After that, I stopped standing for the pledge.
I was never the only one sitting at Rover, but things are different here. Richer. Whiter. Here, sitting like I used to would be admitting what an outsider I am. I stand but don’t say the words. It’s the closest thing to protesting I can do without causing a scene. My dad would be ashamed.
Mrs. Havens notices that my mouth isn’t moving, and she gives me a look. I want to stare deadpan back at her and continue to say nothing. But I’m too chickenshit for that level of confrontation, so I start mouthing the words “watermelon, watermelon, watermelon.”
What’s worse than making us do the pledge every morning at school? Making us pray every morning. It’s not that I have anything against prayer, but it’s weird that it’s a required activity at school. Everyone mumbles the same prayer, some of them with closed eyes. Something about God’s love for us and our duty to serve him? It’s nice that so many people feel loved like that, but I can’t relate. If the God I grew up learning about is real, I seriously doubt he loves me. Why else would he make me gay and then send me to hell over it? I left that abusive relationship a long time ago. I would have left it earlier if Mom let me, but it wasn’t until Dad got taken away that she had to really hustle by selling jewelry on top of her full-time call center job. Even though she still believes harder than anyone I know, that’s when she stopped having time to take us to church. That’s probably why I’ve never heard of the prayer the class is all reciting from memory, so I just stand there looking like a dumbass.
“All right, welcome to Grade Eleven Language Arts. I hope you’ve all had a productive summer. I want to get right down to it, since you were all already sent your syllabi. Who wants to present first?” Mrs. Havens doesn’t waste any time.
The summer assignment was to do a persuasive presentation on a topic of our choosing. I did mine about how much of a buzzkill homework is. Only one person volunteers to go first. From what I can tell, she’s one of, like, four East Asian kids at the school. I hear a couple of murmurs and hushed laughter when her hand shoots up, and I’m intrigued.
The teacher doesn’t seem happy, either. She looks around the room, as if trying to find another raised hand. The girl smiles victoriously when no one volunteers.
“All right, Ms. Taylor. What’ve you got for us?” Mrs. Havens sighs out loud.
Damn, tough crowd.
“Careful not to stare. Bo always notices,” Karen whispers at me. I guess I was staring. “Her peripheral vision is better, because of the eyes.” She stretches the corners of her eyes with her fingers, then stifles a giggle. Jenna rolls her eyes but doesn’t say anything.
“What?” My face gets hot. She can’t be serious.
“Karen!” Emily slaps Karen on her orange-tinted wrist. She makes wide eyes at me as if to say, Can you believe her?
“I’m just saying!” Karen giggles.
Mrs. Havens shoots us a glare, quickly ending the conversation. I rub my temples. It’s easier if I pretend I didn’t hear anything; I don’t have the energy. I want to say something, but I don’t want to make a scene and get painted as that person, I already stand out as it is. I can’t get in trouble on day one. I focus on Bo instead.
When she stands, I notice she’s the only girl I’ve seen so far who went for the khakis instead of the skirt, and she’s wearing rainbow Vans. I have to remind myself we’re at a Catholic school, so I shouldn’t read into it. Not everyone who likes khakis and rainbows is gay. Maybe she’s just desperate to wear any color that isn’t our uniform’s blue and beige.
Bo walks up to Mrs. Havens, chin up. She hands her a flash drive, then stands in front of the class, waiting for her presentation to show up on the projector.
The title slide states in huge letters: CHOICE VS. LIFE.
Bo flashes a smile and stands up straighter.