Rumble (34 page)

But Luke isn’t here. He took his own life, a victim of intolerance. Maybe if the kids who drove him over the brink had read the right books, they would’ve understood that being gay doesn’t make you bad or even different. It’s an intrinsic element of who you are. Maybe they would have shown the tolerance their parents and ministers never taught them.

There are young people who need books to speak
for
them. And there are others who need books to speak
to
them.
Perks
is a necessary book for all. Please keep it on our bookshelves, with unrestricted access. And please don’t allow a clearly prejudiced few to decide for the rest of this community what we may or may not read.

When I Finish

I go back, insert business

letter headers and the date,

clean up spelling

and grammar, clarify

meaning. Sign my name

at the bottom.

The content satisfies

me, but in writing

it, one thing crystallized.

I was Luke’s big brother.

It was my job to be his voice,

and I failed miserably.

I never told anyone about

him being depressed or

taking Mom’s pills.

Both probably contributed

to his decision. And I didn’t say

a word. Not even a hint.

Neither did I confront those

jerkwads, tell them to back off

or face imminent destruction.

No, I, in my infinite wisdom,

decided the best way

to proceed was to do nothing,

to let it all blow away like wildfire

smoke, and that’s what I told

Luke to do, too. “It will get

better, just like everyone says.”

Was it because I believed

the counsel or because it was

the easier route? Even before

all the shit stirred up,

when Luke first came out to me

I begged him to stay quiet.

I’m just as guilty of intolerance

as anyone else.

I was his brother.

I should have been his voice.

Instead, I was his censor.

It’s a Two Pills to Sleep

Kind of night. No booze

chaser. Don’t want to emerge

from my room, nor risk

confrontation.

I settle into my

strange-smelling bed,

think about firing up my music.

Instead, for some

inexplicable reason,

I call Alexa, who is surprised,

and pleased, that my churning

brain chose to dial her number.

The problem with pills

is they make you want to spill

your guts, but your tongue

grows thick and your stream

of thought slows to a trickle.

Still, after two or three

sentences of minuscule talk,

and a couple of false starts,

I manage to come clean

about both the pills

and what’s bothering me.

“I sucked as a brother.

If only . . . I mean . . . ah,

Jesus. I can’t fix any of this.

I can’t bring him back.

And no one but me

gives a shit, you know?”

I do.
Her voice is a gentle

wave lapping against

my ear.
No one can bring

him back, Matt, and there’s

more than enough guilt

to go around. Get some

sleep. We’ll talk tomorrow.

I think she’ll hang up,

but instead she starts singing

in a clear, beautiful alto,

Linkin Park’s “What I’ve Done.”

The lyrics swallow me.

Will mercy ever come and

wash away what I’ve done?

Or maybe, more accurately,

what I didn’t do.

When I Turn In

My letter, Mr. Wells reads

it on the spot, along with

several others. He observes,

Looks like we’re coming

down around five to one

in favor of keeping the book

available. Does anyone care

to share what they wrote?

Hands go up. Mine is not

among them. I have no desire

to share. At least, not until one

of the Biblettes, Kerri Cook,

decides to read hers. The highlights

(although “high” is an incorrect

reference) come straight from

the Frank DeLucca Handbook:

• 
Community standards . . .

• 
Impressionable children . . .

• 
Easy access to pornography . . .

• 
Doing battle for the Lord . . .

As She Reads

I do a little Web search on

my phone, and when she finishes

I blurt out, “Do you even know

the definition of pornography?”

Well . . . not exactly,
she admits.

Dirty books and pictures?

“Dirty? You mean, like,

they need a bath? But no,

as per the
World English

Dictionary
, pornography

is ‘words, pictures, films,

etc. designed to stimulate

sexual excitement.’ Do you

believe that’s what Stephen

Chbosky was trying to do

when he wrote
Perks
?”

Um, probably not, but what if

that’s an unintended side effect?

“Does reading about rape

turn you on? Because if it

does, you might as well stop

battling for the Lord. You’ve

already lost the war.”

Gasps and Whistles

Send Kerri back to her seat,

beet-faced. Mr. Wells does

his best to rein in the noise.

Okay. That’s enough. Can we

show a little respect for opinions

that differ from our own, please?

I really think you ought to read

what you wrote, Matt, since

you’re clearly on opposite sides.

He offers my letter and I reach

out to take it. “I guess. Whatever.”

I’m usually not big on standing

up in front of a bunch of people

and sharing my opinion verbally.

I much prefer writing my thoughts

down on paper. Fortunately, I have

that in front of me, and when I finish,

most everyone, with obvious exceptions,

joins a chorus of approval—
right on
s,

and
yeah
s and a
no shit
or two. Poor

Kerri can only cross her arms and frown.

Finally, Mr. Wells breaks it up.

Ahem. Okay. Thank you for

the well-organized and thoughtful

way you pleaded your case, Matt.

You, too, Kerri. I’d like both of you—

no, all of you—to consider attending

the school board meeting. I’m happy

to send these letters ahead, but

showing up in person and asking

to be heard is much more powerful.

It’s important for the board to understand

the impact their decision will have.

The meeting is next Thursday evening

at seven o’clock, here in the cafetorium.

Come see how government works.

When Class Breaks Up

And I start toward the door,

Mr. Wells catches me.

One second, Matt. I really

do hope you’ll come to that

meeting. I’m afraid the other

side is going to be quite well

represented. They’re very

organized. There needs to be

a strong contingent speaking

out against censorship, and

your letter is a compelling

argument. You’d be a great help.

“Thanks, Mr. Wells, but I’m

not sure the school board would

care about hearing from me.”

The classroom has emptied,

a fact he confirms before he

adds,
I hear Frank DeLucca

is running for a school board

position. I think this is a grand-

stand play to get his name out

there. If he manages to sway

the current board, it would

definitely position him well.

The last thing we need are zealots

in charge of our schools, yeah?

Please think about attending.

DeLucca’s decisions probably

wouldn’t affect me, but he’s got

a point. “I’ll try to be there. And, hey,

maybe I should run for the school

board!” It’s supposed to be a joke.

So why does he say,
Maybe

you should. Are you a registered

voter? That’s the main requirement,

and living in the district you run in.

Of course, you might have a better

chance of winning in a year or two.

But as I told you, I really think you

should consider politics, and school

board is a good place to get your feet

wet. And maybe major in poli-sci?

The Dude Is Relentless

“Thanks, Mr. Wells. I’ll keep

that on my radar.” Me, a politician?

Don’t you have to be morally

bankrupt and heavily connected

to old guys with vaults full of

money to burn? I don’t know

many of those, but even if I did,

I’d probably try to get them to buy

me something better than a school

board position. Still, I just might

attend that meeting. It would be

fun to go full throttle up against

Hayden’s Peeping Tom father.

That thought stays with me the rest

of the day, and people probably

think the big-ass grin I’m wearing

is indicative of an impending mental

breakdown. Can’t wait, Mr. DeLucca.

Alexa Catches Up

With me after school.

I have to admit it’s kind of nice

having someone—anyone—come

looking for me who doesn’t have

an ulterior motive. Or does she?

Are you busy this afternoon?

Have time to drive me home?

Okay, not the worst ulterior

motive and I don’t have anything

to do but homework. “Not busy.

Happy to drive you home.”

We are barely out of the parking

lot when she says,
Any chance

we can go somewhere and talk?

Shazam! I hear Martha tell me,

Communication is key to any

relationship.
I suppose Alexa and

I do have a relationship of some kind.

“Do you have someplace in mind?”

Anywhere, really. I just have

something I need to tell you.

Something She Needs to Tell Me?

Crap! No, it can’t be that. She swore . . .

Wait. How effective
is
the pill?

Ninety-eight percent, yeah? “Okay,

but can you give me a little hint?”

Just please take me somewhere

we can talk privately? Somewhere

I can walk home from in Steve

Maddens if I must.
It’s a joke,

and she smiles, but doesn’t offer

another word, and, disturbed

only by the metronome rhythm

of the windshield wipers, the silence

swells with uneasy anticipation

until we reach one of my favorite

contemplation spots next to the river.

“This okay?” She nods, then withdraws

again for several long minutes.

Finally,
I’m not good at keeping

my feelings stashed inside, so please

forgive me if I make you uncomfortable. . . .

She Tells Me

She realizes Hayden

is still a ragged wound,

that this isn’t a demand

for commitment, or for