The Alliance Read Free Page B

don’t
you
start the group?” he asked.
    â€œNo comments from the peanut gallery,” Mrs. Carney called out from her desk. That’s what she said to shut people up during the movie. I had no idea what a peanut gallery is.
    Yeah. Why didn’t
I
start a GSA? There was no way Scott King was going to see it through. He’d do just enough so it looked good on his college applications and then walk away. Meanwhile, a
real
GSA could be doing
real
work.
    I spent the rest of the class daydreaming what our GSA would do. By the time the bell rang, I’d had the whole alliance built, staffed, and working hard. This was gonna be awesome.
    â€“ – – – –
    I ran to my locker after film class. I had a lot of plans to make to get the GSA up and running. As I got closer to my locker, I spotted Jon Renquist coming down the hall at me. He had a dopey grin on his face, which was pretty much what I’d come to expect from him. Ren wasn’t known for deep thought.
    As we passed, he brushed against me, knocking my books to the floor. “Watch where you’re going, douchebag!” I yelled after him. I thought I heard him chuckle as he moved on without looking back.
    I scooped up by books and opened my locker. A piece of paper, slipped in through the vent, fluttered to the ground. I opened and read it.
    It was Jamie Ballard’s obituary from the paper. Someone had written over his picture: ONE DOWN … YOU’RE NEXT, TURBO DYKE.

I
    hung out at the edge of the cafeteria as lunch started. People filed through the hot lunch line and took their seats. I clutched the clipboard in my hand and suddenly felt nervous. I got a first in the state speech and debate competition last year, but now I was having trouble working up the nerve to talk to my classmates. I decided it would be best just to work on a couple people at a time. So I scanned the room and found a couple girls hanging out by the Coke machine.
    â€œHey,” I said, walking up to them. “Shelly, right?”
    Shelly Markham and her friend looked at each other like I’d just said I was from Mars. “Uh, yeah?” she said.
    â€œI’m Scott King.”
    Again, they looked at each other. “Yeah, Scott, we know who you are.” They turned away and went back to buying their drinks.
    I leaned against the machine. “So, I was hoping you guys could help me out. You know what a GSA is?”
    They didn’t even look at me. They grabbed their Cokes and walked to the cafeteria tables. I followed and kept going.
    â€œIt’s a Gay–Straight Alliance. I’m trying to start one here at Southside. Rules say I have to get at least thirty students to express interest in an organization before the school will okay it. You don’t have to join. You just have to agree that there’s a need for it.”
    Shelly and her friend sat at the edge of a table and popped open their cans. They still weren’t looking at me.
    â€œSo…” I held out the clipboard and smiled my best smile. “Any chance you guys would sign this to say we need a GSA?”
    Finally, Shelly rolled her eyes my direction. She stared at the petition on my clipboard. She looked disgusted. “So, GSAs protect gay kids from bullies, right?”
    I nodded. “Yes. But you don’t have to be gay to join. Anyone can—”
    â€œWell, who protects the rest of us from you, Scott?” Shelly’s friend asked.
    I blinked. “What?”
    Shelly’s friend shook her head. “You don’t even remember me, do you, Scott? Maggie Foster? I think you called me Fattie Foster every day during junior high.”
    My stomach fell. Yes, I remembered Maggie. Today, she looked nothing like she did four years ago. I also remembered teasing her. More than that, I remember Jamie calling me out the summer between junior high and high school.
    â€œDude,” he said, “lay off Maggie Foster. Your best