by John Goode
Josh looked back at me with a huge grin. “Dude, she’s going to wear a uniform and everything.”
God, those two were bad.
“Brad, help me out here,” her dad pleaded with me. “Tell her to go to school for something else.”
She raised one eyebrow, and I was reminded of how ridiculously brave she was during the shooting. “Sorry, sir, but I think in five years she’ll have your job.”
He scowled at me, but she mouthed “thank you” at me and gave me a huge hug.
Which was when they asked us all to take our seats.
There was a prayer, and the new principal gave a nice speech about the school, and then he moved aside and introduced Kyle.
The crowd grew silent as he walked up to the podium.
I had never been so proud nor so in love with a single person in my life. He reached into his gown and pulled out some index cards and looked at them for a moment. After a second he put them down and took a deep breath. When he looked up, I knew, this was not going to be the speech they had thought he would say.
“They want me to talk about us,” he said, sounding tired. “They want me to talk about the future and where we’re going.” He looked down at his cards and then back to the crowd. His eyes caught mine, and I smiled at him. He gave me a ghost of a smile back and then said to the crowd, “So here is my speech. I have no idea.”
The crowd went wild as everyone under the age of thirty burst into wild cheering.
“I have no earthly clue to what we are going to do with the rest of our lives. All I know is where we’ve been and what we are.” He waited for the crowd to calm down. “We are the ones who made it. We are the survivors.” There were a few chuckles from parents, who thought he was telling a joke. “I know that may seem crazy to those who have already graduated. It used to be getting good grades and scoring a good college was all you needed to do. That’s not true now. We don’t care about that. We just care about living. We just don’t want to die.”
No one said a word. It was as if the whole crowd held its breath.
“There are those not with us. There are people who literally didn’t make it through high school alive. We are the ones who made it, so we have an obligation now. We have an obligation to ourselves and to the world. We have to love and fight and to do stupid things and just live. We have to live for those who can’t. That’s our job now, and it’s not fair. Life just isn’t fair.”
He took a second to gather his thoughts. “The world sucks, and everyone knows it. Kids kill kids, people are spit on because of things as stupid as skin color or who they love, the people who have everything refuse to share with those who have nothing, and no one does a thing. I see people much older than me just shake their heads and say ‘Oh well, that’s life. Not much we can do about it.’ That is not life!” he said, slamming his hand down on the podium. “You want to make the world a better place? Do it. You want to be a better person? Be it. Those of us here, those of us who have survived, we know. We know the truth about the world, and we aren’t going to be lied to anymore. We aren’t going to be told that the problem is too big or there is only so much one person can do. We aren’t going to accept there is a time and place for things, and that someday they will get better. The place is here, and the time is now.”
A few kids cheered. The adults looked like they were in shock.
“We are tired of your world. We are sick of your hatred and your bigotry and of your bullshit. We are not going to stand for it anymore—we won’t. We are going to go out into the world, and we are going to change it, one person at a time. We are going to meet people, and we are going to tell them these stories from where we grew up, and we are going to share them. And one by one we will change the way people think about the world and the people in it. One by one we will find hatred and intolerance, and we will destroy it.”
More kids started cheering.
“We are going to go out into the world, and we are going to find those people who are filled with hatred, and we are going to tell them their time is done here. That we will not tolerate that crap anymore. You want to know who we are and where we are going?”
The kids were going crazy now, myself included.
“We are coming for you, and we are coming for your world, and we are pissed. If you stand for hate and for discrimination and you can’t see that all people are worth something, then know this. We are the graduating class of Foster High, and your days are numbered.”
He grabbed the microphone and screamed, “We are the ones who survived!”
Nothing much was said after that because we all rushed the stage and ran toward Kyle.
We had just been given our marching orders. We all had a life to live.
KYLE
THEY TELL me I stood up and gave a speech at graduation. I don’t remember a word of it.
I remember walking out there on stage and seeing everyone looking back at me and being incredibly grateful I had a gown on so they couldn’t see my legs shaking. I saw Brad smiling at me, and for a moment the fear and the trepidation passed because I knew, no matter how bad I was going to be up here, he was always there waiting.
I saw my mom sitting with Tyler and Matt, who was sitting next to Robbie, who was crying as hard as my mom was.
When I was done with my speech, the whole crowd went crazy. Well, the kids did. The parents looked a little scared, which was okay with me. Once everything got settled down and Mr. Fisher said I could have a seat, I saw one seat empty.
Robbie was gone.
Without a word, I ducked off the platform and dashed to the parking lot. In the back of my mind I knew he was going to do this. I hadn’t even been sure he was going to make it to graduation, but now I understood his plan. He was going to run out while we were getting our diplomas, thinking I was going to be trapped onstage until it was done.
I caught him at his car, driver’s side door half-open as he tried to get in.
“J’accuse!” I called out at him. “J’accuse! Mon petit citron.”
He shook his head and closed the doors. “Inches from a clean getaway.”
“You were just going to run out without saying good-bye?”
He sighed and leaned against his car. “I said good-bye. I even said good-bye with fabulous parting gifts. What more do you want?”
I had something snarky to reply when I noticed his clothes for the first time.
He was dressed normal. As in completely normal. Normal jeans, button-up shirt, hair combed without gel, nothing. Just normal Robbie. He looked like… well, he looked like just another person.
“Did you lose a bet?” I asked, gesturing at his getup.
He sighed and pulled a cigarette out. “No, just stopped doing drag.” I didn’t say a word and just stared at him, confused, until he explained. “Look, Kyle, I spent a lot of time being someone I wasn’t as a defense mechanism. Foster hated me for being gay, so I shoved being gay in its face. They wanted me to be the token fag, so I made sure to play the part. I mean, don’t get me wrong, everything I said about Into the Woods and the movie Clue is still gospel, but that wasn’t really me. I haven’t been me for a long time, and I think maybe I need to try to find him again.”
“I feel like I’m seeing behind the curtain for the first time.”
He nodded. “It’s a lot like that. I was a great, flaming fake, and you’re a small and annoying little dog that should have been left behind.” I flipped him off, and he laughed. “Here is the last lesson I am going to give, so pay attention. There will be times in your life where people are going to make you want to act straight. Through intimidation or peer pressure or whatever, don’t let them do it. But on the other hand, if you are ever in a place where you feel like you have to act gay, where you feel like you have to shove it in their face… then leave. Because the second is as bad as the first, trust me.” In that moment I had a feeling of how the last few years must have been for him. “Come give me a hug before I go. I need to get out of here before I change my mind.”
I moved over and embraced him. I really was going to miss him.
“Oh Jesus, you’re as bad as Tyler,” he said, wiping his eyes. “There is a fucking phone, Skype, and an airplane. I’m not dying. I’m going to Long Island. You’d know if I was dying because I’d say I was going to Jersey.” When I didn’t laugh, he rolled his eyes. “God, good humor is lost on you hicks.”
“Call me when you get home?” I asked him.
He stopped getting into the car for a moment and looked at me thoughtfully. “I am going home.” He said it like he was realizing it for the first time. “I really am going home.”
I smiled at him. “This is where you’re supposed to say, ‘I’ll miss you most of all, Scarecrow.’”
He leveled a look at me and shook his head. “Kid, you were the only one here with any brains. Don’t ever forget it.”
And with that, he closed the door, backed out of the parking lot, and drove out of Foster forever.
Between you and me, the town was lesser for it, but no one would believe me.
JUNE 15: HOME
Settle down, it’ll all be clear. Don’t pay no mind to the demons.
They fill you with fear. The trouble it might drag you down.
If you get lost, you can always be found.
—Phillip Phillips
The Last Day in Foster
KYLE
WHEN I walked out, Brad was waiting for me, making room in the trunk.
“So you have everything?” my mom asked for the hundredth time. “Your wallet? Phone? Charger?” I nodded each time, as I had each time before she had asked me. You would think it would seem annoying, but here, standing outside our crappy apartment, holding a suitcase, we both realized this was the last time I was going to be her teenage son living under her roof. As soon as I got in that car, I would drive off and take the first steps in a long line of steps toward being an adult, and everything would be different.
I was surprised to find that I didn’t want it to end.
I dropped my suitcase and hugged her tight. Everything I was scared of was in that one gesture. All my childhood fears, all the things under my bed, the demons in my closet, everything in one life-changing hug. She hugged me back, and as with every skinned knee, black eye, and upset stomach, it went away for the brief moment I was in her arms. My mind knew logically I wasn’t going to miss her, exactly, as much as I was going to miss the safety she provided me growing up, but I told my mind to shove off for a couple of minutes and give me some space.
“You can always come home,” she whispered. “Always.”
Even as she said it, she had to know I never would. Sure, I would come back for holidays and the odd school break, but I would never take that step backward into her life again. Sober or not, this was not the life I wanted, and she knew that. This was the moment I had been waiting eighteen years for, and I was never going to look back.
“Thanks, Mom” was all I could choke out as I held on to her.
And then slowly, deliberately, I pulled away and took a step back.
“We’re losing daylight,” Brad said behind me as he took my bags and shoved them into the trunk.
“Call me when you guys stop for the night,” she called out as I began to turn toward the car. “It doesn’t matter how late.”
“I will,” I promised her, closing the door behind me. Brad got into the driver’s side and slammed his door.
“We good?” he asked me as I continued to look out the window at her.
I looked back at him and nodded. “I’m ready.”
He started the car, and I waved to her as we pulled out of the driveway. He headed out East Avenue and then turned on First Street, heading out of town. We passed Nancy’s, and I saw Gayle serving the lunch crowd, her smile beaming as she shared a story with a customer. Across the street I saw Mr. Parker’s shop. I couldn’t see inside, but the front door was open, and I could imagine him behind the counter, giving someone one of his thousand-watt smiles as he offered them a Coke. Ms. Garner was in front of the Vine, sweeping the front sidewalk as she readied herself to open for the afternoon matinee.
We turned off First and hit the long road out of town. I saw Robbie’s shop already closed down. The sign in the window read: Make Your Own Happy Ending. I laughed and wondered if it was a message to me. We passed the cemetery where Kelly was buried, and I pressed my hand against the glass as I said good-bye to him one last time. Slowly, building by building, the town went away, leaving the bleak countryside that surrounded Foster all around us. We drove past the Bear’s Den, and I smiled as I wondered how many guys would walk in there and wonder who was the handsome green-eyed boy whose picture was on the wall, looking like a deer in the headlights as the flash went off.
We drove another twenty minutes, and I saw something in the distance.
“Slow down,” I asked Brad, who had already begun to drum along with the radio. He saw what I was looking at and pulled over to the side.
I got out of the car and stood there for a second. The acrid afternoon air whooshed past me as Brad joined me on the side of the road. The only sound was the wind and our own heartbeats.
“Afraid?” he asked as he came up behind me and moved his arms around me.
I shook my head as I continued to look at what had caught my eye.
“Really? Not even a little?” he teased.
“No,” I said, leaning against him. “Not even a little.”
“Why?” He nuzzled my cheek with his nose, and I closed my eyes for a moment, relishing the sensation.
I turned around and hugged him back. “Because I am taking everything I loved about Foster with me.” I smiled, and he leaned in for a kiss. As with the first time he kissed me in his room, the world stopped moving for a second, and there was nothing else but Brad.
It was that good of a kiss.
“You have a marker?” I asked him, pulling away.
“Are you planning on labeling me?” he asked with a grin.
I rolled my eyes. “No, when I do that, I’ll make sure it’s a tattoo and never coming off.” I paused as I thought about it. “Also, might give you one of those chips they put in dogs in case you wander off.”
He shook his head and turned back to the trunk. He popped it open and dug through our stuff before coming up with a Sharpie. “One marker, sir,” he announced, giving me a half bow.
“I like the ‘sir,’” I said, taking it before slapping his ass.
“We’re still burning daylight,” he said, heading back to his side of the car.
“I know,” I said, moving toward it. “I just need to do one thing.”
It took me a couple of seconds, and then I was done.
I got back into the car and tossed the marker in the back. “I’m ready to leave,” I told him.
He leaned over and kissed me again. “Then let’s go,” he said, shifting into drive.
As we pulled away, I turned around in my seat and watched the You Are Leaving Foster, Texas sign get smaller in the distance. I knew the first rain would wash it clean, but for now, it had one small message under that.
“Brad and Kyle were here.”
I don’t know when I was broken, but I know the moment that it didn’t matter anymore. It was the moment I started my life with the green-eyed boy.
AUGUST 21: WHERE THE STORY ENDS
But this is how the story ends.
Or have we just begun?
—The Fray
720 days left
JARED
I DON’T know what I did in the seventeen years I’ve been alive to deserve this fate, but whatever it is, I am fucking sorry. I am not just saying that, either. I mean it. Whatever angry god up there I pissed off or stepped off to, I take it back. I take it all back.
Just get me out of this fucking town.
My dad turned down the radio and asked me, “So, what do you think?”
What do I think? What do I think? Oh, Dad, please don’t ask me questions that you won’t e
njoy the answer to. Instead I looked over at the one movie theater in town and commented, “Well, I’m pretty sure both of those movies are on Netflix, so paying to go see them in a crappy, run-down building sounds like a hoot.”
I usually don’t use the word “hoot,” by the way. I’m just trying it out since I’m now officially a citizen of Foster, Texas.
“Jared,” my dad said, which was his way of prepping for one of his “buck up, kiddo, life is what you make of it” speeches. I can tell because he used my full name instead of the normal Jay. Like “Jay, take out the garbage. Jay, did you do your homework? Jay, that music is too loud.” Jared was reserved for heart-to-heart talks, bad news, and the rare times he was going to discipline me. But then, Jared was usually followed by a lilting “Brandon” and then finished with a sharp “Fisher” to round it out. Jared by itself was more reserved for lemon-to-lemonade kind of talks.
“I know you didn’t want to move here, and I’m sorry for that, but you know how much of an opportunity this is for me.”
Yeah, some opportunity, to be a principal for a school that most likely has a hitching post in front of it for the kids who ride a horse to school every day. Some opportunity.
“You’ll make friends here,” he said with the same validity in his voice that he might have said, “One day Taylor Lautner will be on Facebook, see your profile, and come to take you away from all this.”
Yeah, when fucking pigs fly. And I mean literal pigs with superpowers that fly around and fight pig crime. Not a pig launched from catapult and filmed on YouTube.
“I hear they have a great football team.”
That was it. I slipped my earbuds in and began to thumb through my music. “I’m not fucking playing football, and you know why.”
I was not going through what had happened to me last year. Never again.
If he said anything after that, it was drowned out by Jack Antonoff asking me, what did I stand for? Most nights, I didn’t know.
