Guyliner

by J. Leigh Bailey

  He ground his teeth, understanding the phrase “gnashing his teeth” for the first time. A feral anger built up in him, and he wanted to attack the people responsible for this, tear them to pieces. Had to be Roy and Clint, those bigoted asshats. Ignoring his healing knee, he dropped his crutches and snatched the posters off the lockers, one after another, crumbling the white copier paper into balls and hurling them toward the nearest trashcan. He wished he was crushing Roy and Clint instead of the paper.

  “Move it,” he snarled, shoving a gawking freshman out of the way.

  A low growl echoed through the silent hallway. Connor had worked his way down three banks of lockers before he realized that he was the one making the sound. “Get the fuck out of my way.” Everything was a blur. A haze settled over his vision, and his heartbeat echoed in his ears. Kids jumped back when he approached, and no one stopped him from tearing away the pictures. Good thing too. He was going to rip down every picture from every wall, and then he was going to track down Roy and Clint and….

  He jerked to a halt, eyes glued to a locker decorated differently than the others. A crowd had gathered, but they parted like a zipper being yanked open. Connor swallowed back the nausea in his throat. Not a poster. Instead green spray paint spelled out “GO HOME FAG” in tall letters near the bottom of the locker. At eye level was a blown-up newspaper article with Graham’s picture and a headline that read “Gay Teen Hospitalized After Gay Bashing.” In black permanent marker, someone had written “This is what happens to cocksuckers.”

  “Oh God, Graham.” Connor stumbled forward and ripped the article off the locker. “Cruel bastards. Who did this? Who the hell did this?”

  Rage burned in him, hotter and wilder than anything he’d ever felt before. How someone—anyone—could do something this horrible was beyond him. Graham had already lived through the nightmare once. And now some sadistic prick had to go and do something so spiteful.

  Connor whirled to face the silent, unmoving crowd. “I’m going to find out who’s responsible for this, and when I do, I’m going to kick some ass. I’m dead serious.”

  No one met his eyes. Some people shifted from foot to foot, and some looked away, but no one moved. A ripple in the gathered crowd drew his attention to the nearest exit. Roy and Clint stood, leaning casually against a window. Roy smirked and blew a kiss in Connor’s direction.

  “You stupid son of a bitch!” Connor surged forward but stopped when his knee objected to the movement. He hissed in a breath and took the pressure off his left leg. The knee throbbed. The satisfaction on Roy’s sneering face was enough to ignore the pain, though. Before he could do more than take another step forward, Coach Baxter strode down the hall.

  “What’s going on here?”

  Students scattered, leaving Connor standing in the nearly deserted hallway with Baxter.

  Baxter looked around, his eyes lingering on the balls of crumbled paper. Then they focused on Graham’s locker. “Who’s responsible for this?” His voice was cold. Connor didn’t know if it was due to the nature of the graffiti, or if he just objected to the vandalism. Not that it mattered.

  “I wish I knew,” Connor said.

  Baxter shook his head. “Stupid punks. I’m getting too old for this. I’ll have the custodian see if he can get that cleaned up. It’ll probably have to be painted, though.” He sighed, propping his fists on his hips, then headed toward the office. “Stupid punks.”

  “What’s going on?” Allyson walked up to him.

  Connor took a deep breath, trying to clear his head. He bent down to retrieve a flyer and passed it to her. She smoothed out the creases and looked at the page. Then she looked down the hallway at the dozens of balls of paper and the row of lockers that still had their pages. Her green eyes were wide and full of sympathy. Connor pointed to Graham’s locker and found the copied article.

  “That’s horrible.” She scanned the headline and the first couple of paragraphs. “How could someone use this to do that?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, leaning against a locker and closing his eyes. “I don’t understand anything anymore. Why didn’t the teachers stop them? How could they just leave that shit up?”

  “You know there aren’t any classrooms down this corridor.” Allyson wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Connor. I’m so sorry.” Connor returned the hug, needing the comfort.

  With Baxter gone, students started moving through the corridor again, many stopping to drop off or pick up books at their lockers.

  “I can’t let him see that,” he murmured. He buried his face in Allyson’s hair and inhaled the familiar scent of her shampoo.

  She stiffened in his arms. “I don’t think you can stop it.” He looked up.

  Graham stood there, ten feet away, the look of betrayal and hurt a punch to Connor’s gut. He took in the flyers, his locker, and Connor with his arms wrapped around Allyson in one all-encompassing sweep. His jaw locked, he turned on the ball of his foot and stalked away.

  Allyson slapped his chest. “Connor, you idiot. Go after him. He needs you.”

  “Do you actually think he’s going to talk to me? After the way I’ve been treating him? After seeing what Roy and Clint did this morning?”

  “You have to try,” she said, pushing at him. “Isn’t he worth it?”

  Was he worth it? Was she kidding? Graham was worth… everything. “You’re right.”

  He hadn’t gotten two steps before she ran forward and grabbed his crutches. “Use your crutches, for crying out loud. You’re going to hurt your knee.”

  He tucked the crutches under his shoulders and sped after Graham. “Graham,” he called when he’d cut the distance between them in half. “For Christ’s sake, Graham, will you wait? Chasing after you isn’t so easy for me right now.”

  He ignored the kids who stopped to stare, his entire focus on Graham. Though he stopped in front of an empty classroom, Graham didn’t turn around. His back was stiff, and his hands clenched at his sides. His body practically vibrated with contained rage.

  When Connor finally caught up, though, it wasn’t rage that shadowed his features. It was pain. “What do you want?” Graham demanded.

  Now that he had caught up with Graham, he didn’t know what to say. “Look, I….” What did a person say to that? I’m sorry my classmates are pricks? I’m sorry I was a prick?

  “You know, I actually thought things would be okay here,” Graham said when it became clear that Connor wasn’t going to say anything. “Yeah, there were a couple of narrow-minded jerks, but that’s normal, right? I convinced myself that Green Valley was a nice town, kind of rural and uncomplicated, but nice on the whole. The players on the soccer team seemed to accept me, and I made a couple of friends. I told myself that I wouldn’t let anything anyone did or said get to me. After all, I’d already survived the worst, so nothing else could touch me. I wasn’t going to hide or pretend.”

  They had an audience. Students stood there, watching Graham with the rapt attention they’d give to a movie. All that was missing was the popcorn.

  “I should have listened to you,” Graham continued, oblivious to the crowd. “I should have wondered why a guy like you, someone liked and respected by everyone, would be so eager to get out of Green Valley. I thought you were overreacting to the tension between you and your father.”

  “Graham—”

  “I did everything wrong. I decided to be open about who I was. I told myself being gay didn’t affect anyone but me. Who was I kidding? Being gay has ruined my life.”

  Graham spun on his heel and dragged Connor into the classroom, his movement jerky. His eyes were red, but tearless. He stopped inside the room with a suddenness that surprised Connor.

  “Did you know I was on track to be on the US Olympic soccer team? Yeah, me. I was young for it too, but I was good. Being gay ruined that for me. I’ll never be an Olympic soccer player. I probably won’t even make it to the Major League Soccer teams. Righ
t now, I’ll be lucky to make it onto a good college team. I’ll never be as good as I once was. Never. All because some prejudiced assholes were so afraid that I’d corrupt their baby brother that they beat me up and set me on fire.”

  Someone gasped. The crowd had migrated to the door to watch the scene. Graham stormed over and slammed the door in their gaping faces.

  “My parents were forced to move away from a city they loved to the middle of bumfuck nowhere, my mom quit her job, all because I’m gay. My old friends don’t talk to me. The boy I like won’t acknowledge me. Being queer has brought me nothing but misery. So you know what, let people write shit on my locker and call me names. I don’t give a fuck anymore.”

  Connor stood there, speechless, and watched Graham open the door and force his way through the crowd and then walk out of the school.

  Chapter 36

  MARC FOUND Connor six hours later with a stack of towels, a scrub brush, and a bottle of cleanser. He scrubbed at the marker and paint on Graham’s locker with limited success. The green eventually paled, but only because the corrosive cleanser ate through the paint, leaving behind streaked metal. He’d already scrubbed holes into two of the towels and rubbed up a blister on the side of his thumb.

  “I think you’re wasting your time,” Marc said. He picked up a towel and soaked it with cleanser before attacking the F in “Fag.” “We should get a bucket of paint and paint over the shit.”

  “I can’t leave it like this. I can’t let him see it. He shouldn’t have to come back to this. No one should have to hide who they are for fear of this kind of crap.” Connor used the back of his arm to wipe away the sweat that dotted his brow. The smell of the chemicals made his eyes burn and water. That was why he was tearing up. Really.

  Marc kept his gaze fixed on the slowly fading paint when he asked, “Is that what you’re afraid of?”

  Connor stilled. “What do you mean?”

  “Are you afraid that if people find out about you that you’ll face this kind of harassment? Is that why you’re so determined to hide it?”

  “No. Yes.” He sighed. “I don’t know anymore.”

  Marc tugged the towel through his fist. “I don’t know if I should tell you this, but you probably don’t need to hide it. In fact, if you continue to hide, or deny it, you’ll open yourself up to more shit.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Marc looked serious, too serious. “Now, don’t kill the messenger,” he said, pulling the towel through his fist again. “Your feelings for Graham aren’t exactly a secret anymore. I mean, everyone has seen the picture of the two of you kissing, you know. Also….” He paused.

  “Also?” Connor’s mouth was dry, his heart pounding in his chest.

  “After your reaction this morning? No one, and I mean no one, doesn’t know you’re interested. You couldn’t have been plainer if you painted ‘Connor Loves Graham’ on the water tower.”

  “Are people talking?” He’d ignored the looks and muttering all day, afraid someone would do or say something that would set him off again.

  “You can say that again.”

  “What are they saying?”

  “Well, there are some—thanks to your sister—who think it’s wildly romantic. Two people, forced to keep their love a secret, unable to be together during the light of day. Kind of like vampires.”

  “Geez.” Connor rolled his eyes.

  “There are some who think it’s weird and nasty. The whole anal sex thing freaks them out.”

  “Jesus, Marc!”

  “Hey, I’m just repeating the gossip.”

  “What else are they saying?”

  “That’s mostly it. There are a few who think you’re a jerk for leading Allyson on, cheating on her with another guy, and a coward for using her to hide behind.” There was a hard edge to Marc’s voice.

  “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

  Marc met his gaze, dark eyes grave. “Yes and no. I don’t think you’re a coward, but it pisses me off to know you cheated on her. I don’t care if it was with another guy. You shouldn’t have kissed—or done anything else—with Graham while you were dating Allyson. And please, if there was anything more than kissing going on, keep it to yourself. It’s too weird right now.”

  “I didn’t mean to use her, you know.” Connor resumed scrubbing the locker. “I kept hoping that I’d snap out of it. And Allyson is great. I was afraid I’d hurt her and… well, I’m an idiot. There’s no excuse for what I did. I only hope she’ll be able to forgive me.”

  “Of course I forgive you, you idiot.” Allyson sat on the floor and leaned against the wall in front of them. “I think I’ve always sort of suspected, you know? In a way, I think I was using you too. It was nice to have a boyfriend who didn’t push for more, who was as focused on school as I was. Besides, I’m not the one you need to beg for forgiveness.”

  “You’re not?” Marc asked.

  “Nope. Connor needs to talk to Graham, apologize before he completely messes up what could be a good thing.”

  Pain so sharp it was nearly physical twisted in Connor’s chest. “I think it’s too late for that.”

  “You don’t know that.” Allyson leaned forward. “You should do something big, something that proves you’re serious. You are serious, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, but how can I prove it?”

  “Ask him to prom,” Marc suggested. Connor and Allyson gaped at him.

  Connor shook his head. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  “No. Think about it. He’s upset with you because you want to hook up with him, but you don’t want anyone to know, like you’re ashamed or something.”

  “I’m not ashamed,” Connor protested.

  “No,” Allyson agreed, “you’re scared, but think about how it looks to him.”

  “If you want the guy—and dude, that’s still weird for me to think about—you’ll have to be open and out.” Marc shrugged. “So I guess that means you have to decide how much you want him. Do you want him enough to risk coming out for him?”

  “You can’t only come out for him,” Allyson added. “If you do it, you need to come out for you, not him. You’re already mostly out anyway. After this morning, I don’t think anyone will be particularly surprised. The one you’d have to convince is Graham.”

  “But he already knows I’m gay.” His protests were getting weaker, and he knew it. At that moment, he couldn’t really remember why he’d been so afraid. Then he looked at Graham’s locker. “What if….” He gestured with the stained towel.

  Marc bumped his shoulder into Connor’s. “We’ve got your back, dude. That’s what friends are for.”

  “You’re right.” The minute the words left his mouth, the giant, elephant-sized weight that had been squatting on his chest lifted. “But I still don’t know what to do.”

  “It should be something public, something big,” Allyson said. “That way there’s no doubt in his mind that he’s not your dirty little secret.”

  “Maybe flowers,” Marc said.

  Allyson scoffed. “And you think Graham is the flower kind of guy?”

  Suddenly Connor knew what he was going to do. The timing was perfect, and it wouldn’t require flowers or prom. “What time’s the Sports Banquet tonight?” he asked, pulling out his cell phone to check the time.

  “Six, why?” Marc wiped his hands on his jeans.

  Connor dropped the rag and snagged his crutches. “I’ve got some stuff to take care of, and then I’m going to the banquet. I’ll see you there.”

  For the first time in a long time, Connor felt in control. It was a good feeling, and it was about damn time. He smiled and compiled the to-do list for tonight’s plan in his head. The first thing he had to do was find his sister. Becca would be just the girl to help him out.

  Chapter 37

  HIS PARENTS were in the kitchen when Connor got home. For once, he couldn’t hear the sound of his brothers’ video games or Abby’s television programs. In fac
t, the whole house was eerily silent. Mom sat at one end of the table, hands cradling a cup of tea, and Dad sat at the other end, absently rolling a beer bottle between his hands. Mom’s eyes were red. Shit. She’d been crying. What happened?

  Before he could ask, his dad pushed forward a piece of paper with a horribly familiar image on it. Oh shit.

  “Where’d you get that?” He closed his eyes as strength leeched out of his body.

  “It was left for me at the shop.” Dad’s fist clenched around the paper.

  Connor eased himself into one of the cracked vinyl-covered chairs and waited. When it was obvious that neither of them were going to say anything else, he took a deep breath and said, “At least now you know you don’t have to worry about me getting some girl pregnant before graduation.”

  Okay, that was the wrong thing to say. Absolutely. He wasn’t even really sure where it had come from; the words just slipped out.

  His dad slammed the beer down on the table and foam spilled out over the rim. “Do you think this is funny?”

  Something squeezed his stomach, and he swallowed hard. “No. No, I don’t think this is funny. It’s been a crazy few days.”

  His dad surged to his feet and began pacing like a lion trapped in a small cage. “What’s going on with you?”

  The accusation in Dad’s voice got his back up. Connor crossed his arms over his chest and met his father’s gaze. “What has you so ticked off? That I kissed a boy or that it’s become a public scandal?”

  “Connor!” his mom admonished.

  “It’s this boy, isn’t it?” his dad said. “He put you up to this.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “He’s the reason you’ve been acting so strange lately. Lying, drinking, acting moody.”

  “Don’t blame Graham. None of it has anything to do with him.”

  “Nothing to do with him?” His dad braced his hands on the back of a kitchen chair. “How can it have nothing to do with him? There’s a picture of you”—he whipped the picture up and waved it in Connor’s face—“kissing him. It has everything to do with him.”