Page 94 of The Lineman

“Oh, sure,” he said. “Right next to the Unicorn Enthusiasts Club.”

I blinked. “Wait—there’s actually a Unicorn Enthusiasts Club?”

“Mr. Albert? Seriously?” He smirked, but it faded quickly. “No, there’s nothing.”

I frowned. “That seems . . . outdated.”

“Right? Welcome to Red State, USA.” Jamie sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “We have more than enough openly queer kids to start a group, but the ones who are out—well, let’s just say most of them aren’t in a hurry to slap a rainbow sticker on their backpack and make themselves a target.”

His voice was wry, but there was something else in his expression—something fragile, like he was balancing on the edge of something he wasn’t sure he should say.

“Do you feel like a target?” I asked carefully.

He hesitated, then gave a lopsided smile. “Let’s just say . . . a lot of the kids around here aren’t thrilled about the whole gay thing.”

I clenched my jaw. “Has anyone hurt you?”

“It’s not like that.” Jamie shook his head. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Which wasn’t the same thing as no.

“I don’t like that answer,” I admitted.

His smile was crooked and a little sad. “Yeah, well. You wouldn’t like some of the other ones either.”

I sighed. “Jamie, if you ever need help—if anything ever happens that you can’t handle—I want you to tell me.”

His eyes flicked up to mine, startled.

“I mean it,” I said. “I can’t promise I can fix everything, but you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Jamie held my gaze for a long moment, then exhaled, a breath that seemed to carry more weight than it should.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “That actually . . . that actually means a lot.”

I nodded, letting the silence stretch before speaking again.

“Would you ever want to start a group?”

He blinked. “What?”

“A student group,” I said. “If there isn’t one, maybe it’s time to change that.”

Jamie looked down, fingers tracing invisible shapes on the desk.

“It’s not a bad idea,” he admitted. “I just . . . I dunno. It feels like a lot.”

“Sometimes it takes one brave person to step forward and initiate change. Could you be that person?”

He blinked several times, opening and closing his mouth. “I . . . I don’t know.”

“That’s fair,” I said. “But if you ever change your mind, I’m here.”

He smiled, small but real.

“Thanks, Mr. Albert,” he said again before rising and walking out.

Thestaffbreakroomwas exactly what one might expect from a high school: a windowless space with flickering fluorescent lights, a fridge that smelled like betrayal, and a microwave that had seen unspeakable horrors, maybe an exploding gremlin or two. The only saving grace was that Mateo had claimed one of the round tables near the back, away from the ancient vending machines that sometimes flickered ominously, as though possessed by a vengeful ghost of caffeine past.

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