Page 10 of How to Be Remy Cameron

That’s the other reason Sara sits with us at lunch, why she’s the first one to our table every day, always positioning herself right across from Lucy. She claims it’s because she brings her lunch from home since everything served in the cafeteria is harmful and processed and against her family’s beliefs. Some of that is true. Most of it is bullshit.

It’s Lucy, plain and simple. Almost every student at Maplewood with good eyes and hyperactive hormones has a crush on Lucy. But Sara’s crush is different. I can’t figure out how. I just know, just as I know Zac is possibly gay or bi or curious. That was a little easier to detect. Zac had this familiar look in his eyes any time he watched Dimi and me holding hands or kissing or teasing each other. It’s the same look I have whenever I watch a Zayn Malik video on YouTube. That longing, I-have-a-boner-for-this look.

“I miss Mr. Riley’s bio class,” says Alex. It’s easier to tell them apart, now that Zac has these adorable, rectangular-frame eyeglasses and Alex, for whatever reason, has dyed the tips of his spiky hair electric blue. “Best naps ever.”

“You slept through biology?” Chloe asks.

“Who didn’t?”

“Um, hello.” I raise a hand, waving it in front of Alex’s pinched face. “Mr. Riley is the coolest!”

“You’re required to say that.”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” Alex and Zac say together. Freaky twin assholes.

Sara reaches across the table and pats my hand. “As GSA president, you’re contractually-bound to speak positively about Mr. Riley.”

Frowning, I pull my hand back. Yes, Mr. Riley is the faculty advisor to GSA, but that has zero weight on my opinion. He’s one of those teachers you can’t help but like. He tells the worst jokes, dresses like a recent college graduate applying for his first real job and talks to students like people instead of this colony of ants marching toward their demise.

But, for whatever reason, these conversations always lead back to me being the loud-and-proud leader of the New Gay Millennium. It’s as if coming out at fourteen defined my destiny from then on.Hey, there’s Remy Cameron, the Chosen Gay One, as if I’m Harry Potter, except, instead of the cool scar and endless sexual tension with Draco, I was given a rainbow patch and all these expectations. I’m pretty sure other students came out before me. Maybe they weren’t as vocal, but they existed.

Glaring at my tater tots, I mumble, “He’s still cool.”

“So,” Rio starts, her voice has that tone she gets when she’s peeved but slightly protective. “Are we done talking about the living legend that is Mr. Riley? Because I, for one, want to talk about the Mad Tagger.”

I sag next to her. Rio is top-notch at subject changes.

“I’m working on this story—”

“Pending approval,” Zac points out.

Rio cuts her eyes just enough to shut Zac up. “I’m working on this story,” she repeats, firmer, “forThe Leaf. Whoever the Tagger is, a lot of drama is gonna go down when he’s caught.”

A few nods and mumbles break out around the table. We’re all in our own thoughts about it.

To me, it’s not that serious. The Mad Tagger is simply someone having fun with art and graffiti across Maplewood’s campus. It started at the beginning of the school year: nothing big, spray paint on sidewalks, chalk on brick walls, loopy writing in silver Sharpie over old posters. It’s usuallyAlice in Wonderland-related content—hence the Mad Tagger name. It’s harmless but kind of wicked stuff.

No one knows who the Mad Tagger is. A student? A teacher? An angry alum? It’s this mystery that keeps building and building. I stopped chasing clues a month ago, but Rio’s obsessed.

“I love his art,” says Jayden. Amused crinkles form around his eyes. They’re as clear blue as an afternoon sky.

“It’s a complete waste of time.” Chloe sighs. “Whoever it is could be doing something positive for the school. Start a club. Join a sport. Somethinglegal.”

“Spoken like a true jock and a detective’s daughter,” teases Jayden.

Scowling, Chloe punches his shoulder.

“I dunno,” Lucy says, sitting up again. Her hair falls over one side of her face, but she pushes it back. “Brook likes it.”

Of course, he does. I barely hold down a laugh. Lucy and Brook are another of Maplewood’s premiere couples.

And, on cue, in walks the tallest, coolest, happiest dude ever. The electric-shock of fluorescent lighting in the cafeteria refuses to do this guy justice. Brooklyn Henry should be on the cover ofItalian Voguewith his classic swimmer’s build, all broad shoulders and seriously narrow waistline. Defined muscles show under his clothes. He has large hands and toned legs and smooth, umber-brown skin.

Brook waves, then stares at Lucy. His smile is always half-cocked when he looks at her. It’s as if she’s the moon—no, as if Lucy’s a freaking gathering of stars at the edge of the universe.

Rio nudges me. “I think I’m gonna barf.”

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