Page 135 of If This Gets Out

I’m riding high on adrenaline as I remove my arm from Zach, still tingling where we touched, and when my solo comes, I figure,screw it.Instead of singing it straight, Ithrow everything I have into it: fifteen years of professional vocal coaching, eight years of musical theater experience, and eighteen years of critical feedback from my mother. My voice soars past my high note, up another note, and another, my vibrato resonating perfectly in my throat as I engage my core and bend back. I can tell even before I hit the peak that I’ve got this, and I punch the air in victory as I finally,finallyshow them I can actuallysing.

They scream and clap for me, and my gaze sweeps past several shocked faces in the audience. Onstage, Zach and Jon are both giving me thrilled expressions, and Angel’s encouraging the crowd’s reaction by mouthing the word “what” as wide as his mouth will allow him.

There. Now, even if I never get the chance to show my range again, the world knows what I can do if I’m not gagged. I’m not a stencil. I’m not rigid.

I’m fuckinggood.And now it’s on record.

The song ends, and we catch our breath. It might be a lot less demanding to sing without choreography, but damn, you get unfit fast after a couple months off. The light on my microphone flicks from green to red. It’s time for Jon to address the crowd.

I make eye contact with him. And we step into each other’s places.

Now I’m standing in the middle with Zach. And my microphone’s on.

I need to move quickly. Jon went over this with me last night as I shared my written speech with him.Get to the point. If Chorus figures out what you’re going to do, they’ll make them switch your mic off. IfGood Afternoon United Statesrealizes something huge is happening, they won’t obey that order. Don’t. Fluff.

“Thank you so much, everybody,” I say. The crowd roarsin response, and I don’t wait for them to finish. We don’t have time. So I plow over them, against every instinct in my musical-theater-trained body towait until they can hear the line clearly.“We’ve missed being onstage, being with our fans—withyou—but today is particularly special. Not just because we have Angel back up and running.” Another cheer—damn it, I should’ve anticipated that.Get to thepoint,Ruben.In my mind’s eye, I can see Erin running from the tent up the stairs. Finding the blond technician. My heart gives a panickedthud. “But because today, we weren’t choreographed. And the thing about choreography is that in the wrong hands it takes something as expressive as dance, and it reins it in, to make you a cohesive group. It’s still a display of skill, and it’s beautiful to look at, but today we’re hoping that instead of seeing us as the group, you’ll learn more about the dancers.”

I had more of a lead-in written, but onstage, this feels a million times longer than it did last night in my room. I need to say it, now, before I lose my chance.Come on, Ruben. You’ve got this.

Mom’s face flashes in my mind, and I push it away.No. Ignore her. Focus on the words. Say it.

I.

“I…”

Am gay. Go on.

“Wanted to tell you all…”

I’m GAY. Spit it out, Ruben.

“That Zach and—” But I cut off, because my voice has lost 99 percent of its volume.

I took too long. I hesitated.

Jon told me not to hesitate, and I hesitated.

I stare at my microphone in shock as I try to process this. Even though I can’t bring myself to look up, I know how the others must be looking at me. How Zach must look.

The audience murmurs, confused and curious. A few people yell out from the crowd in protest.Turn his mic back on!

The producer from the tent says something into her headset, then gestures at the crowd. “Just some technical difficulties, everyone!” she calls.

“I’m sorry,” says Jon. He knows as well as I do that this is it. They’ll claim they can’t get any of the mics to work. They’ll apologize to the audience and send them on their way. Wrap up the segment early, march us off the stage, then we’ll face the consequences.

I’ll take full responsibility. Tell them no one else knew what I was going to say. Tell them Jon thought he was switching with me because I wanted to say happy birthday to someone on-camera or something. I won’t let them take it out on the others, though. This was my mistake, not theirs. I should’ve been faster. I should’ve asked Zach to speak.

The producer walks to the edge of the stage and beckons to me. I kneel, already knowing what she’s going to say.The show’s over. We’ve been instructed not to continue. We’re sorry.

She leans right in to whisper in my ear. “We were given a list of banned topics for today’s interview. Were you about to… address one of those topics?”

I nod, hardly daring to hope.

When she steps back, her eyes are blazing. “My wife wasveryjealous I got to meet you four today,” she says. “She’s your biggest fan.”

Holy shit. She’s going to turn the mics back on.

I meet her eyes, and a charge of shared understanding runs between us. “If you want to bring her backstage after we finish all our songs,” I say, “we’d love to meet her.”

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