Page 52 of Pride High 3: Yellow
“No. I’m simply afraid that your heartfelt sentiment won’t have a chance to hit home with many people. You’ll likely face backlash.”
“Even more than I do now?” Anthony asked.
“Are you referring to your locker?” Mr. Finnegan asked, glancing down at the article.
“Yeah. My own scarlet letter. The school janitor tried to get the paint off, but you can still read it.”
“I’ll have someone from Yearbook take a photo,” Mr. Finnegan said. “To accompany your article.”
Anthony blinked in surprise. “You’re going to publish it?”
“If you’re still willing. Creative people often hope their art will change the world, and while it does have that power, rarely does it act as a solution to immediate problems. I’m worried that you’ll be picked on even more than you are now.”
“That’s fine,” Anthony said. “Somebody has to be the first to come out or nobody else will.”
Mr. Finnegan’s expression remained concerned, but he nodded. “Very well. I’ll work with you on some editorial changes and we’ll take it from there.”
“Thank you,” Anthony said.
Mr. Finnegan’s tone was warm. “My pleasure. You’re the kind of self-starting student that every teacher dreams of. I can’t keep you to myself though. Better get going to your next class.”
Anthony thanked him again, the smile never leaving his face as he walked down the school corridors with extra bounce in each step.
— — —
“Omar!”
When he shut his locker, he expected to see Silvia, since they had just parted ways, but the voice calling his name didn’t have the light accent that drove him wild. Although it sounded just as feminine. He furrowed his brow in confusion at the Song sisters before their infectious smiles made him grin.
“Hey!” he said. “What’s up?”
“Come film us,” Faith said, grabbing his hand and trying to drag him away. “You’ll be glad you did. We’re going to be famous.”
“We got roles in the school play,” Hope said, yanking on his arm.
“That’s cool,” Omar said with a chuckle. “Where are we going?”
“Outside! It’s a beautiful day!”
He didn’t have much choice. They were both pulling on him now. Faith had a death grip on his hand. They led him out the exit, where the sun cheerfully warmed an empty blue sky.
“You weren’t kidding!” Omar said. “The light is fantastic!”
“So film us,” Faith said, leading him onto the lawn in front of the school before she finally let go of his hand.
"Is this for the yearbook?” he asked while unslinging his camera.
“Who cares?” Faith replied. “Get ready!”
As soon as he had the camera pointed at them, they began a synchronized routine, springing forward on their hands before launching off the ground and flipping in the air. Then they linked arms, back-to-back, kicking with a flourish while spinning. They followed this with a truly insane trick where they grabbed each other and did cartwheels, one twin always upside-down from the other as they spun in unison across the lawn like a human wheel.
“Did you get all that?” Hope asked when they landed on their feet.
“If I didn’t, the camera sure did!”
“Shoot it from the ground instead,” Faith insisted.
“Hey, I’m the director,” he protested. “I’d rather run alongside you and capture it that way.”
