Queer as a Five-Dollar Bill: Chapter Four

In Chapter Three, Wyatt made the painful decision to go along with Mackenzie's Plan B... Mackenzie and Wyatt's parents are thrilled, but for Wyatt, it's like the hole he's in just keeps getting deeper and deeper.

Want to start at the beginning? Click here for Chapters One and Two.

To read about why I'm serializing my entire YA novel for free on this blog, click here.

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Okay, community, here's Chapter Four!

Chapter 4

Wednesday January 7

            While Mr. Guzman droned on about how they had to stop thinking of him as a substitute and that he was a real teacher and that he was going to hold them to real expectations, Wyatt stared at one of the five new motivational posters surrounding them. Re-decorating the room pretty much cemented the fact that Mrs. Elliot wasn’t coming back until her new baby was stuck in high school, too. This poster had the fortune cookie saying One Person Can Change The World over a circle of ripples spreading from the center of a still body of water. The photo made it seem like the ripples would go on forever. Something about it felt wrong.

            “…annual President Lincoln book reports.” Mr. Guzman had changed topics, and Wyatt shook his head as he tuned back in.

“This year you’ll do those reports as a series of blog posts on your very own blogs!” He said it like it was something they should be excited about. “The student with the most traffic to their blog by February twelfth will not only get an automatic ‘A,’ but, as the 9^th grade Lincoln book report winner, they’ll have a place of honor in the upcoming parade as 9^th Grade Grand Marshal!”

It was a cool prize – like being a celebrity for a day – but no one in the room was willing to admit they wanted it.

Even with his Mom organizing the parade for the last two years, Wyatt didn’t get to be in it. Jonathon and his sister rode along with their parents since their mom was voted Mayor back in sixth grade, but the rest of them hadn’t been in their town’s Lincoln’s Birthday/Valentine’s Day Parade since they were little kids riding with Tykes on Bikes.

Wyatt did notice Mackenzie had sat up straighter. He figured she was thinking 9^th Grade Grand Marshal would sound good on her college applications. She was all dressed up again, this time in some lichen-green shirt with a bow on it like a lawyer on one of those T.V. shows. He missed the big Ivy League sweatshirts. He missed them just being friends.

 Mr. Guzman peered sideways at them. “Did I mention the hundred dollar cash prize, donated by Rails Realty?” The room exploded in excitement.

Wyatt thought that could buy a pretty nice pair of sneakers. New ones, not from the thrift store.

When he could talk loud enough to be heard again, Mr. Guzman continued. “For your first blog post – which must be online by six a.m. Monday when I’ll read them – you’ll each share your first impression of President Lincoln from your book. Over the course of the subsequent weeks and posts, you’ll dig deeper into your primary source material, develop a thesis, and go about proving it. To accomplish this, of course, each of you will need a book on Lincoln.” Mr. Guzman stood up. “And to that end, we’re off to the library.”

“Now?” The word was out of Wyatt’s mouth before he could edit himself. The only time they went to the library was their once-a-month field trip when no one really checked anything out anyway. They’d never gone in the middle of a class before.

“You’re such a dweeb, Yarrow!” Jonathon imitated a little girl’s voice, “Oh, no! I’m going to miss some precious learning!” He cracked up, like he was a comedian with his own talk show on T.V. Everyone laughed along with him.

Wyatt’s face blazed heat. He squeezed his pencil between his thumb and fingers so hard he imagined crushing the space between the molecules of wood and lead and turning the whole thing into a diamond. A diamond pencil would be pretty cool. I could sell it, and go to some private boarding school in a city somewhere. And never have to see these idiots again.

With a frown, Mr. Guzman waved the class quieter. “Now.”

Jonathon shouted his question, “Can we drive, if we have awesome rides?” He back-handed Charlie on the shoulder. His fart-catcher smirked, full of their superiority – Jonathon was the only Freshman in their whole school old enough to drive.

“No, Mr. Rails. In loco parentis means we’re walking. All of us. One big, happy family.”

Chairs scraped the floor as everyone got up for the sudden walking-into-town field trip and it hit Wyatt – the problem with the poster. Life wasn’t some still body of water, where you could make a ripple that changed everything. It was more like a white water river. With sharks. You were so busy swimming for your life, any ripples… didn’t have a chance.

* *

After his latest humiliation, Wyatt didn’t feel like talking. And once Mackenzie informed him, making it sound like Mr. Guzman had made a mistake, that In Loco Parentis actually meant ‘in the place of a parent,’ she was silent, too. They walked together, though.

With the trees lining both sides of Route 37, Wyatt could almost remember what it felt like when they were just best friends. But now, everything was different. The class trailed behind them as they followed Jennie and Mr. Guzman on the sidewalk. Mackenzie wore her backpack, but Wyatt carried his in both hands. It wasn’t that heavy, but this way he didn’t need to deal with figuring out what to do if Mackenzie tried to hold his hand.

Jennie answered their new teacher’s question about the best donuts in town (Sandee’s Liquor and Candy Mart, hands down), and they crossed under the covered bridge with its sign,

Welcome to Lincolnville – Real America

Ten minutes later, the age-old riddle of what do you get when you take 35 Ninth Graders to a public library in the middle of the school day? was answered: Chaos.

“Please have your library card ready!” Mr. Guzman tried to control things, but he sounded like he was about to lose his voice. “Once you get your Lincoln book, head out to the steps and you can start reading before we all head back!”

Wyatt straggled behind the team guys, not wanting to get called out for being too into it. One advantage of having a last name starting with “Y” was that no one ever complained if he was at the end of the line.

“So, whadda ya think? Mud Flaps?” Jonathon was four guys ahead of him.

 “The kind with the naked girl silhouettes with the pointy tits?” Charlie sniggered. “Becca would kill you!”

Jonathon shook his head. “The only reason I’m not going to punch you for saying something as girly as ‘silhouettes’ is because you used it in a sentence with ‘tits.’”

“That’s big of you.” Wyatt said to himself.

“I’m bigger than you!” Jonathon shot back.

He heard that? Oh, man.

Wyatt looked away. Where was Mackenzie?

Jonathon said to Charlie, loud enough for the whole library to hear, “Does that guy even have any balls?”

Wyatt spotted her. Mackenzie already had her book, but something had pissed her off – she was all waving arms at Mr. Guzman. She clomped over to Wyatt in his mom’s knee-high black boots. His mom and his girlfriend sharing shoes was something that was going to take some getting used to.

“They’re not even letting us choose!” She showed Wyatt proof of the injustice: her book had an oval cover photo of Lincoln and his son reading together, under the title, Lincoln at Home: Two Glimpses of Abraham Lincoln’s Family Life. She made a face. “I wanted something important. Not a bunch of ‘how are the children?’ love letters!”
            Wyatt wanted to commiserate, but was hyper-aware Jonathon was tracking every word. “How many pages is it?”

Mackenzie rolled her eyes. “That’s such a guy question.”

Wyatt shrugged. “I’m a guy. Sue me.”

She flipped to the end. “One hundred and twenty-four. And the type is huge!” With a growl that made Wyatt grin – there was the old Mackenzie! – she shoved the book in her backpack.

“Hey, Mackenzie.” Jonathon said, all smooth. They must have switched places with Tai and Miguel because now he and Charlie were right in front of Wyatt. It put Wyatt even more on edge. And was Jonathon checking Mackenzie out?

“Once again!” Mr. Guzman called out, “If you have received your book, you should be outside, reading!”

“Hi,” she answered Jonathon, then focused back on Wyatt. “Here,” she pressed a square of folded paper into Wyatt’s hand. “I better go…  See you out there.”

“Sure.” Wyatt wove his fingers through hers, holding her a moment. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t try to kiss him with all the people around, and he wanted to make sure Jonathon saw them connect.

She smiled down at the library’s worn shag carpet. She might have even blushed, but with her makeup, Wyatt couldn’t tell. With a squeeze to his hand, Mackenzie headed out, all glowy.

Wyatt unfolded the note. She had drawn their initials across lined paper. M & W in a 3-D cartoon heart. Wyatt’s throat tightened. I’m such a jerk.

“Whatcha got there, freak?” Jonathon was trying to see over Wyatt’s shoulder, so Wyatt shifted back to acting-mode and showed him. He gave Jonathon a Got that? She’s mine look.

Jonathon turned to Charlie. “I feel sorry for her. Dating a guy with mosquito balls.”

They burst out laughing, and once started, couldn’t seem to stop.

“Mosquito balls!” Charlie howled.

Wyatt pretended he didn’t notice, but he could feel his face get hot, like sunburn. Welts and boils. Puss oozing down his cheeks. Fourth-degree life-threatening sunburn. He made like the books on the shelves were suddenly interesting. Really interesting.

Everything would be so much easier if I really did love Mackenzie that way.

The line crept forward. Twenty-five kids left. They passed the teen shelves, the handful of books Wyatt was never going to check out. Nobody ever checked them out.

Boy Meets Boy.

Rainbow Boys.

Absolutely, Positively Not.

            Over Thanksgiving Break Wyatt had tried to grab Absolutely… He’d hidden it inside this giant soccer bio The Great Dens and tried to read it in the far back by the parking lot window. He’d even shelved it in-between these ancient issues of Ladies Home Journal, whatever the heck that was, so he could grab it the next time to keep reading about Steven and his secret – he square danced with his mother – and his other secret… To cover his tracks, Wyatt had even checked out Pete Schmeichel’s bio. But when he’d come back to read more, Absolutely… was gone.

            He didn’t have the nerve to try again.

            Wyatt tried to not stare at the books, but he was jumpy, like they might throw themselves out at him and ruin everything. Jonathon and Charlie were right next to him. Real guys don’t ache to read stuff like that. So I won’t.

            Fifteen kids left ahead of him. Six.

            Mr. Guzman came up to them. “We needed to start back two minutes ago. Get your books, and hustle up to join us. Can I trust you gentlemen?” They all bobbed their heads yes. Mr. Guzman looked at each of them in turn. He gave a nod, and then took long strides out the door.

Wyatt heard Mr. Guzman call, “Okay, just a few more students to go, so let’s start heading back. Miss Miller, lead the way!”

            When they were the last three in line, Jonathon asked the librarian, “You got anything short?”

            Mr. Clifton, who was Wyatt’s dad’s age but dressed like an old man even when the two of them went bowling, jerked his head up in surprise. Jonathon gave him his teeth-whitening brochure grin, all Recognize me? I’m the Mayor’s son, and you owe me. After all, there used to be six librarians in their town, but last summer Mayor Rails closed all the school libraries as a cost-saving measure and all the books came here. So now there was just Mr. Clifton.

            Their town librarian reached for the smaller of the two books left. Of course. He knew who Jonathon was, all right.

            Jonathon squinted at the title, “You’ve got to be kidding me. The Lincoln-Douglas Debates? Boooring!”

            “I have some encyclopedia-length sets I was saving for the upper-classmen, if you would prefer…”

            Jonathon put up a muscle-veined hand and grumbled, “I’ll make this work.” On his way out, he lowered his voice so just Wyatt could hear, “You better make sure my grade’s better than yours on this… If you know what’s good for you, Mosquito-Ball Boy.”

            Wyatt didn’t say anything. You don’t provoke a shark.

            Charlie got his book next. Jogging over to where Jonathan was waiting by the door, he tossed it up in the air while he spun around and almost dropped it.

            “Nice move, twinkle-toes.” Jonathon teased.

            Charlie shot back, “Bitch, shut up!”

            Mr. Clifton scolded them, all uptight. “Please respect library property!”

            They ignored him.

            Charlie clapped Jonathon on the shoulder. “Let’s blow this dump.”

            They headed out, pausing in the patch of sun on the stone landing. Jonathon nudged Charlie, “Hey, let’s stop at Sandee’s. Guzman practically gave us a late pass!”

Hooting, they ran down the steps.

Mr. Clifton and Wyatt both let out a sigh. The librarian chuckled, and Wyatt turned back to him.

            “You the last one, Wyatt?” He glanced around for stragglers. There weren’t any.

            “Looks like it.” Wyatt handed him his library card.

            “That was my last ninth grade book.” Mr. Clifton gestured to the counter. The pile he’d been pulling from was gone.

            “You mean I get out of this?”

            “Hardly.” He sounded amused as he ran the scanner’s red light over Wyatt’s card. “But there is a title I thought you might enjoy.” From somewhere under the counter he fished out a book. It was thin, with a worn brown cover. It seemed old, like something Wyatt’s dad would read to fix the hot water faucet in the third floor bathroom, which was still dripping after he’d ‘fixed’ it the first two times.

            Mr. Clifton scanned the book’s bar code and handed it and Wyatt’s card over.

            Wyatt read the title. “Joshua Fry Speed?” He looked up at the librarian. “That doesn’t make any sense. It isn’t even about Lincoln.”

            The skin around Mr. Clifton’s eyes crinkled, like he knew something Wyatt didn’t. “You never know where a book might take you.”

* *

            “You keep talking about the payment deadlines we missed, but shouldn’t we get some credit for sending in January’s early? If you count that, we made ten out of the last twelve!” The panic in his dad’s voice stopped Wyatt just before the kitchen doorway. His dad was on the phone, and while Wyatt wasn’t an eavesdropper, he was hungry. Maybe he’d just wait.

            “The Richardson wedding really helped – and they said they had friends who were planning an April wedding that might… Okay – I’m listening.” A few seconds later, his dad blurted out, “Benny, you know we’re good for it! Liz works for the mayor, for God’s sake, and that’s a solid income!” His dad’s voice dropped. “Business will pick up, I know it.”

            Wyatt was thinking maybe he should go up to his room after all, but he didn’t move.

            “I know I’ve been saying that for years. Come on…”

            Wyatt and his dad were both silent for nearly a whole minute.

            “I hear you. Last chance, I promise. Thanks.” His dad hung up, and Wyatt counted to ten before heading in.

            Making sure to keep his voice light, like he hadn’t heard any of it, Wyatt said, “Hey, Dad.”

            Reading glasses on top of his head, his dad jerked away, but not before Wyatt could see that his eyes were all red. Wyatt took his time staring at the bulk-case yogurt packs in the fridge.

            “How’d your day go?” His dad asked, voice still raw.

            Wyatt kept his back turned, but he could see his dad in his mind: He was 48 years old, ran a failing business, was always stressed about money, and spent most of his time lost in history. He would never understand. So all Wyatt said was, “Fine.”

            “Good.”

Wyatt grabbed a mango yogurt, peeled off the top and snagged a spoon.

            “Don’t ruin your dinner.” His dad said, sounding nearly back to normal.

            Mouth full, Wyatt grunted that he heard him. He headed to the stairs but his dad pushed out the chair next to him. “We need to talk.”

            All the muscles in Wyatt’s shoulders tensed up. Not much good ever followed those words. He swiveled slowly. His dad pointed to the spot next to him at the American Pine and Poplar Farm Table. 1820s. Kentucky.

            Wyatt sat down, wary, staring at the upside-down pile of bank documents in front of them. He didn’t want to hear about his dad’s argument with the guy at the bank. Were they going to lose the B&B? Where would they move? Wyatt squished down his questions and waited, the yogurt all of a suddenly violently sweet on his tongue.

            “So,” his dad said. “Are you being careful? You know, with Mackenzie?”

            With her feelings? Wyatt resisted the wave of guilt that threatened to swamp him.

            “I mean, you’re using… protection, right?”
            “Dad!”

            “Your first girlfriend, you must be in a rush to try everything, but–”

            “Dad!!”

            “…But you need to be smart.”

            “I don’t want to be having this conversation!”

            “I don’t want to be changing your kid’s diaper while you’re still a Freshman in High School!”

            Wyatt couldn’t help but smile. “Babies take nine months. I’d be a Sophomore.”

            His dad brandished his reading glasses. “Don’t get funny with me! This is serious!”

            Wyatt met his dad’s eye – on this, he could be totally honest. “Dad, I promise. You have nothing to worry about.”

            “Why? How far did she let you get?”

            “I’m not having this conversation!” Wyatt leapt up and ran to the stairs.

            “Wyatt!” His dad called after him. “We haven’t even talked about S.T.D.s!”

             

* *

* *

Chapter Four Endnotes

The books I imagine Mr. Clifton gives our three main characters are: for Mackenzie, Lincoln at Home: Two Glimpses of Abraham Lincoln’s Family Life by David Herbert Donald, Simon & Schuster, New York, 1999; for Jonathon, The Lincoln-Douglas Debates, Edited by Rodney O. Davis and Douglas L. Wilson, The Knox College Lincoln Studies Center, University of Illinois Press, 2008; and for Wyatt, of course, Joshua Fry Speed: Lincoln’s Most Intimate Friend.

* *

Want to know why I'm serializing my entire YA novel for free right here on this blog? Click here.

Ready for Chapter Five? Click here.

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Remembering Edie Windsor

Edie Windsor, photo from D.C. Pride June 2017

Edie Windsor changed the world, making our country better for LGBTQ people.

In 1963 Edie met Thea Spyer and the two woman became a couple. They did the domestic partnership thing in New York, and since they couldn't get legally married in the US, they married in Canada in 2007. Two years later, Thea died. They had been together for 47 years!

But the US government didn't consider their marriage real, and Edie was taxed on everything she inherited from Thea as if they were strangers. If Thea had been a man, Edie would have paid no taxes on that inheritance.

Edie stood up to this injustice, and in 2010, at age 81, took our government to court to demand her relationship with another woman be treated equally with anyone else's married relationship.

In 2013 the United States Supreme Court ruled in Windsor’s favor, "overturning Section 3 of DOMA and setting a precedent that laid the groundwork for national marriage equality."

It's interesting to consider how Edie's white and wealthy position in our culture, and the issue of being unfairly taxed, resonated with many who considered themselves conservatives – bringing new allies to the side of marriage equality.

A year ago, in September 2016, Edie Windsor, having found love again, remarried - marrying Judith Kasen. Legally marrying the new woman she loved. An historic change she helped make possible!

Here's President (Wow do I miss him) Barack Obama's statement on Edie (From his Facebook page):

America’s long journey towards equality has been guided by countless small acts of persistence, and fueled by the stubborn willingness of quiet heroes to speak out for what’s right.
Few were as small in stature as Edie Windsor – and few made as big a difference to America.
I had the privilege to speak with Edie a few days ago, and to tell her one more time what a difference she made to this country we love. She was engaged to her partner, Thea, for forty years. After a wedding in Canada, they were married for less than two. But federal law didn’t recognize a marriage like theirs as valid – which meant that they were denied certain federal rights and benefits that other married couples enjoyed. And when Thea passed away, Edie spoke up – not for special treatment, but for equal treatment – so that other legally married same-sex couples could enjoy the same federal rights and benefits as anyone else.
In my second inaugural address, I said that if we are truly created equal, then surely the love we commit to one another must be equal as well. And because people like Edie stood up, my administration stopped defending the so-called Defense of Marriage Act in the courts. The day that the Supreme Court issued its 2013 ruling in United States v. Windsor was a great day for Edie, and a great day for America – a victory for human decency, equality, freedom, and justice. And I called Edie that day to congratulate her.
Two years later, to the day, we took another step forward on our journey as the Supreme Court recognized a Constitutional guarantee of marriage equality. It was a victory for families, and for the principle that all of us should be treated equally, regardless of who we are or who we love.
I thought about Edie that day. I thought about all the millions of quiet heroes across the decades whose countless small acts of courage slowly made an entire country realize that love is love – and who, in the process, made us all more free. They deserve our gratitude. And so does Edie.
Michelle and I offer our condolences to her wife, Judith, and to all who loved and looked up to Edie Windsor.

You can find out more about Edie Windsor and her life here.

I'm Interviewed on the ONE BAD MOTHER podcast!

Biz and Theresa are funny, and share so honestly about the trials and triumphs of being parents - and I'm really honored to be the featured guest on their latest episode (#222), "Flexibility Hurts plus LGBTQ Literary Archivist Lee Wind"

Check it out - it's a really cool and pretty in-depth half-hour interview in a show that's about an hour and half long.  (The interview with me starts at 47:45.)

At the end of the interview, Biz says this, which is lovely...

"We also want to make sure everybody goes to the website, it's leewind.org, where they can find all the resources you've been talking about with us.  Guys, it's such a good site for finding these books for young adults and for kids, and we want to say thank you for choosing to put this together ten years ago. It's such a great source, and I think it's sorely needed." –Biz Ellis

Listen to the podcast episode here.

Thanks, Biz and Theresa!

Queer as a Five-Dollar Bill: Chapter Three

In Chapters One and Two, we met closeted and bullied Wyatt, and his best friend, Mackenzie. When Wyatt's nemesis – Jonathon – is about to clobber him, Mackenzie saves the day... But in a way that makes things even MORE complicated.

Want to start at the beginning? Click here for Chapters One and Two.

To read about why I'm serializing my entire YA novel for free on this blog, click here.

Thoughts? Reactions? #queerasafivedollarbill fan art? Share them in comments!

Okay community, here's Chapter Three!

Chapter 3

Monday January 5

That’s what I get for never telling her. And now I can’t. She’ll hate me.

            School was out and Wyatt was running, cutting the back way to avoid Mackenzie. And Jonathon. Well, everyone.

            He turned at the far side of the gym and raced past their School Rock, its foot-high purple and gold letters shouting,

GO FIGHTING SOLDIERS!

            Sprinting along the edge of the field, he passed the faculty parking lot to get to the chain link fence. There was a gap at the bottom, blocked by an old log, but there was enough room for Wyatt – and the occasional soccer ball – to scoot through. He’d been sent to get enough of them during P.E.

            Nearly empty backpack in his hand, he slid through the gap. He shouldered the bag and noticed, on the ridge across from him, a family of tourists posing in front of the Log Cabin that was supposed to be like the one Lincoln had been born in. They were so happy to be in Lincolnville. Everyone was. Everyone but him.

            He dashed down the ravine to the trail along the stream, and ran.

            Where Jenson’s Stream widened out to the ford, he jumped across the flat concrete stones that made a path, and kept going on the other side. It was just him and the rushing water, his heartbeat, lungs, and the rhythm of his feet pushing him away from school as fast as they could go.

            Twenty minutes later, his side cramped and Wyatt stumbled to a sweaty stop. He dropped his backpack and let the cold afternoon water run through his fingers, on its way to Corvallis. And Portland. And then, the ocean, and maybe… San Francisco. Or L.A.

            But me? I’m stuck here.

            He wiped his hands on his jeans, got out his phone and pulled up the photo of his soldier. Wyatt imagined him saying, Hey there, again, Wyatt. Fancy meeting you in a place like this. He knew it was corny. Stupid. But it made him feel better, anyway.

            Not for the first time, Wyatt wished his soldier was real. That he could tell him about Mackenzie, those weird kisses and what a disaster everything was.

            The day came crashing in on him – early wake-up, getting ambushed, sore muscles, clueless Mr. Guzman announcing his ‘A’ and Jonathon’s ‘D’ – and because of that, Jonathon almost pounding him and then that kiss – both kisses… Ugh!

            He kicked a fist-sized rock into the current and it splashed water back onto him. Great. Now he was wet, too.

            Everything ached as he lay out on a boulder that edged the stream. His shoulders protested as he lifted his phone – which hardly weighed anything – above him, but Wyatt didn’t care. He focused on his soldier.

The guy was staring right at the camera, kind of smiling, like he and whoever had taken the picture shared some secret. His coat was way too big, and the forage cap on his head – the same kind they sold in the B&B and that looked so awkward on their plastic military mannequin, whether it was dressed in Union Blues or Confederate Butternut Gray – looked pretty cool on him. There was another young guy behind him, holding a sword, all check this out, and Wyatt wondered if they were friends.

            He figured his soldier was only a little older than he was – you could tell he wasn’t shaving yet. Well, okay, Wyatt knew he was a lot older – the Civil War was like 150 years ago. Who was he? Who was he staring at like that? What was his secret?

            All Wyatt could do was look at him, across time, and imagine he was just dressed up for the re-enactments. That he was some teenager from another town, and he was going to lay back right here next to him. And they’d get to listen to the stream together. And talk, about the stuff Wyatt couldn’t tell anybody. And Wyatt imagined, in that tightly locked secret place in his heart, that maybe that smile – like some guy version of the Mona Lisa – might be the way he’d get looked at some day.

            Somewhere in the trees above them, a bird wheezed like it had just swallowed a kazoo. Cooper’s Hawk, Wyatt guessed. He closed his eyes and breathed in the mossy wet, letting it fill up every part of him.

            His soldier was crazy cute. Wyatt could imagine wanting to kiss him. The corners of his mouth tugged up at the idea.

            But Mackenzie? A tremor went through him, and it had nothing to do with his clammy T-shirt or the clouds stealing the last warmth of daylight.

Wyatt lurched up to sitting, the muscle-knot under his ribs clenching tight.

            It was all impossible. He wanted to want to kiss her. But he didn’t want to.

            He couldn’t be himself, either – not till he was hundreds of miles away at some college. He’d go to some big city where no one knew him and no one would care about what he did or who he was… or who he wanted to kiss.

            Until then, he just had to survive. Fit in, somehow.

Bulk up? He imagined working out every day at lunch, and feeling this sore all the time. How would he ever get as strong or as big as Jonathon, who was a high school Hulk? It would take him forever to even try. And he needed a way to get through tomorrow.

Maybe, if it helped him not bleed into the water like shark food, maybe… Plan B? He could have a girlfriend, instantly. He kind of already did.

Wyatt struggled to stand, rubbing at the cramp just now easing in his side. But not telling Mackenzie…

She was going to hate him, sooner or later, no matter what he did. He had three-and-a-half more years in Lincolnville before he was free. He’d rather she hated him later.

I have a girlfriend.

He tried saying it out loud, but it came out as a question. “I have a girlfriend?”

* *

Tuesday January 6

            “So this is just like the room where Lincoln lived in Springfield, Illinois, from 1837 to 1841, when he was 28 to 32 years old.” It was the final minutes of Wyatt’s tour, and the Lincoln Room at the top of the stairs was crowded with second graders. He pointed out the furniture: the low antique dresser; the rocking chair that was just like the one that had ended up at the White House; the oval mirror with candlesticks and a little shelf for shaving things at the exact height Abe shaved; the could have been there china water pitcher and basin.

            “And this is Lincoln’s cherry/pine rope bed.” Wyatt walked over to their Bed & Breakfast’s shrine, the actual bed Abraham Lincoln had slept in. The kids crowded closer, red velvet ropes on brass posts holding them back. The bed was just a little bigger than his own twin bed one more flight up, but Abe’s had polished wood balls at the corners, an old green and blue quilt at the foot, and was made up with Wyatt’s great-grandmother’s linens from Italy. Once a month, Wyatt put a dent in the pillow with a spaghetti squash to make it seem like maybe Abe himself had just gotten up. Over Winter Break, he’d even yanked a couple of hairs from wax-Lincoln’s head and put them on the pillow. Mackenzie had given him a hard time about how it was starting to feel like lying, but he told her museums were kind of like theater, and he was just helping set the stage.

            He couldn’t tell whether any of the kids noticed the hairs on the pillow or not, but they were in awe in the presence of a real piece of history. Wyatt’s dad had bought the Lincoln bed at auction years ago and that’s how they ended up in Lincolnville, right before third grade. His folks had taken over the “Lincolnville Civil War Bed & Breakfast” and renamed it “The Lincoln Slept Here Bed & Breakfast.” He’d been assigned a desk next to Mackenzie. They’d bonded over her never teasing him for being new, and him never teasing her for having a mom who was sometimes around but most of the time, not. They’d studied together, and listened to each other… and been friends ever since.

            Behind the field trip teachers in the doorway, Mackenzie waved to get his attention.

            And now she’s my girlfriend…

            Shaking it off, he jumped back into the tour, lifting the mattress edge so everyone could see the ropes underneath. “Even though it’s never used, every six months we have to tighten the rope grid so it doesn’t get saggy. Tight ropes made the bed more comfortable, which, we used to tell people, is where they got the expression, sleep tight.”

            Oh!s travelled the room like applause.  

            “But, turns out that’s not really true.” Wyatt glanced at Mackenzie – correcting their mistake had been her first addition to the tour. “People didn’t start saying sleep tight until a generation later, when rope beds weren’t even that popular anymore. The Oxford English Dictionary says ‘tight’ used to mean ‘soundly’ or ‘well.’ Sleep well – sleep tight. History can surprise you, sometimes.”

            Mackenzie winked at him, then spun her pointer fingers around each other: wrap it up.

But once the tour was gone, they’d be alone.

            “Can we touch it?” A girl asked.

            He took the chance to stall. “Just the wood parts.” Avoiding eye contact with Mackenzie, he unhooked the velvet rope closest to the bed and stepped aside. Forty-three pairs of hands darted out to rub the wood smooth, like the bed of the most admired president in history was somehow good luck.

            “Excuse me. Sorry…” Mackenzie got past the teachers and tiptoed to Wyatt’s side. He tried to drift away but she took his hand. Clearing her throat, she announced, “this way to the souvenir shop and the end of the tour!” And pulling Wyatt with her, she teetered out of the room.

            Wyatt checked to see if she’d hurt her foot.  Since when does she wear high heels?

* *

            “Pishhu!”

“Pa-pa-pa-pow!”

            “Pishhu!”
            The sound effects for the rifle pens were more Sci-Fi than Civil War, but they were the last two kids. Their teacher checked the time on her cell. “If you’re going to buy those, you need to do it now.”

            Wyatt knew better than to waste a bag or receipt that he’d just have to pick up from the parking lot gravel later and handed the first kid his change. As he paid for his, the second boy asked, “Were there really eight-year old soldiers?”

            “They were mostly drummers, but, yeah.” Wyatt had told them about Edward Black, 21^st Indiana Volunteer Regiment. There was a portrait of him in what used to be the dining room, part of this new display on child soldiers his dad had been working on forever.

            “Lucky!” The first boy said, and the second nodded like one of their bobble-head plastic Lincolns.

            Lucky? Wyatt didn’t think so. Edward Black died at 18. Of ‘Soldier’s Heart,’ what they called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder back then. Who wanted to fight a war and be so freaked out by it all that it killed you, before you even got to live your life? And that was if you survived in the first place. “I’d hate to be a soldier,” Wyatt told them.

            “Pffft!” The second kid spit-taked air, like that was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard.

            The first kid targeted Wyatt with his new gun. “Pishhu! Pishhu!”

            Baby sharks.

            “All right, you two. That’s enough. Everyone’s waiting.” Their teacher steered them outside.

            “Thanks for visiting!” Mackenzie waved from the front porch as the stragglers joined the rest of their class on the bus. Next they’d go to Jennie’s family’s put-on-a-Civil-War-costume-and-have-your-old-time-photo-taken store.

            Mackenzie closed the front door and headed back to where Wyatt stood in their Lincoln and Civil War Memorabilia Alcove. They were alone.

            Yikes.

            “Hey…”

            Wyatt got very busy at the register. She stood right next to him, waiting.

            “You’re really good with kids,” Mackenzie said, balancing a stuffed bear on one of the little speakers by the reception computer.

            Wyatt shrugged, spotting the mess of rifle pens. Typical. They had to examine every one before deciding. He scooped them up and started sorting, Richmond Carbines in the Jefferson Davis: President of the Confederacy mug, Springfield Rifles in the Abraham Lincoln: President of the Union.

            Mackenzie pulled her matching pink argyle wallet from her backpack and grabbed a ten-dollar bill. She put it on the glass counter in front of him.

            “What’s that for?” Wyatt risked a quick glance at her.

            She snuggled two grapefruit-sized Give-a-Lincoln-Get-a-Lincoln $4.99 teddy bears to her chin. “I can’t decide between the blue one or the gray one, so I’m going to get both.”

            Wyatt was out of pens to sort. “You don’t have to pay for those.” He bent down to straighten the line of infantry soldiers on the Civil War Chess Set.

            “It’s your family business. I’m not going to steal them!”

            “You’re my girlfriend, aren’t you? Just take ‘em.”

            Wyatt stood, and it took everything he had to not look at his soldier in the display case against the sitting room wall. Before he could figure out something else to do, Mackenzie wrapped her arms around him. “Honeybear!”

            “Honeybear?”

            Her shirt was silky, and he searched for an excuse to slip away.

            She nodded, “sometimes you’re like a growly bear on the outside, but in there…” She touched his chest through his T-shirt. “You are so sweet.” She tilted her lips down to his, going for kiss number three.

            Oddly purple-red lips closing in, Wyatt thought fast. He grabbed a loose bear and with a lip-smack sound effect, pressed its nose to Mackenzie’s cheek instead. He broke free and acted like he was being all funny and playful.

            Something cracked inside Mackenzie’s face, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. “Are my braces that horrible?”

            “No! It’s not…” Wyatt stopped. He had no idea what to say. “Mom!”

            Wyatt’s mom, still in work clothes, walked in from the kitchen corridor holding a folding plastic ‘Rails Realty’ sign. It was broken. “I finally got Kelly to let your father make one of these out of wood, so they’ll last. If she likes it, it will be some extra money…”

            Mackenzie whispered, like she was trying to believe it, “You knew she was coming home now?”

            Wyatt took the excuse. “I thought, maybe…”

            His mom stashed the sign behind the reception counter and focused on them. “Mackenzie, you’re looking beautiful!”

            “Hi, Liz.” Mackenzie said.

            Wyatt’s mom came over and hugged her. Then, instead of letting go, she held Mackenzie out at arm’s length, staring at her like Mackenzie hadn’t spent the last seven years hanging out there practically every day. His mom repeated the compliment, “Just… beautiful.”

            That got Mackenzie blushing, which always showed off her freckles, which she hated. Actually, where are her freckles?

            “Don’t you think so?” Wyatt’s mom turned to him and Wyatt startled. He didn’t want Mackenzie to catch him staring at her. That would send the wrong… Oh, man. He didn’t even know anymore.

            “Yeah, sure.” He rubbed at a spot of ink on his hand.

            “Sweetie,” Wyatt’s mom gave him a quick kiss on the head. “I still have a few calls to make for the parade, and your dad’s too busy cooking… I noticed the breakfast buffet never got put away. How about you pitch in, and then you two can set the table for dinner?”

            More chores. Great. But to avoid the lecture, Wyatt just said, “Sure.” And tossed Mackenzie a ‘you in?’ look.

            Lipstick. And no freckles.

            “I’d love to.” Mackenzie tossed a flowy, big-hair curl over her shoulder, all game. Wyatt pushed down this queasy feeling that he wasn’t going to listen to. He just had to make sure they didn’t spend any more time alone together.

           

* *

            “Honestly Mr. Yarrow, I would never have guessed it’s rabbit!” Mackenzie gushed about the meal Wyatt’s dad was trying out since there were no guests eating with them at the big table in the kitchen tonight. Weekly Civil War-Era meals was the next big thing that was supposed to get money finally pouring in.

            Wyatt eyed the dandelion greens and pieces of slimy-looking meat on his plate. His mom was going to need to keep her job for the Mayor. Another thing for Jonathon to lord over him, like because Wyatt’s mom worked for his mom, it made them Jonathon’s family’s servants or something.

            The bottle in his hand made a plastic farting sound as he coated his rabbit salad and heap of turnip-potato pie in an oozing blanket of red.

            “Ketchup? Really?” Wyatt’s dad bookmarked the 19^th century cookbook he’d been reading and decided to pay attention to actual living people.

            “Gregory…” Wyatt’s mom started.

            “He hasn’t even tried it!” Wyatt’s dad shook his head. “It’s supposed to be period food.”

            Wyatt held out the family-size bottle, label facing his dad. He pointed to the small red print below ‘Heinz,’ and read it out loud. “Established 1869.”

            “Really?” It was like Mackenzie was interested in everything today. She reached for the ketchup bottle with matching red nail polish. Nail polish, too?

            Wyatt’s mom patted his dad’s hand. “It’s delicious.” She turned to Wyatt, “So, how was your day?”

            “Fine.” Wyatt poked in vain for something else on his plate.

            “Anything new to share?” His mom asked.

            “Nope.” Wyatt answered, wondering if he just cut it up and moved it around on his plate, and then volunteered to do dishes, he could get away without eating it.

            “That’s funny,” His mom said nonchalantly, “because when I was updating the Mayor’s status earlier, I noticed Mackenzie’s profile says she’s now in a relationship.”

            Wyatt kept his eyes on his plate. Don’t tell them. Don’t tell them. He tried to send the thought to Mackenzie – maybe they did have some kind of E.S.P.

“You didn’t tell them?” She asked Wyatt, totally telling them.

Wyatt’s mom shrieked and leapt out of her chair to squeeze them both into a giant hug. “Why didn’t you tell us? Mackenzie Miller! Oh my gosh – what’s your middle name? I don’t know your middle name!”

“Liz.” His dad said, and Wyatt’s mom released her death-grip on them.

“Okay, okay! But you can’t blame a mother for being excited about her little boy growing up and finding love.”

            Wyatt could feel the hole he was in getting deeper and deeper. He managed to lift his lips apart and show his teeth, just like a real smile.

            His dad picked up his wine glass in a toast. “That makes this your first official meal as Wyatt’s girlfriend!”

            “Guys!” Wyatt squirmed. Do all parents do this?

            “And now that you’re dating, we need to make sure you’re respecting each other. I won’t be a grandfather before I’m fifty.”

            “Gregory!” Wyatt’s mom sounded shocked. “They’re only in ninth grade.”

            “I remember being a teenager. And we have a double responsibility here.” Wyatt’s dad pointed at him and Mackenzie. “No more alone time in either of your bedrooms, understood?”

            Wyatt felt like he’d just been handed a late Christmas present.

            He nodded, quick.

            Wyatt’s dad sipped his wine. “Mackenzie, now that you’re even more a member of our family,”

Mackenzie made a little squeaking noise. Wyatt didn’t look at her, cause he didn’t want to embarrass her. But anytime Wyatt complained, Mackenzie told him how great his family was and how he needed to appreciate his parents more. How ‘you don’t know how important it is until you lose it.’ And he never knew what to say. And now, she was thinking his dad and mom could be like her dad and mom, too, so she’d have three parents instead of just one. And it was all built on a lie. He felt like pond scum, if pond scum could feel bad about itself.

His dad continued, looking at Mackenzie in a way that felt parental, “…why don’t you choose our Sunday movie this week?”

            Wyatt couldn’t believe his dad was giving it to Mackenzie. “It was my turn!”

            “Sweetie,” his mom scolded. “It’s a lovely idea of your father’s. Be gracious.”

            “Sorry.” Wyatt said, but he wasn’t. Even pond scum had stuff it looked forward to. “I’ve… just been waiting to see the new Bond movie since Thanksgiving, and it’s finally out on DVD, and it’s my week!”
            His mom ignored him. “Tell us, Mackenzie. What movie would you like us all to watch?”
            Wyatt slumped back and stared at the floor under the table. Pink leopard-print high heels kicked off, Mackenzie’s bare feet were crossed at the ankles. What was going on?

            “I’ve always tried to get Wyatt to watch Little House on the Prairie with me. Maybe this would be a good chance?

            “Ughhh!” Wyatt rolled his head and eyes all the way back. Something kicked his leg. “Ow!” Bending forward to rub his shin, he was pretty sure he heard Mackenzie smother a laugh.      He glared at his dad, who shifted into lecture-mode. “Being in a relationship means some give and take. Little House on the Prairie sounds perfect, Mackenzie. And we can all watch the new double-o-six movie next week. Agreed?”

            “It’s double-o-seven.” Wyatt pouted. Like his dad even cared. If it wasn’t about the Civil War, he was just going to sit there and read an auction catalog no matter what they watched.

            His mom leaned towards his dad. “We’re supposed to let them sort it out.”

            His dad shrugged. “Why, when it’s so simple?”

            “Young love is never simple,” Wyatt’s mom said. “Remember?” His parents got all mushy and Wyatt paid attention to the food he wasn’t eating.

            Mackenzie chimed in, “How about we watch Wyatt’s movie this week, and next week we can watch Little House?

            Wyatt looked at her. Thanks, he mouthed silently.

            Mackenzie locked eyes with him, all intense, all I’ll-sacrifice-my-happiness-for-yours, and suddenly, Wyatt got it. The makeup. The big hair. The heels. It was all for him!

            And he didn’t want it. Any of it.

He looked away.

            “See? They worked it out.” Wyatt’s mom said, kissing his dad’s hand.

            It’s like I’m being tortured.

             Wyatt survived the rest of dinner, and even managed a couple of bites of cinnamon, apple and raisin dessert until his dad launched into one of his footnote monologues. It was the kind of thing guests found charming for a weekend stay, but they didn’t have to live with it full-time. It was all about how he was sorry it was Braeburn apples instead of the York Imperial or Ben Davis varieties they would have made it with back in 1863 in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, since this was Gettysburg Fruitcake.

            And all Wyatt could think about was Jonathon hearing that and telling everyone Wyatt was the Gettysburg Fruitcake. But he wouldn’t, now that Wyatt had a girlfriend. Right?

            He dropped his spoon to the plate, appetite gone.

            Wyatt’s mom brought up junior prom – two years away – and how now she would volunteer to chaperone. How am I going to keep this up for that long?

            Then they were talking outfits, and how Mackenzie didn’t even have one for the Purple and Gold Pep Rally in two weeks.

            “What I’m really not sure about are the shoes,” Mackenzie said. “These gave me blisters, and I nearly twisted my ankle, twice.”

            “You need to start with kitten heels.” Wyatt’s mom told her. “Maybe I have something… I’m a size eight, what size are you?”

            “But, I wear a size eight!” Mackenzie’s words came out in a giggle.

            Before Wyatt knew it, with his mom in the lead, Mackenzie was pulling him along to his parents’ bedroom. “Come on, Honeybear!”

            Wyatt stalled out in the doorway, watching his mom throw open her shoe wardrobe. Mackenzie acted like a starving person at a buffet, touching and oohing and ahhing over each shoe. She didn’t have a mom to do this with since hers was – well, no one knew where her mom was – so Wyatt figured it was a big deal.

            “Here, try this one!” Wyatt’s mom held out a pair of low heels whose shifting purple-blue colors reminded Wyatt of iridescent butterfly wings.

            Carefully, Mackenzie slipped on the left shoe. “It fits!” She said, all Cinderella.

            Wyatt’s mom came up behind Mackenzie and studied her reflection in the Ikea standing mirror. “Beautiful. And you don’t have to wait for the Pep Rally.” Wyatt’s mom was all Fairy Godmother. “You can borrow any pair you want, anytime.”

            Mackenzie gulped air, and Wyatt could barely make out her whispered, “Gaia. My mom gave me a totally embarrassing hippie middle name.”

Wyatt’s mom moved to face Mackenzie. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing.” She tucked a loose strand of hair gently behind Mackenzie’s ear. “Mackenzie Gaia Miller, you are a lovely young woman. I couldn’t be happier… for all of us.”

Wyatt was out of there. He couldn’t be the Prince in this fairy tale. He just couldn't.

* *

* *

Chapter Three Endnotes 

Wyatt tells the visiting students about the Civil War child soldier Edward Black. You can find out more in this “The Boys of War” opinion piece in the October 4, 2011 New York Times: http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/10/04/the-boys-of-war/?_php=true&_type=blogs&_r=0 There’s additional info (and a painting) of Edward Black, “who was 8 years old when he became a drummer for the 21^st Indiana Volunteer Regiment…” in this online slide show: http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2011/10/05/opinion/disunion-children-4.html 

* *

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