Gina and Alex run out to the front gate as soon as we get out of the car, meeting Angie with a flurry of questions (in BSL, of course. Auntie Renate and Uncle Don raised them bilingual).
“Are you OK? How are you feeling? Do you want a cup of tea? Can I carry your bag in for you?” The last two are directed at me as well, but then there’s another one directed at Angie, coming from them both at once: “You know Paul’s on the shit list now, right?”
Angie nods, and smiles weakly, as though she’s very, very tired. I guess she is--tired of questions about Paul--from the way she turned her phone off earlier, and the expression on her face as she scrolled through her seventy missed calls just a moment before.
“No more about him,” Alex signs, because, apparently, he can read Angie’s mind and mine, “What kind of tea will you be wanting? And we’ve stocked up on biscuits, too, don’t worry.”
Angie hugs him. “Best cousins ever,” she signs. “Come on, let’s go in.”
-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-
My phone starts vibrating just as I’m getting into bed, and I pick up the video-call hurriedly.
“Hey, honey,” Gordon signs, “How’s things?”
I beam at him. “Guess who’s in Kirk Yetholm!” Turning around slowly on the spot, I show him the Maireads’ living room, where Gina, Angie and Alex are sitting on their sleeping bags, the four of our heads together, bodies like a cross, or the sails of a windmill.
Gina looks up from her laptop, and waves. “Gordon!” she signs, “How are you?”
He grimaces. “Ah, Gina, my dear, I’ve been better, I’ve been better. If you ask me, I reckon shit’s about to hit the fan at home. Uh… so… I got my Dad to come over, and got him and Mum to sit down in the living room… and I came out to them. And kind of told them what happened at the lake. Told them what’s been happening at school.”
“Oh, shit, sweetie,” I sign, eyes big. I scramble to get on the floor, and put my phone on the coffee table, so that all four of us can see the screen. See what he says next.
“And, uh...” He breaks off, and laughs sharply. “Surprise, surprise, my Dad was more upset by my being gay--nice little gerund there, “my being gay”--than by Chris’ beating me up. Or trying to kill me.So, uh...” He rubs the heel of his hand through his hair, and raises his eyebrows. “Yikes, I think. “Yikes” is about the right word.””
“So you told them everything?” Angie asks.
Gordon shakes his head. “Luckily I was sensible enough to keep quiet about me and Soph going after Chris, but, then again, I didn’t really get the chance. It was all like, “Mum, Dad, I’m gay. I came out to my friends, and Chris tried to drown me, and that’s why I’ve been so stressed recently.” And then Dad was like, “What the Hell? Why didn’t you tell us sooner? You’re gay?! How did this happen?!” like it was something that had happened on the Sims. You know, when you think you’ve paused it, and you walk away for five minutes to go toilet, right? And then when you come back, everyone’s pregnant and the house is on fire. And, like, one of your kids is suddenly gay.”
“Well, at least nobody’s pregnant,” I point out.
“Yeah, I mean, the house isn’t on fire, either,” Gordon signs, “But I feel like it’s only a matter of time, you know?” He lifts the sash window for a moment, sticks his head out, and grimaces again. “Yep, they’re still yelling at each other.”
“You can hear them out of the window, but not in your room?” Alex signs, eyebrows raised, “What are they doing, yelling at each other in the street?”
YOU ARE READING
This Still Happens
Teen FictionWhen Chris, an old friend, assaults him for being gay, Gordon goes against the advice of his remaining companions, and takes violent revenge. Vengeance, though, is never as sweet as expected. Now Chris wants to kill Gordon and his friends, and he wo...
