The Alliance (4 page)

“I'm Scott King.”

Again, they looked at each other. “Yeah, Scott, we know who you are.” They turned away and went back to buying their drinks.

I leaned against the machine. “So, I was hoping you guys could help me out. You know what a GSA is?”

They didn't even look at me. They grabbed their Cokes and walked to the cafeteria tables. I followed and kept going.

“It's a Gay–Straight Alliance. I'm trying to start one here at Southside. Rules say I have to get at least thirty students to express interest in an organization before the school will okay it. You don't have to join. You just have to agree that there's a need for it.”

Shelly and her friend sat at the edge of a table and popped open their cans. They still weren't looking at me.

“So…” I held out the clipboard and smiled my best smile. “Any chance you guys would sign this to say we need a GSA?”

Finally, Shelly rolled her eyes my direction. She stared at the petition on my clipboard. She looked disgusted. “So, GSAs protect gay kids from bullies, right?”

I nodded. “Yes. But you don't have to be gay to join. Anyone can—”

“Well, who protects the rest of us from you, Scott?” Shelly's friend asked.

I blinked. “What?”

Shelly's friend shook her head. “You don't even remember me, do you, Scott? Maggie Foster? I think you called me Fattie Foster every day during junior high.”

My stomach fell. Yes, I remembered Maggie. Today, she looked nothing like she did four years ago. I also remembered teasing her. More than that, I remember Jamie calling me out the summer between junior high and high school.

“Dude,” he said, “lay off Maggie Foster. Your best friend is gay. I'm the easiest target at school. How would you feel if people were calling me names?”

And people
were
calling him names. And worse. But he never told me.

I didn't say a word to Maggie after that, and when we came to Southside, we hardly saw each other. Jamie had told me to apologize. I never did.

“Look,” I said, “I'm really sorry about that. Really. I don't do that anymore. I'm trying to start this GSA because of Jamie Ballard. He was being bullied and—”

Shelly stood, and Maggie followed. “Come on, Maggie,” she said. “We're not falling for any doglist.” And they walked off.

Doglists. The football team was famous for the prank. Some guys would go around, trying to get girls to sign a petition that they claimed was to extend lunch hour or have shorter classes or some idea that was never gonna happen. Once a bunch of girls signed, they posted the list all over the school. But at the top, it said, “WE THE UNDERSIGNED ARE THE UGLIEST DOGS AT SOUTHSIDE.”

I felt like crap. I didn't think I'd ever done anything to Shelly. But she probably hated me just for how I'd treated Maggie. God, I was stupid.

I took the clipboard and made the rounds to all the tables. The student council, the chess club, the Future Farmers of America. They all sat together and all refused to even look at the petition. I even hung out by the kitchen window, trying to snag people as they dropped off their trays. But nobody signed.

I wasn't going to give up. This was just one lunch period of three. I was sure Mr. Winston, the vice principal, would give me a pass to miss a couple classes and try to recruit from other periods. But I clearly needed to work on my pitch.

“Problem, Scott?”

I looked up and found Mrs. Carney, the media arts teacher, smiling at me. I'd had her for Media Studies last year. She was pretty cool.

“Hey, Mrs. Carney,” I said. “Yeah, big problem. I need to get thirty students to sign this, saying they think the school needs a GSA. But I'm not having much luck.”

Mrs. Carney looked over the petition. “Is this about Jamie Ballard?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She nodded. “Well, you can start by signing it
yourself.
That might help. Someone needs to set a good example for the rest of the students.”

I laughed. “You're right.” And I threw my name down.

“What about your teammates? Football? Baseball?”

I thought about Ren. Even if I explained that signing the petition didn't mean he had to join the GSA, I don't think he'd get it. And I wasn't sure about the rest of the teams either.

“I could try,” I said. “To be honest, I thought I could get a ton of people to sign. I thought … people liked me. I mean, not sports people. But, I guess I used to be kind of a jerk.”

Mrs. Carney folded her arms and smiled. “The good news, Scott, is that jerks can change. Everybody can change. But I don't think you have time to wait for that. So maybe you should concentrate on your strengths for now.”

“My strengths?”

“You are liked, Scott. Think about it.” She tapped the clipboard and walked away. Mrs. Carney was always doing stuff like that. She had an answer, but she wanted me to come up with it on my own. It was kind of annoying.

The bell rang, ending lunch. I joined everyone as they left the cafeteria and moved towards their next classes. I was almost to English when a pair of arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me aside. I turned to find Cory, grinning.

“Just wanted to wish you luck on your English test today,” she said, kissing me on the cheek.

“Thanks,” I said. “But what I need is luck getting people to sign this.”

She looked over the petition. She didn't stop smiling, but her eyes narrowed. “Oh. You're going through with this.”

“Yeah, I told you I was. I gotta get thirty students to sign it, and so far I've got one. Me.”

Cory handed me the clipboard. “Jesus started with five loaves of bread and two fish, and He fed the multitudes. I'm sure you can do it.”

The headache I'd started to get during lunch faded. I loved it when Cory believed in me. “Hey, since I got you here, would you sign …?”

The next bell rang and she ran off. “Gonna be late for lunch!” she said. “Catch me later.”

I waved as she disappeared around the corner. I wished we had the same lunch period. With her at my side, I bet I could have gotten more than thirty signatures.

I took my seat in English and waited for Mr. Olson to pass out the exam. But my head wasn't there. I needed twenty-nine more signatures. Mrs. Carney thought there was a way to do it. I just needed to figure it out.

Y

ou'd think that with all the time I spent in the vice principal's office, I was some kind of public menace. At least, that's what most of the faculty thought. I never got why the stuff I did to end up in the office was considered “making trouble.” I had opinions, and sometimes I expressed them. Very loudly.

I was never disrespectful. But if Mr. Olson said we couldn't read
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
because it contained the N-word, I would explain that the book was a product of its time and was antislavery in many ways. I expressed lots of opinions like that about the books we could and couldn't read. And sometimes, instead of having an intelligent conversation about it, the teacher would get upset at the girl with the pierced lip and send her to the vice principal.

So, it was really weird to be in Mr. Winston's office without having done a thing. I just got a note when I went to homeroom: PLEASE REPORT TO MR. WINSTON'S OFFICE. I thought maybe it was because I'd laughed in Olson's class. But as much as Olson hated me, I knew he wouldn't send me here for something like that.

“Am I in trouble?” I asked.

Winston had invited me to sit across from him at the desk but then hadn't said anything. He just sat there.

“Ms. Mendoza,” he said, “I'm told you recently asked for paperwork to start a Gay–Straight Alliance in school. Is that true?”

Oh.
That.

“Yes, Mr. Winston. It's my understanding that any student can petition to have a special-interest group started at school, provided they follow procedure. And that's what I'm doing.”

Winston nodded. “And you really think there's enough interest here? I mean, I don't know any other gay students apart from you.”

I bit my tongue. He was baiting me. Practically challenging me to lose my temper. No way would I give him the satisfaction.

“I'm out and proud, Mr. Winston. Sure, everyone knows I'm queer. Just like everybody knew Jamie Ballard was queer. And look what happened to him.”

Suddenly, the baiter became the baitee. Winston's face flushed, and he shook his finger at me. “Nothing has proven that Jamie Ballard was bullied. I won't have you spreading rumors …”

“I'm not spreading anything, Mr. Winston,” I interrupted him gently. “But kids are being bullied, and it's happening whether they're gay or not. You can get bullied in this school if people even
think
you're gay. A GSA would send the message that being queer is okay. It would tell queer students that they're accepted. And it would tell straight students who are accused of being gay that they shouldn't be ashamed.”

Winston stewed. He couldn't do much more. I wasn't speaking loudly, just firmly. I looked him right in the eye and was careful not to look angry. He couldn't do anything to me, and he knew it.

He leaned back in his chair. “You are aware,” he said slowly, “that in addition to having thirty student signatures, you also need three staff members to approve of the new organization. And one of those must agree to be the faculty advisor.”

I nodded. “I read the rules very carefully, sir. I don't think it will be a problem.”

Winston raised an eyebrow. He looked amused. “Oh, you don't? Ms. Mendoza, when a student goes through the proper channels to form a new school-sponsored organization, the group becomes eligible for funding. That's why we have such stringent requirements for starting a club. We can't fund any group that is poorly organized or doesn't have substantial support.”

He took a manila folder from his desk and opened it up. “Any faculty member who signs the petition is putting their reputation on the line. Signing that document is the same thing as saying, ‘I believe Carmen Mendoza has the ability to create and run this organization.' But I think you'll have trouble finding someone to express
that
much faith in you. A few comments from your most recent report cards…” He squinted at what was inside the folder. “'Carmen's grades are fine, but she shows little ability to follow through …' And ‘Carmen has to be encouraged to complete projects on time …'”

Winston closed the folder, put his fingers together like a steeple, and lifted them to his chin. “Now…do you really think you have the faculty's confidence? It seems to me, Ms. Mendoza, that maybe you should be focusing your energy on learning to follow through on your current commitments instead of taking on a new project that, all signs are, you won't be able to complete.”

My ears burned. A hundred Spanish curse words danced on the tip of my tongue. It was all I could do not to lay into him. He sat there, so smug. It was his pretending like he was only thinking of my well-being that really ticked me off.

I thought about showing him the death threat I found in my locker. It was still in the bottom of my messenger bag. Even though I'd promised to tell my parents if anything like that happened, I'd kept quiet. It was just one note. Probably someone trying to freak me out.

But I would have loved to see how Winston would react to it. I'd been shoved, taunted, called names, and bullied in just about every way you can think. This was the first time someone had threatened my life. That was something he
couldn't
ignore.

But, no. He'd only accuse me of making it up. Which only made me angrier. He could call me a troublemaker all he wanted. I'd own that. But no one calls me a liar. If I gave him that chance, I'd say things I could never take back.

“I guess we'll just have to see, Mr. Winston,” I said, doing my best to smile. I probably looked sick. “May I go now?”