Challis shoots me a look, as if she is blaming me for Eden's interest.

I hold my hands up like a traffic cop.

"Okay, okay," Challis agrees. "You can read it. Just no greasy fingers."

Eden beams, wipes her hands on her napkin, and then holds them out for inspection.

Challis nods.

Eden then opens the folder as if the contents were more holy than the Gutenberg Bible and starts to read.

I can tell where she is in the story by the sounds she makes. "Oh no" when Tony is teased; "aw" when he talks to his dad; and a squeal followed by "OMG. They're sooo cute!" at the end. After which she bounces up and down like she needs a visit the little girls' room.

"Awesomesauce!" she announces. "It's really, really good, Challis."

I think I see a gloss of near tears in Challis's eyes.

But she just smiles and says, "Thank you."

Eden turns to me. "Did it get rejected because of the LGBTQueness?"

I process the alphabet soup of her question and admit to half the reason it got rejected. "Sorta. Yeah."

Challis reaches over and takes the folder back, a muffled string of choice vocabulary spilling from her lips.

"I'm gonna try again," I say.

"Thanks," she says weakly, as if she thinks I'm powerless.

"But it's sooo good," Eden whines. "Challis, you're so amazingly talented. . . ." She trails off, thinking. "We could start, like, a petition or something!"

Challis gives me another one of her I-blame-you-for-bringing-this-up looks.

But Eden keeps on babbling, ticking things off on her fingers, "The GSA students, the Mathletes, the Japanese club-" She stops when Challis touches her hand. A blush rises to her cheeks.

"Thanks," Challis says. "But it's okay."

On the way home, Eden points me to a shortcut to her neighborhood. I follow her directions, turning left and right when she tells me to until I recognize her street.

Eden points to a cheery yellow house with lots of lights on. "You know Lia Marcus?" she asks, but doesn't wait for an answer. "She lives there."

"Oh," I say, glancing over at the house.

"We used to be best friends," Eden tells me. "Sleepovers-every-weekend, finish-each-other's-sentences best friends."

"Yeah?"

"We'd walk to each other's houses and watch soap operas every afternoon."

"Not anymore?" I look over at her. I've noticed that even though she tries to fit in with Challis's friends, she always seems to be on the outskirts.

But she stares out the window at the porch lights of passing houses. "Not since I came out."

My gut feels like I swallowed an ice cube. "Ouch."

"Yeah. At first she pretended to be cool with it-kinda So you like girls, who cares?-but I could tell it bothered her because she wouldn't change her clothes in front of me."

"People are weird like that," I say. "If you like girls in general, they think you like them in particular."

"Ew!" Eden says. "That squicks me out. She was my best friend."

I might not be on the honor roll, but I get her gist: Kissing your best friend sometimes has the "ew" factor of kissing a sibling. I think of Mason and his slow-motion smile, the shape of his lips. Too bad I didn't get that brand of squick.

". . . making excuses not to sleep over," Eden says.

I scramble to catch up on what I might have missed.

"And inviting lots of friends when we slept at her house-as if she didn't want to be alone with me."

"I'm sorry," I say.

"I saved her the trouble of breaking it off. I stopped returning her calls. It was just too humiliating."

"Humiliating?"

"To have someone pretend to be your friend when they really don't want to be."

The ice cube feeling spreads to my chest as I imagine how awful that must have been. I read about friends fading away in one of those self-help books for gay teens that Frank bought me in ninth grade, but I never knew the people involved. Now, knowing about Eden and Lia, it all feels more real. More like it could happen to me.

FOURTEEN.

Monday, the Redneck parks his truck next to my car in the student parking lot. I take my time getting my phone and car keys in all the right pockets, but he doesn't leave. He stands there with a scowl etched across his forehead.

So I take a deep breath and say, "Hey, Nick."

"'S'up, Fagmag?"

I wince at the sting of my new nickname. "Can't believe it's Monday already."

"You weren't supposed to show it to anyone," he says, the words coming out in one long grunt.

"Sorry about that. I dropped my books. Eden picked it up."

"That's what she said."

"It got in," I tell him, trying to cheer him up. "You'll get that extra credit from Taylor."

He doesn't cheer up, just changes the topic. "I know what you two are doing."

Crap.

"And if you think that pretending to be unfagged is helping my sister see straight, you got another thing coming."

Huh? I didn't understand a word of that.

"Got that, Fagmag?" he asks about my non-answer.

"Got it, Nick," I say even though I don't. "No problem."

He stops to tie his boot and I walk faster. There's a reason I've been running a mile in gym class. It might come in handy someday. Soon.

That afternoon, at the Gumshoe meeting, I proceed with my carefully planned tactics. I show DeMarco, Lia, Holland, and Michael how the dummy with Challis's graphic short has more variety and more visual interest. Holland nods right along.

"I don't know, Jamie. Maybe we shouldn't do a comic. We didn't have one last year, and we won the award anyway," DeMarco reasons.

"But it looks amazing-adds visual variety," I say, purposely ignoring their previous comments about the story being fluffy and plotless.

"It's not how it looks from a distance, Jamie," Lia says. "It's the characters-the gay characters. Kissing. It's, like, wrong in so many-"

Michael stops her. "It's not about making judgments; it's about the future of Gumshoe. We got funding from the school, from taxpayers. They won't like this story and we don't need it-it's just not that great."

"A thousand dollars," DeMarco says. "I looked it up."

Forget gaining ground-I'm losing this battle. I see it all over Holland's face. She's about to wave a white flag, surrender to the masses. And I should have known; Eden told me about Lia's not-exactly-accepting behavior last night.

"My parents are on the PTO," Lia says, "and they won't-"

I scramble for footing, try to find the right words. They fail me and I say, "Parents don't read high school literary magazines."

"True," Lia agrees. "But they don't have to read to see this!" She jabs her finger at the page where the boys are kissing.

This is when Dr. Taylor steps in. "Thank you, Jamie, for bringing this point up again. It was worth discussing. But I'm afraid the discussion is over."

The others pack up their things and file out of the classroom. I watch them go, feeling like a wounded soldier left on the battlefield. Stupid. I can't even think of the right thing to say. Even when I'm right.

Michael turns and gives me one last look, his hand on the doorframe. He takes a noisy breath, exhales. "Look, Jamie. I'm sorry."

"I thought . . . ," I start, but hesitate. "I thought you were, well . . ."

"Yeah, I know. I was in the GSA, so everyone, um, assumed things."

"You're in the GSA?" I echo, perking up a little.

"Was. To support my sister. But it wasn't worth the hassle."

I give him a questioning look.

"It was her club. She started it. When she graduated, I told her I'd go. But after a while, it got to be too much-the rumors, I mean."

I nod. I get it. I believed those rumors. But there's something I still don't get. "But if you're a straight ally, why don't you want Challis's story in Gumshoe?"

"C'mon, Jamie. It's not worth it. Take out the fact that it's about two boys, and the story falls flat."

"But it is about two boys," I say.

"But it doesn't mean it's good."

"I like it. I think it's brave."

"Okay, so you like it," Michael says. "But it doesn't mean it's worth the trouble. I've seen the hatred-parents storming the school board meetings, waving signs, quoting Leviticus-that's what happened when Nell started the GSA."

We were in junior high when this was going on-not that I remember it clearly. I do remember my mom getting upset, talking about sending me to Boise High and not Lincoln. I didn't understand why, exactly. Just that Mason was going to Lincoln and, damn it, that's where I wanted to go.

Michael takes an audible breath. "It was horrible. Scary. I don't want to go through that again. Not for some girl's fan art."

"I remember," I say. "But why can't we fight for this, too?"

"Because it's fluff, Jamie. It's not worth it."

"It isn't fluff. It's a love story-about two people like your sister. Doesn't your sister deserve a love story? Doesn't everyone?" Don't I?

"Yes," Michael says, his face looking tired as he sniffles. "Just not in Gumshoe, okay?"

I get the feeling this isn't going anywhere and I don't argue.

FIFTEEN.

Tuesday starts off badly. Challis is waiting for me in the student parking lot before school. "I couldn't talk them into it," I say.

"Homophobic twerps," she mumbles, and then asks, "That was the reason, right?"

"They thought parents might not like it, among other reasons."