Chapter 11 #2
After Emma left with Kyle, Colin walked back to the conference room where Jeff and Lisa were gathering the papers he’d given them.
Jeff stood immediately, extending his hand again. “Mr. Campbell—Colin—I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You don’t have to,” Colin said, shaking his hand. “Just follow through on those steps. File the Title IX complaint this week. Document everything. And don’t let the school brush you off.”
“We won’t,” Lisa said, her voice stronger now. She stepped forward and surprised Colin by pulling him into a brief, fierce hug. “Thank you. We feel so much more confident now. We’ve been drowning for months, and you just... you gave us a lifeline.”
Colin’s throat tightened. “Emma’s a good kid. She deserves to feel safe.”
“She does,” Jeff said. “And now maybe she will.”
Colin walked them to the door. “Remember—you call me if the school gives you any trouble. Tomorrow morning, I’m making that call to the school district. By the next afternoon, they’ll know this isn’t going away.”
“Thank you,” Lisa said again, clutching the stack of papers to her chest like they were precious.
Colin watched them walk down the hall toward the main room, where Nate’s voice could be heard enthusiastically explaining journaling techniques.
Through the doorway, he caught a glimpse of Emma sitting at the table, a marker in her hand, and a smile on her face.
For the first time since they arrived… she looked happy.
Joshua appeared at his elbow. “You okay?”
Colin nodded, not trusting his voice.
“She hugged you,” Joshua said quietly. “I saw.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a very big deal.”
“Yeah,” Colin said again, his voice soft.
Joshua’s hand cupped Colin’s cheek as he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. “I also saw you wipe away your tears.”
Colin nodded, not trusting his voice.
Joshua took his hand. “Come on, darlin’. Let’s see what chaos Nate’s creating in there.”
The journaling workshop was in full swing when Colin and Joshua stepped into the main room. Nate had transformed the long table into an explosion of creativity—markers, colored pencils, magazines, glitter pens.
The kids were scattered around the table, heads bent over their notebooks. Some were writing furiously. Some were drawing. River was cutting words out of a magazine and arranging them into what looked like a manifesto.
Nate dashed between the teens, encouraging, praising, suggesting—a bright spirit flashing through the room, meeting each of them exactly where they were and letting them know they were enough.
“Journaling isn’t just words,” he told them, pointing to the table sagging under the weight of art supplies, colored pens, magazines, and crafting paper.
“Journaling can be an image we draw, colors, things we cut out of newspapers or magazines and paste on our pages. Journaling is expression! So, go for it! Splash that color!! Draw that rainbow in your own colors! Be yourself!”
And Alex—Alex was sitting between Marcus and Ben, showing them something in his notebook and laughing.
Colin felt something ease in his chest.
“Check it out,” Alex was saying, holding up a page covered in doodles and speech bubbles. “This is from last year at Camp Pride. We all drew ourselves as superheroes. Mine was Captain Pride. My power was giving homophobes diarrhea.”
Marcus snorted out a laugh. “That’s the best damned superpower ever.”
“Right?” Alex grinned. “What’s yours gonna be?”
Marcus thought for a moment, then started sketching. “Bi Guy. My power is... I don’t know. Being able to see both sides of everything?”
“That’s actually pretty deep,” Ben said, adjusting his glasses. He was carefully lettering something in his notebook—a quote, maybe, or a poem.
Jamie, sitting across from them, looked up from his phone long enough to say, “Mine would be Chaos Agent. My power is pissing people off just by existing.”
“That’s not a power,” River said without looking up from her collage. “That’s just being queer in a small town.”
Jamie grinned. “Exactly.”
They all laughed out loud.
As class went on, Nate circulated around the tables, offering suggestions, handing out supplies, and occasionally bursting into enthusiastic praise. “Oh my God, Marissa, that is STUNNING. The way you used the colors? Chef’s kiss.”
Marissa beamed.
Colin leaned against the wall, watching. Joshua stood beside him, arms crossed, a small smile on his face.
“He’s good at this,” Joshua murmured.
“He really is,” Colin agreed.
Alex caught Colin’s eye and waved him over. “Colin! Come see what Marcus is drawing.”
Colin walked over and leaned in to look at Marcus’s notebook. The sketch was rough but surprisingly detailed—a figure in a cape of bi pride colors, standing atop a mountain with arms outstretched.
“That’s really good,” Colin told him.
Marcus flushed. “Thanks. I’m not, like, an artist or anything.”
“The heck you’re not,” Nate exclaimed, appearing at Marcus’s shoulder. “Art isn’t about being perfect. It’s about expressing yourself. And this? This is expression!” He grinned. “Also, I love the cape. Capes are underrated.” He nudged Marcus’s arm. “Own it, Marcus! You got style!”
Marcus’s smile widened into a huge grin. “Thanks, Nate!”
Alex nudged Ben. “Show him yours.”
Ben hesitated, then turned his notebook around. He’d written in careful script: I am still learning to be brave. But at least I’m learning.
Below it, he’d drawn a small, detailed tree with roots spreading deep into the ground.
Colin’s throat tightened. “That’s beautiful, Ben.”
“It’s from a poem I read,” Ben said quietly. “I changed it a little. Made it mine.”
“It’s perfect,” Colin said. “And that’s the way to live life, Ben. Make it yours.”
Emilio, sitting at the far end of the table, had drawn a football surrounded by question marks. He wasn’t showing it to anyone, but Colin saw him glance at it, then add another line of text beneath it.
Emma was working on a collage—images of forests and mountains and wide-open skies, all arranged around a single word in the center: Free.
Nate noticed Colin looking and whispered, “She’s been working on that for twenty minutes. Hasn’t said a word, but look at her face.”
Colin looked. Emma’s expression was focused, calm. Her shoulders weren’t hunched. Her arms weren’t wrapped around herself.
She looked like a kid doing art. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Yeah,” Colin said quietly and swallowed hard, his throat aching.
The workshop continued for another hour.
The kids talked, laughed, shared supplies, and occasionally fell into comfortable silence as they worked.
Colin, Joshua, Kyle, Trent, and, of course, Nate all wandered to each participant, looking at journals when invited, answering questions, and deepening their bond.
Alex bounced between groups, offering encouragement and terrible puns that somehow made everyone smile anyway.
By the time the session ended, the table was a disaster of scraps and markers and glitter, and every single kid had at least one page filled in their notebooks.
“All right, everybody,” Nate said, clapping his hands. “This has been amazing. You all did incredible work today. And remember—these notebooks are yours. Keep using them. Keep creating. Keep expressing.”
He paused, then added, “And if anyone ever tells you that art isn’t important, or that what you’re feeling doesn’t matter, you tell them Nate says they’re full of….” He giggled and glanced at Joshua, who threw him a fake glare. “Tell them they’re wrong!”
A few kids laughed.
“Okay, we’re going to start wrapping up for the day,” Nate continued. “But before you go, I just want to say—thank you. Thank you for showing up. Thank you for being brave. Thank you for trusting us with your stories.”
The room was quiet for a moment.
Then River stood and started a slow clap.
One by one, the other kids joined in.
Colin felt his chest tighten again. Joshua’s hand found his and gripped it.
Alex was beaming, clapping harder than anyone.
As the kids started gathering their things, Colin, Joshua, Nate, Kyle, and Trent naturally strolled toward the door.
Alex stayed at the table with the other kids.
Ben was the first to head toward the door. But before he left, he stopped at Alex’s side. “Thanks for... you know. Sharing your story yesterday. It helped.”
Alex grinned. “Anytime, man.” He held out his fist, and Ben bumped it.
Then Ben moved to the adults. He gave Colin a shy smile, and then—unexpectedly—stepped forward and hugged him.
“Thank you,” Ben whispered.
Colin hugged him back, careful to keep it gentle. “You’ve got this, kid. Remember—you don’t have to do anything until you’re ready.”
Ben nodded and moved to Joshua, who pulled him into a quick hug. “Call Kyle if you need anything. You have his number.”
“I will.”
Marissa and Daniela stopped at the table where Alex was still sitting. “You’re really cool,” Marissa said. “I’m glad you were here.”
“Me too,” Alex said. “You guys are awesome. And Marissa? You should totally sing. Like, professionally. You’ve got an amazing voice.”
Marissa blushed. “Thanks.”
Joshua nudged him. “When did you hear her sing?”
“While we were journaling. We sang our school songs to each other, and I made her sing a couple more songs because she was so good.”
The sisters moved to the door and hugged everyone—quick, tight embraces that said more than words could.
“Come back next time we’re in town,” Nate said. “We’ll do more journaling.”
“We will,” Daniela promised.
River paused at Alex’s side. “Captain Pride, huh?”
Alex grinned. “That’s me.”
“Not bad.” She held out her fist, and Alex bumped it. “Stay cool, kid.”
“You too.”
River gave the adults fist bumps instead of hugs, but when she got to Colin, she paused. “Hey. Thanks for not being weird about the gay stuff.”
Joshua leaned close and in a fake whisper said: “He’s weird about other things.”
River laughed and Colin grinned and bumped her fist again. “Thanks for showing up.”
River nodded once, then was gone.