Ugh! Morning. That meant I had to get up. That was always annoying, but these days, weekdays, it was worse. Getting up was bad because it led directly to going to school, which was awful.
I didn’t have any friends at school, possibly because of how I acted. I am gay, have been forever, but now, in middle school, kids seem to notice and resent it more. Kids I’d been friends with in elementary school had started to back away from me in sixth grade, and now they either avoid or ignore me. A lot of them actively hassle me. Dad says it’s because of puberty, that kids change in middle school. They are starting to want to go macho, to show how masculine they are, to make sure all the other boys—and the girls, too—know it, and one way to do that is to show contempt for the less-masculine boys among them. Who better to put down than the effeminate gay kid?
Knowing why they were acting like they were didn’t really help me that much. I just knew I’d have problems at school today like I did yesterday and the day before that, and it would be the same tomorrow, too. I was proud of myself for having come out during the summer after 6th grade, but I often regretted it, too, even if that’s paradoxical.
Dad had spoken to the principal and then the vice principal in charge of school discipline. Both had assured him that any sign of physical abuse would be swiftly and decisively handled. They said bullying of any kind, not only physical, would be punished, too, with increasingly harsh discipline for second and third offenses, but that the bullying had to be witnessed; they could do nothing with complaints that weren’t backed up with evidence. They actually apologized for not being able to stop it completely but said they would have teachers and playground supervisors watch me more attentively.
I used to ride the bus to school, but I was treated worse there than at school. The driver wouldn’t protect me at all; I think he didn’t like gay people. So, I had to live with it. I tried to sit up front, but those seats tended to be filled by girls who got on the bus before I did. Therefore, I had to move farther back, where I’d get my ears flicked by whoever was behind me. I was tripped and sometimes even have stuff poured over my head. The last time that happened, my father almost got arrested. Dad went after the bus driver the next morning when I was picked up, dragged him out of his seat, yanked him off the bus, and the police were called. I think the only reason the police let Dad go was that the bus driver told them I was a pussy-ass faggot and deserved whatever happened to me on the bus. Well, that and because of whom my dad was.
That bus driver doesn’t work for the school anymore, but I still don’t ride the bus. The same kids are on it. Dad drives me to school now even if it interferes with his own schedule. Mom drives me home.
I was grouchy all morning after accomplishing my reluctant emergence from bed. On the way to school, Dad kept glancing over at me. Finally, he spoke. “Hey, come on, Trip. It can’t be that bad.”
I didn’t respond for a bit. He was on my side, though, more than anyone else, and I needed to be fair to him. Sulking didn’t help anything at all.
But I didn’t need to be talkative. “Gym today,” is all I said. It was enough.
Dad nodded. “I spoke to your gym teacher. Called him on the phone. Yeah, you still have to shower with the others, but someone will be watching. It’ll either be him or another adult. It’s unfortunate you go to a school where communal showers are still required, but you have to play the hand you’re dealt. But, in your favor, the ones you said gave you the most grief in there have been spoken to. They do or say anything at all to you or about you, they’ll be in deep doo-doo. Uh, you do know what doo-doo is, don’t you?”
He suppressed a grin. I think he was trying to get me to smile. I wasn’t about to do that, but I was so glad he was 120% on my side. I don’t think I could have managed without that.
I was able to get to my locker, drop off my jacket and pick up my first two classes’ textbooks and stuff to write notes on without being bumped. I should add a ‘yet’ to that. It was still early in the day.
My dad had told me to ignore the bumps the best I could. If anyone actually knocked me down or knocked things I was carrying in my hands onto the floor, I was to see who it was but not confront anyone. I was to tell him who’d done it, and he’d talk to the vice principal again. He said one way or another, we’d get this fixed.
I loved his determination, his support, and I was certain that long term, he’d be right, but it still took all the courage I had to get through each day.
My first class was math. Algebra. The teacher, Mrs. McKinley, was pretty strict. Maybe you have to be to control middle schoolers, and she was. I didn’t have any trouble in that class. I was happy to start the day there. I always left last and scurried to my next class just before the bell. Safer that way in the halls. Anyone still there was in as much of a hurry to get to class as I was.
Second class was World History. Mr. Montgomery. He was young and eager, and his class was noisy. It was open seating in his room, which meant I was okay. The boisterous ones, the troublemakers, the ones who gave me shit because it made them feel good about themselves seeing what they could get away with, tended to congregate at that back of the room, so even though I came in last each day, there were still open seats in the front row. I happily took one of those.
Mr. Montgomery had revolting news for us this time. He said we were to study Europe; we had to have a good understanding of the geography of each country. Accordingly, our project for the term would be to learn to name all the countries and their locations on an outline map. We had to decorate our own map with the country name, the name of the capital, show where that was located in the country, and note the population of each country. The maps would be graded for accuracy, but we should think of them as a study guide, too, because we’d be tested on the material they showed after we’d turned them in.
We were supposed to learn all this stuff!
That raised a ruckus, especially when he told us that we had to figure out how many countries there were and had to do enough research to justify the number we’d come up with. The map had a definite number of countries shown, but had been drawn several years ago and, according to Mr. Montgomery, weren’t entirely in accord with how the present-day continent was now configured. We were to use Wite-Out to cover incorrect boundaries, then draw in current ones.
There were groans when he said, “I’d guess most of you will have somewhere around fifty different countries.” The groan came because fifty countries meant one-hundred-fifty different things we had to learn beside each country’s and capital’s location. I couldn’t even name all the states in the United States with their capitals and their population numbers, and I lived here!
He listened to the complaints for a short spell, then said, “Okay, listen up.” Then he raised one hand with his fingers splayed and began slowly lowering them, one at a time. We all knew what that meant. Anyone still talking or moving around when the thumb closed would be dismissed for the day. That meant visiting the vice principal, explaining to him why they couldn’t control themselves, and learning what punishment they’d be serving. No one, no matter how full of himself he might be, wanted to do that.
Yeah, I called the troublemakers ‘he’, but that was because the girls didn’t tend to be as rambunctious as the boys. They were always silent by the time his middle finger closed.
The room had quieted before he had to move his thumb. He took about a second to bend each finger, but sometimes, if it were still noisy after the fourth finger was down, he would snap his thumb closed without waiting for a full second. Some boys had been caught that way. They and the rest of them had protested, but they’d been caught fair and square because, however you cut it, they’d been making too much noise. No arguments, just a finger pointed at the door. They’d learned. So, when Mr. Montgomery began closing fingers, they shut up.
"Okay, it is a lot of work, and I know you have other classes. But how can we deal with how European countries function with their neighbors if we don’t understand some very basic things about them, like politics and population and geography? I could have made it worse, you know. I’m making it easy for you.”
He ignored the groans, saw the perplexed looks, and continued. “I could have asked for who their leader is, what their economy is based upon, what their form of government is, what language is spoken—you know, a lot of things we will be learning later. Hey guys, this isn’t elementary school. Now you will start learning how to study at home, putting the time in efficiently and effectively. But this is good: you get to clean the fuzz out of your brains and begin to use them.
“I know this is a challenging project. So, it won’t be due till the last week of the term, which is also when you’ll be tested on the subject. That’ll give you plenty of time to complete it, but start early. You’ll need the time I’ve allotted you for it.”
He stopped to glance around the room, trying to look everyone in their eyes. He met mine, and I met his. He moved on. When he was through with that, he said, “Since this is going to take some real effort from you, and you might need encouragement to not give up, I’m going to assign partners. You’ll each have someone to work with. The final test on this stuff will be just you answering individually, so both partners have to learn everything, but I think you’ll find it easier working with someone else, sharing the research duties and drilling each other.
“I have the partner assignments already made. I didn’t want you to choose someone; this will work better working with someone who isn’t already one of your friends. Friends won’t push each other as hard. We have a mixture of boys and girls here, and most partnerships will match one of each. However, we have more boys than girls, so a few groups will be composed of two boys working together. Okay. I’ll read off the pairings at the end of class. It’ll be up to you guys to get together, figure out study sessions, and get going with it.”
He went on with how we could use computers and the school library to find the info we needed. He then read off the twosome assignments; I was one of the boys who had a boy for a partner. Maybe the worst boy in class. Maybe the worst boy in the entire school. Tanner Booth.
I wasn’t going to put up with it. I was going to stand up for myself. I’d speak to Mr. Montgomery after class.