Rebel at Spruce High

“Right. That.” Toby gives it half a second’s acknowledgement as he glances toward the floor where we dropped the scripts. “We should probably get back to those. Eventually.”

“Yep.”

“But first …” He takes hold of the back of my head, then goes right in for another kiss. He puts his whole body into this one, his hips grinding into mine while his hands take full possession of my head, steering my lips right where he wants them.

There he is.

Even when Toby’s rough, he’s tragically gentle. I have never met a guy sweeter than him, or more caring, or more sensitive. He is so conscious of my feelings, it makes me realize in contrast what terrible, selfish, thoughtless friends I have kept in the past. Toby is quickly teaching me, without even intending to, that a cute, seemingly simple boy from a tiny country town in the middle of nowhere can have more depth than the ocean, more character than any playwright could possibly fathom, and more class than Harvard’s finest. I’ve never been more glad to be so wrong.

I know without a doubt in this moment that I’m not going to be alone in this place anymore. Toby’s got me. And I’ve got him. And nothing short of a category seven hurricane can come between us.

12 | VANN

Toby and I fall asleep in each other’s arms. Then we wake up separated, our bodies covered in a sheen of sweat, and that tired fan still wobbles and blasts as much air as it can down onto us. “I’d install an air conditioning unit,” says Toby as we stare up at the fan with the morning sunlight on our faces from the window, “but it’s expensive, and I’m trying to save up for an apartment.”

“An apartment?”

“When I graduate, I need to get a place of my own. I can’t stay in this shed forever.” He turns his face to me. “My mom worked late last night. We’re on our own for breakfast. Do you wanna—?”

“Yeah. And I know the perfect place.”

Toby squints at me. “You know the perfect place?”

Half an hour later, the two of us are dressed, still sweaty from the night before, and heading into town by foot. I have to circle around Main Street twice before I find it. “This joint has the best kolaches and breakfast pastries I’ve ever had. I couldn’t admit it to my parents,” I tell Toby, “but damn, they struck gold, picking up breakfast from this place.”

Toby eyes me. “You do realize this is my boss Mrs. Tucker’s son’s place, don’t you? T&S’s Sweet Shoppe? Ever wondered what the T or the S stand for?”

I shrug. “No. Let’s go in. I’m starved, and it’s not that busy.”

“It’s Tucker and Strong,” Toby fills me in anyway as we push through the doors. At once, the aroma of freshly-baked pastries fill my senses. I’m at the counter ordering at once. The guy who takes my order, TJ from his nametag, peers over my shoulder at Toby, who I realize is looking anywhere but at him. When the guy finally greets him, Toby mumbles, “Hey, TJ,” before returning to acting aloof. When we have our mixed bag of pastries, a couple of sausage kolaches, and coffee, we grab a seat by the front window. I ask Toby what’s up with him and that guy. “Oh, nothing. He graduated last year. You know. The year I would’ve graduated.”

“So? You were acting all weird. Is he another prick?”

“Nah.” Toby bites the head off his kolache like an ogre. “He’s actually a super sweet guy. But he’s on the rich side of town, and all his friends used to be my friends before I fell back a grade. They act like I don’t exist. It’s … It’s complicated.” Toby waves off the rest of the story, clearly not wanting to go into it any further.

When TJ drops by our table to check on us, we’ve just had our last bites. “Hear about Spruce High’s fall play?” I ask TJ, blurting it right out, much to Toby’s apparent embarrassment.

TJ, handsome, youthful, and approachable, shrugs. “I don’t really keep up with high school theatre anymore. Why?”

“Well, you ought to. Toby here has the lead.”

For a second, the words don’t even register on TJ’s face, as if he’s waiting for a punchline or the rest of the sentence. “What?”

Toby, who is doing everything in his power not to hide his face behind the metal napkin dispenser, finally gives in. “Yep. It’s true. I auditioned and … got one of the leading roles.”

TJ stares at him. “Well, I’ll be.”

“You’ll be?” I cut in, then laugh. “Yeah, you’ll be there.”

“Vann,” hisses Toby across the table.

“It will make Spruce High explode,” I tell TJ. A few nearby ears at other tables have perked up, too, I only now notice. “No one has ever seen a play like this performed in this town. A gay love story. On a high school stage. There’s even kissing in it.” Toby covers his face, pretending to fish something out of his eye.