Geography Club (12 page)

“It’s too late,” I said.

“No, it’s not. You can tell Min you changed your mind. I’m sure she’ll come back to the Geography Club if you tell her that. And maybe we can talk Terese into coming back too. Then everything’ll be just like before. I mean, except we’ll have Brian as a member.”

“And you’ll stay a member too?” I said.

He nodded and grinned his famously dimpled grin. “Yeah. I’ll stay a member too.”

“Thanks!” I said, and before I could stop myself, I stepped forward and kissed him.

But my lips had barely touched his when he pulled away. “We should get back,” he mumbled. And as he turned away, I couldn’t help but notice that he was still flipping that baseball into the air, even faster than before.

The next morning before classes, I ran into Jarred Gasner on my way into school.

“Hey,” I said.

When Jarred didn’t answer, I looked over at him. He was staring at me with a funny expression. Cold almost.

“What?”
I said. I knew I didn’t have any zits. Did I have a booger hanging out of my nose or something?

“Is it true?” he said.

“Is what true?” I said.

“That you’re a fag.”

I felt my blood flash-freeze.

“What?”
I said. “Who told you that?”

“Everyone,” Jarred said. “Everyone’s sayin’ it. That you’re the gay kid Toles was talking about. And that yesterday you turned in an application to start some kind of faggot club.”

“No!” I said.
“No!”
I wasn’t sure if I was talking to Jarred or the universe at large.

I was stunned. Who in the world would make up a lie like this? But even as I thought this, I knew the answer.

It was Gunnar’s idea of revenge!

And so began the worst day of my life. Suddenly, I was The Gay Kid. I don’t think of myself as a pessimistic person, but somehow this just figured. I’d wanted so badly for this
not
to happen that it had to happen eventually, if you know what I mean. I’d been a shit to Brian and Min, and I knew I deserved to be punished—but did it have to be this?

In a way, the day itself was like the first school day after I hit that home run. People I had never spoken to before whispered my name in the hallways. Groups of kids fell silent as I walked by. But, of course, people weren’t noticing me in awe and admiration. Now they were looking at me with pity or contempt—mostly contempt. As for the teachers, they no longer had glints in their eyes when they talked to me; now they had little quivers of hesitation, like they were thinking, If I’m nice to The Gay Kid, will I be fired like Ms. Toles was?

At lunch that day, I
really
didn’t have anyone to sit with. Obviously, Gunnar and the jocks were out, and I figured Min was still mad at me. I couldn’t very well force myself on Belinda or Ike.

Then I noticed a table where one kid was sitting all by himself.

I approached him and said, “Hey.”

Brian Bund looked up at me. “Hey,” he said. He didn’t seem surprised to see me, which actually offended me a little.

“Mind if I sit here?” I said.

“Sure, I g-g-g-guess.” So Brian Bund stuttered. Never having spoken to him or been in a class with him, I hadn’t known this. But it figured too. Pimples, scrawny body,
and
a stutter. Anyone who never doubted the existence of a just and merciful God had never met Brian Bund.

I took a seat. Over the past few weeks, I’d been exploring the Land of the Popular, and the Landscape of Love, but they weren’t the only two places I’d visited. I’d covered the whole terrain of a typical high school. I’d gone from the Borderlands of Respectability, to the Land of the Popular, and now to Outcast Island, also known as Brian’s lunch table. I’d made the complete circuit. But Outcast Island was the end of the line. In the world of high school, you could go from Respectable to Popular, or from Popular to Respectable, but you couldn’t go anywhere from Outcast. Once you were there, you were stuck. That was the whole point of being exiled from someplace: you couldn’t ever go back. Brian Bund’s lunch table was the one place I hadn’t ever expected to visit, but I knew I had better get used to it. It was my new homeland, and I was here to stay.

“So,” I said to Brian. “Here we are.”

Brian just looked at me. I definitely needed a new conversation-starter.

“Look,” I said. “I’m really sorry about the other day in the hallway.” When he didn’t seem to know what I was talking about, I said, “I was with some guys from the baseball team? We made fun of you?”

“Oh,” he said. Apparently, that kind of thing happened to him so often that he didn’t really remember the separate incidents.

“So,” I said. “I guess you heard about me?”

“That you’re g-g-g-gay? Yeah, I heard. Is it true?”

I nodded. “But not the part about me being the kid Toles was talking about in that newspaper article—the one who supposedly just turned in an application for a gay club. Someone made up a lie about me, and part of it just happened to be true.”

Brian didn’t say anything, just kept eating his lunch.

“Do you care?” I said.

“That you’re g-g-g-gay?” he said, and when I nodded, he said, “That would make me some k-k-k-kind of hypoc-c-c-crite, wouldn’t it?”

I smiled in spite of myself. So Brian Bund had a sense of humor. I guess he needed to, given everything he had to put up with.

“Are you?” I said. “Gay, I mean?” I hoped he wasn’t offended by my asking, but after everything that had happened, I really wanted to know.

“No,” he said. “I thought I was for about a w-w-week once. But now I know I’m not.”

If there was ever an answer that sounded like the truth, that was it.

“How do you do it?” I said. I wasn’t sure if he’d know that I was talking about his being an outcast, but he did know.

“You get used to it,” he said simply.

“All day long, I’ve felt like I’m going to burst into tears. Everyone staring at me, whispering things.”

“No. You c-c-c-can’t think like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can’t c-c-care what people
think
. You’ll go c-c-c-crazy. You’ve g-got to save your energy for when people really d-d-d-do stuff.”

Do stuff? I thought. But even as I thought this, I knew what kind of stuff he meant. Stuff like throwing food at him in the cafeteria. Or pulling him into a darkened theater and dressing him up like a girl. Or trapping him in a deserted hallway after school.

It was good advice. It was also a fascinating insight into his life, even if it was phenomenally depressing.

“You ever want to change the way things are?” I said.

He looked down at his food. “Things don’t change. Not for me, they d-d-d-don’t.” I didn’t bother giving him some stupid pep talk about having a better attitude. He was absolutely right. For him, things never would change, not as long as he stayed at Goodkind High School. And now they wouldn’t ever change for me either.

“Besides,” Brian said, “it’s too late to change things now that I’m eating lunch with the g-g-g-gay kid.”

I smiled and thought, If I have to be banished to Outcast Island for the rest of my high school days, there are worse people to be stuck here with than Brian Bund.

The one good thing about school days is that, no matter how crappy they are, they eventually have to come to an end.

I hadn’t seen Kevin all day. I’d ditched third period P.E. (Twenty teenage boys with boxing gloves, dodge balls, and baseball bats? I was no fool.) I’d also missed Kevin at lunch.

But I knew the route he took to baseball practice went right by the school Dumpster, so I waited for him there. Of course, I hadn’t counted on the garbage stinking to high heaven. I thought, What is it about my relationship with Kevin and bad smells? For the rest of my life, I’d probably get a hard-on every time I smelled rotten eggs.

Finally, Kevin appeared. He was alone, which meant we could talk, and I felt myself relax for the first time in six hours. I knew Kevin couldn’t actually make everything all right, but he could make everything feel all right. After all, he’d done it twice before, after my second and third dates with Trish Baskin.

Kevin hadn’t seen me standing by the Dumpster, so when he got closer, I said, “Hey.”

He jumped a little in surprise. He had kind of a panicky expression on his face, but I couldn’t really blame him for not looking happier to see me. I mean, it was a sticky situation for him, me now being an outcast and all. And we were basically right out in the open where anyone could see. Still, I’d been desperate for his smile, and I was disappointed when it didn’t appear.

I made sure there still wasn’t anyone around, then I said, “We don’t have to talk now, but I really need to see you. Meet me at the stinky picnic gazebo tonight at nine.”

Kevin still wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t saying anything either. He just stared at me with this weird blank expression.

“What?” I said, but I had a feeling what.

He glanced back toward the school. “I don’t think I can make it,” he said.

“What?” I said. “Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

“Tomorrow then.”

“I can’t then either,” he said.

“What are you saying?” He definitely couldn’t be telling me he didn’t
ever
want to see me again. That wasn’t possible. He and I were a
team
.

But at that exact moment, we heard voices coming from the direction of the main building. It was Nate Klane and Ramone Hernandez, two members of the baseball team, probably also on their way to practice.

Kevin jerked toward them. I knew he’d never forgive me if they saw us together, so I backed up and crouched down in the space between the Dumpster and a nearby wall. The stink was a lot stronger there, and I found myself squatting in a layer of sticky orange goo. There weren’t really any shadows for me to hide in, but I doubted Nate and Ramone would notice me, not unless they happened to look right at me.

“Yo, Lando!” Nate said as he and Ramone approached. (Lando was one of Kevin’s many nicknames. In case you’re wondering, I didn’t have any nicknames, and now I never would. Not the friendly kind anyway.)

“Sup?” Kevin said. He sounded as nervous as I felt.

“What’s goin’ on?” Nate said. “Gonna do some Dumpster-diving?”

“Nothin’,” Kevin said, quickly turning away from the garbage. “Come on, let’s get to practice.”

But Nate was just finishing eating an ice-cream bar. “Hold on,” he said, turning for the Dumpster so he could throw away the stick.

I hope it comes as no surprise that he spotted me instantly.

“Middlebrook?” he said, confused. “What the hell?”

Of course, Kevin and Ramone turned to look.

“I…lost something,” I said to Nate, and it sounded just as stupid as it reads. I crawled out of my hiding place and tried to stand up straight. There wasn’t much else I could do to regain my dignity. It was buried somewhere deep inside that Dumpster.

“Jesus, Middlebrook,” Nate said, as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “What were you doin’ back there? Waitin’ for your boyfriend?”

Nate and Ramone laughed, and I thought, Nate, if you only knew how right you are. Kevin was laughing too, but I knew I couldn’t be too upset by this. Just because I was now an outcast, that was no reason to take him down too. And so in public, Kevin needed to treat me like any other jock would—namely, like shit. I understood that.

“Either that, or he’s lookin’ for something to eat,” Ramone said. “What about it, Middlebrook? Find any wieners?”

Nate and Ramone and Kevin laughed some more.

Finally, Kevin said, “He don’t want a wiener—he wants a big ol’ sausage!” As he said this, Kevin made this really wide gesture with his hands, the kind a fisherman makes when he’s talking about a fish. There was finally a smile on Kevin’s face, but it wasn’t the one I’d been expecting. It was a cruel sneer, the kind that Brian Bund was usually on the receiving end of.

It was one thing for Kevin to do the treat-me-like-shit act, but did he have to do it so convincingly? Except that this was no act, and I knew it. Kevin was telling me he wasn’t coming to the stinky picnic gazebo, tonight or ever. That’s what he’d started to say before, when Nate and Ramone had arrived. Spending any time around me now was just too risky.

A lot of people might say I deserved to be treated the way Kevin was treating me. I’d learned something from all those novels in English class. This was an example of the main character—me—getting his comeuppance because of his hubris. (See? I even know the lingo.) Now I knew exactly what it had felt like for Brian Bund that afternoon in the hallway, when Jarred and Nolan and I had cornered him on the steps. But at least I, unlike Kevin, hadn’t made fun of anyone for being gay.

“Come on,” Nate said. “Let’s get outta here.” And he and Ramone and Kevin started walking away, like I was an inanimate object, like the Dumpster itself, not worthy of even the vaguest of good-bye nods.

“Cocksucker,” I heard Nate mumble.

I stood there in the stink of all that garbage, and I knew that I was finally, really, completely alone.

Needless to say, I didn’t go to baseball practice. Instead, I went for a walk. Eventually, I ended up at the Children’s Peace Park, that place where I’d come with Min, with the cheesy wooden cut-outs of the children of the world. But those cut-outs had been vandalized the last time I’d been here, and someone had finally taken them down. Now it was just a flower garden, with lots of tulips and azaleas and irises, all in full bloom. It reminded me of a cemetery, which seemed fitting somehow. It could have been a memorial for the death of the Geography Club. Or maybe just a remembrance garden for my worth as a human being.

“Hey,” a voice said from behind me. It was Min. Somehow that seemed fitting too.

I sensed her stepping up next to me, but I couldn’t turn to face her. We both just stood there side by side, staring at the flowers.

“How’d you find me?” I said.

“You weren’t at home. There weren’t that many places you could be.”

“Are you really talking to me again?”

“I’d have to be pretty low to ditch you now.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I’d start crying.

“I saw Kevin with some jocks,” I said at last. “He laughed at me.”

“He was scared,” Min said. “A lot of people have been scared lately.”

This was a reference to me, to what I’d done to Brian. She was right, of course. What Kevin had done to me wasn’t really any different from what I’d done to Brian. Min’s saying it made me realize one other thing too. Even now, I was still thinking only of myself.

“I was a jerk,” I said. “I’m so sorry. I really screwed everything up, didn’t I? I guess I’m getting what I deserved.”

“No one deserves this,” Min said, so firmly it gave me chills. “No one.”

“It’s over between you and Terese,” I said. “Isn’t it?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Min nod.

“That was my fault too, wasn’t it?” I said. “If I hadn’t made fun of Brian in the hallway—”

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Min said, just as firmly as before. “It had to end. It was only a matter of time. It wasn’t real to begin with. You can’t have a relationship hiding in a warehouse in the middle of the night. I didn’t even know her. The Geography Club, the thing with Brian, that just made me see her clearly for the first time.”

“Well, I’m still sorry.”

She shrugged. “Someday this will all be over. Five years from now, we’ll probably look back on this and laugh.”

Did that mean we’d still be friends in five years? “I can’t believe you’re really forgiving me,” I said. I felt incredibly grateful to Min, but I was frightened too, that I’d somehow misinterpreted her.

“Russel,” she said, “people make mistakes. If there was no such thing as forgiveness, there wouldn’t be any friendships left in the world.”

I turned to face her. She looked at me too. I’d never thought of Min as beautiful before, but now I saw that she was. Someday I’d have to write a song about her face or paint a painting of it. But I knew I could never do it justice.

“Remember a couple of weeks ago when you said I was a decent person?” I said, and she nodded. “That was wrong. You’re the decent person. You’re the best person I know.”

“If I’m such a great person,” Min said, “how come I feel like shit?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Ironically, it also gave me hope. I felt like shit too. Did that mean I wasn’t such a terrible person after all?

That night after dinner, I was lying on my bed staring at the ceiling when I heard a knock on my bedroom window. My heart swelled up for a second, because I was certain it was Kevin. But when I tore open the drapes, it was Gunnar’s face I saw outside. I don’t think I’d ever been so disappointed in my entire life.

“Go away,” I said. I didn’t open the window. I closed the drapes in his face.

I could hear him knocking on the window again. “Russ, please?” I could just barely hear his voice through the glass. “Please let me talk to you for just one second?”

“Go away!” I said, as loud as I could be without my parents hearing. (Needless to say, my parents don’t come into this story much. But then, they don’t come into my life much either.) Anyway, Gunnar would be coming into my bedroom over my dead body.

“It wasn’t me!” he said through the window. “I didn’t start that rumor! Russ, I swear!”

What’s this? I thought.

“Please let me explain!” Gunnar said.

I opened the drapes again and unlocked the window. I was still furious, and if my bedroom had been on the second floor and Gunnar had climbed up a trellis or something, I might have considered pushing him backward. As it was, my room was on the ground floor, and he was standing in the bushes right outside.

“What?” I said. The tone in my voice said he had a hell of a lot of explaining to do.

Gunnar’s eyes were even wider than usual. “It was Trish and Kimberly! Well, mostly Kimberly. She wanted to get back at you. She said you’d embarrassed Trish. So, the next morning she came up with the idea of telling everyone you’re the gay kid.”

I thought about this. Knowing Kimberly like I did, it didn’t stretch the bounds of credibility.

Gunnar looked down at the ground. “Okay, that’s kind of a lie.”

“What?”
I said, livid again.

“Look, I’m telling you the entire truth, okay? And the truth is, I didn’t try to talk them out of it. I don’t know if they would’ve listened, but they might’ve. I was mad at you, so I let them go through with it.” He kind of whispered the rest: “Maybe I even encouraged them a little.”

I started to say something snotty, but Gunnar interrupted me. “And even if I
had
tried to talk them out of it, you still have every reason to be mad at me. You did me a big, big favor by going out with Trish, and I paid you back by lying to you. I shouldn’t have asked you in the first place. And I really shouldn’t have asked you the second and third times. And I shouldn’t have let you walk out alone that night at the beach place, or said the things that I said. And I am so sorry! Russ, you’re my best friend, and I have never been this sorry about anything in my life!”

I couldn’t help but remember what Min had said about friendships and forgiveness. But was this the kind of thing I could forgive? Was this the kind of thing I
should
forgive?

“It’s true, you know,” I said.

“What?” he said. He got some points for wiping away a tear.

“That I’m gay.”

Gunnar rolled his eyes. “I know that.”

“What? How long have you known?”

“Oh, maybe five years.”

“What?”
I could hardly believe my ears.

“Well, I’m not a complete idiot!” Gunnar said. “I mean, it’s kind of obvious. Animated Disney musicals?”

“And do you care?”

“What?” he said. “That you’re gay?” I nodded, and he said indignantly, “If I cared, would I be standing here with a juniper bush up my ass?”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me you knew?” I asked.

“I figured you’d tell me when you got around to it. Anyway, the fact that I knew just makes it even shittier that I asked you to go out with Trish. I knew they probably wanted to fool around out at that beach place. I guess I also knew that Kimberly wouldn’t go out with me unless you went out with Trish, just like you tried to tell me. All I can say is, sex, Russ. It made me go insane. That and the possibility that I might have a girlfriend for the first time in my life.”

This is when something occurred to me. Gunnar had been doing the same kinds of crazy things to get together with Kimberly that I’d been doing to get together with Kevin. But rather than not caring about Brian Bund’s feelings, he hadn’t cared about mine. It was funny how everything was fitting together like this.

“So what happened?” I said. “Out at the beach place—after I left?”

He rolled his eyes again. “You’ll be happy to know it was a complete disaster. Kimberly got sick all over the place, and Trish and I had to clean it up, even though I had a horrible hangover. And my mom was furious that I didn’t come home that night—I’m grounded right now, by the way.”

I took a breath, held it, and exhaled. Then I said, “Well, you better climb inside and tell me all about it.” I had a lot to tell him too. In other words, I guess I’d decided to forgive the idiot after all.

I went to the stinky picnic gazebo that night at nine o’clock, just in case Kevin came after all—in case it really had been an act by the Dumpster after school, or in case he’d changed his mind since then. I was positive he wouldn’t show.

I was right. He didn’t.