I’m the White Main Character of Any Gay YA Novel. Here Is My Entire Story.
Hey, I’m Main Character. I have mousy hair, live on a sunny, tree-lined street, and have a huge secret. I — the main character — am gay. But you already know that, because my story occupies an endcap of your local bookstore’s “LGBT fiction” section and is titled “Say What You Need to Gay.”
I have two best friends: first, Girl, who I dated briefly sophomore year. We broke up because we have the same taste in boys. Girl has frizzy hair, is great at sports, wears cool clothes, and is a killer musician. I love her band, “Phone Eats First.” Boy, my other best friend, is a minority.
We do average teen things in our small town or New York City, like watching movies, eating ice cream sundaes on Fridays (we call it “Sundae Fridays”), and listening to our vinyl collections.
I’m the only out guy at James Madison Academy for Middle Class Teens. Or so I thought. This new student, Question Mark Queer, or as I call him, Mark, just transferred here. For an entire novel, I fixate on how a single trait, like the hair above his upper lip, makes me quiver… down there. But I don’t even know if he’s gay!
Mark and I get paired as chemistry lab partners for a big project. (I think Girl has something to do with it, since she’s tight with our chem teacher, Mr. Adult Secondary Character.) During the project, we graze each other’s fingers passing beakers back and forth. It’s electric. He keeps referring to his ex — but without using pronouns. Frustrating!
“He’s definitely into you!” Girl insists, putting on a record by this cool old band The Killers. “He kept touching your hand. Isn’t that right?” She turns to Boy, who shrugs.
I pursue Mark with the vigor of someone with a single homework assignment per book, and I miss Girl’s lacrosse championship or big show to hang out with him at a drinking party for cool kids. I throw caution to the wind and kiss him. He kisses me back, his upper lip hair bristling sexily, and my whole body relaxes — with one exception!
Later, when I ask if Girl wants to hang out, she says she’s busy before stalking away. I look over to Boy, who shrugs. I realize something is wrong when she skips Sundae Fridays.
It dawns on me in a lesson about chemical reactions that I need a big, dramatic gesture to make things up to Girl. “I got it!” I yell, and knowing this genre’s consequences are minimal, I leave the lab, Mr. Secondary shaking his fist and yelling “Main Character!!!” behind me.
After hours of planning, I have Boy lead Girl to Big Local Park. Her eyes narrow when she sees me. “I don’t want to talk to you, Main Character. I could be applying to my dream school, Haverford, right now.” As she turns away, I yell her name.
“Girl!”
She whips around. “What do you want? You only care about yourself.”
“I’m sorry. I got so wrapped up in being the main character that I forgot how to be me, Main Character. You’re my best friend” — Boy shrugs indignantly — “you both are my best friends, and I’ve been neglecting you. Please, Girl, will you just follow me?”
I lead her further into the park, where I’ve arranged for her to play a Surprise Event in front of hundreds of background characters, and even the Out Multiracial Lesbian Moms who own the ice cream shop. During her final song or goal, fireworks go off — chemical reactions! It’s perfect. Almost.
“Thank you so much, Main Character,” Girl says to me, throwing her arms around me. “I forgive you. And I’m sorry, too, even though I didn’t do anything. But we can talk later: someone’s here to see you.”
I turn around. Mark is there. And I realize: we were supposed to get dinner at the Nasty Grease Trap tonight! “Mark, oh my god! Hi! I’m so sorry, I got wrapped up in — ”
His kiss stops the world. “I figured we were postponing when you ran out of chem lab today. Friends are important. I’m… proud of you.” We interlace our fingers and I look at Girl, who says, “You kids get out of here!” I turn to Boy, who shrugs, but happily.
Mark and I practically skip to my parents’ house. We have (protected) sex for the first time in a multipage scene that makes you wonder, “Is it okay that an adult wrote this?” And you really won’t be sure.
