talking down to you,â Uncle Paul said. âI mean not talking past you. Not everybody in this worldâs so open-minded.â
âMr. McLeod told the sixth graders about people whoâll write their fears on your face.â
âThatâs good,â Uncle Paul said. âYou have to be ready for people like that.â
My head was still kind of whirling.
Grandpa
Dad
Uncle Paul
Mr. McLeod
Those were the four I wanted to be.
âUncle Paul, do you think I might be gay?â
âI donât know,â he said. âDo you moisturize?â
âWhatââ
âWhere do you stand on exfoliation?â
âWhatâs exââ
âAnd you didnât pick that shirt yourself, did you? Tell me you didnât.â
âUncle Paul, youâre kidding me, right?â
âIâm half kidding,â he said.
âOne more thing then,â I said. âYou love men, right?â
âI love one man,â Uncle Paul said.
16
T hen here came sixth grade, and bring it on. Weâd learned double last semester from Mrs. Stanley and Mr. McLeod. Probably triple. So what was left? And we were going to be the biggest, oldest class at Westside. Perry Highsmith and that bunch would be out of there. Weâd even have a new teacher to break in. Mrs. Bickle had retired because she was older than the school.
These were my thoughts after Uncle Paul dropped me off at home that day. When I started upstairs, Mr. Stanley was coming down from Momâs office.He wasnât crying, so I asked him how Lynette was liking camp.
He said she liked it now that sheâd adjusted to it.
âI suppose she met a lot of kids with bigger ones than hers.â
â
What?
â Mr. Stanley stopped dead on a step.
âVocabularies?â I said.
âOh,â he said. Then he went on downstairs.
Mom waved me into her office. âYou can be my last customer.â
I settled on the sofa.
âGood day?â she asked.
âThe best,â I said. âWe poured some of Grandpa out ontoââ
Momâs hand slapped the desk. âDonât tell me that,â she said. âI donât want to be responsible for knowing that.â
âItâs not like weâre out on bail,â I said.
âNevertheless,â Mom said. She might have been thinking about Grandma. âWhat else?â
âWe had a burger and Diet Coke at a place on Sheffield. Uncle Paul didnât eat his bun, and I had all the fries. I think heâs dieting, and now heâs gone to work out. He may be turning into a gym rat.â
âHmmm. Possibly,â Mom said. âAnything else?â
âWe talked about . . . Excalibur?â
Mom pondered. âExcalibur. Isnât that a sword?â
âI think itâs something you rub on your face.â
âExfoliant? You talked about exfoliant?â
âWe touched on it,â I said. âUncle Paul likes to keep his skin in shape. Also, heâs gay.â
âAh. Well, yes,â Mom said. âWe thought youâd know when you were ready to know.â
âMom, I know when somebody tells me.â
Then Momâs old MacBook Air pinged, and an email came in that changed everything.
Mom put on her reading glasses. She went to a link and printed it out. Finally, she said, âBig news. You wonât be going back to Westside Elementary for sixth grade.â
âWhat? Mom, what?â
âI quote,â she said. ââDue to demographic shifts in the student population, your sixth grader will transition into the former Memorial Junior High now formatted in a grades six-through-eight configuration, to be re-branded Memorial Middle School.ââ
âMom, say it in English.â
âTheyâre moving your class from elementary school to middle school,â Mom said. âMonday.â
I keeled over on the sofa.
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