Page 96 of The Lineman

“He was polite.” Mateo scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Not warm. Not hostile. Just . . . polite. The same way you’d be to a neighbor you don’t really like but don’t want to start shit with.”

I didn’t say anything, just watched as Mateo rubbed a hand over his jaw, staring down at the table.

“You know the worst part?” he said, voice quieter now. “It’s not even the big moments. It’s the little ones, the times I know he’s choosing not to ask me things, not to acknowledge it. It’s been, what? More than ten years since I came out? And he’s never said the word ‘gay’ around me. Not once.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Mateo . . .”

He shook his head. “I mean, it could be worse, right? At least he still calls on my birthday, still asks how work is going. We still have those safe topics—sports, work, the weather, how my car’s holding up. But everything else? It’s so off-limits I don’t even bother anymore.”

“I’m sorry, man. That’s—” I exhaled. “That’s gotta be a hell of a thing to carry.”

Mateo gave me a crooked smile. “Yeah, well. You get used to it.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck.”

He nodded slowly, then let out a breath. “Thing is, I know Jamie’s feeling that same thing right now: that distance, that shift in his own house, where everything is the same but not, where he used to feel safer than anywhere in the world but now only feels like an outsider.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He shot me a half-hearted glare, then leaned forward, bracing his arms on the table. “But yeah. Jamie deserves to have someone in his corner. And if we can help even one kid not feel alone in this, it’s worth it.”

A slow smile spread across my face. “You know,” I said, “I think you’re a much better person than you pretend to be.”

Mateo groaned, shoving the last dumpling into his mouth. “And this is why I don’t open up to you, Mike.”

I smirked. “Too late. I’m telling everyone.”

He threw his napkin at me.

I caught it, still smiling.

“Yeah.” I set my chopsticks down. “So . . . I asked Jamie if there was a GSA or anything at the school, and he practically laughed in my face. Apparently, there’s nothing here for gay kids or allies to support each other, in this day and age. Can you believe that?”

Mateo snorted. “Of course there’s nothing. Have you met this town?”

“Atlanta? It’s the gay mecca. I would’ve thought there’d be rainbows growing out of flower pots around here.” I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I told him that if he ever wanted to start something, I’d help, but I don’t think he’s ready.”

Mateo nodded slowly, then tilted his head, studying me.

I knew that look. That was Mateo’s “I’m about to say something that’s gonna make you question all your life choices” look.

“Let me ask you something,” he said, resting his elbows on the table. “Why aren’tyousigning up to be the faculty sponsor for a group like that?”

I blinked. “What?”

“You heard me.” He picked up another dumpling, popping it into his mouth. “You care about the kid, you care about the cause, and you just said it yourself—there’s nothing here for kids like Jamie. Groups like that can’t start without a teacher on board. So why aren’t you doing something about it?”

I opened my mouth, then shut it again.

Because I didn’t have a good answer.

Mateo eyed me.

I exhaled. “Look, I’d love to, but that’s . . . a big commitment. And besides, I wouldn’t want to do it alone.”

Mateo raised an eyebrow. “You afraid to be the lone gay knight in this high school crusade?”

I threw a chunk of broccoli at him. He caught it midair and popped it in his mouth, the smug, overly athletic bastard.

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