Zach's Secret (Gay Romance)

Two Words, Five Letters

One day, I entered the kitchen just in time to see my mother pulling the drawstrings on a trash bag tighter than a professional basketball player's foot shoved into a size six sneaker. She tied multiple knots in the handles. Noticing her apron placed neatly over her long dress made me think that she would make the perfect Stepford wife.

Checking myself in the mirror, I mumbled "Thank goodness," when I found my face free and clear of any new pimples.

"Mom!" I protested as my mother walked over and adjusted my collar.

"So, is my future Pulitzer prize winning journalist ready for his first date?" she asked. Just hearing the word "date" made me more nervous than a turkey on the night before Thanksgiving.

It certainly didn't help when my little brother, Randy, came running through the kitchen dragging his miniature car collection with him saying, "Zach's got a girlfriend. Zach's got a girlfriend," in that sing-song, eight-year-old bratty way.

"I'm so proud of you. That girl will just love your dark hair and green eyes," my mother said. "You know, your father and I met in high school."

"Now I'm really leaving!" I said before I had to hear any more of that.

Later that evening, Meghan and I pulled up in front of her house. Noticing that the house was dark, Meghan remarked, "Looks like my parents aren't back from the church council meeting."

"I haven't been back to church since-" I didn't finish my thought and the sentence died its natural death. Awkward silence ensued. Finally, I said, "So, can you believe that the waitress dropped the French fries? Twice?"

Meghan answered, "I know it," and then we both sat there again with nothing to say for another minute or two.

She looked out the window. I desperately wanted to sound cool so I said, "I like your sweater. It's a nice green."

Meghan smiled. "You do? Thanks. It matches your eyes." She leaned over towards me.

Oh, my God. Did she want me to kiss her? My mind raced as I saw her coming closer.

What could it hurt? Maybe I was wrong about myself all along. Words and thoughts weren't complete proof, were they? Didn't actions decide things? What if I could be normal, like everyone else?

Without saying another word, I reached over and pulled Meghan closer to me. I pushed her long, brown hair out of my way and let her cheek touch mine. I noticed her perfume for the first time all evening. It had a faint lemon scent.

I imagined her thinking that I was a dork who kissed like a board. She was probably right.

Our lips touched and Meghan's fingers stroked the back of my neck, yet I felt nothing for her. Actually, that's a lie. I felt disgust and revulsion, perhaps more for myself than towards her.

In either case, she must have known something was wrong. She pulled away from me and jumped out of the car. She ran towards her house.

I wiped my mouth and wanted to throw up.

I couldn't drive away from her house fast enough. I had to be alone. I had to think.

I went to my favorite place - an abandoned beach. I suppose most beaches in New England are abandoned in the winter. Still, I liked to imagine that this place was just for me and nobody else had even discovered it yet.

Snow covered the sand and icicles hung from a tree by the cove. The glow from the moon bathed the whole scene in an eerie backlight. I scooped up snow and packed it into a snowball. I threw it into the water and watched it disappear.

"Gay," I whispered the word to test how it sounded. "Why me, damn it?" I alternately asked nobody, the scenery, and God.

What the hell was I going to do? How could two words - five puny letters - I'm gay - ruin my whole stupid life?

Then I came up with the perfect solution. What if nobody else ever found out? I could just be alone for the rest of my life. If anyone ever questioned me when I'm older, I could recite some pop psychology crap about being afraid of commitments.

I suddenly remembered something that happened months earlier. There was a story on the news about a gay pride parade and gay rights. My mother had said, "Why don't these people just stay in the closet where they belong?"

My thoughts returned to the present. Could it be that easy? The truth would remain buried in my heart forever. It belonged to me alone - Zach's secret.

* * *

I stood in front of my open locker, which was way too small for all the stuff I had packed into it. I heard Meghan call my name and I turned around. I noticed that she had a ribbon in her hair and that she had stopped a comfortable distance away.

We both spoke at the same time. I said, "About the other night…" while she said, "We need to talk…"

"I just don't want any weirdness between us," I continued.

"Friends?" she questioned?

"Friends!" I said. "Meghan, I-" The fire alarm pierced the air and drowned out the rest of the sentence.

"s**t, it's freezing outside," said Kristen Corrigan whose locker was next to mine and who had been standing there the whole time pretending that she wasn't trying to eavesdrop.

Meghan and I got separated in the crowd as 650 kids streamed outside into the late November air.

Later that day, we had just entered the newspaper office when someone we didn't know walked into the room. The room was so small that I always thought we might run out of oxygen every time three people were in there.

Taking in the girl's appearance, which included wild clothes, several bracelets on each arm, and a diamond nose ring, Meghan was sincere when she said, "You must be looking for the Art department. Next door down."

Giving Meghan and her conservative clothing a quick glance, this girl was obviously unimpressed and her tone indicated it. "No. I'm Gwen Slater. I heard you guys are looking for Phillip Rodrigues?"

"Yeah, we haven't seen him since the other day when he stormed off to confront Miss Tellsini over a teen pregnancy article that he wrote."

Gwen stated, "Phil's gone. Goodbyesville. He wouldn't drop it and he really pissed Tellsini off."

"Oh, Lord," Meghan commented.

Boldly grabbing and examining the gold cross around Meghan's neck, Gwen said, "Exactly." She released the cross and it bounced back into place. She continued, "Tellsini threatened to make Phil so miserable here for the next four years that he transferred to Bishop Freeman the very next day."

"She scared him into Catholic school?" I asked.

"Every holy and blessed inch of it," Gwen responded.

I was about to ask her another question when she started shuffling through some papers on my desk. I don't know how to describe it. She didn't do it exactly like she was being nosy, more like she just belonged there. I could only admire her boldness.

"Let me ask you guys a question," Gwen said. "I've only been here since September because I'm a freshman, not that I'm apologizing for that. Anyway, it seems to me that Tellsini rules this place, right?"

I asked her, "Does that bother you, Gwen?"

She gave a sly smile. "Does the Pope sleep in a single bed?"

* * *

Miss Tellsini waved me into her office. As she spoke on the phone, her long fingers gripped the receiver harshly. The faint sunlight from the window highlighted her red nails.

"I'm not interested in her excuses. The expulsion stands!" The phone crashed down into place. The noise startled me even though I expected it.

Miss Tellsini motioned to the chair and I reluctantly sat. The wooden seat was hard and cold. I tried to sit straight, but the chair back was angled uncomfortably.

It was so big that it made anyone sitting in it seem five times smaller. I felt self-conscious squirming, but only made it worse by concentrating on sitting still.

Miss Tellsini looked at the phone. "Break the rules and suffer the consequences." She closed the folder on her desk and switched topics. "Do you know who Gloria Wrentham is?"

"She's my favorite author. Her latest book, Countdown To Crisis, has been on the best-seller list for a month," I said.

"She just moved to Wellston and you'll be interviewing her for the school paper - with the questions I wrote for you, of course."

Of course, I thought to myself, but didn't dare say.

Miss Tellsini reclined in her cushioned seat. "Think of it, the prestige of a famous author giving our school paper an interview." Miss Tellsini stared out the window and mumbled more to herself than to me, "This ought to impress the school committee."

As I walked back to class, I thought that if I could ask Gloria a question of my own it would be why a famous author would want to move to a small, backwards town like Wellston, Massachusetts.

Before I knew it, it was Saturday morning. I refused to eat breakfast or lunch because all I could think of was meeting my favorite author and the great article I'd write later.

I knew from the moment I got up that there was something special about that day. My life was destined to change and there was nothing I could possibly do to stop it.

The clock on the microwave was flashing which meant we had lost power during the night. The snowstorm was worse than predicted. I hoped the plows would come before I had to leave for the interview.

I looked out the kitchen window. The snow in the yard was embedded with tons of angels. My little brother Randy conjured up his own heavenly chorus. "Mom, I don't think it's psychologically healthy-"

"He's grieving the best way he knows how."

"It's been a year," I pointed out unnecessarily.

I looked out the window again to check on Randy's progress. I felt bad for my brother and as much of a pain in the neck that he was, I really loved him too. I went outside to keep him company.

I even wished for a moment that I was still at an age where life's worst problems could be solved by making snow angels.

I was instantly impressed when I arrived at Gloria Wrentham's house which was the last one on a dead-end street almost surrounded by woods. Any other house might have seemed isolated in that situation, but hers deserved to stand alone. The blue house with white shutters reminded me of the houses you see in movies, the kind that makes you think nobody really lives in a house like that.

Trying not to drop the notebook or digital voice recorder I already had out, I pressed the doorbell and heard a soft chime. I was so busy admiring how nice the snow looked on the evergreens in the yard that I didn't notice the door open.

I heard a male voice say, "It's kind of cold to be standing out here." Before I turned around, I assumed it was going to be a butler who had answered the door. "I'm looking for Gloria Wrentham," I said stupidly copying an investigative reporter's voice I remembered from Dateline NBC.

Then he said, "Zach!" and I realized it wasn't a butler; it was Key, the new guy in school!