Zach's Secret (Gay Romance)

All The World's A Stage

The next day, I was hurrying towards English class when I heard the bell ring. "Late again," I mumbled to myself. I was a couple minutes late for English class about half the time.

Mrs. Trevott, my English teacher, really liked me so I usually got away with it unscathed except for one of her patented "teacher looks." If the truth be told, I always thought that getting one of those looks from a teacher was more humiliating and humbling than getting into real trouble anyway.

I wasn't hurrying just to avoid her look on this particular day. I had a feeling that something exciting was going to happen in English class. I know, what are the odds of anything exciting ever happening in an English class?

Mrs. Trevott was about forty-five with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue. Her pleated skirts always rustled when she moved around the classroom.

Since we were working on Hamlet, she had put up a poster showing the Globe Theater, the place where many of Shakespeare's plays were performed during his lifetime.

That poster reminded me of when my junior year English teacher made us memorize famous speeches. I did the "All the World's a Stage" one from As You Like It.

That's the one that starts, "All the world's a stage and the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances. Each man in his time plays many parts. First is the infant, mewling and puking in the nurse's arms…"

I can never remember past that gross part with the baby upchucking all over the nurse. Now think about it, if one of us wrote that for a school assignment, I doubt it would be considered great literature!

Mrs. Trevott called one part of the room the library corner. She stocked it with a reasonable mixture of classic and contemporary books, often taking our suggestions as to which books might be added.

I almost choked the day Anna Dupont suggested a book based on the life of a teenage girl who runs away from home, becomes a p********e and contracts AIDS from intravenous drug use.

The next day, Mrs. Trevott said, "Anna was absolutely correct about the book she recommended yesterday in class. I purchased it and read it last night. I'm leaving a copy in the library corner and suggest you all read it when you get a chance."

As I approached the door, I could tell by the noise coming from the room that class hadn't started yet. I slipped into my seat just in time to hear part of a conversation between Anna, whose long hair bounced when she talked, just like a good cheerleader's hair should, and Kristen Corrigan, who had the kind of face you just wanted to kick in.

Kristen said, "Like, did you look at that body?"

"Does the word 'HUNK' mean anything to you, girl?" Anna replied.

They both giggled and Kristen continued, "The way he walked? That just oozes self-confidence."

"He can ooze his self-confidence all over me anytime! Ooh, I think she's giving him an English book. That means…"

Both girls at once exclaimed happily, "He's staying!"

Mrs. Trevott capped her pen, handed him an English textbook, and directed him to a seat near the window saying, "Class, this is a new student; his name is Key Stahl."

"OMG, he looks even better from the front!" Anna said when Key turned around. At 6'3", wearing tight black jeans and a Boston basketball jersey, Key was obviously a jock. The way he carried his books made his bicep bulge. "His smile could melt a glacier," Anna declared.

I didn't want to stare so I looked down at my desk and pretended to read the scribbling on it. Someone, most likely named Carol, had written, "Carol loves John 4-eva!!!" Mrs. Trevott would kill both Carol and John for defacing the desk if she ever got a hold of them.

I moved my books around to pretend I was reading a longer message on the desk. I moved those books all right; I moved them so hard that most of them went flying and thunderously crashed to the floor.

However, all of them couldn't simply stick to the program. That would have been too simple. One wayward book reached out and slapped Kristen on the back on its way to the floor.

Before I had a chance to say I was sorry, Kristen reacted. "Ouch! What the hell did you do that for?" Kristen screamed in her usual "ladylike" manner.

Sometimes I feel like the entire world is in one giant conspiracy against me. OK, God, just let me crawl under the desk and die of embarrassment here and now, I thought to myself.

Kristen's outburst caused several students to snicker including Steve Larsen, one of the guys riding in the convertible that ran me off the road when I was riding my bike home.

Brandon, who was wearing his typical tie and arranging papers in his leather binder etched with his initials in gold, laughed too. Meanwhile, another student ignored us completely because he was busy trying to balance a pencil on his nose.

Thank heaven Mrs. Trevott squashed the riot before it got out of hand. "Miss Corrigan," she said, "we don't end our sentences with prepositions. Is that understood?"

Kristen agreed and I was relieved that the focus was off me.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Trevott continued, "Mr. Denham, do you think it would be too much trouble for you to place everything you don't need under your chair and keep only those items you do need properly placed in the middle of your desk, far away from the edges so they will be out of harm's way?"

I smiled weakly and nodded affirmatively.

"Well then, finally, and only fifteen minutes late," Mrs. Trevott sighed. She then gave her trademark opening to every class, "That's it. That's all. Let's get started."

I looked at my watch twenty-five minutes later. Class was almost finished. At the end of every English class, Mrs. Trevott shared a famous quote or inspirational saying that she always appended with "Now - go think about it!"

As she closed her book she said, "That's it for today, people and remember what Polonius said in Act 1, Scene 3 of Hamlet, 'This above all: to thine ownself be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.' Now - go think about it!"

Books and papers shuffled while chairs scraped against the floor. The corridors filled with hundreds of hormone charged teens going in different directions. I wanted to get lost in the crowd so nobody could ever find me again.

Wellston High School was a medium size school with about 650 kids. I assume it was similar to most other high schools in America.

We had our social cliques, our stereotypes, a school band, all the sports teams, and a mascot called the Wellston Warrior. The school tended to downplay that last one because of the backlash against portraying Native Americans as fighters.

The building itself had three floors and the institutional school look of its era, having been built in the 1930's. Some kids even called it Wellston State Prison; I thought that was a little extreme, but just barely.

After school that day, as I passed yet another stair railing with chipped black paint, I heard the noise of a sports team practicing in the gym. Bunch of dumb jocks, I thought to myself.

Then I was mad at myself for thinking that. One thing I hated was people being prejudiced and I REALLY hated it when I caught myself acting that way too.

Basketball season had just started and the team was playing a scrimmage game. The only reason I knew so much about it was because I had to keep track of the sports schedules for the paper.

As I looked in the gym, I noticed Key. He made a perfect shot, all net, as the basketball players would say.

This was Key's first day at Wellston and he'd already joined a team and had all the girls in my English class worshipping him. I watched him run around the court and make shot after shot.

He laughed and joked with his new teammates like he had known them for years. What a gift it must be to have that kind of personality, I thought.

I looked down at my notebook and noticed where I had written Mrs. Trevott's quote, "To thine ownself be true." As I gazed back up at Key again, I could practically hear Mrs. Trevott's voice in my head repeating the words.

I angrily ripped the page out of my notebook and crumpled it. Key shot a perfect basket. Mimicking his action, I tossed the quote in a nearby trashcan.