Cute, Cozy, Queer Stories

Part 37: Storm & Mr. Richardson (concluded)

 Storm laid awake, staring at the alarm clock on the bedside table. A new number flipped over on the decades-old clock; 3:45 AM.

He turned over. He couldn't stop thinking about the protest. He wasn't sure how many kids would actually show up—most parents weren't as forgiving as Ari when it came to detention, and Visser, unsurprisingly, didn't consider protest an act of civil service. Moreover, he wasn't sure how many other kids actually cared, about Mr. Richardson or about any of the other LGBTQ kids in the school. It was easy not to care about things that seemed not to affect them. Storm knew it, because he used to feel that way too. Then he realized how many things did actually did affect him, and how hard it was to do anything about anything without help.

Maybe it would just be him, Chris, Lee, Heather and Ari. They would look like idiots. But maybe that didn't matter. Somebody had to say something. And if it was just them, holding signs and looking stupid, at least they'd tried.

He stared at the cardboard sign laying against the wall. Maybe it was pointless. But it meant something to him.

#

Storm sat in the passenger seat while Chris drove. Lee and Heather sat in the back with all of their cardboard signs crammed in at odd angles. As Chris turned towards the school, Storm's heartbeat thumped harder in his chest. He'd gotten used to flying under the radar, trying not to be noticed. It was safer that way. Now, they were trying to get noticed. He wanted to do it, he had to say something, but it went against every instinct he had.

"What if we're the only ones out there?" Storm had to say it. "Isn't that gonna make it worse?"

"If you don't want to do it, then don't," Heather snapped.

"I do," Storm answered. "It's just—what if it didn't work? What if the people we talked to don't show up? They don't want to get detention or whatever. It's gonna look like nobody gives a shit."

"If nobody shows up, they don't give a shit," she replied.

"Or they don't to get in trouble."

"Exactly." Heather's voice was dark.

"Mr. Richardson is already suspended for basically saying the word 'gay,'" Chris pointed out. "How's a few idiots with signs gonna make it worse?"

Storm shrugged. Chris had a point.

Pulling into the school parking lot, they drove past the main entrance to the school. All of them stared. At least thirty people were already there, holding signs, wearing rainbow colors, taking pictures, yelling as they drove past.

Home of the free—EXCEPT IF YOU'RE GAY

HONK if you're NOT A HOMOPHOBE

LGBTQ IS NOT A CRIME

GAY KIDS EXIST

RESPECT OUR EXISTENCE OR EXPECT OUR RESISTANCE

I'M QUEER—YOU SUSPENDING ME TOO?

Your school is "accepting"? PROVE IT!

LGBTQ TEACHERS BELONG!

HATE. IS. TAUGHT.

LOVE WINS

Storm grinned. He saw kids he knew and kids he didn't. He saw parents, too. Between the text signs, he noticed a few familiar memes showing, with a particular brand of irreverence, just how ridiculous the school was being.

When Chris parked, they all piled out of the car and grabbed their signs. School was going to start in ten minutes, and others were already walking up. Some held signs. Storm's heart beat faster. Maybe people did care, even more than they cared about detention.