Young Jules Cassidy

Chapter Two

Jules: Age Seventeen
Connecticut

         New kid.

         No one said it aloud, but Jules read it clearly in everyone’s eyes as he walked down the corridor of the high school. He was used to getting looked at—he wasn’t very tall and he knew at first glance he looked more like a freshman than the senior that he was. He was also adorable and undeniably gay—no way to hide that, so he accentuated it, ramping it up to an eleven with the clothes that he wore, with his carefully styled hair, and even with the confident way that he walked.

         Back in his old school, which was in a town far more urban and progressive, he was tolerated if not completely accepted and even loved. In his junior year, he’d found David—well, actually David had found him—and together, they’d been invincible. And okay, that wasn’t entirely true, he knew that. But in hindsight, it felt that way.

         But now David was gone, off to college as older boyfriends were wont to do. And Jules was here in rural Connecticut, home to tobacco farming, which really felt like it should happen significantly farther south, but what did he know?

         School had been in session for three hellish days now, and up to this point no one had spoken to him, let alone sat with him at lunch—where he was heading right now. Although to be fair, one look at the cafeteria on day one, and he’d opted to grab a soda from the machine and take it and his homemade sandwich outside. Which was probably not allowed—this tiny school was a closed campus unlike his old one, where literally thousands of students roamed free. Still, he’d sat alone, writing a letter to David in the sunshine as he ate his lunch on the wall outside of the band room. Some of the teachers had spotted him out there—from his peripherals he’d seen their shadowy shapes through the glass of the doors, but no one called him out and made him come back inside.

         It was possible the teachers were freaked out by him, too.

         Hopefully it wasn’t because he was gay. Hopefully their hands-off treatment was because they were local and knew his mom. And therefore they knew she and Jules had moved here to be closer to her family because her husband—his dad—had died.

         Gay new kid with a dead dad.

         Release the confetti and the balloons!

         He laughed a little to himself as he continued down the oddly-hushed hall, past all those curious and vaguely hostile eyes, feeling the urge to break into a loud rendition of Jabberwocky. As long as they were staring. Twas brillig in the slithy tove! What would they do? Either crown him their new king, or fall upon him, shrieking, as they ripped his body into unrecognizable shreds.

         He laughed again.

         Either would be better than this, but sadly Mom would disagree and upsetting her in any way was low on his list these days.

         He’d pushed to move here for her. She was so clearly struggling, and since David was graduating and going off to college, the timing seemed right to get her back to her beloved hometown.

         In the short weeks since they’d moved, it was already clearly much easier for her, living close to her older brother, back with all of her friends from her carefree high school days. Yeah, she’d walked this very hall, which was fun to think about. Less fun to wonder if she would’ve stared like this at him, too. But probably not, since she’d welcomed his news that he was gay with a hug and an I love you and an Oh, thank God. She’d known forever, she’d told him. She was just waiting for him to tell her. It still made him chuckle. Telling her had been so delightfully anticlimactic. Oh, thank God back at ya, Mom.

         “What the fuck is so funny?”

         Stop the presses!

         One of the many jocks standing in a confidence-boosting group—they actually wore their letter jackets here unironically, which felt so preciously Grease! it was hard not to sing Tell me more, tell me more! whenever Jules saw them—had the audacity to speak.

         To him.

         Directly.

         The kid wore his hair in a military cut that screamed strict-father, and the sneer that uglied up his broad face screamed trouble.

         What’s so funny? Frankly, you are. Things not to say aloud if one wanted to make friends, influence people and/or not get the shit beaten out of him, as that old self-help book earnestly advised.

         “Pretty much the entire world,” Jules said instead. And then, since an overture was an overture, plus these kids weren’t the only ones who had prejudices to overcome—he knew damn well he had his own against sneering athletes with military do’s—he made sure his smile included all of them, even MeanDad McSneerface. “I’m Jules. Cassidy. You must be... the soccer team?”

         Yes, it was September and this tiny New England school didn’t play football. Just soccer and basketball, although the district was so small anyone athletic probably played on both teams.

         “My dad’s father was from the UK,” Jules continued as breezily as he could manage. “They take their football very seriously—that’s what they call soccer over there.”

         And... crickets chirped as no one said anything.

         As Jules looked from one to another to another of the group of letter-jacket-clad boys, he saw only flashes of wariness and confusion. Clearly he wasn’t supposed to respond to McSneerface’s taunt, so now they didn’t know what to do.

         Heavens! It speaks!

         So he pretended to himself that they were in fact friendly, but just a tad slow. “Have a good game tomorrow, guys. Hope it doesn’t rain—I know you play regardless, that must suck when it gets colder. Yeah. Okay. Catch you later.”

         It wasn’t the most graceful dismount as he ended the conversation, but he stuck it with both feet—which he then used to walk cheerfully away. Eight out of ten for Cassidy. Next time he’d stop before he babbled. Have a good game, catch you later. Enough said.

         “What kind of faggot name is Jules?”

         Oooh-kay.

         McSneerface had once again found his tongue and it was as fugly as the faces he made. Jules stopped and turned back around, still keeping his expression as friendly as he could, considering. “Oh, we don’t like that word,” he said. “F-bomb. No. Nope.”

         “Says who?” was the pithy comeback.

Did gyre and gimbol in the wabe! Jules didn’t shout.

         The hush in the hallway now turned into a golf-game-worthy murmur as more and more kids came to watch the new gay kid get beaten to death. Goodbye, David. I’m so glad we had our year together. I just wish you hadn’t broken my heart right at the end like that.

         It was clear that McSneerface’s slow saunter in his direction was not because dude wanted to give him a welcome-to-our-school hug. So Jules readied-up, as one of his well-studied books on self-defense called it, making sure he was aware of his surroundings—particularly the kids that lined the hall around them. If McSneerface attacked, would they join in the assault? He didn’t think so, but then again, they’d closed ranks around him as if they were on Team McSneer, blocking the hallway and taking out Jules’s option to run.

         Not that he was going to.

         He hadn’t gotten this far in his life by ceding ground—he’d worked to teach David that. Most bullies turned and walked away if you simply looked at them hard.

         Of course, there was always a first time.

         God knows his mother wasn’t gonna love him getting suspended for fighting in his first week here.

         But this school had a zero-tolerance rule which meant suspension even if you door-matted. Which actually made it more likely that kids like him would fight back. If he was gonna get kicked out anyway, why not punch that ass-hat smack in the middle of that sneer? He was almost looking forward to the icing his hand would require afterwards. Or so he’d read.

         “Says fucking who?” McSneerface repeated himself, adding a little flare with the other, less offensive f-bomb, clearly loving the attention from all those watching eyes.

         Jules sighed. “Well, me, to start. And every single girl you ever want to get with.”

         “The fuck you know about that?”

         This was it. McSneerface had slowed way down, clearly expecting Jules to shit his pants while screaming, then push his way through the crowd to flee, but no. Jules’s feet were planted. He’d long since set down his backpack but now he crossed his arms for emphasis.

         Going nowhere.

         Unalarmed.

         “Clearly, a lot more than you,” Jules said. “Silly Rabbit, homophobes are so unattractive.” He looked around at all of the slack-jawed watching faces. Come on, zombies, how ’bout we make this show a tad more interactive? “Am I right,” he asked the crowd, “or am I really right?”

         Silence.

         But then... “He’s absolutely right,” a voice rang out.

         It was a girl, and she not only spoke up, she pushed her way out onto the grand stage that was this open hallway surrounded by the breathless, spellbound audience.

         She was insanely pretty, with a cap of short dark hair that framed big brown eyes. Dressed in jeans that were worn almost white and a ragged, sleeveless Ramones T-shirt, she wore clunky black boots on her feet. She looked around at the crowd, laughed a little, then threw her arms out wide as she loudly sang “Gotta dance!”

         Jules laughed out loud in surprise. It was the famous call that Gene Kelly sang at the start of a long, ridiculous dance sequence in Singing in the Rain, and it felt so weirdly wonderful, like it was this girl’s personal version of reciting Jabberwocky in response to having all those eyes glued to her.

         Except she’d completely given in to her impulse.

         Bravo!