Page 84 of Pride High 3: Yellow

“The Bible.”

“Oh yeah? Which part?”

Graham’s brow furrowed up. “I don’t know. But it’s in there.”

Anthony snorted. “I can tell that religion is deeply important to you. For your information, it’s part of Leviticus, which also tells people not to eat shellfish. Are you going to start painting insults on people’s lockers if they like shrimp cocktail? Or is it, once again, only the gay stuff that you’re interested in?”

Graham glared. “You mustwantme to kick your ass, huh?”

Anthony sighed and tried to set his indignation aside. “Come on now… You’re not the sort of person who goes around trying to save souls. So what’s the real reason?”

“I hate you,” Graham supplied helpfully.

“Okay. I get that. There are plenty of people in this school who I don’t like. That’s why I steer clear of them. When you pick on me, it makes us interact more. So why not leave me alone?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Graham grumbled.

So much for having a civilized conversation. Anthony wondered if a reason existed at all. Was it a primal instinct to fear and distrust anything that was different? Or some sort of cultural indoctrination that Graham had never questioned? If so, that was lame. Being a teenager meant recognizing the bullshit that adults fed young people and rebelling against it. If bullies were so fond of doing what their elders told them, why didn’t they go around picking on people who broke curfew or indulged in underage drinking? If anything, having racist or homophobic parents should make a young person that much more adverse to adopting the same attitudes.

Maybe he only wanted a convenient excuse to hate someone. But why? Anthony had never done anything mean to Graham. Aside from a face-full of french fries, but he sure as hell hadn’t started this little feud.

“We used to play tag when we were kids,” Anthony said. “Remember that?” They hadn’t been friends or anything, but out on the playground, they had willingly engaged in games together.

“I swear to god,” Graham growled, “if you say one more word…”

Anthony considered him in silence for a moment. “Did I make fun of your favorite band or something? I can be a music snob. Even my friends say so.”

Graham slammed his palms against his desk and slowly began pushing himself into a standing position. He only made it halfway.

“Everything all right?” Mr. Finnegan asked as he returned to the room. He watched Graham settle back into his seat before turning his full attention on him instead.

Anthony nodded. Then, looking down at the composition book he was writing in, he jotted down the title of a potential article:

A Convenient Excuse to Hate

— — —

Silvia was sitting on an old hay bale while surveying a wide horizon. A field stretched out before her, verdant shoots of fledgling crops decorating the rich brown soil, the pungent scent of fertilizer reaching her nose. She breathed this in rather than shying away from it, welcoming the associations of earthy vitality. Which was a testament to how much she was enjoying her day, or she wouldn’t be sniffing manure like it was going out of style. She simply loved it here! On the far side of the field, diminutive with distance, was Keisha’s house and all the other buildings of Hartland Farms.

“Your family has to be rich,” Silvia said, rolling her head toward Keisha, who was using the hay bale next to hers like a primitive couch. “In addition to all of that—” She waved an arm at the far-away buildings before patting the exterior barn wall they were using as a backrest. “—you also have an entire farm you don’t actually need.”

“That’s not quite what I said,” Keisha replied. “My parents bought a neighboring farm when the owners retired—”

“Like rich people do,” Silvia interjected.

“—but only because they wanted to take over those fields. They sold the neighbor’s house, including the property it was on. The rest they are leaving to nature. Or future expansion.”

“So what’s in this barn?” Silvia asked.

“Old equipment.”

“I’m moving in,” Silvia said, returning her attention to the view. “My parents made us have a yard sale last year just to clear out a single closet. I can’t imagine having this much space.”

“Obviously you can or you wouldn’t have designs on my favorite abandoned barn.”

“You mean there’s more than one?”

“If there is,” Keisha said with a smirk, “I’m not about to throw fuel on the fire by telling you!”