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smell like fresh paint though. The fluorescent lights hurt his eyes. Maybe he could just stay in here forever, just maybe. He leaned his forehead against the cool metal of the stall wall. A knawing pain inside of him told him that he had to return to class. He had to. He would get a class cut. How long had he been in here? Gerard slowly crept out, carrying the pass. He crept slowly into the darkened classroom. Mr. Grant still had the projector on. At first Gerard thought that he had gotten away with it all. No one said anything for a moment or so, and Mr. Grant went on and on about the importance of grimmer (blah blah blah) when suddenly — wham!
“Mr. Robinson, just how long would you say you were in the bathroom?” his usual friendly expression had turned very nasty. Very very nasty.
“Um — five minutes?” said Gerard.
“Um, no, Robinson, it was more like twenty.”
“I'm sorry.” His heart seemed to thump a hundred miles a minute. He heard smothered laughter in the background. He could feel Mr. Grant's piercing gaze as if it were the sun's burning glare.
“Oh, you will be. You all will be. You, Gerard for taking way more time in the bathroom than needed and the rest of you,” he snarled “for laughing and talking and making noise while I'm trying to teach. Tell me what is so funny! Because I would really like to know.”
There was a pause, and then one of the cheerleader, a slut with red hair pointed at Gerard.
“Him.” Mr. Grant walked slowly over to the girl.
“Oh? And what is so funny about Gerard?”
“Well . . .” Said Lucietta
“Come on. Anyone that's that much of a loser is something to laugh about. He looks like a girl. Which suits him, I guess, because he's gay….”
“How would you know?” snapped Mr. Grant.
“He came out to us in like, seventh grade.” Said another girl.
“Yeah. He was kissing this guy on the playground. You remember that kid called Jon or something?”
Gerard felt his face burning. His fists clenched. Screw them, stupid little pissants.
“Yeah, even then Gerard was a loser. I mean, he listens to Madonna.” Said one of the guys.
“I do not!” snapped Gerard.
“Come on, guys, knock it off!” screamed Mr. Grant.
“Yeah, shut up.” Said Edison.
“Don't you even mention Jon.” Said Gerard rising from his chair.
“Why did he dump you?” said someone in the back of the room.
“I SAID SHUT UP!” screamed Mr. Grant.
The room finally fell into silence.
“I am sick of this class. I'm sick of you all. Who cares if he's gay, straight, or Bi? It's none of your friggin business. Most of you are too knocked up to feel anything. Too stoned or whatever. I'm too old to be dealing with people like you. That's why today is my last day of teaching.”
Mr. Grant left the classroom, slamming the door. They all sat there, staring at Gerard and then each other. No one said anything. They stared at the chalkboard, waiting stiff in their seats for the bell to ring. Gerard had his head down. He didn't ever want to remember Jon. Stupid fling in seventh grade. He hadn't realized that they all knew he was gay. He reminded himself that word spread fast. He felt really bad, like he had gotten the teacher fired. The bell rang, loudly, and it hurt his ears. He felt like he was going blind and deaf.
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