“Hey, Cal. How close are you?” Liu’s voice punched through the speakers.

  “Just around twenty minutes away. What’s happening?”

  “The opening ceremony for Turan’s Day starts in about an hour. I thought it’d be nice for the three of us to go… maybe grab a bite to eat afterward? And no, I won’t make you enter the three-legged race,” Liu said, her laughter warm.

  “Yes, yeah, that sounds nice.”

  “A bowl of Turan’s Hollow’s best Huckleberry and clam chowder would hit the spot,” she suggested.

  The thought of a steaming bowl of chowder on a cool autumn evening made his stomach growl in anticipation. "Sounds awesome! Will see you soon!"

  He fumbled for the right button to hang up the phone, but she beat him. Though Cal had stayed in Turan's Hollow many times, always as a passerby, never truly part of its fabric, the festival promised a taste of a life he seldom experienced—one rooted in community and continuity. Immersing himself in the small-town charm, if only for a day, was a welcome change from the constant motion of his life on the road.

  The car that was once his wife's, purred softly as he took the familiar turn onto Turan Road. The leaves were falling gently, occasionally lit by the late afternoon sun. As he pulled into the usually sleepy town, he saw that it was coming alive with hustle and bustle. Children were playing a lively game of tag on the town commons, and vendors had their food stands and trucks ready to go with hand-dipped corndogs, kettle corn, turkey legs, and, of course, the star of the show: steaming kettles of Turan's Chowder, a recipe attributed to Epigia Turan herself.

  He had to take a detour the long way around the commons because a band was setting up on a grandstand festooned with flags and a large canvas square with a representation of Jeremiah Turan himself emblazoned on it in royal blue. As he pulled into the driveway, James was lingering by the door, his posture casual yet tinged with anxious energy. As Cal cut the ignition, the low rumble of the idling engine gave way to the distant sounds of excitement in town.

  "Hey, James," Cal called out, his voice bridging the distance as he stepped out of the car. "Looks like you're all set."

  James turned, his gaze drifting toward the town center. His eyes seemed to vacillate between anticipation and resignation.

  "I can head out anytime,” said Cal cheerily, hoping to snap James out of whatever daze he was in.

  "It's just another Turan's Day. Been to plenty of those."

  His voice was wistful, and he absentmindedly kicked a few fallen leaves.

  Cal leaned against the car, his tone gentle. "Maybe this year's a little different?"

  James shrugged, his attention on an acorn he was now nudging along the path. "Nothing's changed."

  "Except you, maybe?" Cal ventured, watching the young teen closely.

  James paused, his makeshift soccer game forgotten as he glanced back at the village square. "Yeah, it's my first town event since… you know. But it's no big deal."

  Despite James's attempt at indifference, Cal sensed a weighty tangle of emotions, perhaps amplified by the murmurs of controversy that had passed through the town.

  "Listen to me, James. The worst thing you can do is hide. The more you hide your true self, the more people will spend their time speculating and wondering. They will get used to seeing you just as I have. Their curiosities will be satisfied, and their worries will be eased. And whether people accept you for who you are or not, you will be old news before you know it."

  Looking down at the town, James was trying to conceal tears. He wiped his eyes quickly with his sleeve. Cal thought James could use a hug, but maybe he was too apprehensive and self-conscious as eighth graders often are. Without hesitation, Cal wrapped him in a warm embrace. It was the first time they had been in real physical contact since he arrived. He could feel the beginnings of tears releasing, but then he looked up and saw Liu, wrapped in a sweater at the door, watching them. She was crying quietly. When their eyes met, she smiled. No words were necessary. Her gratitude permeated her face.

  Liu locked the door and walked their way. "Come on. Let's walk over. I hear the band starting to tune up."

  Just then, Cal's phone began to buzz. It was probably just the director with a few notes—nothing urgent—but it was Dot.

  "Hello? "

  "Mr. Stevens, I need you to drop whatever you are doing and come to the school."

  Cal’s eyes darted between Liu and James. The band was now beginning a lively invitational march. “What’s going on? I’m just about to go to this Turan’s Day thing.”

  "It will be waiting for you tomorrow. The PTA has called an emergency meeting about the play."

  "I don't understand; what’s going on?"

  "They want James to step down from his role. Or they want to make us remove him ourselves."

  "I'll be right there."

  Liu looked quizically at him as he ended the call and slid the phone back in his pocket.

  "Liu," he started.

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  "What? What is it?"

  "Nevermind for now, I'll fill you in later. I have to get to the school."

  By the time Cal arrived, the parking lot was packed full, with some cars parking on the outlying grass. It seemed as if half the town had gathered. Dot was waiting for Cal by the door; her hands jammed deep in her coat pockets against a new gust of cold. Anxiety and determination were set in her brow.

  She began to draw him toward her with a rapid hand gesture. "Come on! Hurry! They’re starting." When he reached her, she asked, "Are you sure you're up for this?"

  "Let's do it. I mean, what do I have to lose?" Cal replied, his tone haphazard but willing.

  "Well, that's convenient. I have everything to lose. My God, Cal! You are infuriating! Just... just come with me, ok?" Dot underscored her frustration by grasping his arm and pulling him inside. He had to quicken his pace, almost skipping to keep up with her, the click of her heels and the furious swish of her long coat brushing against her legs leading him to the cafeteria.

  The assembled crowd's emotionally charged conversation was just beginning to subside as Ryley Conner began initiating the proceedings, her voice projecting clearly to establish order. Jannelle Samone was seated at the council table, her expression giving nothing away.

  Mrs. Connor, a petite woman in her late thirties, was the epitome of small-town sophistication. The blonde streaks in her layered hair were of Benville's finest salon make. Her tan was out of place in the Northwest coastal fall. And her face, shaped with a flawless veneer of makeup, was lit with the hard confidence of small-town power and affluence.

  "If everyone would please come to order, we may begin this emergency meeting of the Benville Middle School PTA, presided by myself, Ryley Connors. And when I say emergency, you'd better believe I mean it. This school is in crisis. The loose morals of the big city have encroached on our honorable town."

  With the practiced grace of a beauty pageant queen, she detached the microphone from its stand and stepped forward. Her eyes found Cal’s, locking on with an intensity that left no room for doubt. “It appears we have a corrupting influence within our school, an interloper in our town. a Mr. Stevens has assumed the role of music teacher, a position of significant influence over our innocent, precious children. This afternoon—” She paused, her voice faltering with emotion. “I received a distressing call from my son, who was on the verge of tears. The role he was destined to play had been usurped by a child who should not be participating in this musical,” she said as she paced before them like a general preparing soldiers for battle. “especially not in the lead male role—a misguided child who is, coincidentally, related to Mr. Stevens.” She gestured dramatically toward him.

  The crowd began to chatter excitedly. Some raised their voices, though he could not discern which side of the issue they were on.

  "I've called you tonight to vote on whether we will allow this morally questionable travesty to stand."

  At that, Dot moved quickly to the front. "Mrs. Connor, you have absolutely no authority to determine who should or should not be in our school musical. That is entirely up to our staff. Mr. Stevens has selflessly offered to help us out of a very difficult situation. As you know by now, Mr. Harmon has resigned and we were left with absolutely no one to direct our musical. And you know how-- "

  "And who's fault is this?" Ryley stepped forward to meet Dot’s challenge. Her posture was rigid, the muscles in her jaw working as she clutched the microphone like a royal scepter. “How many music teachers have you driven away? Perhaps tonight’s vote should be about your ability to manage this school. But it seems,” she added, her tone dripping with disdain, “you’ve curried some sort of favor with the superintendent.”

  Cal did not like what was happening. This was starting to look more like a linch mob than a PTA meeting. He took in a quick stage breath and penetrated the room with his powerful voice. "Now, hold on here! Just hold on!" He strode swiftly to the front and took his place by Dot's side. "Ms. Frazier had nothing to do with this. If you're going to attack someone, attack me."

  "We'll deal with you next, Mr. Stevens," sneered Ryley.

  He reached out to grab the mic from her, but she dodged him. The audience gasped. Once again, he spoke loud enough for the whole cafeteria to hear: "I can see that this is a very passionate community. I think it's wonderful that you care enough to come out on a Friday night. It shows you care."

  A man from the back aggressively called out, "You bet we do!"

  "I would not doubt it. Look, I know I'm the outsider here. And I'm sure you think I have some sort of agenda here. Yes, I do care a lot about my nephew, but I also care about your kids and this school. I know the state of things. I know that this school is not getting the funding it needs. I know how important this musical is to this school and this community, but is it more important than James? More important than any of your kids? You think James is the only LGBTQ kid in the school? You think he's the only kid here who is different in a way that makes them wonder if his own town accepts him?" He let that statement hang in the room for a few seconds. Other than a little shuffling of feet, the crowd was silent. "Those kids need this. They need to see someone like them up on stage using the gifts that God gave them."

  Once again, he paused in powerful silence until a single clap cut through, followed by more, as parents began to stand, their applause growing. But the moment was fleeting, drowned out by angry shouts urging the clappers to sit down.

  In that charged moment, Ryley raised the microphone to her lips again, her eyes fixed on Cal. "See the division you're causing in our school? In our community? You, sir, are a divider! We don't need that here." As she spoke, a chorus of claps and cheers rose from some parents and townspeople. She lowered the mic, sweeping her gaze across the crowd with a gesture that said, 'This town stands united, and it's not with you.'

  She gave a knowing nod to the PTA officers and then faced the parents again. "I think we've heard enough," she declared. “Let's show where we stand. Who here wants to withdraw support for James Chin's role in the school musical?"

  But before anyone could raise a hand, a group of students led by Cerise swarmed into the cafeteria. She marched to the front and grabbed the mic from Ryley Connors who nearly fell, just bracing herself on the council table.

  "I am ashamed. Ashamed!" Her voice thundered, causing the mic to ring."That this community would even think of pulling the most talented kid in the school from the musical because of how he was born!"

  "You should be ashamed, young lady!" shouted the man in the back.

  "Dude! Shut the hell up and hear this," she called. She gestured to the throng of students behind her. "You see these kids? These are your kids! And we're telling you right now that if James isn't allowed in this play, then there won't be any play. We will walk out." Cerise's voice rang out again, "So, how about that vote now?"

  She handed the mic back to a speechless Ryley. The students, as did the vast majority of the attendees, erupted into applause and cheering. The battle was won.

  In the excitement, Cal felt a rush of something he hadn’t felt in a long time: satisfaction. He turned around to see Dot, halfway glowing, halfway in indecision. Cal smiled warmly at her. Was she about to hug him? Taking a chance, he began to open his arms to her, but she came in with a handshake. As he shifted to a handshake, she shifted to a hug, and they met in an awkward collision.

  "Thank you, Mr. Stevens,” she said, quickly regaining her composure as she took a step back. Yet, Cal sensed a yearning for another moment of contact in her steadying breath.

  "All part of a day's work," he said. "Now, let's make a musical."