I can feel the sweat oozing from my pores and soaking my forehead, arm pits, palms, fingernails, earlobes, and the backs of my knees but I try and remain calm.
They're staring at me from all directions. If they're not staring, then they're thinking, and I know they're thinking about me from the way the air in the room keeps shifting from hot to cold. Hot, cold, hot, cold, hot, cold, warm, GODDAMN! I wish they'd think about someone else for a minute. I try and sit outside of my body to get some fresh air and end up staring at myself just like everyone else is. The straights glance at me momentarily and lift their eyebrows like they just can't contain their disgusting need to know the truth, and the gays take longer and more calculating pictures of me, trying to put the gay-dar they all swear they have into use.
The group is called Gay-Straight Alliance, and we're supposed to be openly discussing pressing issues. Instead, it appears that I have to choose a defintion before we can all get along.
"So" whispers a girl from the straight side of the table so loudly that she sounds like an idiot. "What is she, what do you think?"
I pictured two scenarios. In the first one, I launched myself across the table at her, pulled her hair, poked her in the eye,pushed her a little, and then sat back down quietly and continued to sweat. In the second scenario, I pulled a purple sharpie out of my backpocket wrote "screw you all, I don't fuckin know yet" on my forehead.