Date: Sun, 26 Oct 2003 23:15:57 -0700
From: Robert B <robert_b9968 (at) hotmail.com>
Subject: Hiding in McClintock High 4

=== Chapter IV ===


	The next morning was dull and dreary, covered by a deceptive layer of heavy
gray clouds that would probably burn away by noon.  I was pulled from an
uneasy slumber by the customary garbage truck, noisily wailing a metallic
squeal as it emptied the school's dumpsters.  I looked at my watch and saw
that it was right on schedule, beginning its daily chore almost exactly at a
quarter past seven.  When it finally finished and drove away, I wearily
considered my next move.

	I didn't want to get up, I didn't want to think, and most of all I just
didn't want to feel.  All I wanted was to stare past the sky, let time move
around me, and forget everything about the world.  But there were things I
had to do before school began, and that left me precious little time to act.
  With great reluctance, I forced myself to stand.  Once I became fairly
certain that I wouldn't simply fall back down, I moved to implement the
first part of my plan.

	I'd had all night to work on it, but no inspiration had come to me yet on
how to steal those damned gym keys.  Taking them could be easy enough, but
unless I did it exactly right, any idiot could figure out they were stolen.
It wouldn't take long to figure out who did it - the desperate runaway.
>From there, it was only a matter of waiting for me to try getting into the
building and they would have me.  So I had come up with an preparative lie,
then I prayed to God and Lady Luck that I would spin something creative off
the cuff based on anything I could gather.

	From the exit to my shelter I could barely make out the faculty parking
lot, and took note that only a few of the teachers had arrived yet.  It
wasn't earth-shatteringly out of place for a student to arrive so remarkably
early, even before the staff, and so as long as I was the smallest bit
careful there was little chance of being caught.

	Since I was already bunking in the athletic portion of my school, the gym
was only one or two hundred yards away.  After taking a moment to scrutinize
the path in-between, I began walking quickly to an entry point on the
nearest side of the building.  No luck.  Several locked doors later, I was
forced to try the most obvious approach.  Deciding success was slightly more
important than merely sneaking around unnoticed, I attempted to open the
thankfully unlocked front entrance.

	I preferred to exercise at home, and our school had lax physical education
requirements, so it happened that I had never before explored the gym except
for occasional school assemblies.  Fortunately, though, the directions to
the boys' locker room were adequately marked and reasonably easy to deduce.
>From there, I had no trouble finding the offices of various coaches and PE
teachers.  One and only one of the occupants had arrived yet, to my immense
relief.  After summoning my courage I cautiously knocked on the door of
"Justin Elliot."

	I had anticipated on finding a stereotypical gym teacher - almost entirely
bald, with tacky shorts and a sweat-stained T-shirt, ready to wield an
obnoxiously loud whistle tied securely around his neck. After a smooth voice
beckoned me to come inside, I was taken slightly aback at how different this
young man was from my expectations.

	Tall and lithely built, he appeared to be in his mid- to late-thirties.
Both his black hair and goatee were closely trimmed in a modern fashion.
Instead of a smelly, yellow-streaked shirt he wore a fresh white button-down
shirt tucked into a pair of well-worn blue jeans.  I heard soft jazz playing
from an impressive stereo system, but upon my entering he courteously turned
it off.  Elliot stood to greet me, extending his hand genially, and after
quickly recovering from my surprise I reciprocated his firm handshake.

	I stole a furtive glance around the office, trying to locate all pieces of
information I could use to my advantage.  Further evidence of my
misconception was easily found.  Trophies were everywhere, as I had assumed,
but they all were kept meticulously organized and lined shelves built
against the wall.  Several pictures were framed and hung tastefully - some
featuring uniformed high school students that told me he coached varsity
baseball, others of a more artistic nature which told me nothing except that
he enjoyed black-and-white photography.  The desk revealed his biggest
weakness, thickly layered with disheveled paperwork and scattered computer
discs.  Not much to go on; I'd have to be very careful.

	"What can I help you with, Mr....?"

	"The name's John Davenport.  Mrs. Laramie in the front office lost her set
of keys again.  She's sure that she dropped them in one of the classrooms,
but she can't quite remember which one and all the doors are locked anyway.
So she sent me to find a faculty member to lend her a copy before school
begins.  You're the only person I've found so far.  Give an old lady a
hand?"

	Coach Elliot was silent for a long time before finally sitting down and
looking at me with an unreadable expression.  He didn't offer me a seat.
Was it my imagination, or did his features sharpen slightly?  I should
leave; I should run!  I covered my reasonless panic with an unassuming
smile.

	"The office opens before 7:30 now?"  He asked evenly.  What?

	"Well, technically it's always opened at 7:00, even though almost nobody is
there by that time....I wouldn't be there either, if my ride didn't make me
leave so damn early in the morning."  This wasn't looking good, I thought.

	He smiled softly, "Right, I can see how that would be unpleasant.  Which
building does Mrs. Mackenzie think she lost her keys in?"

	"Well, she suspects that she might have lost them in unit three, since her
last hour class is there, but if you've met her then you know how she is."
Okay, I was recovering....wait, Mackenzie?  Shit!

	The coach's smile twitched.  My face must have betrayed that last mental
exclamation. There was no doubt on either side, now.  We both knew I had
been caught.

	"Sit."  He commanded me, and although his voice was pitched pleasantly his
eyes told me there was no room to question.  After one longing look at the
door, I sat on the edge of a plush swivel chair facing his desk.  I could
feel every muscle and reflex in my body tense, ready to spring up and away
at any sign of danger.

	For the first several moments, Justin completely ignored me.  Instead he
dug through the mountainous terrain of files strewn over his desk with a
determination that said he searched with the same method several times a
day.  As he became more and more focused in the papers, I began eyeing the
door more often.  Just as I was about to take off running, he abruptly
leaned back with what looked like a memo and looked me in the eyes
challengingly.

	After becoming apparently certain that I wouldn't run (which was true after
meeting that gaze) he began reading aloud from the paper.  "'All members of
the faculty are to keep an eye out for Jason Parker, student number 046271,
who recently disappeared from his home....brown hair, green eyes....medium
build....approximately 6'...customarily wears a silver cross around his
neck.....Any rumors regarding Parker's whereabouts, no matter how
circumstantial or unlikely, are to be reported to the guidance office
immediately....If you see this student, call campus security before any
attempts at restraint.'"

	I unconsciously fingered the necklace that I always wore, surprised that
the school had thought to include the trivial yet conclusive detail.  There
was no denying that I was caught.  Any lies, no matter how creative, would
be a weak and pointless gesture.  I would have run, but there was something
unusual in the coach's actions.  He didn't try to restrain me, and as far as
I could tell he wasn't even reaching for the phone.

	"What are you going to do?"  I asked suspiciously.

	"Well, Jason, that all depends.  Since I received this memo, I've been
wondering exactly what caused this boy, you, to 'disappear from his home.'
It's very vague wording, widely open to interpretation, but now that I see
you I've concluded that you weren't abducted - you simply ran away.  But
why?"

	I could feel my face tighten violently.  In the past weeks, before I came
out to my parents, my temper had already been gradually shortened - by now,
the fuse had become a burnt candle-wick.  "My parents thought that I should
leave, and so did I.  Is that a good enough reason for you?"

	"No."  His brusque answer caught me off guard, but after a moment he
continued.  "I have a son myself, and I know that even if we were furious at
each other - even if we became so mad that we came to blows - we would still
be family, and eventually forgive each other.  What could have possibly come
between you and your parents that made you take such extreme measures?"

	"What business is that of yours?  I don't owe you anything."

	His brows slipped into a momentary glare, the most anger I'd seen from him
yet, but then he quickly composed himself.....and reached apathetically for
the phone.

	"Wait!  Wait....Alright, you win.  We had an argument because - "  Due to
my slight panic, plus a severe shortage of good sleep, I had to pause for
less than a second before continuing, "they didn't like the girl I was
dating, and I refused to break up with her."

	This time, a smirk for my efforts was the reply.  He picked up the phone,
lifting it to his ear.  Before it got there, I gave up.

	"Alright, damn it!  Fine.  You wanna know the truth, I'll tell you the
truth.  Just put down the phone."  After he complied, I took a deep breath
and told him my story.  In the space of two minutes, at most, I told him
everything that had occurred over the past two days and effectively ruined
my life.

	Justin remained silent for what felt like hours after I finished, staring
at me pensively while idly stroking his goatee.  Finally, he sighed and
reached for his desk.  I flinched, ready to bolt, but he surprised me by
opening a drawer instead of dialing security.  I couldn't see inside, but I
heard him shuffle through more papers before withdrawing something small and
metallic.  My eyes widened slightly as I recognized a set of keys.

	"These are the substitute set.  Every classroom is given one,"  he informed
me after tossing them over.  "Now you had better leave.  My class should be
here soon.  Feel free to come back after four this afternoon; it should be
safe then."

	"Why are you doing this for me?  You could lose your job."  I pointed out
cautiously, becoming rightfully suspicious of a set-up.

	Elliot began slowly, as if carefully choosing just what words he should
say.  "I have a younger brother, Bob, who is also gay.  When I was a few
years older than you and he was one or two years younger, he came out to our
parents.  I suppose he handled it rather badly, because afterward a huge
argument broke out between them.  Things were said that are difficult to
take back, and my brother thought it would be best to leave home for a few
days.

	"Since I was living in a small apartment in downtown Tempe at the time, he
came to me for help.  He was my brother, family, so of course I had to let
him stay despite the cramped quarters  As I expected, after a little while,
both sides eventually cooled down and they were able to talk things over
more calmly.  Within a month, Bob moved back in with our parents.

	"So you see, I can empathize with your situation well enough, even if I
don't know all the details.  But more importantly, sleeping in here is much
safer than living on the streets, and if you're going to have a job they'll
want you to be generally clean."  To answer my unspoken question he
continued,  "Yes, I suppose that means I'll give you limited access to the
showers and our team's laundry machine, too....so long as you add our
equipment to your loads.  I hate doing laundry."  He added the last in a
soft grumble.

	I sat dumbfounded, still tempted to run away but accepting what I heard so
far.  I felt unsure whether I should be thanking the coach or interrogating
him further.  I had never been a particularly trusting person, and the last
few days had sharpened a negative edge to my perception.

	"I appreciate the offer, but how can I be sure there's no catch....You
could want money...or...something else...."

	That last comment obviously provoked him, and his previous glare paled in
comparison of this new reaction.  It only lasted a moment before his
features regained their normal composition.

	"Yes, there is one condition.  Within seven days, no matter what else
happens, you will find a way return to class or I will report you.  My
brother made the mistake of neglecting school, and his absences during that
time were enough that he had to retake most of that year's credits.  So that
is my only stipulation -- nothing else for the moment.  Do we have a deal,
Mr. Parker?"  Elliot extended his hand, and I cautiously took it in mine.

	"Okay....Done,"  I said uncertainly, and our handshake sealed the
agreement.

----------------------------------



AUTHOR'S NOTE: After an entire night without any sleep, several shots of
whiskey, and MANY cups of coffee I finally came out to my parents, on Friday
evening....

I feel rather bad about it, in some ways.  My poor mother cried; she says
that she was depending on me for a grandchild. She was still emotional about
it the next day, and is still having a bit of a hard time with it now. But
there's progress, and I think that in the end we're becoming closer.

On the plus side, I've gone almost three days now without even wanting a
drink. I've slept, and for once in so many long mnonths, I've finally had no
insomnia or nightmares. I came out to a friend, and we could actually joke
freely about it and feel comfortable with everything.

Lies were my life, and now that I begin to tell the truth it feels as if I
have died. But I am lucky enough to live again, and to do it right this
time....


Sorry there was such a large delay between chapters, and with such a short
return....It's been a rough time for me. But I've begun the story again, and
I'll keep at it this time. I already have the plot worked out, I simply need
to get it down into words.

Please write me with any comments about the story, good or constructively
bad, at:

robert_b9968 (at) hotmail.com  (looks like this is catching on, no?)