A couple of weeks passed and things settled down to a nice normality. Josh and Rachel were really pleased that I'd broken things off with Conor, and I was seeing quite a lot of Jackson, who was, surprisingly, growing on me quite a bit. He made me laugh, sometimes on purpose but more often than not by accident, doing something clumsy or ridiculous that somehow tickled me in the right spot and even had me grinning like an idiot hours later if I happened to think back on it. Rachel was gloating like she'd set up an international peace summit rather than just two friends, even though she still couldn't seem to set herself up with Josh. My best friend was taking the piss as much as usual but that hint of malice he always had when talking about Conor was gone – unless he was talking about Conor, of course.
Speaking of whom, despite the serenity I seemed to have managed to achieve that had been lacking for the past two Conor-oriented months, I still had more than my fair share of moments of consternation; namely, whenever he was within a three hundred foot radius. I'd stopped inviting Jackson up to Glenstal Abbey on the off chance we ran into him, because his homophobic tirade seemed to have stepped up several notches in the last fourteen days.
It all came to a head in Drama class the third week of November. Drama is the only class the whole year takes together, so three times a week all one hundred and eighty of us are herded into the gym and forced to act like flowers and windmills and so forth. If you've learnt anything about me by now, you'll deduce that it's not exactly my favourite class.
As there are so many of us, other teachers are often assigned to help the Drama teacher, Ms Hughes, who is a bit dithery, keep the peace. Today we had Mr Price and, unusually, the principal, Mr Doherty.
Ms Hughes stood on the stage while we all congregated on the gym floor, sitting Indian style or just sprawled out, and she clapped her hands to get our attention. We gave in after a few minutes, solely because of the presence of Mr Doherty, and Ms Hughes started talking loudly so we could all hear.
'Okay,' she squeaked, 'as you all know we finished up our section on modern drama last week, which means... We need to start working on our performance section!' A cheer went up from the class; performance drama is always the most fun. The whole class is required to contribute in some way to a production which is put on in the last week before Christmas holidays, whether it's set design, costumes, music, acting, anything really. Josh and I always opt for costumes, and we get away with it just because I am gay. We're onto a winner though; other boys don't want to be seen dead working in costumes whether they like fashion design or not so we're the only two in there, the rest are girls who simply don't want us interfering. Ordinarily we'd get kicked out for not contributing, but I will shamelessly play the gay card if I have to, and it works every time.
Ms Hughes continued to soliloquise about the plays she wanted us to consider and what area we would like to work in, but everyone was already off whispering amongst themselves about exactly that.
'Costumes?' Josh asked. He was laid out leaning on his palms, his legs crossed at the ankle in front of him, leaning backwards to raise an eyebrow at me around Rachel.
'Course,' I said, but I was looking beyond him at somebody else, somebody who was smirking to his friends about how they would, once again, monopolise the music part of the production so that they were in charge and nobody else got to really participate.
'Costumes?' Rachel demanded disbelievingly. 'Why on earth would you two want to work in costumes?'
'I'm gay,' I replied automatically.
'It's true,' Josh concurred. 'He is.'
'But you're not interested in fashion design.'
'Yeah. But I'm gay.'
'Well I'm gonna do set design,' Rachel said decidedly.
I was about to look up at her – she's never struck me as particularly artistic – when Conor suddenly looked up and caught my eye. And even though I felt all the same sexual tension and apprehension and physical longing, I also instinctively knew that getting caught staring at him was a big mistake.
Refusing to be intimidated, I held his gaze for a few seconds, then slowly looked away, trying to keep my expression calm when my heart was beating way too fast in my chest.
Josh was grilling Rachel about her motives for choosing set design. 'You don't even do art.'
'I have a very keen spatial awareness.'
'How's that gonna help?'
'I'll know where to put things.'
Josh scooted so he was right up in Rachel's personal space. 'How's your spatial awareness now?'
I blanched. Oh god, this must be how Harry Potter felt when Ron and Hermione got together.
Rachel was stuttering and stammering her way around a response while Josh grinned broadly, and I stood up. 'I'm gonna go over... Yeah... Drown myself in a toilet maybe...'
I started walking through the sea of bodies; several people were up and moving around now so I had to dodge and duck quite a bit. I saw Georgiana Caruthers, the girl who invariably always ends up in charge of costume design, roll her eyes expressively at the other usual costume suspects as she saw me coming, and I suppressed a grin.
I wasn't having any trouble suppressing it a moment later as something wrapped around my ankle and the earth shifted and the side of my forehead cracked off the floor; thousands of tiny lights started blinking in front of my eyes. There were gasps from the people around me and one or two shrieks of surprise, and I rolled over onto my back, my hands clutching my head as white hot pain started to spread from the point of impact into the centre of my brain and down the side of my face.
I blinked my eyelids rapidly, trying to clear the dancing lights, and saw Conor Archibald still sitting on the ground by my feet, smirking smugly, surrounded by the rest of his band and a group of fangirls. Sally Evans thumped Conor hard on the arm and he glared at her and she stood up and ran over to me, kneeling down beside my head.
'Christ, Tyler, are you okay? Mr Doherty! Tyler, can you see how many fingers I'm holding up?'
I groaned, partly from pain, and partly because I didn't want to get the teachers involved, much less our middle aged principal.
'Oh god,' Sally muttered, smoothing the hair out of my face. 'Conor you absolute prick,' she spat, 'what the fuck were you thinking?'
'What's going on here? Mr Lincoln, what are you doing on the floor?' Mr Doherty was standing beside me, with Mr Price and Ms Hughes. Mr Price pointed at Daniel Fellows and sent him to get the nurse.
'He was tripped sir, he hit his head pretty hard.' Sally's cool hand was resting over where I'd hit it, relieving the pain slightly.
Mr Doherty knelt down and peered into my face, his grey eyes and salt-and-pepper hair obscuring my view of anything else, including Conor, who I desperately wanted to beat to death. 'Can you sit up Tyler?' Mr Doherty asked as Mr Price and Ms Hughes pushed everyone back out of the way to give me air.
I put my palms on the floor and struggled into a sitting position, the movement causing a fresh wave of pain through my cranium and a new set of dancing lights in front of my eyes.
'Tyler! Oh my god!' I heard Rachel shout, and she shoved past a few kids and ran over to me, followed by Josh.
Mr Doherty ignored them, moving his index finger over and back in front of my eyes to see if I could follow it.
'You said he was tripped, Miss Evans?' Mr Doherty asked mildly, looking back up at her.
'Yeah,' Sally answered coldly, and didn't even need to be asked: 'by Conor, on purpose.'
Before anybody knew what was happening, Josh, who's a lot stronger than Conor, had him by the throat, his face pressed close to Conor's.
'You homophobic little turd,' he was hissing, shaking Conor slightly, who's toes were only skimming the ground at this point. Tarquin and Philip were on their feet, shouting at Josh but unsure of how to actually get physically involved. Mr Price was trying to get Josh to put Conor down and Rachel was shouting at him to punch him first.
Mr Doherty stood up and forcibly tugged Josh's hands away from Conor, so Conor landed with a thump on the floor.
'You two; back to your dorm rooms immediately. Someone will be sent to get you when Mr Lincoln has been given the all clear, I'll need to see the whole lot of you in my office.'
———————————
Half an hour later I was sitting in the nurse's office doped up on ibuprofen while she filled out some forms, then handed them to me to sign.
'I haven't had to inform your parents,' she explained mildly, putting the forms back in the filing cabinet, 'but Mr Doherty will probably do it anyway. It's more of an attitudinal, behavioural problem than a medical one.'
So I get tripped in the gym and suddenly I have a behavioural problem. Of course.
'Anyway, you're free to go. Take two painkillers every four hours, drink plenty of water, and come back to me if you notice any swelling or prolonged pain.'
I stood up, a little bag of pills in my hand, thanked her, and made my way to Mr Doherty's office. I didn't know what she was talking about, "notice any swelling". The size of my forehead was practically double what it had been that morning and it was turning a lovely dark purple colour. Luckily, my hair would hide most of the damage, but for now it was slicked back because the nurse, in frustration, had made me wet my hair so she could get it out of her way. So on top of forehead 2.0, I also look like a damp animal.
I walked into the main office and one of the receptionists looked up, saw me, developed eyes the size of dinner plates, then pointed to the door of Mr Doherty's office, meaning it was okay to go right in.
More self-conscious now than ever about my appearance, I knocked on the thick wooden door and opened it, fighting my natural urge to stick to head around first and enquire if he was busy. I figured the game plan from now onwards would be to keep people from seeing my head at all, and definitely not before they saw the rest of me.
When I stepped inside I saw Josh, Conor, Rachel, and Sally sitting slouched on chairs in front of the main desk, and Mr Price and Ms Hughes standing by the window. The principal was sitting behind his desk, wearing a seriously ticked off expression.
'Tyler, good, we can get started. Please, take a seat.' The only problem with that was that of the five seats in front of Mr Doherty's desk, only one was free – one that separated Conor from everyone else. It seemed they didn't want to be anywhere near him, not even Sally.
Biting my lip, I dropped into the seat, and the others all turned to look at me. To my right, Rachel and Sally gasped, Rachel even muttering, 'Oh my god,' and Josh gaped at me, then tensed up again, glaring past me at Conor, who I didn't even look at.
'Now,' Mr Doherty said, leaning forwards and clasping his hands together, elbows resting on his desk. 'I gather from your teachers that there's a rather serious homophobia problem here.' He paused, and my fingers started wringing the hem of my t-shirt anxiously. 'Mr Lincoln?' I looked at the ground. 'Mr Archibald?' Conor grunted but didn't say anything. 'Well if neither of you are going to speak for yourselves I'm going to have to call this on testimony from your teachers. Prejudice of any form won't be tolerated within these walls, including homophobia.'
Conor muttered something inaudible, and everybody turned to look at him.
'Do you have something to say, Mr Archibald?'
'No,' Conor answered moodily.
'Recent research,' Mr Doherty went on, 'has indicated that homosexuality is in fact biological. It's genetic. Any problems you have to take up with Mr Lincoln on his sexuality you may as well be taking up with God.'
Mortified.
'Based on reports from your teachers I gather that this bullying has been going on for a long time now and I want to suspend you, Mr Archibald, pending further investigation.'
All five of us had been looking at the ground up until now, but at this point our heads all snapped upwards, staring in shock at Mr Doherty, at Conor, at each other.
'However,' he continued, 'Mr Price and Ms Hughes have convinced me to consider an alternative form of punishment. Ms Hughes?'
Our drama teacher moved away from the window to stand beside Mr Doherty's chair. 'Ah,' she said, 'yes. Well. There's no need to answer unpleasantness with more unpleasantness. So I thought we might do something creative instead.' Josh and I glanced at each other. It would be so typically Ms Hughes to make us all hold hands and pretend to be flowers together. 'This year, we are going to put on a homosexual play.' She beamed. 'It's called Bent, by Martin Sherman. It's set during World War II and-'
Rachel's hand was in the air.
'You realise, of course, that the main character beats his boyfriend to death, rapes the corpse of pre-teen girl, and then kills himself in a concentration camp?'
We all gaped at her, and even Ms Hughes seemed a bit shocked.
'Miss Hughes, did you just Google plays with a gay theme?' Rachel asked, which I thought was pushing her luck a bit seeing as we were in a disciplinary meeting as it was.
Ms Hughes bit her lip and looked to Mr Price for help; to his credit, Mr Doherty looked like he was trying not to laugh.
'How about,' Sally came to Ms Hughes' rescue, 'this year we write our own play?'
Ms Hughes brightened. 'Excellent idea! You five can write the play and we'll work from there.'
'No Miss, that's not what I-'
'You have a week.'
For someone with such big hair, short stature, and voice squeakiness, she could carry off a convincing air of authority.
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'So you've got a week to write a gay play?' Jackson asked later, amusement tickling his voice as we walked hand in hand down the street. It was late afternoon and the coffee shops were bustling, people huddled together under outdoor heaters drinking hot drinks and smoking. It was dark out and cold; Jackson's breath formed clouds in front of his face as he spoke.
'Yeah,' I answered moodily, scowling at the thought of it. 'I got tripped up and practically knocked out, and now I'm getting punished for it.'
Jackson was giggling. 'Sorry, I'm sorry!' he apologised when I glared at him. 'I know it was horrible, and Conor Archibald is a total jackass, but if you take the homophobia out of it... It's really funny!'
'You're such a supportive boyfriend,' I said sarcastically, rolling my eyes.
'What?'
'What?'
'You just... I'm your boyfriend?'
Oh well done, Tyler. Good job, really. 'Um. If you want to be?'
Jackson's face took on his characteristic cute smile. The boy had dimples, for god's sake. 'Okay. I do.'
I stopped walking and tugged his hand so he involuntarily ended up standing facing me, and kissed him. He grinned, blushing, and we started walking again.
I pulled out my phone and checked the time. 'Okay, we've got... Two hours before I have to be back on campus,' I said. 'Where do you wanna go?'
'Well as important and all as I find your schedule, I actually have one of my own,' Jackson said, teasing. 'I gotta go home and feed the dog.' I noticed we'd been walking in the general direction of Jackson's housing estate.
'Oh. Okay. Well, I guess I'll just head back early then.'
'You're not coming?'
'I, uh... Don't do well with parents.' Parents tend to not like me because I'm moody and come across as quite judgemental, though I'm not. Much.
'My parents are meeting for dinner after work, they won't be home til late. Why do you think I have to feed the dog? Usually my mom insists that I refrain as much as possible from feeding him, as I will likely poison and kill him.'
'Maybe I'd better feed him then. If you're that much of a threat you should maybe even stay in the next room.'
'So you'll come over? Cool!' I didn't know what it was about Jackson, but these happy-clappy, easily-excited, general bouncy tendencies he had didn't annoy me as much as they did on anyone else. I naturally gravitate towards darker, more cynical people, but it was different with Jackson – his happiness was infectious.
'You wanna watch a movie?' Jackson asked as soon as the Labrador – of course – was fed and watered. I checked the time again; I had an hour and forty-five minutes.
'Yeah, if it's short,' I replied, heading towards where I'd seen the living room was on the way in.
'Oh, we don't have a DVD player,' Jackson explained, catching my wrist. 'My Playstation's in my room.'
Which was how we ended up on his bed, the Playstation 3 not even switched on, with him straddling me, making out.
'You tricked me with that movie thing, didn't you?' I accused, when we pulled apart for air.
'We can watch Inside Out if you like?' Jackson suggested, his hands suggesting something entirely different as they snaked under my t-shirt and started roaming over my stomach.
'Yeah, let's do that.' Jackson scowled at me and I laughed, then pulled his face back to mine to kiss him again. Kissing him was nice, it was good. He was sweet and patient and undemanding, never biting my lip or tugging my hair or grabbing me urgently. I liked it, it was different.
I turned my head to the side and glanced at Jackson's alarm clock, then groaned. 'I've gotta go,' I said, sitting up.
I expected him to argue but he sat up and climbed off me. My brain was still used to Conor's habits, I was learning Jackson's as I went. He walked me downstairs and kissed me before I left. 'Enjoy writing the play,' he laughed, and I started walking back towards Glenstal Abbey.
Yes. This was how relationships were supposed to be. Holding hands in public, sharing news and problems, no bickering, no sexual bribery, no secrecy. So why did I feel like I wanted to turn back time and never call him my boyfriend?