Part 4 (2/2)

OttoManEmpire: Oh! I forgot to ask. Have you reminded your parents that I'm coming for a visit since they found out about you? I'd hate to get all the way there, and then have them send me back home again.

Otto was right. I really didn't know how my parents would react to my having my boyfriend visit, even if they didn't know he was my boyfriend. It wasn't fair to put Otto in such an uncomfortable position.

I needed to talk to my parents again. My mom was in the kitchen making dinner. It wasn't until she noticed me in the doorway that she started banging the pots and pans.

”What?” I said.

She slammed a cookie sheet onto the counter. ”Russel, you could have at least talked to the man!”

”Who?” 65 ”Father Franklin!” ”I did talk to him!” I said. ”I went to see him at his office, just like you said.”

”Oh, I heard about that little office visit! He said there wasn't anything he could do to help you if you didn't want help!”

So my mom and Father Franklin had been in contact. I'm not sure why I was surprised.

”It sounds like you didn't just want me to talk to him,” I said. ”It sounds like you wanted me to let him talk me out of being gay.”

”Russel, that's not it at all.” But from the way she b.u.mped against the fruit basket, I knew I was right.

”Look,” I said. ”I wanted to remind you that my friend Otto is coming for Thanksgiving. Remember, my friend from camp?”

”Yes, I know,” my mom said quickly. ”Wednesday through Sat.u.r.day.”

”Okay,” I said, and suddenly I couldn't get out of that kitchen fast enough.

”Wait,” my mom said.

Against my wishes, I turned to look at her. It was like I could actually see the activity inside her head, the wheels 66 turning and clicking into place.

”This Otto, he's more than just a friend, isn't he?” she said. Her eyes looked up at mine, boring into them like t.i.tanium drill bits.

My parents were nothing like me, true, but they definitely weren't stupid.

Now I had a choice. I could tell the truth and have to deal with their inevitable wrath, and also maybe screw up any chance I had of their letting Otto come visit. Or I could lie, and potentially avoid the whole issue, but risk having them be even more furious if they found out I was lying- and possibly take their fury out on Otto once he arrived.

”Maybe,” I said to my mom. Once again, it didn't seem fair to make Otto have to deal with something that was my responsibility. Besides, like I said before, I didn't lie to my parents. I was a good kid. You might even say a sickeningly good kid (my cla.s.smates had said that often enough). I didn't drink or swear or take drugs or lie to my parents, except for the being-in-the-closet thing, which obviously doesn't count. This is part of the reason why their whole disapproving-of-me-for-being-gay thing was so upsetting. It was like my being gay completely overwhelmed everything else about me.

”Maybe? ” my mom said to me, meaning my answer to the question about Otto being my boyfriend. 67 ”Okay, yeah, he is,” I said. ”But it's not like it sounds. You're just hearing the word boyfriend. He's a really great guy!”

”You have a boyfriend?” Those wheels that I'd seen turning in her head? The whole cuckoo clock was suddenly exploding, with springs and gears blasting everywhere. ”Russel, that is completely out of the question! I absolutely forbid you to have anything to do with this boy!”

Okay, this was not going well. I'm not sure what I was expecting-my parents to take out a same-s.e.x wedding announcement in the local newspaper? But it never occurred to me that Having a Boyfriend would be as upsetting to them as Being Gay. I mean, weren't they basically the same thing? In retrospect, I saw just how naive I had been.

”Wait! Stop!” I said. ”You haven't even met him yet! Just wait till you meet him, okay? He's a really, really, really great guy!”

My mom stared at me with this bewildered look, like she didn't recognize me-like I was someone who had just wandered in off the street, someone she'd never even seen before.

Fair enough, I guess. Because I'm sure the look on my face as I stared back at her was one she'd never seen any 68 where before.

That Sat.u.r.day we had another full day of shooting, which meant another 8 A.M. makeup call. Apparently the student body had already started its gradual transformation into zombies, because the makeup artists gave all our faces a yellow tint. They also put dark circles under our eyes and messed up our hair, which they then locked into place with hairspray. (Who knew zombies were so glam?) Once we were all gathered in the hospitality suite, they said they were going to divide us into two groups, each one working on a different set of scenes.

”That'll be first and second unit,” said Gunnar to Min, Em, and me.

”What?” Min said, sounding panicky for some reason. ”Second unit is when they shoot shots that don't include the main characters,” Gunnar explained. ”Like exterior, identifying shots. Or background shots for special effects. It's called 'second unit' because the director doesn't need to be there, just the second unit director, who's usually a n.o.body. They'll probably use half of us for the second unit work, and half of us for work with the real director and the stars.”

I didn't really care what ”first and second unit” meant, but I didn't want to end up in Kevin's group. I guess it's like 69 what they say about alcoholics: if there's booze around, they'll drink it. Kevin was my alcohol, but I didn't want to drink him (okay, that came out really, really wrong).

Needless to say, Kevin and I ended up in the same group. I saw his eyes scanning for me like the sweep of a lighthouse.

I ignored him and hurried over to a production a.s.sistant. ”Um,” I said to her, ”would it be possible to switch units?” ”Sorry,” she said. ”We need exact numbers.”

”How about if I switch with someone?” I pointed to Min, who had been chosen for the other group. ”She's my friend. I'm sure she'll switch with me.” ”Why do you want to switch?” the production a.s.sistant asked me.

I had to think fast. ”I'm epileptic,” I lied. ”But it's okay because my other friend Gunnar knows how to administer my medicine. Thing is, he's in that group.” I pointed to the Kevin-free group, the one I wanted to be in.

Her face immediately s.h.i.+fted to sympathy. ”Sure, sure, that's fine.”

Next I pulled Min aside. ”Do you mind if we switch groups?” I asked.

”What?” she said. ”Why?” She looked put out, which 70 confused me.

I leaned in closer. ”I'm trying to avoid Kevin.” ”I don't think that's okay with the producers,” she said. ”Switching, I mean.”

”No, it's okay,” I said. ”I just asked.”

”But-” Min said.

”What?” I said.

She thought for a second-about what, I had no idea.

What difference did it make what group she was in? But finally, she said, ”Well, then. Okay.”

Tragedy averted, I thought-for a few hours at least.

* * * Halfway through the morning, they gave us a break, and we all headed back to the hospitality suite. But I wanted to explore the school a bit (and I needed to use the restroom), so I veered off on my own.

It was an older school, churchlike, with echoing hallways and a polished stone floor. But it had been ”updated” in the sixties, slathered with industrial green paint and given a horrible white cork ceiling, which was now yellow with water stains. It desperately needed the renovation that was taking place beyond the sheets of milky plastic that draped down over so many of the hallways.

It also needed more bathrooms. It took me forever to find one. But finally I did, a cavernous concrete chamber 71 at the bottom of a small flight of steps (apparently in the previous century, disabled people didn't need restrooms). The wall to my left was nothing but a long row of white porcelain urinals-the tall kind that go all the way down to the floor, so that you can't miss, no matter how lousy your aim. There had to be thirty urinals in all. I couldn't help but wonder if they'd ever all been used at the same time.

As I stepped toward the urinals, I caught sight of someone over to my right, by the long row of porcelain sinks.

It was Declan McDonnell, the star of Attack of the SoulSucking Brain Zombies. He'd been was.h.i.+ng his hands. My first thought was, What if I'd come in two minutes earlier? Would I have had to pee next to Declan McDonnell? At least with thirty urinals, I could have put a whole bunch of them between the two of us.

”Oh,” he said, turning, surprised to see me. ”h.e.l.lo.” I started to say something, but then I remembered how they'd warned us not to talk to the stars. Could I talk to him now that he'd talked to me? The producer hadn't said anything about that.

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