Drowning of Stephan Jones by Bette Greene

H I spelled out hero. So that way they won’t be able to prove a thing!”
    Upon hearing that, Carla thought that beyond arrogance and cruelty, there was also stupidity. Raw and rank STUPIDITY! Hadn’t Andy ever heard of fingerprints and handwriting experts? And the others, what was wrong with them? Just why were they grinning as though they had accidentally discovered the questions to be asked on the history final exam?
    “So?” asked Lisa. “Isn’t it something? You think those faggots are going to hang around Parson Springs? I know for a fact that they’re not going to hang around. Faggots aren’t brave people. Ask anyone who knows them—everybody will tell you the same thing, they’re not what anyone would call brave!”
    Carla looked up into the faces around her, fearful of becoming like them and at the same time, perhaps, even more fearful that she might not be accepted by them. She felt her entire insides silently screaming out for compassion and understanding for two fellow human beings whose only crime was ... was being different.
    “Answer my question already,” demanded Andy. “Do you or don’t you think my letter is awesome?”
    Soundlessly she heard herself scream back her response. “Your letter is disgusting! A disgrace! You should all feel dirty and ashamed, but you Andy Harris, are the leader, and you should feel the most shame of all.” That’s exactly what she did say in the deepest, quietest, and most real part of her being.
    But the voice of audible, hearable sound—the one she depended upon to communicate her approval or disapproval to a generally disinterested world spoke differently. “Oh, Andy, are you really going to send this? Aren’t you afraid you’ll get in trouble?” Sadly she noted that not a single one of her words carried even a touch of the moral outrage that was now exploding within her.
    While Andy seemed pleased that he had so much of her concern, he tossed away the question of fear with a quick but determined toss of his head.
    Even so it was clear to Carla that he still needed her to express her admiration of his poison pen.
    “Here,” she announced, taking the letter from his hand. “Better let me read it for myself.”
    Although the disgust began to well up in her stomach even before her eyes finished scanning the letter, she knew that she couldn’t lose him. After all, what did this really have to do with them? With their love for each other? “Wow! This letter is really something!” she boomed. “It’s, you know, incredible!”
    She waited, half expecting to be struck down by God’s own lightning (those special lightning rods he must use for his worst-case hypocrites), or at the very least to be overcome by the hypocrite’s strong sense of self-disgust, but strange to say, that’s not what seemed to be happening. Because for the first time, she could almost feel those unseen barriers (the ones that had, up to now, been separating her from the others) begin to fall away. Funny, it was kind of funny, but now for the very first time, the whole group was truly united, sharing something as strong and as powerful as hate.
    Seeing Andy and his friends visibly warming to her, she understood at long last that to get along sometimes you just had to go along. But if that was true, then how come there was a sad and sickening feeling deep in the hollow of her stomach?

Chapter 11
    F RANK SHIFTED THE Winnebago into reverse and began backing away from the garage. Stephan grumbled, “This is ridiculous! Driving the monster to work when we could just as easily take the bikes or walk. We’ll never find three consecutive parking places, and even if we do we’re practically guaranteed to forget to feed the meters and get tickets.” And to make his point even stronger, Stephan flashed the middle three fingers of his right hand. “ Three tickets!”
    Frank backed the recreational vehicle onto leafy Bennett Street. “Boy, you know something? You’re as cranky this