Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
He apologized about a hundred times for bothering me before I finally got the story out of him. He’d begun coming to YA with Mikal after they connected on social media, and his family had no clue he was queer—his word. He said he hadn’t really even talked about it much with any friends. Seemed like he’d been a bit of a loner before he met the other YA kids. He spent a lot of time practicing violin—I guess he played in pretty major competitions. Recitals. Whatever you call them. His dad was some kind of banker and his mother did something with trading stocks. They were Swedish and still spent a lot of time going back and forth to Stockholm so they weren’t around a lot. But when they were, they seemed to hold Anders and his brother and sister to pretty exacting standards. Sure, Anders’ father’s expectations ran more to perfect grades and ten-year plans, but I was familiar with the sentiment.
When his father had found out that he’d been going to YA instead of spending time after school practicing, he’d flipped out. Anders had told him he was just going there to support a friend. That it didn’t mean anything. He looked ashamed when he told me that, as if he owed them the truth as some kind of familial tithe. But he knew his parents wouldn’t like it. His father especially would be disappointed. Something about business and being the oldest son, Anders said, but clearly beneath it was just the same kind of old-fashioned disgust that Pop had displayed since I was a kid.
And that was the heart of why Anders had come to me, I think. He’d been looking for someone who had the same issue as him. It wasn’t very flattering, being sought out because you have the same shit going on that a teenager does when you’re supposed to be an adult. It was the adult part Anders was clearly after, though. He knew Rafe better, sure, but Rafe was a damn shining beacon of integrity, whereas I… well, I may have had a similar problem, but I had no solutions. Not even for myself. I wished I could tell him a brave story like Rafe’s—always having been honest about who he was and damn the consequences. Hell, I wished I could tell him a story like Daniel’s, even. Where he hadn’t chosen the moment to tell people he was gay, but when it had happened, he’d taken control over it.
I even started to tell him those stories. As if we were in some soppy movie and my words would inspire him and change everything. But in real life we were just in a messy office at the back of a damn auto shop, and the only perspective I could bring myself to give him was my own. And maybe it had helped, knowing someone else was going through something similar.
I have no clue if Rafe will think I said the right thing, though.
“I told him that his personal shit wasn’t anyone’s business, not even his parents’. That he’d be out of the house in one more year, and if telling them he was queer meant that he’d have to put up with a bunch of awful shit for a whole year, then it wasn’t worth it. He has a lot of time later on to figure everything out. He doesn’t have to decide anything right away.”
Rafe runs a hand through his hair like he’s at the end of his patience, but at least he isn’t looking at me like I’m a child molester anymore. He just sighs and doesn’t say anything.
“He’s pretty pissed, though, man. That he can’t come to YA anymore.” And hurt. That was clear beneath everything Anders said. He’d finally found someplace where he could feel comfortable, and now he’d been rejected from there, too.
“Yeah, all the kids are pissed. I’m pissed. Of course I wish Anders could still come. I wish we didn’t need permission from a guardian—it cuts so many youth off from service, or forces them to weigh their desire for an inclusive space against the potential cost of coming out to their family. I wish I could do more for all of them in a thousand ways.”
“Then couldn’t you just make an exception? He could just tell his dad he was somewhere else?”
“You don’t understand how serious this is. It’s all so fucking precarious. The slightest whiff of something suspicious, something not aboveboard, and YA could get shut down in an instant. One of the kids says something at school about how we’re letting someone hang around adults unsupervised and a teacher overhears? Disaster. I heard fucking Mikal telling Dorothy that Anders was hanging out at your house, Colin! Who knows who else he might’ve said it in front of? It doesn’t matter if it’s not true, it just matters what people will believe. You cannot be alone with a minor. End of story. It’s for the volunteers’ sake too. You just… you can’t leave yourself open to any accusations. Not any more than YA can. And it can’t be Anders’ responsibility, okay? He’s a kid, he’s hurt, he’s confused, and looking for comfort. I know it feels like the worst fucking thing in the world, but you have to be the one who draws the line.”