individual?â
Carlosâs brain was starting to ache. âI guess so.â
âAll right, then,â Sal said triumphantly. âThatâs what I want you to talk about tomorrow. Iâm counting on you, okay?â
Carlos ran a hand through his hair and mumbled, âYeah, okay.â
âDonât sound so enthusiastic,â Sal said sarcastically.
In fact, Carlos wasnât 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 didnât 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 cuteânot Roxy gorgeous, but definitely cuteâwith a sprinkle of freckles and soft hazel eyes. Carlos averted his gaze while trying to recollect where heâd 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 andâ
Carlotta, Pulgaâs ceiling-tall benefit-friend, strode into the reception room. Carlos sank farther into his seat. Was she also helping to start the GSA? Carlos hadnât counted on that. No doubt sheâd blab to Pulga sheâd seen Carlos, and heâd get even more crap from his buds.
âHi, Espie!â Carlotta waved at Hoodie Girl. âAre we the first ones here? Oh, hi, Carlos!â
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.
âHey, gang!â Sal followed behind her. âHas anyone seen â¦â He spotted Carlos. âOh, there you are. Iâll let them know weâre all here.â
He spoke to the secretary behind the counter and signaled the group. âCome on, troops!â
Inside his office, the principal sat behind his huge metal desk like it was some sort of battle tank, armored with papers. âHard-Ass Harris,â 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.
âTake a seat,â he now commanded Carlosâs 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. âCome sit up here. Iâll stand.â
âIâm fine back here,â 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. âSo whatâs this all about?â
Sal turned to face him. âWe want to start a Gay-Straight Alliance.â
Mr. Harrisâs brow furrowed into trenches. âYou mean a club for
homosexuals?â
He pronounced the word as if speaking a foreign language.
âNo â¦â Salâs voice resonated with irritation. âI mean a club where
all
students can talk about homophobia and get support.â
Carlotta spoke out in agreement. âIâm not gay, but I have friends who are. And I know what itâs like to be made fun of.â
Vicky followed. âItâs hard to feel safe in school when people constantly call you names like âlesboâ and âdyke.ââ
âSome students,â Espie added more softly, âhave gay relatives and no place that feels safe to talk about it.â
âThatâs all well and good.â Mr. Harris moved a stack of papers from the
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley