“Alan Turing,” Paul had said, without hesitation. “He cracked the Nazi codes and helped the Allies win World War II. He built the first real computer, the Automated Computing Engine. Once the English didn’t need his help anymore, they convicted him of ‘homosexual acts.’ He committed suicide two years later.”
Matt hoped this would help Paul’s case. At least his hero was a gay man.
What had Paul asked when it was his turn to pose a question? “Do you play chess?”
William’s curt “no” had dripped disdain, which was even more jarring coming from his Dorothy mask. Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. Like Matt hadn’t seen that one coming.
What had Paul asked Todd? Chess again. Another no.
That was when William had interrupted game play. “Let’s make this easy, shall we? Anyone besides Paul who plays chess, please raise your hand.” No one did. Yeah, train wreck.
Matt wished Adam were there. If Colton Langley hadn’t outed Adam to the Dean, Adam would almost certainly be in the Gay Mafia by now. Sweet, gentle Adam would vote for Paul’s membership.
Matt had mailed Adam the pictures Molly had taken of kids lined up to sign Adam’s card. Adam had written a short reply. Eight lines in flowing cursive, thanking Matt, asking about Matt’s soccer games, about his classes. Matt had re-read the letter until he had it memorized.
The second round began. Paul removed a sock for his obligatory “bare”, then gave a monosyllabic answer to Todd’s “truth” question.
It was Matt’s turn. Paul, predictably, chose “truth.”
“What’s the worst name anyone has ever called you?” Matt asked. He knew the answer. The others needed to hear it.
Paul stared down at his bare left foot, mumbled.
“Please speak up,” Matt said.
“R2D2.” Paul pushed his glasses up his nose. “Like the Star Wars character.”
“That’s not what the name is about, is it?” Matt asked.
Paul shook his head. “Your turn is up. One question is all you get. It’s Devil’s turn now.” (Since Paul presumably did not know the members’ names, he had been instructed to refer to them by their mask characters: Dorothy, Mouse, Stormtrooper, Devil, Princess, Pirate, and Clown.)
“My turn will be up when you’ve answered my questions,” Matt said. “What does R2D2 stand for?”
Paul’s eyes glistened with anger. “Retarded Robot Dick Diddler. Two ‘R’s, Two ‘D’s. R2D2. Get it?”
Matt looked to see if his fellow members got it. They had, or so they thought. Little did they know.
“Who calls you R2D2?” Matt asked.
Paul clenched his jaw, pursed his lips, suppressing the answer. He glared at Matt.
“Answer the question, dahling,” William said.
Paul spat the answer. “Everyone calls me that. Everyone.”
Matt could have stopped there. Paul’s answer was technically correct, but also glossed over the truth, a sick, horrible truth that Paul, understandably, avoided.
Matt knew a thing or two about avoiding ugly truths. He had not divulged his rape during his own membership interview, so he could hardly fault Paul. Matt, though, unlike Paul, had answered questions with enough detail that the members got a sense of who he was as a person. He had been likeable, relatable.
That could not be said of Paul. But here was the thing, a chicken-egg sort of thing: what if Paul’s secret was the catalyst that made him so bottled up? So defensive as to be unlikeable? Matt believed that was the case. He was certain that airing that secret could be key to turning this interview around and getting Paul admitted to the group.
But Paul didn’t trust these strangers to hear it.
Did Matt have the right to discount Paul’s wishes? Twelve days earlier, there had been a moment in the locker room with William where Matt held Colton’s promise ring in his hands, where Matt could have easily yanked it off the chain around William’s neck, freeing William from its curse. Matt had declined to do so. Now he faced a similar quandary with Paul.
The difference between the two situations involved the issue of choice. William had chosen to wear Colton’s ring around his neck, chose every day to keep it there. Paul had never chosen this nickname, never asked anyone to use it. It had been forced on him against his will—a gang rape of a young soul.
“Does your mother call you R2D2?” Matt asked.
“You know she does. You know the answers to all these questions.”
“And your dad? Does he call you that name?”
Paul looked at Harley, appealing for the moderator to step in. “His turn is up. It is Devil’s turn now.”
Harley, ever the peacemaker, did what peacemakers do: he equivocated. He did not want to make this call.
“What do you think?” Harley asked William, the Godmother of their Gay Mafia.
William shrugged. He had warned Matt this would be a train wreck. “It’s Devil’s turn. Let’s move this along.”
Matt felt defiance boiling up within him. One didn’t easily become striker on a soccer team. The striker was the guy deepest in the enemy lines, the guy whose job it was to score a goal, damn the consequences. The referee could call a foul after the fact.
Matt, the striker, did what strikers do.
“Devil yields his question to me,” Matt declared. “Don’t you?” he asked Kevin. Yielding time was a parliamentary trick Matt had learned in SGA, which was ironic considering it had been William who had encouraged him to run for office and now Matt was using parliamentary procedure to defy William’s decision.
Kevin nodded meekly, yielded his question.
Matt pressed on. He dared anyone to challenge him. “Does your dad call you R2D2?” he asked Paul again.
Paul shot Matt a wry smile. “Since you’re taking Devil’s turn, you must ask ‘Truth or Bare.’ I must choose ‘bare’ this time. I’ve chosen ‘truth’ twice in a row. Those are the rules.”
Paul removed his other sock, tossed it aside triumphantly.
Matt was undeterred. He turned his Stormtrooper glare towards Luke in his Princess mask.
“Your turn,” Matt said to Luke. “Yield it to me?” Less of a question, more a command.
Luke looked to Harley for guidance. Harley looked to William.
“We don’t have a rule against yielding time, so you can do what you want,” William said. “Stormtrooper specializes in finding loopholes around our rules.”
“Then I yield my time to Stormtrooper,” Luke said.
Matt addressed Paul: “Does your dad call you R2D2?”
Paul sighed. “Dad’s the one who started it. He’s the one who makes the family call me that. He tells church members to call me that. He goes to Open House at the school and tells the teachers to call me that. Everyone does what he asks since he’s a preacher. Only my family knows what it stands for.”
“Your dad changes churches often. Like every other year or so. What does he say in these new churches, when he’s introducing his family?”
Paul blinked back tears. He was not going to cry. He squared his shoulders, summoning inner strength. His voice, when he spoke, was dead.
“Hi everyone! Let me introduce my family. This is Sarah, my wife. As pretty as the day I married her! (Chuckle, chuckle.) This is our oldest, we call him R2D2, like the robot. (short chirping, machine noises.) You can call him that, too. (Chuckle, chuckle.) This is our son, Aaron. He’s the athlete of the family. Junior varsity! Next is our son, Mark. He’s only eleven, but you can tell he’s gonna be a looker, a ladies’ man! (Chuckle, chuckle.) Finally, there’s my daughter, Elizabeth. Ain’t she a beauty?”