Page 40 of The Lineman

“She says you’re a good role model. Someone I could—talk to.”

That last part was quieter.

More hesitant.

Something in my chest tightened.

I kept my voice gentle. “Jamie. You can talk to me.”

He nodded, still fidgeting.

Then, in a small, uncertain voice, he said, “I think I might be . . . different.”

He was definitely different. Smaller than most, quieter than his classmates, scared of his own shadow. And those were the outward differences anyone could see. I suspected what he wasn’t telling me was far more important than anything obvious.

“What do you mean? We’re all different.”

He looked up with that “You’re such an idiot” look only a teenager can produce, but as quickly as our eyes locked, his gaze fell again.

“Gay. I think I might be gay.”

There it was.

A quiet, terrified confession hanging in the air.

I let the moment settle, let him breathe.

Finally, I nodded. “That’s a big thing to figure out.”

Jamie exhaled, shoulders sinking. “Yeah.”

“You worried about how your mom will take it?” I asked.

He swallowed. “I think she’d be okay, but . . .” He trailed off, biting his lip.

“But it’s still scary,” I finished for him.

He nodded.

“What do you think makes it so scary?” I asked.

He thought a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration, then he looked up. “I guess . . . I’m not who she thinks I am. I mean, will she like me when she really knows me? Will anyone? I’m already kind of invisible around here.”

I exhaled, leaning forward, my heart breaking as the boy struggled before me. “Do you think, just maybe, she already knows?”

His eyes flew wide, and panic threatened to steal his voice. “Why . . . Mr. Albert, why would you think that?”

I shrugged. “She did say you should talk to me. She could’ve suggested any other teacher, but she picked the gay one. Everyone here knows about me, including the parents.”

His expression relaxed, if only a little.

“She knows?” he whispered, more to himself than to me. It sounded like a plea . . . or a cry.

“Jamie, look at me.” I waited until he did. “This is your story to tell, no one else’s. It’s personal and private and very special. You don’t have to rush it, and you don’t have to tell anyone before you’re ready, especially the kids here at school. You don’t owe anyone a timeline.”

He blinked, like that had never occurred to him.

I shrugged. “And if you ever need someone to talk to? My classroom’s always open. Think of this room as . . . as your safe place, okay?”

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