photograph.
“You can’t keep it,” Joni says.
“I know, I know.” I look at it for a minute more, then hand it back.
Infinite Darlene has kept quiet through this whole exchange. But she’s about to burst with curiosity.
“He’s just some guy,” I say.
“Do tell,” she insists.
So I do. Tell.
And I know as I do that he isn’t “just some guy”. There was something in our two minutes together that felt like it could last for years. Telling Infinite Darlene this doesn’t just feel like I’m setting myself up for gossip.
No, it feels like I’m putting my whole heart on the line.
Joni, Ted and I sit together for the Homecoming Pride Rally that afternoon. It’s the first rally that I’ve ever been in the stands for. This is due to a fluke of scheduling. Our school has too many activities and teams to be represented in each and every cheering session, so whenever we have a rally, only a dozen groups are spotlighted. They’d asked me to bring my acting troupe this time around, but I felt such recognition might damage our art – putting the personality before the performance, as it were. So as a result I am sitting in the bleachers of our gymnasium, trying to gauge the Joni-and-Ted barometer. Right now, it looks like the pressure is high. Ted keeps looking over at Joni, but Joni isn’t looking as much at Ted.
He turns to me instead.
“You find your boyfriend yet?” he asks.
Panicked, I look around to see if Noah is in the immediate vicinity. Luckily, he is not.
I am starting to wonder if he actually exists.
The principal’s secretary gets up to the microphone to start the rally. Everybody knows that she wields the real power in the school, so it makes sense to have her leading things here.
The gymnasium doors open and the cheerleaders come riding in on their Harleys. The crowd goes wild.
We are, I believe, the only high school in America with a biker cheerleading team. But I could be wrong. A few years ago, it was decided that having a posse of motorcycles gun around the fields and courts was a much bigger cheer-inducer than any pom-pom routine could ever hope to be. Now, in an intricately choreographed display, the Harleys swerve around the gym, starting off in a pyramid the shape of a bird migration, then splitting up into spins and corners. For a finale, the cheerleaders rev all at once and shoot themselves off a ramp emblazoned with our high school’s name. They are rewarded with massive applause.
Already the rally is doing its job. I am proud to be a student at my high school.
The tennis team is the next up. My brother and his friend Mara are the doubles champions, so they get a pretty good reception. I try to cheer loudly so Jay can hear my voice above the crowd. He’s a senior now and I know he’s started to feel sad about everything coming to an end. Next year, he’ll be on a college tennis team. It won’t be the same.
After the tennis team has been cheered, our school cover band comes out to play. The cover band’s stats are actually better than the tennis team’s – at this past year’s Dave Matthews Cover Band Competition, they went all the way to the finals with their cover of the Dave Matthews Band covering All Along the Watchtower, only to be defeated by a cover band that played Typical Situation while standing on their heads. Now they launch into a cover of One Day More from Les Misérables, and I admire the lead singer’s versatility.
After an encore of Depeche Mode’s Personal Jesus, the principal’s secretary asks for quiet and introduces this year’s homecoming king and queen. Infinite Darlene strides out in a pink ball gown, covered in part by her quarterback jersey. The homecoming king, Dave Sprat, hangs from her arm, a good thirteen inches shorter than her (if you count the heels).
Infinite Darlene is holding a portable microphone we borrowed from Zeke’s van, so she can introduce and march at the same time. As the school cover band strikes up a skacore version of We Are the Champions (we’re not entirely without tradition), the members of the football team line up for their presentation.
I lean over to Joni. She’s fixing her eyes on Chuck.
I honestly don’t know why. Chuck is the second-string quarterback who fell for Infinite Darlene and got all upset when she didn’t return his affections. He was real bitter about it, worse than Ted in his fouler moods. Ted, at least, is able to lose his cool without totally losing his sense of humour. I’m not sure that Chuck’s the same way. I wish Tony went to our school, so I could lift my eyebrow and get his take on the situation.
Ted doesn’t seem to notice where Joni’s glance is taking her. He is looking elsewhere.
“Is that him?” he asks.
Because he’s Ted, he goes right ahead and points at someone in the stands across the gymnasium. I squint to make out the faces from the crowd. At first, I think he’s pointing at Kyle, who is somewhat subdued in his applause for the football players as Infinite Darlene introduces them. Then I realise Ted is pointing rows up.
I see an empty seat. Then, next to it, I see Noah.
He senses me looking. I swear. He looks right at me.
Or maybe he’s looking at Ted, who’s still pointing.
“Put your finger down,” I say between gritted teeth.
“Chill,” Ted tells me, moving his finger through the air, as if he hadn’t been pointing at Noah at all. I try to play along.
When the whole pointing charade is over, I see that Noah’s still where he was a second ago. I don’t know why I thought he would have disappeared. I guess I don’t believe these things can ever be easy, although I also don’t see why they have to be hard.
Joni’s broken her attention from Chuck for long enough to get what’s going on.
“Don’t just sit here,” she says.
“If you don’t go over there, I will – and I’ll tell him all about your crush,” Ted informs me. I’m not sure if he’s kidding or not.
It’s a mighty thin border between peer pressure and bravery. Knowing that Joni and Ted aren’t going to let me get out of it, I head to Noah’s side of the gym. One of the teachers shoots me a stay-in-your-seat glance, but I wave her off. Over the loudspeakers, I can hear Infinite Darlene’s crystal voice: “And now, introducing the quarterback…the one…the only…ME!”
I look at the crowd. Everyone cheers, except for some of the more elitist drag queens, who feign disinterest.
I duck behind the bleachers, weaving to the stairs. I wonder what I’ll say. I wonder if I’m about to make a fool of myself.
All I can feel is this intensity. My mind beating in time with my heart. My steps keeping sway with my hopes.
I
