Jay's Gay Agenda Read online

  I tried not to blame Lu. Everybody in our grade paired up with someone for the summer, and the matches weren’t always expected. I knew as well as anybody you can’t help who you’re attracted to. I just wished I could find somebody who was attracted to me so I wouldn’t have to be the Forever Spare Tire.

  “Anyway,” I said, “while I do appreciate a good theatrical performance, I don’t want to be onstage or anything. Besides, I’m only one data point of gays who like theater. And Mr. Frederickson always says you can’t establish a trend with just one data point.”

  Lu rolled her eyes. “Do not go all statistics on us.”

  “But it’s true!” I said. “If you could tell me the sexuality of the majority of the guys in every theater production ever put on by a high school drama department, then we’d have enough data for a trend. You don’t know a lot of guys in theater, do you, Chip? But I know that Bruce Miller, Dalton Preston, Johnny Hayes, and Shawn Shapiro are all in drama, and they’re straight. And I know the most important detail: who’s auditioning for the lead role in Annie Get Your Gun.”

  “Who?” Lu asked. She drummed her nails against the table. She always does that when someone has information she doesn’t know but really wants. It’s her tell—the way I know she’s interested even if she sometimes acts above high school gossip since Chip goes to Spokane Community College.

  “Alicia Thomas,” I said. “You know Ian’s had a crush on her since sixth grade. Clearly he’s trying to get closer to her by auditioning for the show.”

  I could read Lu like a book. Her oval face was so expressive, her flaming-red hair practically changed shades with her emotions, and she always displayed her moods with new nail art. Normally, it was something I loved most about her, how transparent she was. But this time, when her whole body slumped, it felt wrong. She shouldn’t have this dramatic of a reaction to Ian pining after Alicia.

  “Well, this is just great,” Lu said. “Where are we going to find you a date for the Blue Bluff Hoedown now?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “We always go to the hoedown together.”

  “Yeah,” Lu mumbled. Her nail clacking picked right back up. Clickclickclickclickclick. Clickclickclickclickclick. She also does that when she’s anxious.

  Chip chomped on his last bite of cheeseburger, his eyes darting between us. He was normally so cool, calm, and smugly collected. Now the nervousness radiating off him was so thick, I could chew on it like he did to that Belly Buster.

  “I think I’ll let you two handle this alone,” Chip said. “Talk to you later, babe.” He pecked Lu on the cheek, his mouth still full, and got out of there faster than you can say awkward moment.

  “Lu?”

  Lu wouldn’t take her eyes off the greasy basket of fries between us. “It’s just that Chip wants to take me to the hoedown this year, and I . . .” No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t get her to look me in the eye. “I want to go with him too.” Clickclickclickclickclick.

  Images of our past epic hoedown costumes flashed before my eyes.

  HOEDOWN HIGHLIGHTS

  1.An electrical outlet and phone charger for the Power Couples theme. (Complete with a Lite-Brite thunderbolt that would light up any time Lu plugged into me.)

  2.Netflix and Chill for Perfect Pairs. (I wore a cardboard computer screen with a scene of the Netflix homepage while Lu went as that ice princess from Frozen. She could even step into my costume and would spontaneously burst into “Let It Go.”)

  3.Peanut butter and jelly for Inseparable. (In which we wore giant foam toast costumes that people could spread brown and purple paint all over.)

  In Riverton, the Blue Bluff Hoedown and couples’ costume contest is bigger than Halloween, homecoming, prom, and all other holidays combined. People go all out, dressing their best, downing Blue Bluff Orchard’s world-famous apple cider, and dancing to twangy yet catchy country music all night long. Lu and I had won the award for Best Costume—and the thousand-dollar cash prize that came with it—three years in a row. The theme for this year’s hoedown would be announced just after school started, and then we were going to plan the frack out of our outfits to make sure our winning streak went unbroken. I already had a page decked out in my notebook labeled COMPLETE COSTUME DOMINATION for upcoming ideas to list.

  I should have seen this coming. Lu’d fallen for Chip hard and fast, canceling so many of our summer traditions just to have alone time with her boyfriend. We hadn’t once gone to Silverwood Theme Park in Idaho to ride roller coasters like we had every summer; she made Pig Out in the Park a date night with Chip, leaving me to wander the hundreds of food vendors alone; and she bailed on Hoopfest, where we ogled athletes, so she could see Chip play guitar at the same café he played in three times a week. The hoedown was the one tradition I thought she wouldn’t mess with for a guy she’d known for only a month and a half. It was our thing.

  “It’s our senior year.” I could barely choke out the words. “We’re supposed to finish out high school with one more couples’ costume. The one to rule them all.”

  “Just because I’m obsessed with the movies doesn’t mean a Lord of the Rings reference is going to change my mind.” Lu knew me too well. “You’re just making this harder.” Clickclickclickclickclick. “I’m going with Chip. Now that college—”

  “Community college,” I snapped.

  “Don’t be a jerk.” Lu wagged a fry at me just like Chip had. Gawd, they were that couple who adopted each other’s mannerisms. “Now that college has started back up for Chip, I hardly get to see him anymore. With classes and studying he can’t drive out here as much as he did before, and you know I can’t drive to him because”—her voice dropped, and she looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening—“because Carol sold our car.”

  I sucked in a breath. Here’s a sad stat: half of all people in Riverton lived below the poverty line, and Lu was one of them. A new nail salon opened up in Deer Park last year that was modern, always had available chairs and technicians, and offered champagne or espresso with their services. All the RHS kids went there. Aunt Carol tried to get the TAN owner, Leslie Lovett, to update, but she was in her seventies and wasn’t up for the challenge. This left the old ladies at Riverton Trailer Community as the salon’s main clientele. As morbid as it sounds, they were getting older and dying, bringing Tough as Nails closer to death with them. The past year was especially slow, and Leslie had cut the store hours by half, meaning Aunt Carol’s wages were cut in half too. She’d had to sell their car just the week before to pay rent on their single-wide trailer. Whenever Lu brought it up it made my gut bubble with worry, but she refused to let me ask how she was doing.

  “It’s really important to me that Chip is my date to the hoedown,” Lu said. “I know having him around has switched up our routine, but Chip has helped take my mind off all the shit that’s going down for Aunt Carol and me. Honestly, that prize money for the costume contest could help us out. But just because Chip is going doesn’t mean that you and I can’t still plan a costume together that will kick ass. It’s just that Chip and I will be wearing it. If the rules allowed for a three-person costume, you know I would be all for that, but they don’t. Plus, since I was the one with all the romance this summer, maybe my love luck will rub off and I’ll be able to find you a date. That way, when I want to do-si-do with Chip, you’re not left out.”

  The bubbles in my gut went from worried to pissed in .2 seconds. Lu wasn’t just Spare Tire–ing me. She was slamming the trunk so hard I’d never be found again. And shoving it in my face that she’d had all these relationship milestones while I hadn’t. Who did she think she was, saying that she would find me a date?

  “Oh, because you finding your first boyfriend six weeks ago makes you some kind of expert?” Although, TBH, she kind of was an expert. Chip was technically her first boyfriend, but Lu had dated a lot of people and had her first kiss when we were in sixth grade. But that didn’t mean she got to imply the reason I had never been wit
h another guy was my fault. “I can find a date on my own, thank you very much.”

  Lu’s eyes went so wide I could see the harsh fluorescent lights reflected in them. “No, Jay, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “You know what?” I stood up so fast I got light-headed, spots creeping in at the corners of my vision. “You and Chip have a nice time.”

  I burst out of the diner. In that moment, I understood why so many people stormed off set during reality TV reunion specials.

  It felt good.

  2.

  Win the Gay Lottery

  My phone buzzed with texts from Lu as soon as I got home.

  OF COURSE you can find a man on your own.

  I didn’t mean it like that.

  Really, I’m so sorry.

  Meet me at the salon? I’ve got a pedicure with your name on it.

  I could practically hear her nails drumming against the TAN front desk. Leslie gives Lu and Aunt Carol a 50 percent friends-and-family discount, and Lu knows how much I love a good pedicure with my nails shined and buffed. But I wasn’t in the mood to let her off so easily (and even though I was pissed, I wouldn’t let her pay for my own pedicure when money was so tight). I needed time to adjust to the idea that we weren’t going to the hoedown together. I could still go, but even if I did end up finding a date against all odds, why would Chip even want to go to the hoedown to begin with? It didn’t make any sense. He always thought he was too cool for school, never laughing at any of our jokes or appreciating anything that remotely smelled of fitting in. He only ever wore black, he only ever watched documentary films, and he constantly berated me for drinking Diet Dr Pepper.

  I let out a sigh so huge my bangs moved.

  “Something you need to tell me?” Dad asked.

  “What the frack!” I jumped hard enough to send my backpack flying from my shoulder.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you. But last time you sighed that big, you came out.” Dad got up from his recliner in the living room and walked the two steps into the kitchen to grab a beer from the refrigerator. Dad built our tiny log home, and he’s “got the calluses to prove it,” as he always tells anyone who asks. He’s such a hands-on kind of guy. His dream was always to live in a log home in the country because “nothing can clean the mind better than clean air.” It is pretty out here, but the uninterrupted sea of trees out our living room window has turned from pretty to depressing. I recently learned that trees can flourish on six out of seven continents (sorry, Antarctica), yet not even one other boy who likes to kiss boys can grow anywhere on this side of the state.

  “What are you doing home?” I asked. It was only three fifteen. Dad usually didn’t get off work from Riverton Motor Repair until five thirty.

  Dad cracked open his Bud Light. “I quit my job today.” He took a few gulps, then went back to his recliner and nonchalantly pulled the handle so the footrest sprang up. Then he turned on SportsCenter, continuing to act like he hadn’t just dropped a huge bomb. Was this what a midlife crisis looked like? He seemed pretty content for a guy who no longer had a job.

  “Are—are you okay?” I sat down on the love seat, the only other piece of furniture that could fit in the tiny living room besides the recliner.

  “Yup.” Dad could be a man of infuriatingly few words.

  “Are you having a nervous breakdown? You’re not about to go streaking through the woods like Larry Gottlieb did on his alpaca farm, are you?”

  Dad just gave me his pointed look that said, What do you think?

  I threw my hands up. “What? You’re not telling me anything, so I can only assume the worst.”

  Dad took another swallow of beer. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he glued his eyes to the TV. And his eyelids didn’t budge one bit as he avoided my gaze.

  I grabbed the remote and hit Mute. “What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Son, if you don’t want to be grounded for the rest of senior year, you’ll give me that remote back right now.” Dad held out his hand, palm up.

  “Fine.” I caved and gave back the remote. “But what’s going on?”

  “Your mother will tell you when she gets home, Jaybird. Quit chirping.”

  “You know, I wouldn’t have to be chirping so much if you would just answer my question.”

  Dad turned up the volume on the TV, the sportscasters’ voices blaring through the cabin. “Everything is all right. Let me enjoy my early retirement.”

  My fingers itched to text Lu and tell her my dad was officially losing it. But I didn’t want to forgive her just yet. And it would only make me even more mad at her if I called and she didn’t pick up because she was busy with that friend-stealing douche. It only hit home the fact that I was alone. I didn’t have a boyfriend to rely on, or a best friend to share all my worries with, because she was spending time with her boyfriend.

  All I could do was march the four steps down the hall into my room and try to fool around on our outrageously slow country internet. But I couldn’t focus on my laptop with how angry I was at Lu, how confused I was by Dad, and how annoyed I was by the sounds of ESPN. Dad may have built our house, but he left little pockets in between the logs, so you could hear everything happening in any part of the house at all times. It meant I had to watch every PornTube clip with no sound, so while I can imagine sex clearly, I’m still not sure what kind of noises you’re supposed to make.

  While Dad sat back and enjoyed football, I spent three torturous hours obsessing over what could possibly be going on.

  DAD’S BREAKDOWN BEGAN BECAUSE . . .

  1.He got fired and is too hurt or manly or something to admit it.

  2.He is having a stroke and I should immediately call 9-1-1.

  3.Body-snatchers are real and Dad has been replaced by some alien villain.

  4.We won the lottery, so Dad doesn’t need to work anymore, but he doesn’t want to tell me so that I don’t become some entitled trust-fund kid.

  5.Oh gawd, Mom and Dad are getting divorced and Dad is slowly slipping into beer-soaked despair.

  I finally heard Mom come in through the front door, so I raced into the living room. She had a rotisserie chicken and potato salad in her hands from the Fresh Savings grocery store she managed in Deer Park. This was totally normal seeing as how rotisserie chicken was the five-dollar deal on Thursdays. She was also holding a bottle of champagne. Totally not normal. And it wasn’t just any champagne: it was Veuve Clicquot. I may technically be a country boy by location, but I’m not a country boy at heart. I know from all the bottles I’ve seen popped on VH1 that Veuve Clicquot is pretty fancy, not like the bottles of Barefoot Bubbly Mom usually brought home for her book clubs. Fancy champagne could only mean we were about to celebrate. So no job firings, no strokes, no alien invaders, and no divorce. That only left the lottery. Were we about to become millionaires?

  I grabbed the bottle from Mom’s hand. “Okay, what’s going on? Nobody’s getting any champagne until somebody talks.”

  Mom set down the chicken and potato salad so she could cross her arms and glare at Dad. “Rick, you didn’t tell him?”

  “I wanted to wait until you were home.” Dad got out of his recliner and wrapped Mom in a big hug. “Congratulations,” he said, then dipped and kissed her in that overly dramatic movie way that involves way-too-long lip-to-lip contact and side-to-side face motion. It looked like he was trying to unscrew Mom’s head from her neck using only his mouth.

  “Gross.” To distract myself, I attempted opening my very first bottle of champagne. I unwrapped the foil at the top of the bottle, twisted off the wire basket thingy underneath, and the cork immediately shot out. Even the thunk of the cork hitting the ceiling didn’t make my parents stop kissing. They were so disgustingly in love with each other. I mean, it’s great, but there’s only so much one kid can handle.

  What did grab their attention was the golden bubbly that fizzed out of the bottle and onto their shoes.

  “Frack!” I yelped, and lunged
for the paper towel roll.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Dad snatched the bottle, which was now less than half full, from my hand. Champagne should come with instructions. “You know there’s no drinking until you’re twenty-one!” He was always such a stickler for the rules.

  “It’s only fair,” I said. “How else am I supposed to stomach watching you suck Mom’s face off?”

  Mom whacked the back of my head. “Don’t be disgusting.”

  “I’m the disgusting one? I’m not the one dripping in someone else’s saliva right now.”

  Dad grabbed two wineglasses out of the cabinet and filled them with champagne. Perfectly, I might add, with the fizz just barely touching the rim of the glass before gently bubbling back down in a luxurious golden haze. It’s so embarrassing when your mechanic dad is fancier than you are. He handed a glass to Mom, then turned to me and said, “I think you’re just jealous.”

  “Ew.”

  Now Mom whacked Dad. “You two are derailing the celebration. I’ve been promoted!”

  Mom’s worked at Fresh Savings since before I was born, climbing the grocery store ladder from cashier to head of the meat department to general manager.

  “Mom!” I wrapped my arms around her, not caring that a little bit of champagne sloshed out of her glass and landed on my favorite jean jacket. “That’s amazing!”

  “I’m so proud of you, Tami,” Dad said, engulfing us both in a family group hug. Sometimes I got included in their disgusting lovey-dovey-ness. I would never tell them that I actually kind of like it. Doubly so since I’d been left out over the summer while everybody—even Lu—went into Heterosexual Hookup Mode.