LUCAS

Club recruiting wasn’t going as well as Lucas had hoped, but there was still time before the first meeting. The interaction with the King of Westwood, AKA Charles Aughtly, had shaken Lucas up a little, but he wouldn’t let it bring him down. There would always be ignorant kids wandering the halls and saying stupid things.

Like Charles Vincent Aughtly, son of the CEO of Aughtly Co, who had more money at his fingertips than Lucas would probably see in his entire lifetime.

But he was getting off track. He had better things to focus on than some rude rich kid.

“So, that’s my club! It’s a safe space, so you don’t have to be out–or even be LGBTQ–to join. We meet on Wednesday, during lunch, and–”

“Thank you, Lucas. You can sit down now.” The bored teacher at the desk didn’t look up or let Lucas finish his spiel. She wasn’t listening, and neither was the rest of the class. Lucas looked across the sea of checked-out faces and did his best to keep the smile on his face. “Oh! Okay, well, I’ll pass around some fliers!” He sat in the back of the classroom because even with his grades, he didn’t have the status to be gifted a seat closer to the whiteboard, and these rich kids had more fake problems than he could count on both hands, anyway. There was always an excuse to put him back there and everyone else in the better seats.

Still, it made it easier to pass things out. He made sure everyone got one because he had printed enough for the entire school anyway, and held his head up proudly as he finally took his seat. Sure, it was hard moving to a new school and suddenly being the only kid who was out and proud and finding out there was no community to turn to for safety–but that was why Lucas advocated for the club. He couldn’t be the only gay kid in school.

He couldn’t be.

“Alright, class, open your books to page one-ninety-three,” the teacher droned, and flicked her hand dismissively at them. “Read the next thirty pages silently to yourselves, and then we will discuss it.” She sounded like a computer, listing out steps to a pre-recorded plan. Lucas wouldn’t have been surprised if she turned out to be some kind of android, given the electric buzz of her monotone voice.

The reading period that followed was neither silent nor sustained. A group of lacrosse players in the corner snickered as they balled up the fliers and started throwing them at each other. Two girls in the front flipped theirs over and wrote something on it, then passed it back to one of the boys–who laughed and then wrote something new and passed it back.

And Lucas sat there, promising himself that it was fine. He was doing this for the other kids who weren’t as fortunate–who didn’t have the same support network he had at home.

He promised himself that it would be worth it once the club started, and he could forget about the recruiting aspect the school was forcing him to do.

Lucas did his best to focus on the page of the book he was trying to read–a collection of Shakespeare's plays, specifically Hamlet–and tune out the rest of the room. There was a light smack on the side of his head, and Lucas looked down in time to see a little paper airplane flutter to the floor. He frowned, hearing laughter from the right side of the room, but he wasn’t about to grant them a look in their direction.

He picked up the paper airplane, carefully unfolding the pink construction paper to see his flier's bright, bubbling art–only the wording had been covered with a thick, black Sharpie. The rainbows were crossed out, and QUEER had been written over Lucas’ carefully worded explanation of the club mission.

He wouldn’t cry.

He wouldn’t.

He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction.

Home was chaotic as always, but it was familiar chaos, unlike the tidal wave that was high school. Lucas’ sisters were running up and down the stairs, playing a game of chase while his mom screamed to stop causing so much racket. His dad was cooking something up in the kitchen, sweet aromas filling the air, and the kitchen echoed with the sound of pots and pans being thrown around and knocked over. Their apartment complex was small, and their loft even smaller, but they made do.

“Tia! Mia! Slow down, Jellybeans!” Lucas laughed as Tia came crashing into his legs. Mia skidded to a stop on the other side, and he became the only obstacle in a game of tag. Their wavy reddish-brown hair had been carefully braided into French braids by their mother–and it was staying about as well as you’d expect it to stay on a pair of rowdy ten-year-olds. Their mischievous green eyes, which matched Lucas’, shone with wild excitement.

“Lucky! Move out of the way! It’s Tia’s turn to chase me!” Mia complained as Tia giggled and hid further behind Lucas.

“No! You haven’t tagged me yet! So, you’re still it!”

Lucas laughed, sidestepped Tia, and watched as Mia tackled her—both of them screaming with their own laughter. “Don’t kill each other,” Lucas warned, to an answering chorus of, “We won’t!”

He slipped the rest of the way up the stairs to the loft, which had been converted into two bedrooms and a single bathroom. Lucas’ room was small, with a twin-size trundle bed on the far-right wall and a single window next to that, with fairy lights strung over it. On the other side of the window was his desk, which was bare other than his laptop, a mason jar full of pens, and a notebook. He had a small closet along the left wall, and in the left corner of the room was a standing full-length mirror covered with a blanket. Dotting the walls were various posters of indie bands, pictures of him and his friends from years past, and a cluster of glow-in-the-dark stars which spread onto the ceiling. It was hard changing schools halfway through his junior year, especially since it was his fault—but it ended up being better for his parent’s dream, their business, so Lucas couldn’t complain.

After all, Sawyer’s Reading Nook would be his someday.

Lucas sat at his desk and opened his computer, his browser already on the official club email. There were three unread messages, all of which were the welcome messages that Gmail automatically sent when he signed up. Lucas had carefully written the email on the posters so the other kids could email him about the club, but it seemed no one had taken the plunge.

Lucas sighed and leaned back in his chair. It had taken some begging to convince the school that a GSA was necessary. There had been one a few years prior, but it was shut down due to low enrollment. Westwood assumed that the low membership was due to a lack of LGBTQ+ kids on campus, but Lucas had assured them that that wasn’t the case. They were scared and needed a safe place to be out without judgment.

It had taken some back and forth, but Lucas got his way.

He decided to get a head start on his homework for the week, mess around on Twitter, and watch some YouTube videos. By the time he tuned back into reality, it was late—really late—and he started closing everything up for bed.

Suddenly, the browser pinged, and Lucas looked up in time to catch a notification from the email account swipe across the right side of the screen. Excitement bubbled in his stomach, and he shot forward in his chair. Someone had a question about the club, or maybe someone was asking to join. They needed three members other than the officers to start officially, but Lucas wasn’t worried.

His breath caught in his throat as he opened the message.

To: GSAatwestwood@gmail.com

From: charcharbinks@gmail.com

Subject: You

Lucas,

Hi.

Right, because every great love letter starts with “Hi.”

Let me try again.

Lucas,

You don’t know me, not really, but I know you. I saw you on your first day of school in your pink button-up tucked into black skinny jeans. It was your eyes that captured me first, green with specks of brown. And the way you smiled, like you carry the sun in your soul.

This is getting mushy, I’m sorry. I guess I’m not good at this.

Liking a boy, I mean.

Holy shit, I really typed that. Liking a boy. Liking you.

Me… being gay.

This is all so new to me. Not the gay thing, I’ve known for a while, but I’ve been lucky. Lucky that no one at school is my type. Lucky that dating girls is no issue for me, even if I’m not attracted to them. Lucky that my dad hasn’t found out…

I’m getting off-topic. But that’s ok. It’s not like I’ll ever send this email anyway. God, can you imagine? Me, confessing to you? Everyone watching? I would die.

It feels good to get this off my chest. Maybe now, when I see you at school, I won’t get so tongue-tied I can’t even speak. Maybe I won’t make such a fool out of myself next time you smile in my direction, and I melt completely.

Maybe next time, I’ll tell you how I feel. For real. In-person.

Ha. Just kidding. Dad would kill me.

And it’s not like you’ll ever see this anyway.

This is stupid.

Respectfully yours,

-p0[=