Raise Your Glass Read Free Page B

one of us.” Her eyes got wide, and she looked at each of her friends’ faces in disbelief. I realized too late that she really thought I was answering her honestly. Foster, Texas, Kyle. Remember. Foster, Texas.
    Before I could say anything else, they began to laugh and wandered off like a flock of peroxide-addled sheep.
    A couple of the guys shook their heads at me and walked by, no doubt hoping they could resist my “gay magic.” All I knew was that I had probably just made Brad’s day worse without even trying. Of course, the thought that my day was just starting to spiral downward hadn’t even entered my mind yet.
    When I walked into Civics, the buzz of half a dozen whispered conversations stopped. Three guesses who they were talking about. I sat down and pulled out my book while the whispers slowly began to start up again. I caught Brad’s name a few times and the word “fag” at least once. I focused my attention on a random page in my book and struggled to find a way to turn off my hearing. If you were wondering, turning off my hearing is not a superpower I happen to possess.
    If anything, I had become almost hyperaware of the conversations around me over the years. One of the practical advantages of being socially invisible was that people talked about almost anything in front of you. I had adapted almost secret-agent levels of eavesdropping, and that was messing me up at the moment since I could hear what everyone else was saying.
    “I don’t get it.”
    “Him? Why him?”
    “I didn’t even know he was in our class.”
    “Brad must be into nobodies.”
    “He’s kinda cute.”
    That one got my attention, but I forced myself not to look up to see where it came from. I was cute? Now I was cute? I mean, how long had I sat here next to these people, but it took this to be considered cute. I swear I didn’t understand how the world worked. I had looked up to see how much longer before class started when my phone vibrated in my jeans. I pulled it out and saw a text from Brad.
    BRAD: I hate my life.
    I knew how he felt.
    KYLE: I hate your life too.
    BRAD: Hey you started this!! lol
    KYLE: You kissed me jackass!!
    BRAD: That doesn’t count. You threw wood first.
    KYLE: I hate you.
    BRAD: GTG class starting.
    I didn’t even notice until I had put my phone away that I had a Stepford Robot smile plastered on my face. My face felt weird as I forced it back to normal and had to wonder how screwed up my life was that smiling was considered an experience outside of normal for me. When I did look around, I saw a few dozen people look down quickly and I realized that I had just added more fuel to the fire.
    Thankfully, Mr. Richardson walked in, with the tardy bell right on his heels.
    “Okay, settle down,” he said, grabbing his own book off the table. “We left off on Rosa Parks last week, and her arrest in Alabama. Anyone want to explain why she was arrested?”
    Of course no one raised their hands because if there is anything worse than being the guy who thinks knowing the answer is cool, it’s being the person who has to prove they know the answer by raising their hand all Mr. Kotter-style. I wasn’t the only person in the room who knew the answer but I was just as afraid to raise my hand as everyone else. He finally called on someone who mumbled a barely audible, “Um, because she was black?”
    There were a few snickers from people, and the person who answered tried to shrink back into their chair. Mr. Richardson gave the room a death glare, which was the teacher equivalent of throwing gasoline on a brushfire of embarrassment before it turned into an inferno of humiliation. There’s nothing worse than being laughed at in class while the teacher stomps a foot and claps their hands in an anemic attempt to regain control. It had never happened to me because, until recently, no one could have actually proven I went to Foster High. But I had seen it, and the torture looked horrific.
    Mr. Richardson had