(It Started At) Straight Pride

“You fucking planker!” some jock laughs at me in the hallway.

“You don’t have to be straight to believe in straight rights, moron,” I say. Even so, I wipe some of the blue-and-pink paint from my cheek. I woke in a hurry, so I didn’t have a chance to wash up after yesterday.

“Only plankers say that!”

“Just like you don’t have to be an animal to believe in animal rights, but you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? It’s not like you have any human ones,” I say, rolling my eyes. He doesn’t hear me.

He has, by now, pushed past me and is laughing with his friends. I sigh. People like that never change. I know I’m not straight. Trust me. I’ve experimented, but I do know I’m definitely gay. I just wish that people would respect straight people like I do.

I watch the guy who pushed past me. Andy Dawson. It’s a pretty cool name for a hot person. It suits. I watch in disgust as his boyfriend, the cheerleading captain, comes up on tip-toes and kisses him deeply on the lips. I feel something inside of me. Jealousy? No, I don’t want to be with Andy, he’s just really hot. Like, really really really hot.

They could be on a postcard. It makes me sick.

“OLLAY!!!” screams my best friend from down the hall. I look up to see him, William Parker. I smile and return the hug.

“Did you enjoy Pride then?”

“I fucking loved it! All those girls hitting on me. It was flattering, really.”

I laugh. I’m turn to my beige locker when I’m attacked by another pair of arms. Natasha, my other best friend, lets go of me and grins.

“Hi! Remember Becky?”

Of course I do. Becky came with her to straight pride, and apparently the two are dating now. They’re cute together. Natasha has long hair the color of poppies and Becky has short, spiky black hair. The two are quite alike somehow, and yet so different.

“Guys, I love you all, but I really need to get back to my locker. If I don’t get my assignment sorted, Garson will be sure my ass is in detention tonight.”

* * *

I hate History. It’s my least favorite subject, and it isn’t even History most of the time. Like, we go over other things, but it always comes back to four points in time. Four scenarios to remind us the way things work. One isn’t even historical, it’s religious, but I go to a Christian school. What do you expect?

“You could have the audacity to say that today’s protests are not unlike those held in the fifties in the south. Does someone have any idea how these protests could be avoided?”

I raise my hand. As it was the only one to offer, Mr Garson accepts it. I speak with a loud, clear voice. I’m very open with my opinions, and my teachers know it.

“The protests could be avoided if the heads of our state got their heads out of their ass and finally allowed straight people to marry. It’s only decent.”

“As usual, Oliver Simmons, you are incorrect. The furthest from the truth, in fact,” he says, pursing his lips. “The protests could be avoided if the people would only find something useful to do and stick their noses in a book. And, as we all know, the holy Bible was the first book ever to be published – an important historical event – and should be treated like the treasure it is. Good Christians follow the rules of the Lord, and if the Lord saw what some of these people, including you, Simmons, are saying… Well, we might find ourselves in the next great flood of forty days and forty nights. Class dismissed.”

The bell rings, and the class trickles out of the room immediately. Everyone else, who was either too busy not listening or not caring, had already packed their things and left. I rushed to follow suit. Before I could reach the door, the teacher stops me.

“Oliver, if you intend to keep driveling this nonsense in my class, then I suggest you transfer to another subject – Shop, maybe.”

I grit my teeth and leave for Music.

* * *

I walk out of my last class and head for my bus, only to find that Will isn’t sitting in his usual seat. The bus is getting ready to go, and I politely ask the driver if I could leave and find out where the hell he was. I check my phone. No missed calls, no messages, nothing.

I check his last class, English Lit. Nothing. I check his locker. Nothing. I check the hall, the cafeteria, and where we hang out at the front of the school. Nothing, nothing and nothing. He isn’t in anywhere to be seen. I walk through the hall in defeat when I hear a sound from the boys’ bathroom. I’m about to enter when none other than Andy Dawson comes out. He pushes past me once again, leaving me in shock.

I walk into the bathroom, and I find Will on the floor with blood dripping down his nose and bruises everywhere. I rush to his aid.

“Will, what’s wrong? Did Andy do this to you? Why did he do it?” I ask him, the words flying out of my mouth with a thousand syllables per second.

He gulps, sighs and answers slowly.

“He… he did it b-because… because I’m straight.”