mirror and figured out he’s gay. So now, all he needs is a boyfriend, and
finding one should be easy enough, right? The trouble is Randy has a knack for
being attracted to the wrong kind of guy, like the one who hasn’t spoken to him
since he told him he had pretty eyes. Then there’s that locker-room jock who’s
always putting him down. And new student Kerry Sawyer would be perfect—except
for that girlfriend he left behind.
boyfriend, Randy’s got a lot to learn. So for dating tips, he turns to friends
Jeremy Smith and Annie Brock. But although Annie’s more than willing to help
him find the right guy, between his own bad luck and her less than helpful
advice (date a girl?), things are getting out of control fast. And while Randy
struggles with bullies, bigotry, and his own self-doubts, he quickly finds that
searching for love can be pitted with embarrassing misunderstandings,
humiliating encounters, and hilarious missteps.
shaping up to be one to remember—if he can just live through it.
See, I woke up this morning and discovered I’m gay.
out and looked in the mirror, a pointy-nosed, sixteen-year-old with unruly
blond hair stared back at me and said, “You, young man, are gay.”
that simple. I didn’t just go to bed last night as the straight Randy Clark
only to have the gay pixie come and sprinkle fairy dust all over me in my
sleep. The truth is, it’s something I’ve kind of seen coming for a couple of
years now. It’s like a process: one day you start adding up all the times
you’ve caught yourself looking at guys or couldn’t stop thinking about a
particular boy, and it just hits you—you’re gay.
think about it. When the bus stops, I check the time, and it’s running
late…again. Three minutes late.
like a zombie. His head’s drooping, and his shoulders are slumped forward. Yup,
it was obviously another late night for Blake Rogers.
say “Good morning” with my most sarcastic cheeriness.
already dozing before his butt even hits the seat next to me. And with that,
it’s guaranteed to be a quiet, peaceful ride the rest of the way.
I’m gay, I’m more at peace with myself than I’ve ever been in my whole life. It
feels natural. But it’s kind of scary too. I mean, being gay isn’t exactly the
kind of thing you can just announce to the world. Some people would instantly
hate you and tell you so, while others would express their opinion with a few
well-chosen punches—and I get more than my share of those already. It’s enough
to make a guy a little nervous.
problem. Something’s missing in my life—something important, something very
important. See, a straight guy can look forward to the possibility of getting
married, but what about me? Is there someone out there waiting for me? I mean,
sure, friends are important in life, but they’re not enough. What I need is a
boyfriend, my own special someone to turn me on and send me into sexual orbit.
That’s what it’s all about, right?
side and shake my head. He grumbles, but at least he stops snoring. The guy
sitting across the aisle from us snickers.
won’t be the first person I tell I’m gay. It’s not that he’d stop being my
friend or anything, it’s just that it’s more urgent for me to find someone I
can go to for advice about guys first. Blake likes girls way too much to be of
any help on that issue.
Annie Brock and Jeremy Smith. They’re in my art class. If there are any two
people on earth who will be able to help me find a boyfriend, it’s Annie and
after surviving a typically boring morning, and whatever it was they served for
lunch. (They called it spaghetti, but I swear it was wiggling.)
some of my others, I’m very good at it. I’ve got artistic flair. Our teacher,
Mrs. Pilt, is the stereotypical art teacher. She wears smocks of various
patterns and colors, and they’re always stained with smears of paint.
glue, and God knows what else. The walls are lined with shelves and paintings,
and there are weird mobiles hanging like Picasso spiders from the ceiling. It’s
always noisy, and the radio constantly blasts out the Bee Gees, Dire Straits,
and The B-52’s, with a little Chic thrown in for good measure. There are a
number of rectangular tables here and there with up to six people at each.
Annie, Jeremy, and I sit at the table closest to Mrs. Pilt’s desk. We’re her
long as you stay on task, Mrs. Pilt lets you chat with the people around you.
At our table, Annie does most of the talking. I get in a few words every now
and then, and Jeremy rarely speaks at all.
the moment, even Annie’s quiet while we all consider the charcoal and paper
before us. If I’m going to tell them I’m gay and enlist their help, now is my
best chance. I’d better act fast.
forms in my throat. I take a deep breath and try again, but my stomach
nervous all of a sudden? Maybe if I ease into the subject?
Gibb on TV this weekend? He’s good-looking.” I manage to say it without
and grunts out one of her peculiar snickers. “Honey, good-looking doesn’t even
begin to describe Andy Gibb.”
a giggle and the sound some people make when they’re blowing their noses. Like
Annie herself, it’s unique. She’s outspoken and outlandish, and she doesn’t
care who knows it. And she’s definitely got more than her quota of artistic
flair. It extends right down to the clothes she wears. For example, today she
has on a tangerine and lime-colored disco party dress with three-inch-high
okay. What other singers do you like, Randy?”
he’s not only quiet, he gets along with everybody—except for that low-rumble,
love-hate thing he and Annie have going on. It’s okay though, because in the
three years I’ve known them, they always sit together, and they look out for
each other, despite constantly bickering.
have to say Rod Stewart. That Georgie song was just so moving.”
mumbles, and Annie starts to snicker.
up without raising his head.
says with a chuckle. “But you don’t have to say it so loud.”
burning, but none of the other students are paying us any attention.
embarrassed. I just mean I’ve had my suspicions about you for a while. You
dress too well, and you’re always combing your hair. And you even like the
Village People. What’s that got to do with anything?”
they’re all gay, don’t you? I mean, you do know what “Y.M.C.A.” is all about?”
boys. You get it now?”
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Meet the Author
Huston Piner always wanted to be a writer but realized from an early age that learning to read would have to take precedence. A voracious reader, he loves nothing more than a well-told story, a glass of red, and music playing in the background. His writings focus on ordinary gay teenagers and young adults struggling with their orientation in the face of cultural prejudice and the evolving influence of LGBTQA+ rights on society. He and his partner live in a house ruled by three domineering cats in the mid-Atlantic region.