Free The Namesake by Steven Parlato Page B

crying in the hallway seems pretty messed up to me.”
    “Screw you!” I jump up and knock over a row of music stands going for the door.
    “Oh that’s brilliant. Another solid choice: run away! That’ll solve everything!”
    God, I want to hit her. Instead, I launch a pile of sheet music at the wall.
    “Okay, you have all the answers, Lex? The truth is so valuable? Fine! You explain how it’s helpful to know … to know … that my father and Mister Pettafordi were — ”
    I’m not sure whether I’ve run out of breath or nerve, but I can’t seem to finish the sentence. I pace the cubicle, jaws clenched.
    Eventually, Lex breaks the silence. “Your father and Mister P were what?”
    “I think Pettafordi’s gay.”
    Her bark of laughter makes me jump. “A POSSIBLY GAY ART TEACHER? Earth-shattering! Next you’ll tell me Coach Novack was rejected by MENSA. Or that Father Brendan’s — GASP — Irish! No, seriously, what tipped you off? His passion for all things batik? The way he hums show tunes while showing slides? Because really, Evan, those are just — ”
    I almost laugh.
    “Will you please shut up? This is serious! I read about him and my dad in the journal, and it sounds like, maybe, they were more than friends.”
    “And?”
    “And? It’s … I don’t know, gross! He’s my art teacher. My self-appointed mentor, you know? It’s just … wrong. And, and. And wrong.”
    “So you said.”
    “I’ll tell you one thing. I’m through staying after to help him fire up the freaking kiln!”
    “Bold move, Captain. But tell me, do you really think you’ve got a snowball’s chance of avoiding him? Realistically? You’re planning to major in art. He’s your guidance counselor. Are you just going to, like, switch over to shop?”
    “I don’t know … but … I guess you’re right. I can’t just pretend none of this has happened.” I sit next to her. “And Lex … I’m sorry I told you to screw.”
    “No worries. You’ll pay. Anyway, I know you were just overcompensating, to assert your masculinity. It’s only natural, now that you’ve discovered your dad may have been a Swiss Miss.”
    This time I do hit her, a joke shove. She expects it, but mock-falls anyway, sending music stands dominoing. They clatter to the floor; we howl laughter.
    Still sprawled in a heap, Lex says, “Look Ev, I really do understand you being upset, but it’s not that big a deal. I mean, it’s not uncommon. I read this article that said something like 63 percent of adolescent males have had at least one same-sex experience, usually with a friend.”
    “That’s foul.”
    “I realize you’re squarely in the other 37 percent. It’s just, I think you should try not to freak over this.”
    “Well, I think
you
ought to reevaluate your reading material. Where’d you see this article anyway?”
    “I don’t remember.
Cosmo Girl
,
Scientific American
, something like that. But that’s not the point. All I’m saying is a little youthful experimentation’s not the end of the world.”
    “Not to you maybe, but this is my father. And my art teacher. Yish. What am I supposed say to him? How can I even face the guy?”
    “Well, you certainly can’t do it alone. I say on with the plan! You, me, Mister P. His office. This afternoon.”
    “There’s no way you’re turning this into some … ”
    “What?”
    I’m at a loss for a clever pop cultural reference; must be nerves. “I don’t know. Just … you’re not invited.”
    “Okay, if you want to risk being alone with him. After all, you are a chip off the old block. Might bring back memories, spark ideas about a little like-father-like-son action.”
    “You are truly demented.”
    “Oh, come on, Evan!”
    “No chance.”
    She joins me on the bench. “So appealing to your inner homophobe is plainly futile. How about this? Without me you’ve got no witness, with me, a partner in crime.”
    She has a point.
    “Besides, I really want to be there for