The Fight (6 page)

Before my mom got home, I spent some time thinking about what to tell her. She was into PTA stuff and did know a lot of people. I wasn't going to mention the GSA meeting, though. I wasn't sure why I didn't want to tell her about it.

I talked to her while she was making dinner so she was a little distracted.

“So I was talking to some other kids about Dominic being bullied,” I said. “And it sounds like other kids have had problems and the teachers haven't really helped. And Matteo said all the gay people were missing from my Harlem Renaissance unit. And the band's not playing Aaron Copland. So do you think that there's like a thing about gay people in the school?”

Mom looked up from her recipe. “What? Honey, I'm confused.” She turned to the cupboard. “Two tablespoons,” she muttered.

“Like maybe it's the principal who hates gay people and all the teachers and administrators know that,” I said.

My mom looked skeptical. “Even if that were true, the principal can't … there are policies about bullying and what has to be covered in the curriculum…”

She looked thoughtful for a moment. “But there was that group of parents last year who were really vocal about something at the school having to do with … homosexuality. A club?”

“The GSA?” I said, my throat tightening. Mom raised her eyebrows. “Gay Straight Alliance,” I said.

“Like a support group for those kids?” she asked, her brow furrowed.

“Kinda,” I shrugged.

“Hmm,” she tapped her cookbook.

“Could you find out more? Like talk to some other parents or PTA people?” I asked.

She looked at me. I could see her thinking
Why are you so interested?
But then she thought of Dominic, and somehow that was an explanation. She nodded.

“There's a PTA meeting next week—you could come.”

I was horrified. “Kids don't go to those, do they?”

“They can.” She grabbed a paper calendar off her desk. “And there's a school board meeting two weeks after that if you were interested.”

I shook my head. “I don't—can't you just ask around? I'm just wondering if something's going on that explains … stuff.”

“And if there is?” she asked, her head tilted.

I shrugged again. “We'll see.”

After dinner, Mom said, “I think I remember there were some letters to the editor from the parents involved in the club thing. But I didn't really pay attention because it wasn't something you or Matteo …” she trailed off.

“Thanks,” I said, escaping to my room.

It took some searching, but I finally did find one letter that I thought was what she was talking about. It was from last year, and it was signed Sheila Walton. Cory Walton had been a senior last year and her sister, Shana, was in my class. Maybe this was their mom?

“GSAs encourage a sexual disorder,” the letter said. “Vulnerable children are trained in these sex clubs to experiment with unhealthy behavior. Wake up, parents. If you don't want your child targeted to become part of the homosexual agenda, you need to oppose these clubs being allowed in our schools. It's for the safety of all our students.”

That made my blood boil. Not allowing GSAs
protected
students? That was the stupidest thing I'd heard. It hadn't protected Dominic.

“S

o?” I said, meeting Mom when she came in the door from the PTA meeting. She looked surprised to see me.

I'd seen Zoe and the others in the hallways a few times, but the GSA hadn't met again.

Dominic's funeral had been exactly as I expected. A few people from school were there. Mom and Papi both cried through the whole thing. I cried too, but I also felt mad at Dominic's poor parents. If they had seemed more accepting, wouldn't things be different? What did they think was Dominic's reason for killing himself? But for that matter, did I really know?

“Hi,” said Mom. “Let me get in the door.” She fussed around with her folders as I hovered.

“OK, I didn't find out a lot. I don't know exactly how different people feel on this topic so I have to be kind of careful. And there's not a natural opening to talk about it since you didn't want me to say anything about Dominic.”

I bounced with impatience.

“But it does sound like when some kids tried to start that club—”

“The GSA,” I interjected. Club sounded too much like Mrs. Walton's letter about sex clubs.

“Yes, that a group formed called the Concerned Parents, and they went to the school board.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And I don't know what happened after that.

” I turned away disappointed.

“But I do know that the minutes from the school board meetings are online,” said Mom. “I get them in e-mails too, but I don't save them.”

“Minutes are like the report of the meeting?”

“Yes, it's the record of what happened at the meeting. Pretty boring usually.” Mom yawned. Then she looked at me. “You'll let me know what you're planning, right?”

For some reason, it made me defensive. “I thought you wanted to do something!” I said.

“I do,” she said thoughtfully. “But … I just want to know what you're up to.”

I huffed off to my room.

When I found the website, I started looking in the agenda and minutes documents around the date of Mrs. Walton's letter. Mom was right. It was super boring. Teacher retirements, student expulsions, lots of money stuff.

Then I found it.

“A proposed curriculum policy addressing sexual orientation.”

Then stuff from the district attorney about nondiscrimination.

Then Mrs. Walton's name jumped out at me.

“Teaching about sexual matters, including homosexuality, is best left to families and churches,” the minutes reported she said. Then someone from a group who “promotes the equality of gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people” spoke. She said the policy would make it impossible for teachers and staff to talk about anything having to do with gay and lesbian people without permission from the superintendent.

What?! I thought. That is so weird. The minutes said they'd discuss the new policy at the next meeting.

I waited impatiently for the PDF of the next meeting to download. I scrolled through all the junk in the beginning with the calendar and stuff.

I read: “The new policy applies not only to the health curriculum but to all curriculum areas. The proposed policy is to create a safe working and learning environment for both staff and students in compliance with State and Federal laws. Its focus is respect and tolerance.”

“Motion for the new policy…Seconded…”

And that was it. Did that mean that they had said yes to the policy? And what did it say?

I kept looking and in all the junk at the bottom (rental agreements and laundry contracts—who knew), I found the policy.

I charged into my parents' room with my laptop. They were both reading in bed.

“Staff shall remain unbiased on matters regarding sexual orientation….” my mom read out loud. “What is this, Isabel?”

“The policy,” I said, pacing around the room. “The reason teachers and administrators won't help kids like Dominic.”

“Are you sure this is it? Did you see if it was approved?”

I showed her the part about the motion and the seconded. “Is that what this means?” I asked. She nodded. “Yes, looks like it. Honey—” she reached out a hand to me. “I'm really tired. Can we talk about this more tomorrow? I'm not sure your take on this is right.” I frowned. “Give us kisses and go to bed.”

Reluctantly I did.

A

t breakfast my mom tried to convince me that “unbiased” was a good thing. I had printed out some of the pages to show Zoe. I read to Mom what the GLBT woman had said about the policy making teachers unable to talk about homosexuality at all. She shook her head.

At lunch I found Zoe before going to sit with my friends.

“Here,” I said sticking the pages out at her. “Read this and then maybe we can meet again soon?” She looked up, surprised. I hurried away, embarrassed for some reason.

The next day at lunch Zoe came up to me at our lunch table. My friends all eyed her.

“Thanks,” Zoe said. “Thursday, OK? Meet in the parking lot.”

“That was that girl again,” said Jenny.

I nodded. I could tell they thought I was being weird about it. I didn't care.

On Thursday the parking lot was a zoo right after school. How was I supposed to find anyone? Then someone threw an arm around my shoulders.

“I spy with my little gay eye an ally!” yelled Tyler. He dropped his arm. “Where's Zoe? I hope we're going to Subway.”

We found the others at Zoe's car.

“Shotgun!” Tyler yelled.

“I already called it,” said one of the girls.

“My parents would kill me,” said Zoe. “But you guys can cram into the backseat, right? It's only seven blocks.” I tried to say I'd walk, but Tyler pushed me into the car.

“You can be in the middle and have my butt,” he said, shoving Emilio in next to me. The other girl got in the other side. Tyler crawled in and lay across our laps, humming.

“Everyone, buckle me in with you!” he insisted. We ignored him. We were so wedged in that I couldn't have reached my seat belt anyway.

At the coffee shop, Zoe filled everyone in on what I'd found. They all looked kind of baffled.

“But
unbiased
means ‘not taking sides,'” one of the girls said. “Isn't that … good?”

Zoe smiled triumphantly. “I found out more. I got Salazar to crack when I showed him the policy. He admitted it has all the teachers scared. See, if you stand up for a kid who's being called a faggot, you're taking a side. You're saying it's OK to be gay and that people shouldn't be so stupid and prejudiced.”

“Is this why my health teacher has yet to discuss safe sex for anyone other than vanilla heteros?” Tyler asked. Emilio blushed.

“And not talking about authors who were gay?” I added.

Zoe nodded. “It's so vague, and the administrators are so weird about it that none of the teachers know what's OK. So they feel safer saying nothing. Doesn't bother most of them,” she said bitterly.

“But Salazar…” said one of the girls.

“He's afraid of losing his job,” said Zoe. “He was pretty out to students and everyone before, but he's afraid he'll be targeted. And his partner is in grad school, and they're trying to adopt right now. …”

Tyler slurped his iced mocha. “So what do we do?”

“Well,” Zoe said slowly. “We could say we think it's a bad policy. That it's hurting GLBT kids.”

“Who's going to listen?” said Emilio.

“The school board,” I said. “There's a meeting in two weeks. I think anyone can go.” I stopped. What was I saying? I didn't want to go to a school board meeting. “Or maybe some parents could…” I trailed off.

Zoe's eyes lit up. “Great idea! I could totally get my mom to go and speak. But we need to have kids who are affected too, for the biggest impact.”

Tyler elbowed me. “Thanks for volunteering all us queers.”

“No one should talk who doesn't feel comfortable,” said Zoe. “But maybe we can find a few people….” she looked at us pleadingly. “There are other kids out there you know about—can we just try to talk to people?”

We all nodded.

“Then let's meet on Wednesday and see if you can bring anyone new along. We'll figure out then who's going to talk, OK? Bella, can you get us on the school board agenda?”

I nodded. I couldn't believe we were going to do this.