The teenagers in question didn’t get far, only to the auditorium, before Mr. Wright apprehended them. He acknowledges me when I enter through the back of the theater, but immediately resumes quietly scolding two boys and a girl I don’t recognize. He looms over them, pinning them in the auditorium’s seating with his disapproving glare. I smile, hanging back as he whispers something about their parents. Truthfully, I’ve never seen him look so severe, and it’s almost as endearing as it is comical. Hopefully he’s not just giving them an earful. Sadly, they’ll need to go home for the night, and we’ll need an incident report submitted to Principal Peeters. He motions for me to approach after a few more words.

“We’re going to wait outside for their parents,” Mr. Wright explains when I’m close enough for him to speak without raising his voice. “They said Adan ran backstage,” he motions over his shoulder. “Can you handle it by yourself?”

“Of course,” I smile, already heading that direction.

He stays me with a hand on my arm for only a moment to tell me, “I’ll take care of the report.”

Well that’s nice of him. Truthfully, I despise paperwork. I hop onto the auditorium stage, shimming up in my conservatively long, black dress, as Mr. Wright leads the kids the opposite way. Now where could Mr. Rivera be hiding? The wings are both empty, and the makeshift theater classroom is filled with half-finished scenery, drying paint clogging the air, but no signs of life. I check a few dressing rooms, calling his name a few times, before finally spotting rustles near the back of the enormous costume closet. Pushing more than weaving through the mass of crinolines, dusters, blouses, and pinafores, I find my student hunkering in the fabrics like it’s the Cold War and this is his fallout shelter.

“Hey, kido,” I tap his shoes with mine to get his attention and then drop to get eye level with him.

Coming out of a daze, he looks up at me.

“Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

“Ms. Huang?” His eyes are a glassy red behind his lenses, but already dry. “Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

“Well I’m sorry to disappoint,” I smile gently. “Mind telling me why you’re hiding in a literal closet during Homecoming?”

He drops his gaze, picking at the pilling carpet. “It’s not what you think.”

“It’s not about those kids Mr. Wright apprehended in the theater?”

His face whips up, surprise barely obscured by distress. Just as quickly, his eyes dart away, body curling tighter.

The simplest methods should always be used to solve any problem, so I decide to be direct about the matter. “Are they bullying you?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbles.

“It’s ok, take your time.”

He rocks backwards, his voice half obscured in his jeans. “Bullying makes it sound really bad.”

“That’s because it is bad. How long has this been going on?”

He shrugs, not meeting my gaze. “Couple weeks.”

“Did they find out about you and Mr. Mayer?”

“How—?” This time shock overtakes anxiety. “Oh god, are we that obvious?”

I chuckle lightly, “No, I’m just very observant. Although, there are quite a number of gay couples at our school, so I am surprised they are giving you a hard time about it.”

“Oh, no, it’s not… um, it’s not about Jason. I mean, they did threaten to out us, but I’m pretty sure Oscar and Cameron are friends, and he’s openly gay, so…” The latter name I recognize  from my seventh period class, but I quickly dismiss the idea of involving anyone else. Too many variables will only complicate the solution.

“Oscar… Maylin?” I guess.

“Uh, I’m not really sure,” he goes back to picking the carpet. “I don’t really know them that well.”

“If you’re trying to protect them, Mr. Wright is writing a report about this regardless, so there is no need.”

“I’m not,” he looks up at me, earnestness evident behind his thick square glasses. “I really don’t know why they started bullying me.”

“So they are bullying you.”

He groans, hiding his face behind his knees. Why is he being so resistant to giving me details? Of course there is victim shaming, even some internalized embarrassment associated with the idea of “being bullied”, but his hesitance reads as more than just awkwardness. I assess his guarded posturing, his reluctant shifting, his nervous nail biting. If this isn’t about his relationship with Mr. Mayer, maybe he’s protecting someone else?

“Is this about Miss Lynx?”

He flinches. Confirmation enough.

“Are they bullying her too?”

“As if they could even if they tried,” Mr. Rivera snorts. “They, uh, just don’t want us to be friends.”

Well, that’s not quite what I expect to hear. Not that they don’t like him because they are friends, but that they don’t want him to be her friend? Does this have anything to do with why Miss Lynx was resistant at first to spending time with him outside of school? “Do you know why?”

“I think they’re just assholes.” He quickly claps his palm over his mouth, realizing he just cursed in front of his teacher. Not that I care. My classroom may as well be a pirate ship for how much swearing I hear daily.

“Meaning they don’t like her?”

Slowly, he lowers his hand, relaxing a bit, signaling he might be finally ready to talk. “Not just her. Everyone in her family and a lot of her friends. It’s actually scary sometimes how much Matthew seems to hate them.” Matthew: another name I’ll need to attach to a surname and face with Mr. Wright’s help later. “At first, he acted like he was just warning me, like he was doing me a favor.”

“Warning you of what?”

“Just a bunch of weird bullshit.”

“Like?”

“Uh…” His face flames red, shifty eyes telling me it’s something embarrassing.

“Something hard to tell your teacher?” I guess.

“It’s kind of gross…” He hesitates, eyeing me. I hold back presumptuous indignation at whatever they might have said about my favorite student, and instead hold his gaze with even, open acceptance. I tilt my head, waiting, telling him silently that he won’t shock me. “Like stupid stuff like she just wanted to have sex with me and is using me to get pregnant. I thought telling them I was gay would get them off my back about it,” he trails off, throwing a bit of lint away from him.

“So that’s how they found out?”

He nods. “Yeah, but it didn’t really help, obviously. They got even meaner, saying she was going to steal my boyfriend, calling her a thot and witch and me an idiot for trusting her.”

I frown only slightly, picking apart the oddities of his allegations. “Doesn’t she have a girlfriend? Miss Morelli, I believe?”

“Oh, well,” Mr. Rivera blushes again, peeking up at me nervously before confessing, “they aren’t really exclusive.”

He can’t mean they aren’t dating. Miss Lynx practically confessed their relationship status to me herself. So does he mean they have an open relationship? Well now that would be interesting.

“But Sirena isn’t like that, with Jason,” Mr. Rivera quickly tells me. “She hardly knows him and Jason’s like also, uh, super gay too, so it’s all just nonsense. I mean, Isabella does have another boyfriend, but it’s all very consensual and stuff. Like it might sound weird, but they both are really chill about it and honest, so it’s never really bothered me.”

“But it bothers you that people misunderstand her?” I guess.

He droops, his chest caving inward in shame. “I know I should have just ignored them.”

“It’s ok to stand up for your friends,” I reassure.

“Yeah, well, they kind of hate me too now.”

“Have they been violent?”

“No,” Mr. Rivera shakes his head, evenly answering without a hint of nervousness. Unlikely he’s lying, which is a relief. “Just the name calling—juvenile crap, like fish food and fridged—and following me around. Even tonight, I didn’t want them bothering Jason and Lucy, so…”

“That’s how you ended up here?”

“Sorry, I know we aren’t supposed to leave the gym.”

“Well, if you want to go back, they were sent home for the evening, so the coast should be clear.”

A tentative smile finally reaches his eyes. “I’m not in trouble?”

“Did you do something wrong?” I reassure as I stand up, stretching my legs. “Come on, if you hurry, Jason may still have time to ask for a dance,” I tease.

“He’s still technically dating Lucy,” he mumbles sheepishly, accepting my helping hand to stand.

“You get along with her?”

“Yeah, she’s chill. Crazy parents, though. They’re sort of obsessed with her becoming the future Mrs. Mayer.”

I knew I was right, but having all my theories about the three teens’ relationship conveniently confirmed by Mr. Rivera is rather satisfying. Now, if only I could wrap my head around teen slang. I’m fairly certain ‘thot’ is another way of calling someone a slut, but is ‘witch’ another acronym or did I mishear ‘bitch’? If I didn’t, it feels like too much of a coincidence not to be somehow linked to the cult rumors. I never gave much mind to the teens’ tattoos beyond assuaging a few parents’ concerns about children joining gangs or indoctrination into devil worship. Such prejudiced superstitions cycle every few years, but never amount to anything substantial. If such gossip is spreading among my students, maybe I should start paying a little more attention.