Are You Nuts? Read Online Free PDF Page A

not?”
    â€œIt stirs people up. Makes it harder to defend you.”
    â€œI’m not hiding in anybody’s closet.”
    â€œWell, that’s your decision.”
    I wanted to end this interview and get back to work. I said, “I have an appointment with your opponent this afternoon. For now, I’m holding off endorsing anyone in the election.”
    â€œNo matter who wins, I’d like to see you remain as grievance chair.”
    I love politics. Whether it’s on a national scale or a little local union election, it’s favors, promises, and compromises. I laughed outright. “Seth, I’d be happy to let you have the job starting right now.”
    He edged farther toward the door. “Well, no. I just … Well … We can talk about it after the election.” He scuttled out.
    His performance just then did not endear him to me. I began to think about the possibility of endorsing his opponent. The next person who said “it’s not fair” near me better be wearing a suit of armor.
    I turned to begin dragging more computer equipment out of the boxes.
    Â 
    At noon I met with the building reps and several officials from the union-local office. The reps got the standard patter about do’s and don’ts. I’d heard it before, so I tuned a lot of it out. No one made mention of Scott, celebrity status, television shows, Beatrix Xury, or the PTA. Good.

   3   
    After lunch I returned to my classroom preparations. I was wearing an old pair of cutoff jeans, calf-length white socks, athletic shoes, and a T-shirt with the Grover Cleveland logo—a tyrannosaurus rex. Wherever cloth touched body, I was sweating. I could feel moisture bead on my forehead and form pools under my armpits. I’d have to remember to bring a fan from home tomorrow to try to beat back the oppressive heat. The central office area of Grover Cleveland High School was air-conditioned but not the rest of the school. They claimed it was too expensive to fix the old system or buy a new one, but it sure looks odd when you take care of the administration and no one else.
    For about twenty minutes, I worked in blessed silence, then a noise at the door drew my attention. A lanky, blond male stood in the doorway. He wore tennis shoes with white, ankle-length socks, gauzy, white running shorts, and a black T-shirt cut at the midriff to reveal a flat stomach. The remaining portion of the T-shirt had the name of a heavy-metal rock group in lurid red letters.
    â€œStudents aren’t allowed in the building yet,” I said.
    He came far enough into the room so that the windows backlit his torso. The light showed through the flimsy material of his shorts and outlined his legs up to his crotch. “I’m not a student. My name is Trevor Thompson. I’m a second-year teacher here in the math department. Are you Tom Mason?”
    I said I was. With so many teachers in the school, it wasn’t odd I didn’t recognize him—especially a first- or second-year teacher. You seldom met other faculty members unless you had a planning period or ate lunch with them. Normally you knew your fellow department members and that was it.
    Trevor had short, brush-cut hair and didn’t look as if he needed to shave but once or twice a week. He glanced back at the door, then edged toward me. His voice was soft and low. “I wanted to talk to you. I’m worried about my job. I don’t have tenure and I’m gay. I’m trying to find out what’s going to happen.”
    I left the computer stuff and plopped myself on the ledge next to the open window. He sat in a student desk. He rested his left ankle on his right knee. The angle at which he sat afforded me a view all the way up his shorts to his skimpy jockstrap. He noticed my glance, slumped lower in the chair, and opened his legs wider, providing a more extensive panorama of his lower torso. I felt as if I was in the