by Paul Dunn
(calling out) Hi! We’ve started, but you can join us anytime.
jeremy: (to krystina) We haven’t started, no one’s here.
krystina: (to jeremy) We’re here.
(to girl in the hall) Oh, you’re not . . . what’s that? Just hanging out, cool. Well so are we, so, whatevs. No presh.
jeremy: You are so sad.
krystina: Shut up. Oh no. Now I’ve scared her away.
jeremy: Is she a lesbian, though?
krystina: I don’t know! And don’t you dare ask her!
jeremy: Why not? Isn’t that the point of this? She tells us she’s a lesbian and then we’re all, “That’s great! We’ll be your friends! And help you out if someone’s, like, bullying you or whatever . . . ”
krystina just glares at him.
What!? Am I wrong?
krystina: if she decides to come in here, the last thing I want is for you to put her on the spot by demanding to know how she identifies herself. if she decides to come in here, and if she feels comfortable sharing with us that she, at present, self-identifies as lesbian or bisexual or, or, queer or transgender or transsexual or, or even two-spirit or intersex or questioning —
jeremy: Holy crap —
krystina: if she reveals that to us, on her own terms and in her own time, then we offer our support —
jeremy: Intersex, though? I don’t even know what intersex is.
krystina: So look it up.
jeremy: Why don’t you just tell me.
krystina: Because if you react in an immature or insensitive way I’ll be really, really mad.
jeremy: Why, are you intersex?
krystina: What did I just say about asking people!?
jeremy: Yeah, but you’re you . . . I mean . . .
krystina: Go over to that corner. Turn away. Look it up. And turn back when you’re ready to talk about it.
jeremy reluctantly obeys. He looks up intersex on his device.
daniel: I don’t think Krystina knew. About the texting game. Some people seem to be exempt from the crap that’s going on around them, ’cause the kids who are doing it know that they won’t play along. Like everyone knows they’re good. That’s Krystina.
jeremy turns around, unfazed.
jeremy: You underestimate me.
krystina: Yeah?
jeremy: Yeah. I’m . . . pretty progressive, you know. I’m here, aren’t I?
krystina: Yes.
jeremy: Tell me you’re intersex if you’re intersex —
krystina: I’m not.
jeremy: Fine. But if you were I wouldn’t care. I don’t see why we need to be all precious about it. What if what that girl needs is for someone like me to just ask her point-blank if she’s a lesbian, like it’s no big deal, like I know tons of lesbians, because who knows, maybe I do, and it’s aaalll cooooolll. And she can finally say, “You know what, yeah.” And I save her the stress of having to come out.
krystina: How’s she gonna know you’re not asking her to make fun of her? How’s she gonna know you’re asking ’cause you care?
jeremy: I don’t know. Maybe because I’m sitting under this huge gay banner? Maybe because it’s so, so gay in here?
krystina: I’m gonna kill you.
jeremy: You can’t afford to. You need me for your club.
krystina: And what if she’s straight?
jeremy doesn’t know.
daniel: Jeremy, on the other hand, was a different story. A little more complicated.
jeremy: So if we’ve started, let’s start.
krystina: Really?
jeremy: You got a plan, or something? You’ve obviously been doing your homework.
krystina: Yeah, but we should wait for . . . someone to . . . I mean it’s a gay-straight alliance, and with just you and me —
jeremy: I can’t believe you’re assuming that I’m straight. I thought this was a safe space, Krystina.
krystina: Jeremy —
jeremy: You got a plan for this meeting? An “agenda”?
krystina: Of course I do.
jeremy: Of course you do.
krystina goes and gets out a binder, flips . . .
krystina: We need to come up with a mission statement.
jeremy: That sounds hard.
krystina: No . . . we can just start by talking about why we’re here.
jeremy: I think you should go first because you are the leader.
krystina: There’s no leader. We can have a chairperson, if we want, but we have to elect —
jeremy: Oh my god fine. I’ll go. “Why am I here?”
krystina: Yes.
jeremy: Well I’m here because . . . because Daniel’s a good guy. And I don’t like that he’s gone.
krystina: Right.
jeremy: And I guess I wish I had been better at . . . you know . . .
krystina: What?
jeremy: Stuff.
Beat.
krystina: “Better at stuff”!? Jeremy!
jeremy: Well, like, for instance, there was this one time, early on, before things got so . . . you know —
daniel: Just as I was getting the hang of blocking numbers, and deleting texts without looking at them —
jeremy: ’Kay, so, you don’t know this, and . . . and don’t hate me . . .
krystina: Why would I hate you?
daniel: It took a step up. It’s the end of the day. I’m heading toward the doors thinking, “I made it through another one,” when I’m pushed into the lockers and informed that this is a “no fags hallway.”
Another shift/flashback. daniel is clutching his arm. jeremy approaches him.
jeremy: Hey, hey, Daniel. You okay?
daniel: Oh, look who’s gonna risk talking to me. In public.
jeremy: (looking around quickly) There’s no one around.
daniel: I stand corrected.
jeremy: They pushed you pretty hard.
daniel: Yeah, pushing. That’s new.
jeremy: You should watch out, maybe.
daniel: Oh, yeah, is that what I should do?
jeremy begins to walk away. daniel calls after him.
What am I doing? Jeremy?
jeremy: What do you mean?
daniel: You’ve stopped acknowledging me in the hallway. When others are around. You used to nod. You used to do this — (demonstrates)
jeremy: I can’t, I’ll get . . .
daniel: What?
jeremy: Look, our project is done, okay?
daniel: Yeah.
jeremy: And you’re . . .
daniel: What?
jeremy: Oh c’mon, man. Don’t act like you don’t know.
daniel: I don’t. What am I doing?
jeremy: You know what people say about you.
daniel: And do you believe them?
jeremy shrugs.
But what am I doing?
jeremy: I don’t know . . . nothing, it’s . . . Just, shoot . . . just look at yourself. It’s just the way you are.
Back to the separate classrooms.
daniel: Just the way I am, he says.
krystina: what!?
jeremy: I know. And he limped off . . . I wanted to help him, I really did, but I felt so . . . stuck. So, I’m here, I guess, because I wanna see if anyone else feels . . . stuck, like that. And maybe figure out how to get better at handling . . . that kind of . . . stuff.
Beat.
Yeah.
krystina: That’s . . .
jeremy: What, is that stupid?
krystina: No. That’s, um . . . right on.
She goes to her binder.
That’s so right on I’m going to write that down.
jeremy: Sweet. Check me out.
krystina: And you too. Brainstorm. Reasons we need a club like this. As many as you can think of.
jeremy: ’Kay. One, two, three — go.
They brainstorm and write.
daniel: Just the way I am. I go to the boys’ washroom. I splash some water on my face. I stand at the mirror. I look at myself. I walk back and forth. I talk to myself, I say, “Hi.” I still don’t get it. So I say, “Fag, you’re a faggot, are you a faggot? Huh? It’s just the way you are.” I’m looking in the mirror and that’s when I . . . see it. I see what they see. And I think, damn, that kid needs to step it up. That kid needs a real friend. So I lean into the mirror and look myself in the eyes, and I ask, as gently as I can, “Hey, Daniel, it’s okay . . . are you?” And I look back at myself and for the first time I think . . . maybe? Maybe. Maybe.
Beat.
Yes. Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes, I’m pretty sure I am, yes. It’s like a door gets kicked open in the back of my head and all these thoughts come rushing through — Yes, there were a few boys I was crushing on. Yes I thought some guys were hot (none of the guys at my school because weirdly I seem to have been blessed with not finding douchebags hot — a gift I wish I could share with half the girls I know). Yes I wanted to have a boyfriend, oh my god sooo, sooo bad. Yes I wanted love. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to love. who doesn’t want that?
Beat.
It’s just the way I am. Okay then, but still . . . what does that have to do with anyone else? why does that make people so mean? Well. Screw those guys then. Those guys can suck a bag of dicks. Am I right? Am I right? Sorry.
Beat.
I’m still standing at the mirror and I get a text. “We saw a faggot get pushed into the lockers. Was it you?” And I replied. Which I’d never done before. Because I never knew what to say. I type out, “I would prefer if you use the word gay. Faggot is a derogatory term for someone with my sexual orientation.” Send.
Beat.
Oh. My. God.
Beat.
No response.
Beat.
No more texts.
Beat.
And just like that I became the first openly gay student at Salisbury Collegiate. And by openly gay I don’t mean that I was a walking Pride parade or anything, only that I stopped looking at the floor when I walked down the hall, and I stopped hiding. They didn’t know what to do. I enjoyed a few weeks of . . . awe — they were in awe. Finally, for the first time in three years, everyone just left me alone.
Beat.
For a while.
jeremy: Boom. Done.
krystina: (still writing) Just a sec!
daniel: I got called into Principal Evans’s office. She was concerned that I was “telling everybody I was gay.” She warned me that I was too young to commit to such a “lifestyle choice,” but if I insisted on doing so, I should be careful about pushing my “orientation” on my fellow students. I was all, “Really? Because they are not careful at all about pushing their orientation in my face . . . all day long.” Wow. I found out I had a lot to say, and I wanted to say it. It meant I had to tell my folks. My dad was silent and my mom kept asking me if I was sure — it wasn’t great, but it wasn’t all bad; they just wanted me to be careful.
Beat.
It was all up to me to shut up and be careful, and, I don’t know, but that didn’t seem right. It honestly didn’t feel like something I could do. And actually, why should I?
jeremy: Time’s up! What do you got?
krystina: You first.
jeremy: No. I already came up with one.
krystina: Some of these are really bad.
jeremy: I’m counting on that so that I can mock you.
krystina: No mocking. Safe space.
jeremy: Safe space unless they’re really bad. Just go already.
krystina: Okay so . . . reasons we need this GSA. Number one. Well I, like you . . .
jeremy: Yeah?
krystina: I’m embarrassed when I think about Daniel coming out to me. I didn’t know what to do. We were at a movie, and when it was over he turns to me and says, “That lead actor is cute.” And in my head I was simultaneously “oh my god!” and “of course!” and “what do I say!?”
jeremy: What did you say?
krystina: I just kept . . . talking my face off. About nothing. I was trying as hard as I could to pretend it didn’t matter, which it didn’t, I mean, that he was gay. But it must have been hard for him to say, even if he acted like it wasn’t. And I didn’t share anything real about myself in return, and I was too scared to even ask Daniel a question. about the important thing he just shared. So, yeah, I guess part of the reason I’m starting this club is to, um —
jeremy: Be less self-absorbed. Got it. Next?
krystina: I don’t want to lose any more friends.
jeremy: slam! I wrote that one too.
daniel: There’s a word you guys taught me — someone said it the first meeting I was here . . . heteronormative. Assuming we’re all straight and that straight is the normal. When you first explained it to me, this light went off in my head, like, oh, heteronormative, like making everyone believe that being straight is the best and only thing . . . basically every hour of every day of high school, you mean? I was glad to hear a word for it, and also, it’s a big word and makes me feel all smart and queer savvy. Anyway . . . It was coming up to Valentine’s Day. And they have this heteronormative tradition at Salisbury where, as a fundraiser for student council, guys could purchase a rose to be delivered to a girl that they liked — they could sign their name or do it secretly — anonymously — or whatever. Carmen was on the student council and she pressured Krystina to volunteer at this table in the cafeteria where guys could come up and place their orders. So Krystina made me sit with her. Which was fine. Only once did some guy ask, “You place any orders for your boyfriend, Danny?” and I said, “I would if I had one,” and he said, “That’s gross,” and Krystina said —
Shift/flashback. daniel and krystina are at the rose-ordering table in the cafeteria.
krystina: (tearing a form) Oops. Sorry, Steve, you just lost your order.
They watch Steve walk away. daniel turns to krystina in awe.
What? That guy’s a jerk. No roses for jerks.
daniel: That’ll disqualify a lot of the student population. Look, he’s going over to complain to Carmen.
krystina: So? If Carmen doesn’t like the way I do business she can sit here herself all lunch.
daniel: There’s Jeremy.
Beat.
krystina: Yup.
Beat.
This is so stupid.
daniel: Yeah.
krystina: Why is it just the guys?
daniel: What do you mean?
krystina: Why aren’t any girls ordering roses for guys?
daniel: Seriously? Do you think guys want to get a rose?
krystina: I bet you want a rose.
daniel: Shut up.
They smile.
krystina: I just think it’s . . . sexist.
daniel: And you would totally die if you got one.
krystina: Shut up.
Beat.
Here comes Mr. Johnston.
daniel freezes.
Look, he’s smiling and waving —
daniel: Shut up.
krystina: Don’t be rude, wave back.
He does, muttering under his breath.
daniel: Gah.
krystina: You have such a crush on him.
daniel: Shut up.
krystina: He’s cute. I get it. You wanna send him a rose?
daniel: Oh my god shut up.
krystina: I’ll leave you to recover. Watch the table for me. I gotta pee.
>
She leaves. daniel looks around, slightly less comfortable. After a moment jeremy approaches.
jeremy: Hey.
daniel: Hey.
Beat.
What?
jeremy: How’s it going?
daniel: Fine. Why?
Beat.
jeremy: So, yeah, bro, I need your help.
daniel: “Bro”? Oh, yeah?
jeremy: Just . . . I wanna order a rose.
daniel: Krystina’ll be right back.
jeremy: Yeah, no, / can’t you —
daniel: I’m just keeping her company. I have no official rose-ordering / powers.
jeremy: ’Kay, so —
daniel: They don’t want the roses turning gay.
jeremy: Are you gonna make a big deal out of this? ’Cause I just want to order a stupid rose.
daniel: For who, Krystina?
Beat.
Oh-eM-Gee, it’s for Krystina.
jeremy: Uh . . .
daniel: That’s so sweet. She’ll totally love it and die.
jeremy: I’m gonna barf now.
daniel: Don’t, just — quick, fill out this form.
He hands jeremy a form.
Or, just, write your message and I’ll fill out the rest for you.
jeremy: I want it to be anonymous though.
daniel: What? Why?
jeremy: I don’t want to, like, piss her off —
daniel: She’ll be pissed off if she gets a rose and it’s anonymous. I guarantee.
jeremy: But what if she doesn’t like it, I mean?
daniel: I have a feeling she’ll like it more if she knows it’s from you.
jeremy: Yeah?
daniel: Yeah, bro. Seize the day. If I had someone I . . . had any sort of connection with, you wouldn’t catch me being all anonymous about it. Man up.
jeremy fills out the form and hands it to daniel.
You gotta put five bucks in the tin . . .
jeremy does.
See, wasn’t so hard.
jeremy: Yeah.
daniel: Talking to me, I mean.
The boys look at each other.
jeremy: I better split before she comes back.
Back to the two separate classrooms.
daniel: With Jeremy that day, I caught a glimpse of . . . how it could work — me being at the school, I mean. We were both guys and both different kinds of guys, but we didn’t need to be threatened by each other. I don’t know. I watched him walking back to his soccer buddies and wondered how much Krystina was gonna freak out when she got his rose.
