Chapter Twelve But I’m a Cheerleader, dir. by Jamie Babbit
“This is boringgg...” Les groans, rolling off the couch.
“ The Hunchback of Notre Dame is a classic! The backgrounds and art direction, the voice acting, the songs !”
“You would’ve made an amazing theater kid.”
Eli shakes his head, turning off the movie. It might’ve been a selfish decision to throw on one of his comfort films. Though
he’s not sure what it says about him that one of those movies is a historical animated drama about religious crusades through
Paris. Or that his favorite song from the movie is about lust and Catholic guilt.
“What do you want to watch?” Eli asks.
“I don’t want to watch anything,” Les says.
“Okay, well... did you do your homework yet?”
Their silence is enough of an answer.
“Go get your books.”
“It’s algebra,” they grumble, picking themselves up from the floor.
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m excellent at math.”
“Really?”
Eli snorts. “No, not one bit. But we can figure it out. Google is free.”
Les sits at the coffee table, pulling out their notebook and flipping to the appropriate pages as Eli sinks onto the floor next to them.
It’s not the night he wants, stuck babysitting his little sibling while his parents have their own date night, but Les’s typical babysitter had to pull out at the last minute, and Rue had been talking for weeks about the fashion exhibit at SFMOMA that Patricia had gotten tickets for.
Eli looks over Les’s shoulder at the problems they’re expected to work out, marveling at just how much he’s managed to forget
after not being in a math class for years.
“Do you think I did this right?” they ask.
“How the hell am I supposed to know?” He’s talking to them as much as he’s asking himself. “Isn’t there an answer key in the
back of the book?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, give me a second,” Eli tells them as he begins to copy the problem into Google on his laptop to see if anyone has solved
the same problems.
“Isn’t this cheating?” Les asks.
“Don’t worry, chances are very high that you’ll never be doing this kind of math as an adult.”
“So, you’re saying I shouldn’t care about school?”
“No!” Eli sort of shouts without meaning to. “You should try in school, always . Give it one hundred percent of your effort.”
Les smiles. “But you just said that—”
“And look at where not caring about math has gotten me,” he says. “I’m an assistant. Do you want to be an assistant?”
“Not really, no offense.”
He can’t help but smile at them. “None taken. Do your homework.” Eli scrolls through the results on his search, thanking whatever
God might be up in the clouds when he finds an entire PDF of the textbook’s answer keys. Despite Les’s pleading to just let
them copy all the answers, Eli remains firm, only using the answer key to check Les’s work behind them.
“Okay, yeah...” Eli’s eyes bounce back and forth from the textbook to the laptop. “I think you’ve got everything.” Though the work that Les has shown is complete gibberish to him.
He doesn’t even notice the text bubble that appears in the corner of his screen.
“Someone texted you,” Les says, leaning forward. “Can I see it?”
“What?” Eli turns his screen away from them to read the text.
Peter: How’s your night going?
Eli leaves it unanswered.
“Is that your boyfriend?”
“Why do you care?” Eli asks.
“Because Mom’s been talking about how you haven’t introduced us to him.”
“Yeah, well...” Eli swallows, cutting himself off without a point to be made.
“Is he nice?”
Eli dares to spare his half sibling a glance before he turns back to their homework. “He’s very nice.”
“Are you in love with him?”
Eli doesn’t reply. Because he can’t.
He knows that he can’t possibly be in love with Peter. It’s only been a few weeks, and these aren’t the kind of circumstances
that deserve love.
He’s here to write an article, and fix Peter. That’s it.
“Why are you so curious about my love life?” he asks.
Les shrugs. “I dunno.”
Eli eyes them, squinting carefully. “How much did Mom pay you to snoop?”
“Twenty bucks,” Les says, quickly giving Rue up. “And I get to go to Andi’s sleepover next weekend.”
“Mm-hmm...” Eli hums, closing the PDF, his open Google Doc with Peter’s article taking its place.
“What’s that?” Les asks.
“Nothing.” Eli minimizes the window. “Have you practiced tonight?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay, well, go do that. Mom said at least an hour.”
“Ughhh.” Les rears their head back onto the couch cushion.
“Go, go!” Eli shoos them. “And I’ll know if you just put on some YouTube video of someone else, so don’t try it.”
“How can you even tell?”
“Superhuman hearing.” Eli taps his ears. Besides, Les’s YouTube account is attached to the living room television, so he can
always check the video history. “Now go. Scram.”
“Are you going to talk to your boyfriend?” Les sings.
“Leave!” Eli shoos them away.
“Fine!” Les stands up, grabbing their things and stomping down the hallway toward their room. Before he sits back on the couch,
Eli listens for the familiar sounds of Les unpacking their cello, the hum of the strings as they begin to play.
He’d never admit it to their face, mostly because the kid can’t take a compliment to save their life, but they’re good at
what they do. Incredibly so. And Eli has to try and not feel jealous over his mother not pushing him into playing an instrument
when he was younger; by now he could’ve been perfecting his skills for nearly two decades.
No, instead he’s a writer who can’t write, with an article he’s been staring at for a week now with nothing new to write about.
He’s plateaued.
Michael’s noticed too, sending Eli an email at the end of nearly every day asking for updates, waiting for Eli to respond
to the comments and questions left lingering in the margins of the document.
He’s nearing the end of both articles, reading through them again and again, becoming more and more familiar with the story arc that he’s built.
Even in the fake-dating article, he’s done his best to paint a picture of growth, of Peter coming out of his shell, of adapting to Eli’s advice.
And soon Peter will meet his parents, and Peter will prepare himself for another first date.
And that’ll be it.
Eli goes back to his Lavender Country article. He knows it’s good; he may not believe that in the moment, but if he places himself outside of the article, looks
at it with an objective perspective, the article is well written. It tells the story of growing up queer in the South, of
the hardships faced just trying to be yourself, the violence and microaggressions that people like Peter deal with.
But Peter’s words have now injected so much warmth, so much culture. Eli dove headfirst into researching the food that he
and Peter had discussed, the jazz musicians that Peter had grown up listening to. Peter had been willing to share a few pictures
from his long-abandoned Facebook page, and Eli had to avoid gushing over teenage Peter Park, with his full cheeks and awkwardly
sweet smile.
There’s a familiarity with the people around him, one that only comes from growing up in a town where everyone knows everyone
else. Before this entire project started, Eli had a stereotypical view of the Southern United States, that it was a place
of racism, homophobia, and bigotry.
And of course those things do exist there, just as they exist everywhere in this country. In this world, in fact. No place
is a paradise, just as most issues in the South aren’t the fault of the people who live there but those who represent them,
who redraw election maps to get the results they want, who refuse to allow voting to be a necessary and accessible outlet
for every citizen’s voice.
The South has a dark history, just as every part of America, and there’s no separating it from that. It’s something Eli doesn’t want to shy away from.
Yet the more Eli grows to understand where Peter came from, the more he can appreciate it.
Maybe the article will go live. And maybe it’ll attract the hundreds of thousands of readers that Michael promised Eli. And
maybe he’ll get that staff writer position, and maybe he’ll have reliable income. And maybe he’ll be able to work his way
up, build a portfolio. And maybe in a year, he can create a decent enough portfolio to move on from Vent , find a place for himself at a different publication. One where he can write about the things he’s passionate about, the things
that matter to him.
It’s such a funny feeling, isn’t it? Weeks ago, Eli rejected the simple idea of getting close to another person. Because he
didn’t think it was worth it anymore.
Now, without permission, Peter has found his way in, made a home in Eli’s heart, trailing gasoline as he stepped inside.
If only he hadn’t fallen in love with the match.
The soft smile, and the feeling of Peter’s firm hand in his own, and the sound of Peter’s laugh. How he gets lost in the music
he listens to, and how he doesn’t always get sarcasm. His dedication to what he does, even if he doesn’t love it. The way
he hides the most precious parts of himself, and how he dared to show them to Eli.
Eli buries his face in his arms, breathing slowly. He’s not in love with Peter Park. He can’t be.
But when he stands outside of himself, he knows the truth.
It’s another two hours before his parents come home, both of them clearly just a touch tipsy as Rue wraps Eli in a tight hug.
“How was Les?” John asks.
“Usual; we worked on their homework. They practiced, went to sleep about twenty minutes ago.”
“Thank you so much for doing this so last minute, honey,” Rue says as she immediately goes to take her earrings out. “I owe you big time.”
“It’s okay, not like I was doing much else.”
“Well, you and Peter could’ve had a nice night out.” Rue gives Eli a sympathetic look.
“Right...” He averts his gaze from both of them, listening as John reaches into a cabinet to get a bottle of whiskey and
three glasses out.
“You want a drink, Eli?” John offers.
“Oh, I’m good. Thanks, though.”