wasn’t going to defuse it, it had to explode somewhere. Yoshi knew it. He took the hit so you could get him back.”
Larx nodded and rested his cheek on his knees. “Yeah. I know.”
So defeated.
Aaron undid his own belt. “C’mere,” he ordered.
Larx peered at him through the darkness.
“No, I don’t want a blowjob. I just want to hold you. C’mere.”
Larx’s shoulders shook in what was probably a laugh, but he scrambled over the seat until he was leaning into Aaron’s arms over the driver’s console. It was probably not comfortable in the least, but he was lying with his head on Aaron’s chest, and that’s really all Aaron wanted.
“Do you know,” Aaron said conversationally, “when my wife died, her parents assumed I’d give them custody of the kids.”
Larx scowled up at him. “That’s weird.”
“Not so much. She’s from the Midwest, and I guess it’s a common assumption there. Fathers don’t raise children.”
Larx scowled. “Yeah, that’s frustrating. I got that when I moved up here. The girls got a lot of ‘Why aren’t you with your mom?’ It’s like the Y chromosome makes us incapable.”
“And then there’s people like Billy MacDonald who try to prove it. But that’s not what I’m saying.”
“What are you saying?” He was gazing up at Aaron with such trust.
Aaron was going to tell him about when he’d nearly broken faith with everything he’d ever believed in about love. “I… for a week I took them up on it. For a week they gathered the kids’ belongings and kept them at the hotel, and I came home every night and drank. And then, on like, the fifth night, I woke up in the girls’ room, delirious, fucking out of my mind. I’d dreamed that they were down a well and calling for me, and I was just walking away.”
Larx made a hurt sound, and Aaron shrugged.
“I called up the in-laws the next day and told them no. I was coming to get the kids that afternoon, and all their stuff, and Caro’s sister—”
“Aunt Candy?” Larx asked. He must have been talking to Kirby.
“Yeah. Aunt Candy—she came with me and brought her boyfriend’s truck. We loaded up the kids, and I took them back home. Because there’s losses you have to take and losses you don’t have to take. Caro was dead—I had to fucking deal. But losing the kids hurt just as bad, and that I could control.”
Larx nodded and straightened, kissing him gently before he put himself back into his seat. “The e-brake was trying to geld me,” he said in apology. “But I hear you. I don’t have to take Yoshi lying down.”
“No. And you don’t have to take it alone either. I’m here, Larx. I’m….” Could you really say it too often? “I love you.”
Larx’s smile was a little more animated. “Thanks, cowboy. I love you too.”
Aaron dropped him off in front of his house with a long kiss, and wished heartily for some time alone. “I would really like to just bend you over and fuck you until the headboard banged against the wall, do you know what I’m saying?”
Larx laughed, the defeat gone from his voice and from the strong line of hi
s shoulders. “I could totally live with that,” he said earnestly, kissing Aaron one last time. “Running tomorrow, ri—”
He froze, his pocket buzzing.
His shoulders drooped again as he looked at the text.
“No run tomorrow,” he said flatly. “Yoshi has a meeting with HR and his union rep before class. We have to be there at six thirty.”
“In the morning?” Aaron squeaked, appalled.
“Yes, Aaron, in the morning,” Larx responded with no humor at all. “Because that way Yoshi can be out of the parking lot before the kids see the big horrible pedophile who’s been working his ass off to serve his community for the last six years.”
“Aargh!” Aaron pounded his steering wheel and then glared at Larx. “You get some fucking sleep, you hear? And figure out a way to fucking stop this. It’s what you’re good at, Larx. Doing what’s best for the kids and getting your own damned way.”
Larx nodded soberly, touched Aaron’s cheek, and slid out of the car. Aaron watched him go, his gut churning with anger and helplessness. He wanted to be with Larx—needed to be with him.
But goddammit, Kirby needed him to come home.
Larx got to the porch and turned on the outside light—and shooed Aaron on. Because he had two kids of his own under his roof. Aaron got it.
But he didn’t like it one bit.
Wildfire Blaze
LARX SAT in his office, numb.
It was like he’d had a Magic 8 Ball, he’d predicted how the scene had played out so well. Yoshi stood up at the end of the meeting and shook his head, and Larx gaped at him, feeling like his arm had been sliced off.
“Don’t look helpless at me, Larx,” Yoshi said sharply. “You’re the one getting me out of this mess. You’re fucking genius at getting people to do what you want—get going! Chop-chop!”
