Actually Invisible, page 13
The solo went fine—great, even. That was the year my voice became full, and I mastered the vibrato, of which I was incredibly proud. That solo was the first time I felt my voice carry across an audience in exactly the way I wanted it to, and the pride on my dad’s face made me forget about the uncertainty of our family’s future. I smiled at him and found myself blushing at the sight of Layla’s parents sitting in the pew behind him. I barely knew them, but their presence reminded me that Layla was on the stage with me, somewhere nearby, and had just watched me sing.
- 31 -
Thursday, March 21, 2019
On hall duty before first period, a group of students approached me excitedly. They were quite a mix of kids I hadn’t necessarily seen ever talking to each other, but I had many of them in different class periods.
Jaiden spoke first. “Mrs. R., you never told us in class yesterday if you downloaded TikTok yet..”
I laughed. “I thought you had forgotten about that. Yes, I actually did.”
Savannah, the peacock lover from fourth period, pushed through the group to get closer to me. “Whoa, what’s your name? So I can follow you.” She whipped out her phone and opened the TikTok app.
“I didn’t say I was putting anything on TikTok myself. I just downloaded it and watched some videos.” Kate and Alexis had appeared on the fringe of the group, but I consciously didn’t acknowledge them because I hadn’t acknowledged any of the other students individually. I did, though, notice that Kate was once again wearing her rainbow hairpin.
Maddie jumped up and down from behind Jaiden. “Ooooh, did you see Kate’s TikTok about the new GSA?”
My pulse quickened, and my temperature rose. My thumb found a piece of skin hanging off of my pointer finger, but I resisted the urge to bite it. “I just watched whatever videos it showed me. I wouldn’t know how to find Kate’s.”
Suddenly, Kate was beside me—so close that our arms were touching. I instinctively stepped away, but she moved in closer again with her phone in her hand.
It was her TikTok video. I couldn’t tell where she was in it, but there was a orange, pink, and white striped backdrop behind her, and she had on her rainbow shirt and hairpin. She smiled at the camera and recited:
“Hey, hey!
Are you gay?
Then, come check out
our GSA!
Don’t waste away
like a castaway.
You’ve got something to say,
and that’s okay!
My name is Kate,
and I’m super gay!”
The video ended with Kate moving aside to reveal what was hanging behind her which I now recognized as the lesbian pride flag. The group of kids around me cheered as Kate shyly returned to the back of the group. I raised my eyebrows and nodded approvingly.
“It even has a rhyme scheme, right?” Maddie beamed. She walked toward me, holding out a piece of paper that I took from her absent-mindedly.
Savannah added, “Hashtag Benson GSA!”
“Yeah! Yeah, it’s great. Nice job, Kate.” I looked quickly in her direction just as a senior boy walked past her and not-very-quietly whispered the word “dyke” in her ear, and my teacher reflexes kicked into high gear.
“Whoa! Hey now, Mr. Simmons, that was completely inappropriate,” I called after him, surprising myself that I had remembered his last name.
He stopped in his tracks with his back to us and turned slowly to face me. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. I wasn’t talking to you, but I can totally understand why you may have thought I was.” His face feigned innocence. “My bad!” He brought his hand to his heart and began backing away.
I tried to speak, but no words came out of my mouth.
“Jared, isn’t it time you grow up? And I heard you, too. I’m writing it on a discipline referral right now and will note your harassment of both a student and a teacher.”
Dana had appeared beside me, holding a discipline referral. I looked from her to Kate to Jared, who said, “I didn’t say nothing—”
“Save it for Mr. Dunham. Get to class.”
I could have hugged her, and I almost did, but then I remembered where I was. A hug would have been unprofessional, to start, but it also could have been recorded, and all I needed was proof of me putting my hands on yet another female.
Kate. The kids had dispersed, and I searched for her among their walking figures, but I didn’t see her.
The bell rang. “Dana, I—”
“Don’t mention it, Jo. Have a good day.” She patted my arm and walked toward her classroom, giving me a wink before she entered it.
Looking down, I saw the paper I had been holding since Maddie had handed it to me. It was folded in half, but I could see through it to the pen written on the inside. Unfolding it, I saw a handwritten title at the top: GSA SUPPORT PETITION
Split into three columns were almost 100 student signatures.
- 32 -
Friday, March 22, 2019
The rest of Thursday had passed uneventfully. No more emails of significance or out-of-the-ordinary encounters with students. Just teaching and planning and grading without much time to think. Brandon was noticeably absent from my eighth period class due to an early dismissal for a basketball game.
There was a pep rally scheduled for our undefeated basketball team that afternoon, so the hallway was abuzz with excited students, most of whom were wearing our school colors of red and blue. We would be missing eighth period, which I was extra thankful for on a Friday afternoon because I didn’t think I had it in me to pretend like I didn’t feel Brandon watching me. I had learned that morning that part of Brandon’s punishment for being suspended the week before was not being permitted to participate in the pep rally, and I was sure he wasn’t happy about that. Besides, I was exhausted and just wanted to make it through the day without any more drama.
My morning was relatively normal. Each of my classes worked on their identity poems, and we read and discussed the first page of our new novel, analyzing the narrator’s voice and how we can tell what her priorities are through her observations. I sprinkled in a little bit of grammar by pointing out some participles, and students looked through their poem drafts to see if they had any participles of their own, and some shared them. It was a productive learning day, and I was almost able to forget the allegations looming over me.
At the end of the day, I walked into the gym for the pep rally with a smile on my face as I saw the basketball team huddled together and getting hyped for their game. I had taught every single one of those boys, and many of them were good kids, as far as I could tell. (Although how much does a teacher really know?)
The gym was filled with the smells of sweat and floor wax mingling with excited voices that echoed off of the blue-and-red painted cinder-block walls. I had a predictable, preemptive headache but ignored it as I waved to the now-unhuddled boys and made my way over to stand along the wall next to a few other teachers.
Right before I reached the wall and was about to say hello to Bryce Flemming, the French teacher who had been hired the same year as me, I caught sight of a group of students who were in another kind of huddle near the top of the bleachers. Most of their backs were toward me, but I immediately recognized Brandon’s green hoodie and mentally identified several of his friends. Just as I was about to look away, Brandon turned around and noticed me. He held my gaze for a few seconds and then leaned over to whisper to the boy next to him whom I recognized as a junior who had recently moved to the district and whose name was frequently on the school’s discipline emails. They both turned and looked at me, smirking, before leaning into the center of their group and saying something that made all of them laugh and glance in my direction.
I tried to turn my attention to Bryce casually, but I know my ears told a different story. He cocked his head to the side and said, “Hey, Josie. You good?”
Leaning back against the wall next to him, facing slightly away from Brandon and his crew and slightly toward Bryce, I said, “Yeah. There’s a group of kids talking about me.”
He laughed and put his right hand on his hip, “That comes with the territory, doesn’t it?” But when he saw I wasn’t laughing, he dropped his hand and his smile and moved in closer to me. “What happened?”
“I’m surprised you haven’t heard,” I started, not quite able to look him in the eye. “I have parents coming after me for pushing my gay agenda.”
He put his hands up in a gesture for me to stop talking. “Hold on. What? Are you, like, forcing them all to read David Sedaris or something?”
I had to smile at that. “No. But I do love David Sedaris.” I shook my head to get back on topic. “No. Listen, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this.” I looked around to see if anyone was looking at us, but most people were watching the cheerleaders do their thing. (Side note: I never know where to look when the cheerleaders are performing. I want to show my support for them and am usually entertained by them, but I don’t want anyone to think I’m looking at their bodies.) “Do you ever have kids come out to you?” Bryce is a single gay man who, like me, doesn’t talk much about it in the classroom, but the kids just kind of know.
He thought for a few seconds and said, “Not really. I mean, it wouldn’t come up very easily in between learning vocabulary and conjugating verbs. Je suis une grande folle.” He giggled and then translated, “I am a big ol’ queen.”
Like me, though, Bryce doesn’t fall into a stereotype. Neither of us is especially feminine or masculine—more like nondescript and casual in our own ways. I smiled and said, “Those aren’t words I would use to describe you, but sure!” I glanced at Brandon to discover him no longer paying any attention to me but, instead, flirting with a freshman girl whom I hoped wouldn’t fall for his outward charm, so I was able to relax more. “It’s a long story,” I continued, more seriously. “I guess my class lends itself more to self-expression with the poetry and journaling and stuff like that. And I’ve had some kids come out to me before, but this was the first time one did it in writing, and her parents are not at all pleased about it.”
Bryce cringed. “Yikes. I’m sorry, Josie. That sounds complicated.” He ran his hands through his curly brown hair. “Want to get a drink after school and talk about it some more? I don’t have any plans tonight.”
I sighed. “You know, I would love that, but I’m sure my wife and kid will have other ideas. Can I take a rain check?”
“Sure thing,” he said.
I looked around again before moving in closer to him. “So … there are some kids who want me to sponsor a GSA? Am I crazy for considering it?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Crazy? No. Brave? Hella.”
I sighed. “There’s a fine line, though. If I … decide to do it … would you be interested in participating somehow? Absolutely zero pressure. It’s just that one of the kids already mentioned you, and—”
“Hmmm, I’m not sure about that. No offense, but it’s a little trickier for me as a gay man. People tend to feel more … threatened by—”
“I totally get it. I really do.” I looked down at the shiny gym floor. “You don’t have to expla—”
“Josie,” he bent over to put his face in front of mine, “you didn’t let me finish. I’d love to help with any behind-the-scenes stuff and could even attend some meetings and what not, but I don’t feel comfortable putting my face on the logo, if you get what I mean.”
I did. I really, really did.
Before I could answer, a bull horn sounded to signal it was time for everyone to stand and “Do the Bulldog.” It looks sort of like a bull getting ready to charge, mixed with excited barking. Kids go crazy for it, and I normally participate for the fun of it, but I saw Kate watching me from across the gym. She was sitting in the front row with some of her friends, and they were all bulldogging, laughing, and talking around her, but she was looking at me with surprising solemnity.
I considered smiling sympathetically at her but instinctively looked in Brandon’s direction first. He was also looking at me, but there was something else in his eyes—something that felt like quiet, confident, vengeance.
- 33 -
Friday, September 26, 1997
The beginning of high school was not an easy transition for me. Switching to public school—because my divorcing parents could no longer afford private school—left me without my friends, and I quickly became known as the slightly surly, chubby lesbian. I threw myself into any and all music programs I could find and hoped to find some like-minded people, and I did make some friends eventually, but they did not include any fellow gays.
By the end of September of my freshman year, I had settled into a lunch table of other misfits. I didn’t talk much at that table, but I did have a great view of the most beautiful senior girl: Naomi Eastland. To me, she looked like a movie star. I sat sporting my braces and frizzy, sandy ponytail, unable to look away from her table for too long. But she wasn’t the only reason my eyes were pulled in that direction. There were other popular kids who sat with her, and I was fascinated by their antics. I felt like I was watching a movie about the rich and famous, studying everything they did as if they and I were different species.
That morning in gym class, a girl who used to live down the street from me had approached me in the locker room. I was changing my shirt when I heard her say my name.
“Yeah?” I answered, pulling my head and arms through the holes of my tie-dyed t-shirt.
“Do you remember me? I’m Leah,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Of course I remember you,” I raised my eyebrows. “I’m pretty sure we played kickball in my parents’ alley about a hundred times that one summer.”
She shifted nervously and tried to smile, playing with the drawstring of her gym bag. “Yeah, I remember that. Do you still live there?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Well, sometimes. I go with my dad on the weekends.”
She looked away. “Oh, I didn’t know your parents split up. Sorry.”
I laughed, which surprised her into looking at me. “It’s fine. They’re happier apart.”
She smiled. “That’s good. Well,” she paused for a few seconds, “is it true?”
“Is what true?” I finished putting my gym clothes in my bag and looked at her.
“Are you a lesbian?” She was looking at the bench in front of her, obviously afraid to look me in the eye.
I hesitated and then quickly decided that there wasn’t any reason to be shy now when clearly people were talking about it. “Yep,” I said quickly.
She looked at me. “Wow. I’m just surprised. Remember when you liked RJ and would chase him around the playground?”
I picked up my bag and my books to go to my next class. “I’m pretty sure I was just doing what everyone else was doing. And RJ still does have a pretty face.”
She laughed, visibly loosening up. “He sure does!”
We walked out of the locker room together, and it felt good to be walking and talking to someone who knew me pre-misfit.
“So who do you think is pretty at this school? There are tons of girls to choose from, right?” She kept walking in the same direction as I was, so I guessed her next class was near mine.
“I don’t know,” I said. I hadn’t even told Andrew or Layla about my crush on Naomi. They had both gone on to Catholic high schools, and we hadn’t had much of a chance to talk yet since the beginning of the school year. And then I added, “Do you know Naomi Eastland?”
Leah grinned. “I definitely do. We’re both cheerleaders.” I hadn’t realized either one of them was a cheerleader, so I was a bit taken aback.
“Oh. Cool. Well, I’m going to class,” I said, walking towards the doorway to my geography class. “See you around.”
“See ya!” she called after me.
I was thinking about that interaction as I sat at the lunch table and ate the turkey and swiss cheese sandwich that my mom had packed for me. Although we didn’t see her much anymore because she spent most of her time with Sam when she wasn’t working, she still packed our lunches every day. Feeling pleased that I had possibly made a new friend, I was surprised to see Amanda’s face next to mine when I turned to look at the clock on the wall.
“Whoa!” I said. “You scared me.”
She looked serious. “Are you okay?” she asked me.
I furrowed my eyebrows. “Yes. Why are you asking me that?”
She crouched down beside me and got close to my ear. “The entire school is talking about how you have a crush on Naomi Eastland. Did you tell someone that?”
I could feel my sandwich start to come back up. Tears immediately sprang to my eyes, and I said, “I—I sort of told Leah Marsh. I didn’t actually say those words. I—”
“Well, you better be prepared for people to say things to you. Naomi is pretty nice herself, but I can’t say the same about all of her friends—especially not her boyfriend.”
Even though I had never entertained the idea of actually dating Naomi, my shame and embarrassment were suddenly intensified by a feeling of jealousy at the thought of her having a boyfriend. I glanced in the direction of her lunch table, and there were three boys who were looking at me and laughing hysterically. Naomi was shushing them, and I could see that her cheeks were rosy from blushing. And that made me feel awful.
“I can’t do this,” I said quietly to Amanda. “I don’t want to be at this school anymore.” I tossed my brown bag in the garbage with my half-eaten lunch and rushed toward the door of the cafeteria.
