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  “People don’t understand that antigay bullying is a vicious social tool used to keep a wide range of outsiders in check.” The fire ignited in Rory’s eyes. She was commanding, even informally. She’d be a true force onstage. “The stigma burns everyone it touches and keeps even the straightest of kids from expressing a hint of difference.”

  “I wonder why more people can’t see that.”

  “I try to draw those connections. So many of us do.” The frustration hung thick in her voice. “But we keep failing these kids.”

  My chest constricted in the face of her pain. “You don’t fail them, Rory. You do what you can, and you’re good at it.”

  “We’re not good enough, not as a society, not even as individuals.”

  A twinge of defensiveness pricked my skin. “The work you do probably saves more lives than you know. These kids are blessed to have you back here and to have teachers like Jody to advocate for them, but we can’t all be those people. We aren’t all warriors or symbols of triumph. I can’t imagine choosing the life you have.”

  “I guess that’s where we really differ. I’ve never seen the work I do as a choice. It’s not personality or ability. I get tired of being a big gay symbol sometimes too. All the travel, all the speaking to reluctant audiences and arguing with small-minded bigots. I don’t fight for me anymore.” Her voice caught slightly as she pointed to Kelsey’s picture. “I do it for kids like her.”

  I stared at Kelsey, then at Rory. She was right about one thing. These kids deserved someone like her, and someone like Jody—people with clear visions and a holy purpose to drive them. What they didn’t need was someone who got sick at the thought of being in the same gym with them or someone who counted down the hours until she could leave town. They didn’t need someone who holed up in a loft and wrote books in an attempt to avoid even basic social interactions, someone who didn’t have the courage or composure to give a simple acceptance speech, much less an impassioned oration on their behalf. Yes, they needed symbols and advocates and leaders, but I was none of those things.

  *

  Jody found us waiting in the balcony area of the bleachers while students began to flow in below us. She moved confidently and chatted easily, appearing as calm and graceful as ever, and I once again found it hard to believe she’d ever doubted her place in a school. She’d be the hero in some kid’s story someday. She probably already had been.

  “Hi, you two,” she said, her eyes bright. “Ready to get this show on the road?”

  “You know it,” Rory said with a little bounce. “And I just saw my boss come in too. You want me to flag her down for us?”

  “Please, and ask her if she can stay around for some photos with the scholarship recipients after the assembly.”

  “Sure.” Rory patted me on the back as she strode off, leaving Jody and me alone again.

  “How you feeling?” she asked, her expression turning serious.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “Really?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’m pretty nervous.”

  “Do you get nervous before all your public experiences?”

  “I try not to do too many of them, and when I do it’s generally with book clubs or panels at conferences. This is my high school.”

  “What difference does that make?”

  “I spent four years here trying not to be noticed, and now I’ll be center stage. It feels like a bit of a farce to me.”

  “Stevie.” She touched my hand quickly, gently, but enough to establish a more solid connection between us. “You belong here. You earned your way onto that stage whether you asked for it or not. Your success has meaning beyond what you can imagine. All you have to do is accept that.”

  I closed my eyes and focused on her voice, her words, her touch. Some of the tension in my shoulders eased. She provided such a calming presence, an anchor and a warm blanket all rolled into one. I marveled at her ability to soothe me even in these emotionally chaotic circumstances. For a fleeting moment I wondered what it would be like to see more of her, to know her outside of Darlington.

  “What are you thinking about Stevie?”

  “I wish we had a chance to spend more time together away from the school, and the media circus, and the pressure to be anything for anyone else.”

  Her smile grew so big it crinkled the edges of her eyes. “Few things would make me happier than for you to visit again.”

  My chest constricted. I hadn’t meant here. I couldn’t come back to Darlington. I wouldn’t. Less than twenty-four hours in town had exhausted me. I couldn’t eat or sleep, and the weight of responsibility to some unseen gay children was enough to crush me. I wished no ill will on any of them, but I had to get out.

  “Hey, there you are,” Edmond called. “It’s picture time.”

  I exhaled forcefully, subconsciously searching for an exit, but Jody gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Come on, it won’t be so bad.”

  I tried to believe her, but my nerves frayed a little more with each flashbulb that went off in my face. First another picture with Edmond and Rory, then just Edmond, then just Rory. When a student photographer jumped into the game, along with a reporter from the local paper, the white light caused spots in my vision. I plastered on a fake smile and tried to turn my head in the appropriate direction every time someone shouted, “Stevie,” or worse, “Miss Geller.” Hands reached in to rearrange us, adding Jody and the dean of the college, whom I’d yet to be introduced to. Then someone said, “Let’s get Mr. Phillips in some of these.”

  A man squeezed next to me as close as possible without letting our bodies touch in any way.

  “Hey, Drew,” Rory said under her breath. “How’s it hanging?”

  “Rory, I want you out of my school as soon as the assembly is over.” He delivered the line through gritted teeth.

  Rory snickered. “I love how much it pains you that I’m a distinguished alum.”

  “Look this way,” someone called, and we all turned.

  “Did you even say hello to your guest, Drew?” Rory kept needling him. “You know the one we called this assembly for? The one getting a big award?”

  “Ms. Geller.” He sneered in my direction.

  What a jerk. I never did anything to him. Or did my mere existence annoy him? Another flash went off, and my airway constricted a bit more. This whole ordeal was hard enough without getting pulled into their pissing contest. I didn’t need his tension piled on top of my own. I didn’t need any of this pressure.

  I began surreptitiously searching for somewhere to hide. If I could just find a corner to myself, I could take a couple of deep breaths and pull myself together, but students filled the bleachers and milled around in the doorway. Some of them were even bustling around near the stage. Dear God, how many kids went to this school? It seemed like so many more than four hundred. And then there were the teachers. Some I’d had, some I didn’t know. Would I be expected to talk to them? Would they remember me? Would I remember anything they’d taught me? My hands began to shake. I took a few steps back, then a few steps more. Rory and Edmond were laughing about something between them, and Jody chatted casually with a student. Drew remained steadfast in his attempt to ignore me. I took a few more steps back without eliciting any notice from anyone.

  This was my chance. Two steps from the door, I turned slowly, angling my body toward the exit when an arm on my shoulder almost caused me to jump out of my skin.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Edmond said through an overly enthusiastic smile.

  “I can’t do this.” I pleaded, completely unconcerned with the irrationality of the request. “You have to get me out of this.”

  “Too late. You’re on.”

  *

  Something was wrong. Very wrong.

  Jody and Rory stood together at the podium taking turns speaking about me. They talked about me as a person, as a student, as a writer, or at least I thought that’s what they were talking about, but I cou
ld barely hear anything. I strained to make out their words, but I couldn’t concentrate over the dull roar in my ears. The white noise of my brain sounded like the ocean. Not a real ocean, mind you, but the fake ocean you hear when you put a large seashell up to your ear. Occasionally I heard them say my name, the sound like sirens calling me, a distant echo carrying their song over the waves.

  I blinked, I shook my head, I even stuck my finger in my ear to try to clear it. I must have looked absurd, but I didn’t care. As much as I didn’t want to make a scene, I worried I was having a stroke. That didn’t make any sense, but none of this made sense. Could this be an allergic reaction? An acute panic attack?

  I turned from Rory to Jody—so strong, so proud, so kind, and standing so close—but the edges of their features grew soft and faded as my vision narrowed. I summoned every faculty I had at my disposal, grasping at any sensory cues. I no longer thought of my survival in terms of hours, but minutes. How long had they been talking? It felt like an eternity before they turned to me, smiling expectantly.

  A thought pushed weakly on the quicksand filling my brain. They wanted me to come to the podium. My panic had given way to numbness, but it had the same effect. Could I possibly die of stage fright? That would make headlines for Edmond, but hopefully not the kind of publicity he wanted. At least if I keeled over I wouldn’t have to deal with him pressuring me anymore.

  No. I wouldn’t give in or give up. As nerve-racking as this assembly was to endure, it would be exponentially worse to collapse in front of four hundred students and Jody. I didn’t care if I was dying. I would not be a spectacle for my hometown. I would not draw any more attention to myself. Two small steps to the podium, two handshakes, and two steps back to my seat. Up and down. I could do this.

  Bracing my hands on my knees, I tried to push myself to a standing position, but it was no use—not the impulse, not the mechanics. Everything failed me. I managed to propel myself upright, but my knees wouldn’t lock.

  I wobbled, awash with embarrassment, but even my self-consciousness was short-lived. The gymnasium spun like a demonic carnival ride, causing all the colors to blur together. The podium shifted and pitched forward, reminding me of a subway train coming to an unexpected stop. My body was shutting down.

  I locked eyes with Jody, wordlessly begging for help, pleading for her to understand. Then I crumpled. Going down in slow motion did nothing to alleviate the feeling of helplessness but gave me time to see horror register on the faces around me. Jody’s lips parted in shock. Rory reached out to catch me, so chivalrous. Such a Rory thing to do. I would’ve rolled my eyes if I’d had any control of my muscles, but I didn’t. I didn’t have control of anything. Somehow it felt like I hadn’t had control of anything for a very long time.

  A splitting pain crashed though the back of my head, and suddenly the colors were clear—brilliantly, excruciatingly clear. Blinding white followed by an angry red. Then mercifully everything went black.

  Chapter Three

  I came to slowly, the sounds around me fading in much the same way they’d faded out, only in reverse. Nothingness turned to a dull roar and then to whispered murmurs. I couldn’t hear any of the words, but they were probably about me. A wave of bile surged into my throat. Was I sick from hitting my head, or was it a symptom of my embarrassment? It didn’t matter. No way could I salvage this event or anyone’s opinion of me. I just wanted to get out alive and right now.

  I tried to open my eyes, but the bright fluorescent lights of the gym were too much to handle and only magnified the pounding in my head. I was clearly on my back, but the floor beneath me didn’t feel like a carpeted podium. It felt like the shellacked wood flooring of the gym. The smell of scuffed rubber filled my nostrils. Had I fallen off the riser, or had someone moved me? Either way, I was freezing. I shivered and rubbed my bare arms.

  Bare arms? I’d been wearing long sleeves. Had they removed my shirt? And my pants? I registered the cold floor on the back of my calves too. Headache be damned, I couldn’t lie here half-naked. I tried to sit up, but my body felt so absurdly heavy.

  “Stay still,” someone said. I didn’t recognize the voice. “Stevie? Stevie, can you hear me?”

  I nodded.

  “You need to lie still. You hit your head pretty hard, kiddo.”

  Kiddo?

  I tried to squint through the light again, and this time I made out a few shadows hovering above me.

  “Can’t we move her?” That voice belonged to Jody, and I felt mildly comforted to hear she didn’t sound angry or embarrassed, just concerned. “Should I call her mom?”

  My mom?

  “Stevie, can you open your eyes?” the other voice asked.

  I managed to open them a little more, but my vision was still hazy.

  “Good girl,” she said, then added more quietly, “her pupils aren’t dilated.”

  “Concussion?” Jody asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “Does anything hurt, Stevie?”

  “My head.” The words sounded weak and rough, but at least I could speak again.

  “I bet. You came down hard. What about your neck?”

  I moved my head slowly from side to size. “Neck’s fine.”

  “Excellent news.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Stevie Geller.”

  “Good. Do you know where you are?”

  “Darlington High School.”

  “Yes. Do you know what happened?”

  “I passed out.”

  The woman didn’t respond right away. “What’s the date, Stevie?”

  “February 28, 2013.”

  I got no affirmative feedback. Did I get it wrong? Why? I knew the assembly was on the twenty-eighth. I’d been dreading the date for a month.

  “Did she say 2013?” Jody asked, fear creeping into her voice.

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “We’d better call her parents.”

  “My parents live in Boca Raton.”

  Another silence, and this time I strained to see their facial expressions. Worry lines creased Jody’s forehead, but something else seemed different too. Her hair fell past her shoulders, and she’d pulled it back into a ponytail. I turned to the other woman. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t remember why.

  “Let’s get her to the locker room first.”

  “Can you sit up now, Stevie?”

  I groaned my way into a sitting position and stared at my legs. I wore white athletic shorts and sneakers. What the hell? That wasn’t a fashion choice I would’ve made, even with a gun to my head. Who’d changed my clothes?

  “Do you need a hand?” Another vaguely familiar voice asked, this one deeper, rougher, maybe Mr. Phillips? That would explain the lack of concern.

  “Jody can help me. You guys go on without us.”

  Jody and the other woman looped an arm under each of mine and lifted me to a standing position. The crowd clapped. How embarrassing. Had the students watched the whole ordeal? I refused to look at them, instead focusing on my mysterious new tennis shoes as the women half-walked, half-carried me to the locker room.

  I heard someone shout, “Shake it off, Stevie.” I wanted to roll my eyes at that completely unhelpful piece of advice, but my brain hurt too much to properly process sarcasm.

  The locker room was cooler and darker than the gym, allowing me to see better as they helped me onto a trainer’s table. The trainer? The school nurse, that’s who the other voice belonged to. “You’re Mrs. Snow, right?”

  She nodded. “Things coming back to you now?”

  “A little. Sorry I didn’t remember you at first,” I said, lying back. “It’s been ten years.”

  Mrs. Snow and Jody exchanged a look I couldn’t decipher.

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing. Just relax and talk to Miss Hadland. I’m going to go call your mom.”

  “My mom lives in Florida now,” I repeated irritably.

  “Okay, well, humor me and let me ca
ll the hospital, all right?”

  “Fine.” I closed my eyes.

  “Don’t let her fall asleep, Jody.”

  “Stevie.” Jody squeezed my hand. “You heard her. You have to stay awake.”

  “Okay,” I mumbled, already drifting off.

  “Stevie, come on. Stay with me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “It’s okay. You’re going to be fine.”

  “No, I mean I’m sorry for everything.” Another wave of embarrassment rolled over me, triggering a bout of nausea. “I didn’t mean to ruin your assembly.”

  “What assembly?”

  “The awards assembly. I shouldn’t have come back here. I just, my career, you know?”

  “You’re not making any sense, Stevie.” She sounded unduly confused. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

  “I do. I made a fool of myself and wrecked all your hard work. I sent the wrong message to the students, and I know Drew Phillips won’t let you forget that.”

  “Shh. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Mr. Phillips isn’t mad at either of us.”

  “Oh, come on. The guy’s mad at the whole world. He doesn’t care how hard you work for those kids. If he found out you were gay, he’d make your life hell.”

  Jody gasped, and I heard her chair scrape across the concrete floor. Opening my eyes, I gritted my teeth against the dizziness to focus on the shock on her face. Her eyes were wide and moved erratically from me to our surroundings. Her body language seemed totally discordant with the conversation. Actually, there was more to her appearance. She looked terrified of me. And young. Inexplicably young. “Jody?”

  “Hurt or not, you need to call me Miss Hadland.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m still your teacher.”

  “What?”

  Something about the way she scanned me up and down caused me to reexamine my attire…my uniform. A basketball uniform? “What happened to me?”

  “You got hit in the head with a basketball.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Yes, you did. It knocked you out. I was in the front row of the audience. I saw the whole thing,” she said vehemently. Then lowering her voice, she asked, “How did you know I’m gay?”