Queer as a Five-Dollar Bill: Chapter 20

In Chapter Nineteen, business at the B&B is tanking, and Martin and his mom, civil rights attorney Rhonda Sykes, show up to help. Wyatt's attracted to Martin, but know he has to play it straight so people will believe him about Lincoln. Wyatt pretends to be sick so he doesn't have to go to school, and when  Wyatt goes for a walk with Martin, they're confronted by more anti-queer graffiti.

Want to start reading from 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 Twenty!

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Chapter 20

Saturday January 24

It was past noon, and a knock on Wyatt’s door followed by the sound of the key in the lock got him to sit bolt-upright in bed. “Yeaahhhh?” He said cautiously. He’d left it unlocked – he wasn’t hiding anything.

After it got locked and then unlocked again, in walked his dad, mom, Rhonda and Martin.

Yikes. There were piles of clothes and papers scattered everywhere. Martin hadn’t seen Wyatt’s room yet, and this wasn’t the best first impression.

Martin avoided his eyes, “Hey. This is… an intervention.”

What?

Wyatt’s mom straightened the edge of his top comforter. “We’ve been making a mistake, Sweetie, letting you hole up at home. You can’t hide from life.”

Rhonda took her turn: “Monday, you have to go back. If you miss another day of school without a notarized doctor’s note, they’re threatening to expel you for truancy. And there won’t be anything I can do about it.”

His dad looked him square in the eye. “We Yarrows don’t hide from our problems. Time to get up, and face them.”

Martin’s face was serious, but there was a teasing glint in his eyes. “You do know I’ve been here for four whole days, and you’ve been a terrible host?”

Wyatt had to laugh at that one, “Okay, okay!” Hands up, he slid out of bed to stand. “I’m up.”

His mom ruffled his hair. “I’ve got an open house to set up for tomorrow, your dad will be busy going through the attic, and Rhonda has to work. So, I’m dropping you two off by the Junior High and you can walk back. At least that way I’ll know you’ve made it out of this room.”

* *

Twenty minutes later, Wyatt climbed into the back seat of their green pickup, letting Martin and his guitar ride shotgun. As his mom made the turn to Johnson Street, Wyatt saw a whole bunch of yellow and black flyers on the utility poles. Someone having a yard sale, he figured.

But what he really noticed was that the Lincoln businesses and the Log Cabin were a ghost town. The only human being they saw was Mr. Woo, sorting through the period costumes on his outdoor clothing rack. He spotted them, but didn’t smile or anything. Just turned his back and went into his store. Like they were lepers. Wyatt guessed they kind of were. Or, at least, he was.

            His mom punched the radio’s on button to cover the awkward moment. It was talk radio, and it was like the shock-jock hosts of the show couldn’t spin their words out fast enough as the truck headed into Union Square.

Rob: Hey, Amy, did you hear about the Sapphic mayor of Lincolnville?

Amy: Rob! What are you talking about?

Rob: It’s all over. See, now that it’s been revealed that Lincoln might have been secretly gay, there’s talk that everyone in Lincolnville is a closet case. Their Mayor? I hear she’s a big lesbian.

Amy: So you’re saying High School coach and sometimes country singer Bryan Rails, her husband, is a bit…

Rob: Limp in the wrist? Well, if the pump fits…

Amy: How about the other people in their town?

Wyatt’s mom slowed them to a near-stop as they listened. Wyatt stared at the library, just up ahead.

Rob: They’re saying it’s not true, that they’re all straight, but science disagrees.

Amy: Science?

Rob: Statistically, the people who know these things, are saying that between three and twenty percent of the people in Oregon are gay.

Amy: Three and twenty? That’s some kind of ‘knowing things.’

Rob: Well… what if everyone who’s gay in Oregon is there?

Amy: In Lincolnville?

Rob: You hear about them in Portland, and Ashland of course, and I hear there’s some bent folk over in Bend, but… maybe all the closeted ones are living right here in Benton County – you know, in the town with possibly the most famous closeted gay man of all, Abraham Lincoln!

Amy: I used to get the best pancakes at their Pantry restaurant… or was it Pansy? Who’d have thought. Lincolnville.

Rob: I hear they’re calling it ‘Queerville’ now.

Amy: A rose by any other name is just as… gay?

Rob: Is that what Shakespeare said?

Amy: Just call me the Bard of Stratford-on-A.M. radio!

Martin shut the radio off, but it was like Wyatt could hear their words still echoing in the truck cab.

How many people listen to that show?

The silence stretched, as taut as the space between lightning and thunder. Wyatt’s mom drove them forward again, made the right onto Route 37 and accelerated under the covered bridge. Wyatt checked in the side-view mirror as they cleared the roof – ‘Queer America’ – the graffiti was still there.

            Two blocks past the high school turn-off, Martin cleared his throat. “You know, Shakespeare was Bi.”

            Wyatt’s mom swerved the truck onto the shoulder of the road and slammed to a stop. She let her head drop to the steering wheel. Wyatt wasn’t sure if she was crying or not.

            Guitar rescued from the floor, Martin turned and caught Wyatt’s eye, looking guilty.

            Wyatt gave the slightest shrug. He didn’t want to make him feel worse. “Mom? You okay?”

            She didn’t say anything. Wyatt was about to unbuckle his seatbelt to check on her when she took in a shuddering breath. “Kelly told me she can’t wait to fire me the Monday after there’s no parade. We only had thirty-one entries, and I have twelve messages on voicemail that I’m afraid to listen to. My emails are… I can’t even... The B&B is going under – I don’t think we can save it. Which means the bank will foreclose. Rhonda says we can fight the lawsuit, but…” She raised her head and looked at Wyatt in the rear view mirror. Her eyes were puffy. “This has gotten so out of control.”

            “I didn’t mean for it…” Wyatt started, but didn’t know what to say. Martin fidgeted in his seat.

            “I know.” Wyatt’s mom said. After a moment, she dug into her purse. “Why don’t you two get out here? I’ll give you some money for Sandee’s.” She held out a five-dollar bill.

Wyatt’s eye caught on Lincoln’s face, and his mom forced a smile. “There’s no escaping it, is there? Go. Have some fun – someone should.”

 “You going to be okay?” Wyatt asked her as he pocketed the five.

“Your dad told me this great thing last night.” She checked her reflection in the rear-view mirror and wiped under her eyes with a knuckle. “Winston Churchill, in the middle of World War Two, said, ‘If you’re going through Hell, keep going.’ And that’s what we have to do. Don’t stop, just… keep going.”

A minute later, Wyatt and Martin stood in the weeds by the roadside. Under Wyatt’s mom’s truck, the tires spit gravel as she pulled back onto the road.

            Martin turned to Wyatt. “I guess… we should keep going.”

* *

            “Those foreign commercials can be a riot.” Martin was speaking over the sound of Sandee’s soccer match broadcast in Spanish as they browsed the shelves of Sandee’s Liquor and Candy Mart. “Ooh – there’s this one French Orangina ad where an Opera singer is on a plane. She has a sip, starts singing high ‘C’, rips the door off and skydives out!”

Martin mimicked the falling Opera singer, “Orangin – aaaaaa!” He hit a falsetto note and crumpled to the floor. Wyatt cracked up.

“You’ve got to see it – I’ll show you online when we get back.” Martin said.

“¡Fue Falta! ¡Idiota!” Sandee yelled at her screen.

Martin looked up at Wyatt. “You going to help me up, or am I just going to lay here?”

Wyatt put out his hand, and Martin grabbed on. It was almost electric, the current that shot through Wyatt’s arm from where they held each other. Wyatt yanked – stronger than he meant to – and Martin soared up, bumping into him. They caught their balance and steadied out, faces inches from each other.

 The door jingled, “I’m pretty sure it doesn’t list the P.H….” Jennie was saying as she and Mackenzie, still in the white pants and t-shirt from her karate class, walked in.

Three of the four of them froze, watching each other. Wyatt’s face shut down. Martin looked from the girls to Wyatt, like he was trying to figure out what was going on. Breaking the moment, Wyatt stepped back, bumping into the shelf of shaving creams and band aids.

Jennie started to head for the sodas, but Mackenzie pulled her towards the shelves of gum opposite Wyatt and Martin. “Indoor glow-in-the-dark mini golf. And in the dark, Jonathon could hardly keep his hands off me!” She was talking to Jennie but Wyatt knew it was for his benefit. “We had such a great time! He’s busy tonight, but wants to see me again tomorrow. Now that my Sunday days are free, we’re meeting at eleven to watch a movie in their screening room and have a catered lunch. Did I tell you he sent roses? They came this morning. You wouldn’t believe how fancy they are.”

Wyatt made a bee-line for the freezer and snagged an ice cream sandwich. Martin was taking his time, browsing the shelves of crackers and chips.

“Hey!” Wyatt leaned in close and whispered to him. “Grab something and let’s get out of here.”

“Why? What’s up?” Martin asked.

Wyatt’s eyes pointed out Mackenzie, who at that second turned with a packet of gum in her hand to scowl at them. He said under his breath, “That’s Mackenzie. My ex-… friend.”

Martin’s eyes darkened. “And her Jonathon’s Jonathon?”

“Yeah.” Wyatt breathed.

Jennie touched Mackenzie on the arm, “What are you thinking?”

Mackenzie spat the words out, “That I’ve had enough.” She slapped the gum she’d been holding back on the shelf and strode over to them. “Who’s the stranger, Wyatt? We don’t get a lot of outsiders who aren’t tourists here.”

Wyatt gave her a look like she’d gone crazy. “Uh, Mackenzie? We’re all outsiders, unless we’re Paiute Indians.”

“Name’s Martin.” Martin crossed his arms, which Wyatt noticed made his arm muscles pop. “I’m staying with Wyatt for a few days.”

Mackenzie’s eyes flashed at Wyatt. “You didn’t waste much time getting a boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend! …I’m not gay!” Wyatt was nearly shouting and told himself to chill. “Martin and his mom, they’re staying at the B&B. That’s all.”

            Martin snagged a bag of almonds and slipped past Mackenzie, like he was done with the conversation. “What are you getting, man?”

Wyatt held up his ice cream to answer, and tried to pretend that the lasers in Mackenzie’s eyes had no effect on him, either. He joined Martin at the counter, put his ice cream sandwich by the almonds, and topped it with the money his mom had given him.

Sandee stood there watching them, ignoring the penalty kick happening on-screen. “It would be a shame to break that.” She pushed the green portrait of Abraham Lincoln back at Wyatt. “This one’s on me. Just, go home, and be safe.”

Wyatt blinked, surprised. Did that mean Sandee believed him about Lincoln? Was she a lesbian? Or, did she just want to be nice?

He looked at her. Whatever the reason – he was grateful. “Thanks.”

Sandee gave him the slightest dip of her head, then turned back to her soccer match. “¡Ja! ¡PATEA LA PELOTA!” she yelled at the T.V.

Not risking another glance in Mackenzie’s direction, Wyatt got them out of there.

* *

            They were heading down Hayes Street back to the B&B, and Wyatt could feel Martin’s eyes on him.

Finally, Martin said, “Ex-friend or ex-girlfriend?”

“Uh…” Wyatt stalled, trying to figure out what to say about him and Mackenzie. “Kind of …both?”

“Oh.” Martin said.

“No! It was never like that, it’s just…” Wyatt stalled out. “It’s kind of hard to explain.”

Martin nodded, like he understood. Did he?

“Well, thanks for standing up for me with the un-welcome committee.” Martin said, ripping open the bag of almonds and popping a few in his mouth.

Wyatt took another bite of spongy chocolate and velvet-cool vanilla, but he felt all torn up from everything. Mackenzie had been so mean. And her and Jonathon… he didn’t want to think about it. And Martin was right here – he finally had a friend who was gay! – but Wyatt couldn’t even be real with him. …And Martin was thanking him for standing up for him?

Wyatt shrugged, “that’s what friends do, right?”

Martin put his hand on Wyatt’s shoulder. “Yeah. That’s what we do.”

They were in public!

Wyatt stepped away so Martin’s hand fell. Wyatt kept going, pretending the reason he’d moved was that he wanted to read one of those yellow and black flyers stapled to the utility pole on the corner ahead.

Martin covered the moment by pocketing the bag of almonds and swinging his guitar around. Like he had only been trying to pat Wyatt on the back.

But Wyatt was hyper-aware that they both knew what had happened, and they both knew the other knew it, too.

Awk---ward!

Martin plucked out some notes as they passed under another one of the banners announcing the town’s upcoming parade.

It felt weird, and Wyatt didn’t want it to. If I was walking with a girl, no one would care if her arm was around me. Why does this have to be so much harder?

Martin strummed a chord and started to sing. The melody was familiar to Wyatt: It was a Civil War song from one of the CDs they played in the exhibit rooms. But the words were new,

            “Two brothers on their way,

            One wore blue and one wore gray,

            One was straight and one was gay,

            All on a beautiful morning…”

“Whoa – that’s not the lyrics I know!” Wyatt spoke over his shoulder as he neared the flyer.

“I’ve been playing with them.” Martin fingered the strings, plucking out the wistful melody.

Wyatt turned back to see who was having a yard sale. The letters shouted,

WORRIED ABOUT THOSE PEOPLE

WHO THINK LINCOLN WAS GAY?

JOIN

THE JOHN WILKES BOOTH APPRECIATION SOCIETY

The uneaten half of Wyatt’s ice cream sandwich squished in his fist.

Reading it over Wyatt’s shoulder, Martin stopped playing.

There was a line of them. Wyatt saw the flyers went all the way down Hayes street. He scraped the mess off his hand and threw it to the asphalt as he hurried to the corner of Union. More yellow flyers.

“Wyatt!” Martin ran behind him, guitar bongoing against his hip, trying to keep up. But Wyatt couldn’t stop. Grant Street, yellow flyers. Johnson Street, yellow flyers. Buchanan Street, yellow flyers.

It was the whole town.

* *

Back home, they found out that the afternoon tour, a Boy Scout troop from Philomath Christian Day School, had cancelled. So had Tuesday’s tour for Mother of Sorrows Elementary, who had told Wyatt’s dad they weren’t going to bring their children to a place that promoted homosexuality. But it wasn’t like Wyatt had expected any of them to show, not now.

All frazzled, his dad went back up to the attic to keep looking for hidden treasure. Martin’s mom was still knee-deep in legal documents, and Wyatt’s mom wouldn’t be home till nearly dinner, so they were on their own. “You want a tour?” Wyatt asked Martin, pointing to their exhibit rooms.

“Ahhh. You’re making an effort to be a better host.” Martin teased. “I better play along.”

Wyatt tried to keep his face serious. “You better.”

He kept thinking it was his first gay-friendly tour and he should change stuff, but the facts about Lincoln and the war pretty much stayed the same. Just… how Wyatt felt about it was all different.

Martin pointed to wax-Lincoln’s hat. “In Kindergarten they told us he kept papers in there – but it sounded crazy.”

“He did! Tucked in the lining.” Wyatt took the imitation beaver-fur hat off wax-Lincoln and handed it to Martin so he could see the coffee-aged Emancipation Proclamation Wyatt kept inside it for tours. “It left his hands free.”

Martin reached up to put the hat back on wax-Lincoln. “The hat made him even taller.”

“That was probably the point. So he would stand out even more.” It struck Wyatt that while Lincoln had been willing to stand out about some things, like being super-tall, and leading their country through the Civil War, he hadn’t been willing to stand up about loving Joshua. A wave of sadness washed over him and he shook it off.

As they walked by the weapons case, Wyatt thought about introducing Martin to his soldier, but decided that would have been too weird. He just snuck a wink at the photo, and led Martin to the flat screen monitor in what used to be the dining room. At the end of The Civil War in Four Minutes DVD, Martin gave a low whistle at how many people had died during the war. The casualty numbers on the screen topped out at:

            North: 702,000           and                  South: 621,000

“One point three million,” Martin said. “Just think, nearly triple that have read all about Lincoln being gay, thanks to you.”

Triple? Wyatt hadn’t asked about or checked their blog stats all week. That’s more than three million… Thanks to me? He shook his head. “Thanks to us.” He was glad they were in it together.

They finished the tour upstairs in the Lincoln Room. The bed stood at the far end like some altar. Wyatt made himself busy, moving the bronze plaque’s wooden stand and the three metal stanchions with their velvet ropes to the side – it was a better view without them.

“Can I get on it?” Martin asked.

“We’re not supposed–” Wyatt started, then changed his mind. “Sure.” He picked off the three wax-Lincoln hairs from the pillow and put them on the lip of the china wash basin. Wyatt slid his palm in the air for Martin to try the bed out.

“I’ll be right back.” Martin ran across the hall to his room. A minute later he returned with a plastic drop-cloth, and eased the door shut. “Those are going to be some old dust mites. Help me?”

Wyatt wanted to tell Martin he was being paranoid, but he just took one end. They unfolded the thin plastic and laid it over the bed like they were getting ready to paint the red-striped wallpaper behind it.

Martin carefully climbed on, plastic crinkling underneath him. He looked over at Wyatt. “Lie down.”

Wyatt cleared his throat. “Nahh, I mean…”

“Come on! Let’s see if they could really be in this bed together without, you know…”

“I tried it!”

Martin shook his head. “You just put those mannequins on it.” He patted the plastic space next to him. “This way, you get to experience it.”

Wyatt walked over to the edge of the bed and hesitated. Martin’s right arm was thrown back under his head, which made his bicep in his tight T-shirt… perfect. He was so hot. Damn. Wyatt turned around and lowered himself to the thin plastic. It was like lying down on his mom’s dry cleaning or something. Stop thinking about Mom!

“You’re going to fall off.” Martin’s voice was soft.

“I’m okay.”

Martin’s hand came around and rested on Wyatt’s chest, pulling him back towards him. And Wyatt let him, covering Martin’s hand with his own. And then Martin was spooning him, and even with the plastic under them it was warm and safe and crazy and–

Wyatt jumped away, keeping his back to Martin. His face burned, and he couldn’t catch his breath. “I… I gotta go!” He raced to the door, flung it open and took the stairs two at a time to his bedroom. He got the door closed behind him and sank to the floor.

Oh, man…

Blood pounded through Wyatt’s body as he tried to get it under control.

There was no way they’d been in that bed together without getting it on.

And now, for sure, Martin knew about him, too.

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 Endnotes for Chapter 20

When Wyatt gives Martin a tour of their B&B’s exhibits, The Civil War In Four Minutes DVD that they watch really exists, and the Civil War casualty numbers I used are from that. The video is available from the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum here: http://www.lincolnlibraryandmuseum.com/m5.htm 

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Sorry for the late posting, everyone. We'll let this one ride until Wednesday.

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

Ready for Chapter Twenty-one? It will be posted on January 26, 2018. Thoughts? Reactions? #queerasafivedollarbill / #qaafdb fan art? Share them in comments here, or on facebook, twitter, or instagram.

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Fan Art - a teen boy crushes on his guy best friend... and the art class girls who try to help get them together

Fan Art by Sarah Tregay

Jamie Peterson has a problem: Even though he tries to keep his feelings to himself, everyone seems to know how he feels about Mason, and the girls in his art class are determined to help them get together. Telling the truth could ruin Jamie and Mason's friendship, but it could also mean a chance at happiness. Falling in love is easy, except when it's not, and Jamie must decide if coming clean to Mason is worth facing his worst fear.

Add your review of "Fan Art" in comments!

Inspiration from Martin Luther King, Jr. on the holiday honoring his memory - words for the resistance, words for creativity, words for our lives

"If you can’t fly, run; if you can’t run, walk; if you can’t walk, crawl; but by all means keep moving." 

–Martin Luther King, Jr., the final lines of his “Keep Moving from This Mountain,” Address at Spelman College on 10 April 1960. Read the whole speech here.

Queer as a Five-Dollar Bill: Chapter 19

In Chapter Eighteen, Wyatt's parents have a big cancellation of booked rooms for their B&B, and Wyatt can't reach Martin to get him to take down queerasafivedollarbill.com. The next morning, Wyatt confronts Mr. Clifton outside the library. After all, Mr. Clifton gave him the book. Didn't he want him to know about Lincoln and Speed? The answer stuns Wyatt.

Want to start reading from 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 / #qaafdb fan art? Share them as comments here or on social media (facebook, twitter, or instagram.)

Okay community, here's Chapter Nineteen!

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Chapter 19

Tuesday January 20

            It was still dark outside, but the not-quite-period grandfather clock by the stairs said it was 6:15 a.m. Wyatt hung back in the kitchen doorway. His dad and mom were at the table, with the ledger book. His dad put down the phone and crossed out another name. “And that last one was the junior high from Albany.” He said it like someone had died. “That’s two tours and eleven room-nights cancelled. And we haven’t booked anything since Saturday.”

            His dad’s eyes travelled to some papers on the table in front of them. Wyatt recognized the logo: Lincolnville National Bank. They had the loan on this place. The payments that Wyatt’s family couldn’t miss even one more of. Whatever fire he had left inside him fizzled out. Damn ripples.

            His mom glanced up and saw him. “There you are.” She came over and kissed Wyatt on the forehead, then pulled him to the table. She reached into her purse and pulled out his cell phone. “We’ll come up with a different consequence. This is not for interviews, but for now, don’t use the land line.” She handed the cell over to him.

            Wyatt gave her a what’s-going-on? look.

            “There were some pretty nasty messages this morning.” His mom looked away, like just talking about them hurt. “You don’t need to hear that.”

            Wyatt tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. He’d done this. Gotten them into this mess. How was he ever going to fix it?

            “Excuse me.”

They all turned to stare at the teenager standing in the kitchen doorway, a blue guitar slung over his shoulder and a rolling carry-on by his side.

“Martin?” Wyatt had trouble believing it.

But the smile he gave Wyatt felt like the sun when you get out of the cold ocean and you’re all goose bumpy. “Hi, Wyatt.”

Wyatt couldn’t help checking Martin out. His teeth and eyes were electric white against the deep river-stone brown of his skin. He was wearing jeans and a tight blue tie-dyed Superman T-shirt that was a ‘G’ instead of an ‘S.’ Wyatt wasn’t sure what it stood for, but it did show that Martin was in really good shape. Scratch that, he was hot.

Martin pointed over his shoulder to the front of the house. “My mom says she won’t come in while the Confederate flag is flying outside.”

“Oh, uh…” Wyatt crossed to the doorway. “I’ll take it down.”

Wyatt tried to pass him but Martin went to his left just as Wyatt went to his right. Then they did it the other way, and Martin laughed low, “wanna dance?” He flashed his impossibly bright grin at Wyatt.

“I… uh–” Wyatt could feel his face get lava-hot and couldn’t get any words out. He slipped past him, nearly brushing against his shoulder as Martin held his guitar out of Wyatt’s way.

Wyatt darted down the corridor, through the entry hall and out the front door, taking the stairs in a rush. A woman stood there by a pile of luggage. Martin’s mom. Rhonda. She was staring at the flags, like they were stopping her from taking even one more step forward. Like they were Kryptonite.

Wyatt yanked the Confederate flag out of its holder and started to roll it up on its four-foot long stick. “I’m really sorry about the flag – it’s not meant to disrespect African Americans. It’s just that we’re a Lincoln and Civil War site, and having both flags seemed kind of … fair…” Did that sound terrible?

Rhonda pulled out a camera and aimed it at their ‘Lincoln Slept Here Bed & Breakfast’ sign. The flash went off as she snapped the picture. “Documenting everything is critical.”

Wyatt glanced to see if it was that different without the slave-holding states’ flag, and saw what she had really photographed. Someone had crossed out the ‘Here’ on their sign with pink spray paint and wrote in ‘WITH GUYS.’

Making them the ‘Lincoln Slept WITH GUYS Bed & Breakfast.’

Wyatt cringed, wondering if he could get that off before his dad saw it. While he was busy with the flag, Rhonda lifted her carry-on and started up the front porch steps. Wyatt grabbed the other two bags and hurried to join her. His dad, mom and Martin were in the entry hall.

Rhonda glanced around her at the exhibits, and Wyatt felt a flash of relief that their military mannequin was still in his Union Blues. That could have been awkward.

Martin’s mom’s eyes lingered on the Martin Luther King, Jr. quote above their ‘The Great Emancipator’ display case. She read it out loud, “Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.” She frowned. “You’re missing the next line.”

Wyatt checked the wall. That was where their quote ended.

Rhonda spoke to her son, “You know it.”

Martin recited from memory, “…But a hundred years later, the Negro still is not free.” He said it with force, and meaning. His mom gave him a ‘well done’ dip of her head. He looked down, kind of shy.

He was mighty cute. But Wyatt was going to be straight. He had to.

Rhonda turned to him. “You must be Wyatt? T.V. is always so deceptive.”

Wyatt gave a nod.

“Forgive us,” Wyatt’s dad said, “But, do we have a reservation for you? We certainly have room, it’s just that…”

She pulled out three business cards, handing one each to Wyatt’s mom, dad, and Wyatt himself. “I’m Rhonda Sykes, attorney of record and field representative for Legal Advocates of Oregon.”

Wyatt looked up from the card in his hand. “They’re here to help.”

* *

            “The new blog picked up right where the old one left off!” Martin had put his guitar on the far side of the kitchen table and was setting up his laptop, running the internet over some cellular data card because the B&B’s setup was quaint. “It took me a while to re-link stuff, but three more aggregators picked us up, and one of them was huge. We were at nearly 200,000 hits when we left Idaho…”

            Wyatt had gone over how he’d contacted Rhonda twice already, but his mom still studied the business card clutched in her hand. “It says ‘Oregon?’”

            “We were in Boise, helping out with a class-action gender discrimination suit.” Rhonda explained.

“Let’s make it load on top of the old visits…” Martin grabbed a muffin from the basket Wyatt’s dad offered as he worked. “Drove all night to get here. Did it in just under nine hours!”

            Rhonda pulled out a chair and sat heavily. “I’m so glad Martin has his provisional license. I couldn’t have done that by myself.”

            “Coffee?” Wyatt’s dad asked.

            Rhonda stretched her neck side to side. “Please.”

            “Me, too.” Martin said, left hand up as he typed. “Half way.”

            He drinks coffee?

            Wyatt’s mom got a second mug for Rhonda while his dad poured Martin half a cup. Martin filled it the rest of the way with milk and seven packets of sugar. He took a tentative sip.

            Well, I like coffee ice cream, too.

            Martin hit a final key and whistled. “I thought so! Von Lawson’s show was like rocket-fuel.”

            Wyatt leaned over Martin’s shoulder to check out the new stats. His nose picked up the waft of sweet coffee and bright citrus, like what your hands smell like after you peel a tangerine. Was he wearing aftershave? Focus, Wyatt.

            The new statistical readout page showed a bunch of big vertical lines. Page loads per day. Today’s was shorter. Wyatt was trying to make out the numbers when Martin moved the cursor to point out the total.

            “We’re over a million?” Wyatt asked. That couldn’t be right.

            “One million two-hundred and thirty-two thousand one-hundred and seventy-nine!” Martin raised his hand for a high-five, and their palms connected. Wyatt’s was suddenly sweaty. He wiped it on his sweatpants.

            Wyatt’s dad frowned. “Unless we’re somehow getting a dollar for each of those visits, that T.V. show – and that blog – actually destroyed our business!”

            Wyatt didn’t mean to flinch, but the truth hurt.

            Martin shrugged. “We can’t get a dollar, but we could probably get some fraction of a cent a hit if we put advertising on it.”

            “We’re going to lose this place!” Wyatt’s dad fumbled his coffee and it spilled across the table. “Can we close the computer and focus on what’s going on in the real world?”

            “Hey!” Martin leapt up with the laptop and grabbed his guitar into the air, too, even though the spreading puddle of coffee was still a foot away from where his guitar had been.

            Rhonda used some paper napkins from the holder to blot the spill. “We’re here now. And we can help.”

            Martin still held the laptop and guitar, like he didn’t want to put them down.

Wyatt’s dad just sat there, motionless, staring at the chipped handle of his now-empty Jefferson Davis mug.

Wyatt’s mom squeezed his dad’s hand and spoke to Rhonda. “There are already 1.2 million people who won’t be staying with us. You want to help? Get your son to take that website down.”

            What if his mom was right? Who knew if anyone visiting his blog even agreed with him about Lincoln? It was probably just looky-loos. Or Von Lawson’s audience, working themselves up. Getting to know who they needed to hate. Him.

1.2 million people who hated him.

Wyatt’s voice cracked oddly. “Are they going to come after me?”

            “We won’t let them,” Rhonda said. “But, let’s take things one at a time.”

* *

            The adults decided Rhonda would take the case pro bono – which meant Wyatt’s family wouldn’t have to pay her. In return, like a barter, Rhonda and Martin would stay with them for a week or so. And, instead of the Confederate Flag, the B&B would fly the 33-star and the 35-star Union Flags, from the beginning and end of the war. And the blog could stay up, for now.

Room One, down the hall from the Lincoln Room and in the front of the house with a big bay window, would be Rhonda’s room and temporary office. Martin would stay in Room Two, closer to the stairs. Closer to Wyatt’s room, one flight up and down the hall.

            Outside, in the darkness that had lightened to inky blue, Wyatt spent a half-hour in the B&B sign’s light, trying to remove the pink graffiti. It wouldn’t come off. Dumping the useless cleaning stuff in the downstairs closet, he peeked in the kitchen. Rhonda sat at the table with Wyatt’s dad and mom, using a red pen to scribble notes on the lawsuit the Mayor had hit them with. After Von Lawson’s show, local businesses were going to lose a lot of money. Money they didn’t have, if they lost the lawsuit. What would happen then?

He wondered where Martin was. Probably in his room…

Wyatt searched his brain for a reason to go up there. Clean towels! He raced up the stairs to the laundry room on the third floor. Then, arms loaded with a pretty good excuse, he walked down the flight of stairs to Martin’s room.

The blue guitar was outside the doorway, propped against the blue-gray and orange-brown leaves of the hallway wallpaper. Wyatt wondered if he should pick it up and carry it in for him, or if that wouldn’t be cool. He was about to ask but froze when he saw him. Martin was wearing plastic gloves, and a white face mask with those yellow rubbery head straps. He had the mattress off the bed, and a giant silk bag halfway over it.

            “What are you doing?” Wyatt asked.

            “Dust mites,” Martin said, carefully pulling the bag all the way over the mattress and then zipping it shut along the side. “You ever seen one in a microscope? They’re like aliens.”

            He finished with the mattress, and then, like it might bite him, cautiously fit another silky bag over the room’s pillow. Once that was zipped shut, he pulled his gloves inside-out, careful to not touch any of the parts that had been on the outside. Putting the gloves in a plastic bag, he knotted it, and put that in the trash can under the antique desk. Then he took off the facemask. “Mom says it’s like I go all Howard Hughes, but we’re in a different place every couple of days…” He shrugged, zipped open his rolling carry on, and pulled out his own sheets.

            “We do wash things here.” Wyatt said, putting the towels on the desk.

            “It’s just allergies. I’ve kind of got it down.”

            Wyatt helped him push the hermetically-sealed mattress back on the bed. He’s weird. Cute, but weird. Or maybe… weird, but cute.

            Martin’s mom came up the stairs. “Wyatt, you need to get to school. We can’t be giving them any excuses to suspend you. Martin, I need our system up and running an hour ago.”

            “I’m on it.” Martin said.

            Man. Wyatt had been hoping no one would bring up school. He checked his cell phone. It was 7:25 a.m. He was already thirteen minutes late.

Once he’d locked himself in the third floor bathroom, Wyatt closed his eyes against the day he knew was ahead:

Sharks in yellow T-shirts, saying they’d rather celebrate the guy who killed a hero than acknowledge a hero might have been gay. Basically saying they’d kill Wyatt if they knew he was gay, too. And then celebrate it with custom T-shirts printed for the occasion.

Mackenzie, getting all lovey-dovey with Jonathon.

And probably some camera crew following Jonathon around, for the new reality T.V. series he was probably going to star in.

Wyatt ran the hot water until it gave the glass & mercury thermometer a high enough ‘fever’ to be convincing. Sometimes, his dad’s insistence that old-fashioned things were better was useful.

There was no way Wyatt was going to school.

Just thinking about all of it made him feel sick.

So it wasn’t a total lie.

* *

Wyatt holed up in his bedroom until lunchtime, when hunger got the better of him. He was heading down to the kitchen when Martin called out from his room. “Hey, it’s you.”

Martin came to his doorway, running a hand back along his close-cropped hair. His T-shirt rode up and Wyatt could see a line of skin pulled taut over muscle. Wow. He needed to look somewhere else, anywhere else, and recognized the stripy cover of the book in Martin’s hand. It was Absolutely, Positively Not… He must have bought it! And Wyatt guessed Rhonda was okay with that.

Did that mean…?

Maybe it didn’t mean anything. After all, he wasn’t wearing a rainbow bracelet like he had in that video. Maybe he was just cool with gay people.

But maybe…

Martin’s smile was a little lopsided. “Feeling better?”

Wyatt’s mouth was suddenly dry. “You wanna get out of here? I’ll show you our town.”

The house was empty, and Martin explained that the adults were off in Corvallis at the Benton County Circuit Court. They snagged two granola bars and were out the door. Martin wanted to bring his guitar along, but Wyatt said no – they didn’t want to attract any attention on this mission.

“So, being home schooled must be heaven, huh?” Wyatt thought it would be sweet to never have to set an alarm again. Never have to see Jonathon, either. They were on the school side of Jenson’s Stream, since the near side was too overgrown with Himalayan Blackberry. But walking along the bank at the bottom of the ravine, it wasn’t like anyone would see them. Wyatt was thinking he would take Martin all the way to the covered bridge into town. They could pop up there, and Wyatt could show him Union Square and stuff without his getting caught cutting school.

“It’s all right,” Martin said, picking up a pine cone by the path.

They were both quiet for a bit, but it was okay. Martin stopped to put the pine cone gently into the water, like he was launching a boat. They watched it bob along. “How many seeds do you think are in there?” Martin asked him.

Wyatt had no idea. “Fifty? A hundred?”

“That could go all the way to the Ocean, and travel to New Zealand. Start a forest there. That would be cool to see.”

It would, but Wyatt knew his future was some big anonymous city, where he could just disappear. The pine cone was almost out of sight and Wyatt wondered if it would make it past the ford. His voice got quieter, and a bit sad. “The second high school is over, I’m out of here.”

Martin seemed like he wanted to ask a question, but didn’t. Instead he said, “Being home schooled? My mom only gives me a hard time about doing my work, not about being myself.”

“You were getting crap at school for being Black?” Wyatt didn’t think that was it, but he had to ask.

Martin scoffed. “I was getting crap for thinking Daniel Craig coming out of the ocean in Casino Royale was hot. Instead of Ursula Andress in Dr. No.”

“Craig is completely the best Bond!” Wyatt said, but inside he was screaming He’s gay! He just said he’s gay! Act cool.

“You watch them, too?” Martin asked, his smile like a superpower that short-circuited Wyatt’s brain.

Wyatt managed to squeak out, “Yeah,” and they started walking along the bank again. Did Martin know about him? He couldn’t. Could he?

Wyatt turned, hoping to see it again. Feel it again. They caught eyes, and the look Martin gave him made Wyatt feel like his stomach had dropped out of his body. Like Martin wanted Wyatt to stop everything and just look at him. Let him look at Wyatt.

Wyatt’s breath caught and he plunged ahead.

Why didn’t I ever feel like this with Mackenzie?

After a while, Martin started humming. His voice fit, somehow, with the birds and the gurgle of water, even their crunching footsteps on the path. Wyatt didn’t talk anymore. He just wanted to listen, hoping to get his pulse to stop pounding in his neck.

Ten minutes later they were climbing the bank by the covered bridge to top out on Route 37. As they gained altitude, Wyatt saw there was only a single car by the log cabin. Usually there were at least a couple of tour vans and buses. Martin touched his arm as they got to the road.

“Wyatt,” he started.

Wyatt jerked his arm away – anybody could see them.

“Look.”

 Wyatt followed to see where Martin was pointing, at the ‘Welcome To Lincolnville – Real America’ sign.

But the sign on the red bridge had the same pink graffiti as the B&B sign at home. This time, the word ‘Real’ had been crossed out and ‘QUEER’ was scrawled over it instead.

Wyatt felt sucker-punched. Trapped. He couldn’t get away from it. Any of it.

Martin pulled out his cell phone and snapped a photo of the sign. “My mom will want that.” He saw the sick expression on Wyatt’s face, and gestured back to the stream trail. “Let’s get out of here.”

Wyatt’s feet obeyed. But as they headed down the ravine, and the whole walk back, he couldn’t get the image out of his head. The sign shouting,

Welcome To Lincolnville – Queer America

Hiding out in his bedroom for the rest of the week, Wyatt felt like he was caught in an avalanche, and the whole hillside was sliding out from under his feet.

* * 

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Endnotes for Chapter 19

Rhonda reads and Martin finishes the Martin Luther King, Jr. quote from his famous “I Have A Dream” speech. You can read the entire speech transcript and listen to the audio here: http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/mlkihaveadream.htm The speech video, which Wyatt and Martin watch in Chapter 21 is available from www.thekingcenter.org

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Dreadnought: Nemesis - Book One - A Transgender Teen Superhero Adventure!

Dreadnought by April Daniels

Danny Tozer has a problem: she just inherited the powers of Dreadnought, the world's greatest superhero. Until Dreadnought fell out of the sky and died right in front of her, Danny was trying to keep people from finding out she's transgender. But before he expired, Dreadnought passed his mantle to her, and those secondhand superpowers transformed Danny's body into what she's always thought it should be. Now there's no hiding that she's a girl.

It should be the happiest time of her life, but Danny's first weeks finally living in a body that fits her are more difficult and complicated than she could have imagined. Between her father's dangerous obsession with "curing" her girlhood, her best friend suddenly acting like he's entitled to date her, and her fellow superheroes arguing over her place in their ranks, Danny feels like she's in over her head.

She doesn't have time to adjust. Dreadnought's murderer--a cyborg named Utopia--still haunts the streets of New Port City, threatening destruction. If Danny can't sort through the confusion of coming out, master her powers, and stop Utopia in time, humanity faces extinction.

Add your review of "Dreadnought" in comments!

A New Year, Sadness and Joy, Challenge and Resolve, and One Direction: Forward!

My good friend and writing buddy Claudia Harrington Kallmeyer passed away last week after a long and courageous, often irreverent, and at times even funny (think pranks on her doctors) battle with brain cancer.

Claudia was a joy to know. She was funny, and could write funny, she was kind, she was determined, she worked hard, she cared about others, and she was generous with her time and talents, volunteering for over a decade as the Regional Advisor of the Los Angeles chapter of SCBWI.

And she was my friend.

This moment, captured by Rita Crayon Huang, is from the 2011 Los Angeles SCBWI Writers Day conference. I'm on the left in the black T-shirt, and Claudia is at the lectern, holding the ceremonial scepter of leadership - which, as she and Edie (pictured in the tiara) couldn't find, ended up being a toilet plunger wrapped in tin foil with a ribbon for show...

Claudia's family, including her three great kids (two grown and one teen) and her husband, and her mom, and all her friends like me who hold her memory dear, are an ongoing legacy - we got to know and love Claudia, and our lives are more filled with light and joy because of that. And who knows how that light and joy will continue to change the world, long into the future?

Claudia's creative legacy includes 12 picture books (the "My Family" series highlighting the diversity within a child's classroom) and 8 early readers (the "Hank the Pet Sitter" series - four out now and four more in the pipeline, revised manuscripts accepted and currently being illustrated. Her books are funny, and heartfelt, and I'm so glad the world has them. Who knows the lives those books will continue to touch, long into the future?

So the challenge seems to be to take the sadness of missing Claudia and transmute it into resolve: Creative time is sacred, because it lets our light shine. So I need to treat my creative time as important, as a priority. Because every day is a gift, and there are no guarantees. So we (I) need to carpe diem, and more forward as best we (I) can.

My mantra for the adventure ahead:

Trust my journey. Trust my process. Trust in myself. FLOW... And be grateful for all my many blessings... 

including having this platform to share with wonderful readers and members of my community: YOU!

Here's to the good memories, and the joy, and each of us shining with our own unique light – because that's how we change the world. Like my friend Claudia did.

Queer as a Five-Dollar Bill: Chapter 18

In Chapter Seventeen, Wyatt goes on Earnest Von Lawson's TV talk show and is completely side-swiped by the conservative, dog-whistled, and hate-filled reaction to his Lincoln-was-gay message. Lincolnville is pilloried, and just when Wyatt thinks things can't get any worse, Jonathon appears as a special guest on the show, wearing a t-shirt that reads: "If you think Lincoln was gay, then I'm a proud member of the John Wilkes Booth Appreciation Society." Everyone in the studio audience gets a T-shirt and Wyatt's surrounded.

Want to start reading from the beginning? Click here for chapters One and Two.

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Okay community, here's Chapter Eighteen!

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Chapter 18

Monday January 19

            No one said anything for the first half-hour of the ride home, while Wyatt used nearly half the box of tissues trying to wipe the makeup off his face. Wyatt’s mom was driving, because his dad was too much of a mess. His mom’s cell rang, and his dad answered it. He talked for barely a minute, saying only, “I understand,” and “Okay,” and, “Yes, we’ll refund your deposit.”

            He hung up. “The Collier wedding. Seems they’re big fans of the Von Lawson Report.”

            “That was all eight rooms!” Wyatt’s mom glanced over from the road. “For this weekend! How are they going to find another venue in time?”

            The rain beat on them and the rest of the freeway traffic.

            “That’s not really our problem, is it?” Wyatt’s dad turned in his seat. “You get this friend of yours to take down that other website pronto!”

            “I’ll need my cell.” Wyatt said.

            Wyatt’s dad pushed the purse at him.

            Wyatt fished out his phone and tried dialing Martin. Four rings and it went to voicemail. “He’s not answering. Should I leave a message?”

            His dad and mom chorused, “Yes!”

            There was the beep. “Hey, Martin. It’s… Wyatt. Call me, okay? It’s kind of important.”

He pressed ‘end call’ and sent him a quick text.

                        Wyatt                          8:47 p.m.

                        where are u? we need 2 talk!

                        u were right. about not going

                        on the show.

            Finger snaps got him to raise his head. His mom held out her hand for the phone. Wyatt surrendered it, and watched it drop back into her purse.

            The three of them rode in silence for the next two hours, until they got home. They staggered inside from the kitchen porch, no guests tonight.

            Maybe no guests ever, after that.

            Wyatt noticed the voicemail light was blinking on the B&B line, showing they had six messages. But no one hit play, or said anything.

            In his room, Wyatt peeled off the fancy clothes that were still damp. He pulled on sweats and crawled into bed, wanting to do a Rip Van Winkle – fall asleep for a hundred years, and have it be a totally new world when he got up. Or maybe, he was mixing that up with Sleeping Beauty.

* *

Tuesday January 20

            Wyatt woke up more than an hour before he had to. By now, with the internet, probably everyone at school had seen replays of the Von Lawson Report. He buried his head back under the comforters. He wasn’t moving from this bed.

His eyes opened, and he scrambled to his backback, on the floor by his desk. Digging in it, he found the flyer and uncrumpled it to check. Yeah, he was right. Tuesdays meant early hours at the library.

The B&B was quiet. Wyatt snuck out the front door, past the Confederate and Union flags in their holders on either side of their B&B sign. The flags were limp from last night’s rain. With everything going on, he had forgotten and left them up overnight. Well, he figured, it saved him a chore this morning.

 He did a slow warm-up run the five blocks to Union Square. Nobody was around, and it was dark since it wouldn’t be daylight for another two hours. But Wyatt had fire inside him. As he cut past the square’s metal arch that spelled out ‘Lincolnville,’ his breath puffed into the cold air like steam – like a dragon on a war-path. When he got to the library parking lot, he jogged in place behind a hedge. The streetlamp light was just enough to make out that the lot was empty. He didn’t have a phone to check for the time, but it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t be long.

Figuring working out again wasn't such a bad idea, he’d done two sets of ten pushups and was just about to try for more when Mr. Clifton’s half-sized Smart Car made the turn from Route 37. Mr. Clifton didn’t see him. He pulled into a spot right by the loading dock door, triggering the yellow motion-detector flood lamps. Wyatt waited until Mr. Clifton was getting out and headed over.

“Why did you give me the book in the first place?”

Mr. Clifton turned from picking up his briefcase. “Wyatt!” He wasn’t happy to see him. Which was fine with Wyatt, since that made two of them.

Wyatt thought Mr. Clifton might make a run for the door and he stepped forward to block his way. “Did you guys destroy it yet?”

“I… I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.” Mr. Clifton fidgeted with the keys in his hand. “Though I’m not sure it matters, as you’ve put the whole thing online.”

“Why, Mr. Clifton? Why let me know about it and then slam me for saying it?”

“I was trying to be kind!” Mr. Clifton jerked his head both ways to check the empty parking lot, but no one had heard him. It was just the two of them in the amber-lit darkness. “I wanted you to know that you’re not alone. That… we’re not alone.”

Wyatt’s mind spun. He’s gay? And he knows I am, too?

But, that meant Mr. Clifton thought they were the same. That Wyatt was like him. “You mean, in the closet?”

“Sometimes, you have to do what you have to do, to get by. Fly under the radar. Keep quiet. Surely you can understand that.”

“I’m not like you!” Wyatt shouted.

“Shhhh!”

Wyatt stared at Mr. Clifton. His eyes showed white, all around the irises. His nostrils flared, breaths shallow and fast. He was a cornered animal, posing as a grown-up.

Wyatt didn’t want to be afraid. Or quiet. Not anymore. But he couldn’t come out – not now, not when the whole truth about Lincoln hung in the balance.

But did that mean… Wyatt couldn’t bear to look at Mr. Clifton any more.

Was that going to be him, in forty years?

The idea was like a punch in the gut, and Wyatt stumbled away.

Mr. Clifton cleared his throat. “I’m sure you won’t tell anyone. I suppose it’s a bit like the U.S.S.R. and America during the Cold War.  All those nuclear weapons pointed at each other. And it turned out the best deterrent was mutually assured destruction.”

Anger flared inside Wyatt, but he didn’t turn around. Instead, he started running, pounding his fury into the ground with each step. It’s probably a good thing they don’t give teenagers the nuclear codes.

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

Ready for Chapter Nineteen? It will be posted on January 12, 2018. Thoughts? Reactions? #queerasafivedollarbill / #qaafdb fan art? Share them in comments here, or on facebook, twitter, or instagram. 

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