Bright Purple: Color Me Confused with Bonus Content (7 page)

“Seriously,” I prod. “Where do you work, Mitch?”

“Top secret.”

I make my face into a pout. “Why?”

“Just because.”

“Oh,” I say in a slightly accusing way. “You’re ashamed of your job. I get it.”

He shrugs. “Or maybe it’s just top secret.”

“Or maybe you’re a male stripper.”

This makes him really laugh. And then he leans over and gives me a little peck on the cheek. “That’s what I like about you, Ramie. you’re not one of those goody-goody Christian girls.”

I smile at him. Actually, I’m not quite sure whether that was a compliment, but decide to take it as one.

“Have fun at school,” he tells me.

“Have fun taking it all off,” I shoot back, which makes him laugh even louder. But as I walk away, I do wonder. Where
does
he work? And why is he so ashamed of it? Surely he’s not really a male stripper! His parents would throw a fit! Then I feel embarrassed for even seriously thinking like that. I’m sure it has to do with all this stuff about Jess. It’s like my head keeps getting stuck in Skankyville.

I pray as I hurry to French class. I ask God to forgive me for having bad thoughts, and I ask God to keep working on Jess. At least she doesn’t take French, which gives me a little break from trying to avoid her. I realize there is still health class, which we have together, and then basketball practice after school. Health, I can survive. But the idea of getting dressed down for practice with Jess in the same locker room is a little creepy now—not to mention how disturbing it will be to use the same shower room after practice!

Now this just totally weirds me out. I mean, seriously, if Jess really is a lesbian, wouldn’t she get turned on by looking at the naked girls in the shower? Oh, it makes me so sick! It seriously makes me want to hurl! This is so wrong. So unfair. How am I supposed to deal with this? I wonder if Lauren has considered this yet.

After French, I keep my promise to myself by going to the counseling center, where I ask to see Ms. Fremont. In some ways I think this woman should be held responsible for this big mess. After all, that meeting was held in her office. Isn’t that like some kind of endorsement from her that becoming a homosexual is okay?

“Did you have an appointment?” the receptionist asks me.

“No, but this is urgent,” I tell her. “I really need to see Ms. Fremont. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

The receptionist calls Ms. Fremont, and amazingly, I am allowed to see her.

“I was hoping we’d get to chat, Ramie,” she starts in after asking me to sit down in the chair across from her.

Now I’m not sure what this means, but I’m guessing it has to do with Jess. “Sorry to just barge in like that,” I say. “But I really needed to—”

“Don’t worry about it. And, slow down, I have plenty of time to talk with you, Ramie. I’m sure you have a lot on your mind.”

“Actually, I do.”

“I know this must be a hard time for you. For both you and Jessica.”

I nod. So she does know why I’m here. Well, that’s a relief.

“But this is a safe place, Ramie. Whatever you say here will remain here. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I appreciate that.” Now I’m wondering if I should do more than just demand a new locker. Maybe this is my chance to tell her all my concerns about the locker room and taking showers and—

“I wish you had been able to come to the meeting too, Ramie. I think it would’ve helped you to see that you’re not alone in this. But I do understand your hesitancy. I know that it can be very hard to, well, as they say, come out of the closet.” She kind of laughs. “Really, we need some better terminology.”

“Wait,” I say quickly. “You mean me? You mean you think I’m coming out of the closet too?”

“Well, I realize you might not be ready to tell people just yet. But that’s exactly why the meeting would’ve been good for you. One of the points made was that you can’t push these things. Timing is really critical. Especially with teens. And, really, there’s no rush, Ramie. Still, I’m sure that it—”

“No!” I say, standing up and holding out both my hands as if to stop her flow of words. “That’s not it! I am not coming out of the closet!”

“I understand that, dear,” she says. “That’s what I’m saying. No need to get upset. I’m just trying to validate your—”

“You don’t understand,” I say. “I am not coming
out
of the closet because I have never been
in
the closet. I am not gay! I don’t want to be gay! Can’t you get it?”

Now she looks slightly shocked. “Oh, I’m sorry, Ramie. I just naturally assumed that because you and Jess are so close—I mean such good friends—that you—”

“We used to be good friends,” I tell her. “But after Jess told me about her . . . her sexual orientation, well, I can’t handle it. We’re not friends anymore. In fact that’s why I’m here. We’ve been sharing a locker and I just can’t do that anymore. I need my space, you know. This isn’t easy.”

She nods and makes a little note on the pad in front of her. “That can be arranged.”

“I’m not trying to be mean,” I say, not sure why I feel the need to defend myself. “It’s just that this is pretty hard to deal with, you know?”

She nods again. “I’m sorry, Ramie. I can understand how you must feel. And if you ever need to talk about—”

“That’s okay,” I say quickly, thinking all I want is to get away from this crazy woman. I can’t believe how easily she jumped to that conclusion. “I mean my mom’s a counselor too. And she’s been giving me a lot of good advice. But right now I just need a separate locker. Okay?”

“Okay.” She hands me the note she’s written. “Just take this to Mrs. Commons at the front desk in the office, and she’ll take care
of it. I’ve also asked her to give you an excuse for being tardy to class.”

“Thank you.” I’m already standing and halfway out the door.

“And, really, if you need to talk—”

“Thank you,” I say again as I go out the door. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

My hands are shaking as I go to the front desk. What does it mean if the school counselor assumed I am a lesbian just because Jess is a lesbian? Doesn’t this prove that everyone else will think exactly the same thing?

Mrs. Commons gives me a new locker and combination as well as a note for French class. But as I walk down the deserted hallway, I get this feeling that life as I know it will be ending shortly. What am I going to do? I decide to take advantage of my late excuse to remove my things from my old locker and relocate them into the new one. At least no one will see me doing it. And, really, I tell myself, I’m sure that Jess will be grateful for this too. It makes it easier for everyone.

Somehow I make it through my afternoon classes. To my relief, health isn’t too terrible, and Jess sits far in the back, close to the door. Still, we have basketball practice to endure. Oh, what am I going to do?

After I’ve made one last trip to my new locker to deposit some things that I don’t need to take home, I am finally heading toward the gym. I know that I’m running late, and yet I’m walking very slowly. I so don’t want to do this. Seriously, I feel like I’m heading for my own execution. Like it’s just a matter of time and I’m going to die. Oh, I suppose I’m making this into a much bigger deal than it should be. But that weird encounter with Ms. Fremont has left me feeling pretty freaked. I hate that she just assumed I am like Jess. Still,
why wouldn’t she? Why wouldn’t everyone? Furthermore, what if they’re right? I mean it’s not like I’ve ever had a real boyfriend. Not that I don’t want one.

This thing with Mitch, if he’s not a male stripper, is giving me hope.

I’m about halfway to the gym when it occurs to me that there may be some options here. Like we girls could insist that Jess must dress down and shower somewhere else, somewhere away from us. Or we could even put pressure on Jess to quit basketball altogether. Well, that seems pretty harsh, since she really does love basketball. Even more than I do. Then it occurs to me that I could quit basketball. And if I did quit basketball, I might be able to get a part-time job and talk Mom into letting me get a car. As much as I like basketball, it’s not my favorite sport.

I know it won’t be easy to explain my decision to Coach Ackley. He was so excited for me to play, and it was pretty cool when he put me on varsity last week. Still, it’s my life. And, to be fair, it was Jess who talked me into going out this year. And part of my reasoning was so I could catch rides home with her instead of riding the stupid bus. And our first preseason game isn’t for another week, so it’s not like I’m ruining the year for them.

On and on I go until I’ve finally reached the gym. Instead of going into the locker room, where my friends are probably still getting dressed, I go directly into the gym, straight to where Coach Ackley is dumping out a bag of basketballs.

“Why aren’t you dressed down, Grant?” he asks me as I approach. Coach always calls us girls by our last names. “Something wrong?”

“Sort of.”

He frowns. “What’s going on? Are you sick?”

“Not exactly.”

“What then?” He glances at his watch, then looks over to the door to the girls’ locker room.

“I’m quitting the team, Coach,” I tell him in what I hope sounds like a firm tone.

“What?” he barks.

“I’m quitting.”

“Why?” He’s scowling now and I can tell he’s getting mad.

“It’s, uh, well, it’s personal.”

“What do you mean
personal?
” He narrows his eyes at me.

“It’s kind of hard to explain, Coach. But I just think it’s for the best.”

“Whose best?”

“Well, mine. And maybe another player’s too.”

He just shakes his head but seems to soften some. “I think you’re making a big mistake, Grant. you’ve got some great potential. I wouldn’t have put you on varsity if I didn’t think so.”

“Thanks, Coach. I appreciate that.”

“But you still wanna quit?”

“I don’t exactly want to.”

“Then don’t!”

“I have to.” Suddenly I feel close to tears, something that all coaches hate to see from any of their players. “It’s just that I don’t really have a choice.” I can hear the girls starting to come out of the locker room now, dashing for loose balls, and they’re beginning to shoot.

“Big mistake, Grant,” he says again, then he turns his attention to the other girls, yelling out some directions, and I can tell that practice is going to be grueling today. And, fine, it’s probably my fault. No, I tell myself as I head for a side door. It’s Jess’s fault.

I can see my friends watching me now, but I just keep walking. Lauren has a slightly stunned look on her face, like she knows
something is up. BJ and Amy just look really curious. But it’s Jess’s face that really catches my eye. And it’s her expression that is burnt into my memory as I exit the gym and head out to where I’m hoping those big ugly yellow buses are still waiting.

Those dark eyes of hers were filled with pure terror. I could tell that she suspected I was telling the coach about her, telling him that she’s a lesbian and that she should be thrown off the team. Despite how angry I’ve been at her, I felt sorry for her just then. I could feel her fear, and it hurt.

But as I get onto bus #39, I push those feelings away. After all, it’s not like I told the coach. Or anyone for that matter. And if anyone should be feeling bad right now, it’s me. Not only have I quit the team, giving up a season when I could’ve been a star, I am now sitting on a smelly school bus and there is something sticky on this seat. But I console myself with a Bible verse. “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” And that’s what I think I’ve done today. I’ve laid down my life for Jess. Even if she’s not my friend anymore. I’ve laid down my life for her. Maybe that’s what Nathan meant by loving your enemies. Although, to be completely honest, I don’t feel any love for Jess right now. Even my pity seems to be fading as I imagine her and my friends happily practicing without me. Maybe she’ll be glad. Maybe my absence will just make her look better.

A
FTER
I
GET HOME, WHICH TAKES WAY TOO LONG SINCE THE STUPID BUS STOPS
and starts about every other minute, I eat a bowl of ice cream, then start going through the classified section of the newspaper, looking for some kind of part-time job possibilities. I circle several at the Greenville Mall, all of them part-time holiday help, and think that at least it’s a start.

It seems weird to be home like this, and I’m really not sure what to do with myself, but I finally turn on the TV and flop down on the couch and watch
Oprah
. It’s something I haven’t done since summer, when I was so obsessed with her shows that I actually begged my mom to get TiVo so that I could record them. Of course, Mom told me to forget it. But I’m one of those people who, if asked what one person they’d like to have dinner with, would probably choose Oprah Winfrey. Oh, it’s not like I tell my friends this, but I really admire the woman. I love her positive attitude and can-do spirit. And I think that she’s a Christian, but I do have one problem with her. I don’t understand why she doesn’t just get married. She seems to love Stedman. And I’m sure they sleep together. So why can’t she just make an honest man out of him and get married? Oh, well.