Lily and Dunkin

At the end of the wide, crowded hallway, I spot the long hair.

Tim looks up, and I see his deep blue eyes, like the ocean. When he sees me, he smiles, and I instantly feel great. It’s nice to know at least one person in this huge new school. One person I can talk to. One person I can—I hope—eat lunch with, if we’re lucky enough to have our schedules match up. I can’t believe I never asked him where he went to school.

I walk through the crowd of kids toward Tim, so we can compare schedules, and maybe he can show me where my homeroom is because I have no idea and I really don’t want to ask anyone.

My moment of relief is instantly replaced by a tightening of my stomach.

A few tall guys stand in front of Tim, their backs to me. I can hardly see Tim anymore between their big bodies. Usually, I can see over people’s heads, but these guys are nearly as tall as I am.

I inch closer, though, so I can get a sense of what’s going on, but not too close.

It looks like one of the guys says something to Tim and pulls his hair. Who does that? Is this second grade?

I’m near enough to hear the word one of them uses. An image pops into my mind—that bright day less than a week ago when I saw Tim standing in front of his house, wearing a red dress. Tim, with his long, blond hair and blue eyes.

I hear the word again, thrown out in the hallway in a threatening way.

Alarm bells go off in my head, so I stop moving and clutch my schedule so tightly it crumples.

I should rush over to help. It would be the right thing to do. It would be the thing Dad would have done, when he was having a good day. He loved helping people, fixing their problems.

But rushing into this situation that I don’t know anything about would be a terrible way to start at a new school. What if the guys turn from Tim to me? What if they call me a fag?

I take a step back. And another step, as kids crowd around them.

One of the guys shifts enough for me to see Tim’s eyes, pleading for it to end. I know that feeling so well from the kids who picked on me at my school in New Jersey.

Without realizing I’ve made my decision, I duck my head and swivel around. I rush back toward the library, away from Tim and the ugly words that are flying at him and the hate coming from the kids encircling them.

I find a stairway and head up, up and away from being a halfway decent human.

Coward.

I push open a door that leads to a less crowded hallway and walk forward.

Coward. Coward. Coward.

It’s not until a sharp sound pierces my thoughts that I realize I’m supposed to be in homeroom. And I have no idea where it is.