Free Getting It by Alex Sanchez

individual?”
    Carlos’s brain was starting to ache. “I guess so.”
    â€œAll right, then,” Sal said triumphantly. “That’s what I want you to talk about tomorrow. I’m counting on you, okay?”
    Carlos ran a hand through his hair and mumbled, “Yeah, okay.”
    â€œDon’t sound so enthusiastic,” Sal said sarcastically.
    In fact, Carlos wasn’t enthusiastic. After hanging up, he laid down in bed, his head throbbing from the conversation. In addition, he now had a new worry: Would Principal Harris think he was gay?

Twenty-Two
    T HE FOLLOWING DAY, Carlos didn’t tell his friends about his after-school GSA commitment. When the final bell rang, he bolted to the main office and slinked inside, wishing he still had his sweatshirt. In its place, he pulled the collar of his jean jacket up and watched the steady stream of staff and students hustle in and out the main door.
    A girl wearing an orange hoodie wandered in, scanning the room as if expecting someone. Beneath her hood, she looked vaguely familiar and cute—not Roxy gorgeous, but definitely cute—with a sprinkle of freckles and soft hazel eyes. Carlos averted his gaze while trying to recollect where he’d seen her. When he glanced shyly up at her, a little smile squiggled onto her face, bright as sunshine. Carlos felt his cheeks flame. Instantly, he recalled her from the library, with Sal and—
    Carlotta, Pulga’s ceiling-tall benefit-friend, strode into the reception room. Carlos sank farther into his seat. Was she also helping to start the GSA? Carlos hadn’t counted on that. No doubt she’d blab to Pulga she’d seen Carlos, and he’d get even more crap from his buds.
    â€œHi, Espie!” Carlotta waved at Hoodie Girl. “Are we the first ones here? Oh, hi, Carlos!”
    Just then, Freaky Vicky traipsed through the door, dressed weird as ever: camouflage pants, military dog tags, combat boots, and a T-shirt that read: MAKE WAR NOT LOVE.
    â€œHey, gang!” Sal followed behind her. “Has anyone seen …” He spotted Carlos. “Oh, there you are. I’ll let them know we’re all here.”
    He spoke to the secretary behind the counter and signaled the group. “Come on, troops!”
    Inside his office, the principal sat behind his huge metal desk like it was some sort of battle tank, armored with papers. “Hard-Ass Harris,” as students called him, was an ex-Army captain with a flattop haircut and a voice that boomed cannonlike through the halls, ordering students to class.
    â€œTake a seat,” he now commanded Carlos’s group, but there were only four chairs facing his desk.
    Carlos seized the opportunity to hang back, hoping to blend into the wall.
    But Sal glanced over his shoulder at him. “Come sit up here. I’ll stand.”
    â€œI’m fine back here,” Carlos assured him, and plopped onto the vinyl couch.
    Sal shot him a peeved look as Mr. Harris braced his hands on top of his desk. “So what’s this all about?”
    Sal turned to face him. “We want to start a Gay-Straight Alliance.”
    Mr. Harris’s brow furrowed into trenches. “You mean a club for
homosexuals?”
He pronounced the word as if speaking a foreign language.
    â€œNo …” Sal’s voice resonated with irritation. “I mean a club where
all
students can talk about homophobia and get support.”
    Carlotta spoke out in agreement. “I’m not gay, but I have friends who are. And I know what it’s like to be made fun of.”
    Vicky followed. “It’s hard to feel safe in school when people constantly call you names like ‘lesbo’ and ‘dyke.’”
    â€œSome students,” Espie added more softly, “have gay relatives and no place that feels safe to talk about it.”
    â€œThat’s all well and good.” Mr. Harris moved a stack of papers from the