Principal Harold Steele stood behind the podium in Lecture Center 1B and looked down at the boys in the seats in front of them. They all wore their letterman jackets with pride, and their coach stood behind them, glaring at the principal with his arms crossed.

“This had better be good, Steele,” he growled, trying to stare down the principal as if he could make him melt into a puddle with the force of his anger alone.

“Oh, it is good, Torkelson, I assure you,” Steele replied, perfectly at ease in his suit and tie. A cool smile played across his lips, and the coach had a minor flutter of apprehension in his chest.

‘What the hell is his game,’ Torkelson wondered, ‘and how the hell does he think he has any cards to play? We’re the best chance this school ever had to win the championship. And he can’t possibly have any proof about us and the Vincent kid. The little fag didn’t see anyone’s face.’

“Gentlemen,” Steele said, the smile widening slightly, “and I used the term loosely, I know you’re responsible for what happened to Mindy Vincent, the TG student who started attending school as herself last week. I’ve suspected you’ve been behind the recent violent attacks against members of the school community who are gay, lesbian, or transgendered, but until last week, I had no way to prove it. Now I do, and I’m here to tell you that the attacks stop now.”

“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” the coach said, his arms folded across his chest.

“Oh?” Steele held up a remote in his hand. “Let me refresh your memory.”

From the speakers around the perimeter of the room, the coach’s voice rang out.

“Another of those girly boy queers has ‘come out,’ boys.” The sneer in his voice made his hatred plain. “I think it’s time for another lesson in how real men deal with faggots who don’t know how to stay in the shadows. You still got the hockey masks, Jimmy?”

“Good. Since none of that gear belongs to us, they can’t trace anything back to us. We should dig up a tennis racquet or somethin’ for him to defend himself with, don’t you think? Gotta be be sportsmanlike, after all.”

Everyone laughed, and started talking among themselves. All of the team incriminated themselves on the tape in different ways, and the boys sitting there realized that jail time waited in their future.

Steele pressed a button on the remote again, and the room went silent.

“You can’t use that, Steele,” Torkelson shouted. “Recording somebody without them knowing about it is illegal. They’d throw it out of court.”

“Absolutely,” the principal replied, “if I had recorded you all without a warrant. Fortunately, I’m not that stupid. Judge Newman is a good friend of mine, and when I explained that I thought you were responsible for the recent attacks, he was more than happy to provide official sanction for my bugging the locker room.”

His voice grew cold. “I only wish I would have heard that recording in time to stop you. But you won’t be doing it to anyone else. Not anymore. Not on my watch.”

The coach was stunned. He looked over his shoulder, wondering where the cops were.

“Oh, no, coach,” Steele said, his voice hard and empty. “No police here. I have to admit that having you arrested was my first thought. But putting you all in jail wouldn’t solve my ongoing problems with the harassment my LGBT students are receiving. After all, your team is just a reflection of the attitudes of the town. If I put you down, others would come along and take your place.”

He took a deep breath. “No, I have another goal in mind. I’m going to offer you a choice. You’re all going to help me bring this town into the twenty-first century. Or face the consequences of your actions.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s simple. I want you to act as examples to the community. Your players — all of them — are going to embrace diversity and inclusiveness. You’re going to publicly befriend every gay, lesbian, transgendered and bisexual student in this school and keep them all from being harmed. You’re going to make damned sure everyone in Gregson knows how supportive you all are — yourself included, coach. I think that will go a long way towards helping the rest of the town be a little more inclusive, don’t you think?”

“And if we don’t?”

“Well, if you don’t agree to my proposal, I’ll send you all to jail, of course.” Steele pursed his lips. “And, of course, if you pretend to agree and then break our agreement, or tell anyone what’s really going on, you'll all go to jail and be branded as hypocrites. Part of me thinks jail would be a good way for you all to broaden your horizons, see what it feels like to be a victim. After all, some of you boys are pretty enough to do real well there, one you’ve ... settled in.”

The team all shifted uncomfortably in their chairs, and Steele smiled.

“Still, I’d rather hold jail as a last resort.”

The coach’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because I don’t like you, Torkelson. Any of you.” The principal’s voice dripped scorn. “I want to make you all suffer the way you’ve made others suffer. Besides, there are so many other things I could do that would make your lives way more interesting — besides actually turning you over to the police, I mean.”

“Like what?”

“For example, if you break our agreement, I could just ... well, out your entire team.”

“WHAT?” The coach’s eyes bugged out, and half the team stood up, shouting. Steele waited until they quieted down, and picked up a second remote.

“Do you remember when the attacks started? We held diversity training sessions for everyone in the school, but when we came to the football team, we added a little extra something, just in case my suspicions about you all were right.”

He pressed play. The screen lit up behind him and a video came on.

“It takes a lot of courage to come out to your parents and other students,” an offscreen voice said, as Jimmy Lynch fidgeted uncomfortably in front of the camera. “Try to put yourself in the place of a gay student in that position. What would you say to your parents if you wanted to tell them the truth about yourself?”

“No!” Jimmy stood up quickly, knocking the chair down behind him. “I’m done. No more.”

The onscreen Jimmy walked out of camera range, and Steele pressed the stop button. Jimmy kept staring at the screen.

“The camera was hidden, of course,” the principal said, “and each of you had your time in front of it.”

“So?” The coach said. “It’s all ‘what ifs!’ There’s nothing incriminating about it.”

“Except that no other students were asked these questions as part of the diversity program, and there were never any video cameras in the room during any of the other classes.” Steele looked down at Jimmy. “As for ‘what ifs’ ... let me show you what some judicious editing can accomplish.”

He pushed a few more buttons, then pressed PLAY again.

“It takes a lot of courage to come out to your parents and other students,” an offscreen voice said, as Jimmy Lynch fidgeted uncomfortably in front of the camera. “I know it’s going to be hard for you, too. What will you say to your parents when you tell them the truth about yourself?”

“No!” Jimmy stood up quickly, knocking the chair down behind him. “I’m done. This bites.”

The onscreen Jimmy walked away, and Steele pressed the stop button again.

“All of you made videos, just like that,” he said softly. “Oh, some variations, like telling your buddies instead of your parents, or letting your Mom know you always felt like a girl trapped in a boy’s body. Enough variation to be an authentic spread for a group your size, but all of you confessing on cameras that you were secretly ... not what you appeared to be.”

He put down the remote and picked up a folder.

“This is the PR campaign I paid for. We’ll release the videos with bios of all of you, and how you finally had the courage to come out as a team. Myself and Guidance Counselor Cooper will do a press conference announcing how you all wanted to come out together, and how we helped you make the videos so it would be easier for you to avoid telling your friends and family in person. The PR firm thinks the story could go national. Once it’s out, it will spread, and no one in the media will check with you first when it could mean they’re the last to get the story out. Once it’s done, you can deny it all you want. But we’ll swear this whole thing was your idea, and the videos will back us up.”

“But that’s not all. I know some of you have scouts watching you, and you might have the chance for college scholarships ... maybe even to play pro ball someday. It’s going to be awfully hard to get into the NFL if everyone thinks you’re gay or transgendered ... and if you cross me, I’m going to make damned sure that for the rest of the season, nobody will be able to forget it.”

He reached down and held up a paper.

“This, gentleman, is copy of a letter from the school board. It holds every member’s signature, and gives me the right to arbitrarily change the names of the school’s football team whenever I like.” He put the paper down and picked up a second one. “This is a copy of another letter from the school board, again signed by everyone, authorizing me to change the official school colors, and there’s also a third giving me budget to change all the uniforms and signage on my say-so.”

Steele put down the second paper, and smiled.

“So once you’re officially outed, the name of your football team will instantly become the Gregson Gay Pride. Your uniform colors will be fuchsia and lavender, and the school sports bus will be repainted in those colors with a new rainbow logo to match.” He grinned. “I like the new team motto: GO GAY!!!”

He clicked the remote, and a picture of the new uniform and a mock-up of the sports bus appeared on the big screen behind him. The players stared up at the principal with shock, and he looked back at them impassively.

“You will play every game wearing those uniforms, and every team in the division will take every opportunity to ridicule and abuse you, on and off the field. Oh, by the way, we’ll be replacing those jackets you’re wearing, too, just so everyone you meet will see you’re out and proud.” He pressed a button, turning off the projector, then put down the remote.

“The best part of this option is that, if you do try to deny it and someone eventually believes you, I can still send you all to jail. And no one there will think too hard about whether any member of the Gregson Gay Pride is really gay or not. They’re all practical men. They’ll ... see for themselves, won’t they?”

He smiled again, but the smile never reached his eyes.

“So, that’s your choice,” Steele said. “Stand up and support diversity, or be arrested. Protect those you attacked or be outed yourselves, and wear the proud lavender and fuchsia of Gregson’s first openly gay football team. Your coach will bring me your decision before homeroom tomorrow. Of course, if your answer to my proposal is no, this conversation never took place, the locker room tapes go to the police, and you should all be in jail by lunchtime.”

“That’s blackmail!” The coach roared.

Steele looked over at him with contempt. “Yes, Mr. Torkelson, it is. I bow to your recognition of the obvious ... and hopefully of the inevitable.”

“Of course, if you try to implicate me, the DA will insist he had the evidence for a while, and was just looking for the right way to charge you all as adults and make sure the charges stick.”

The principal picked up his papers and looked over at the team and its coach.

“By the way, if you are thinking about killing me, which I’m sure is how your minds work, you should know that this entire conversation has been recorded, and will go with the sealed recordings from the locker room directly to the DA in the event of my death. He will edit out any mention of his own involvement, of course. But since I’ll be dead at that point, I won’t be worrying about prosecution, after all.”

Torkelson stood in the center of the team, his fists clenched and arms trembling. “You’re playing a dangerous game here, Steele.”

“Am I? I don’t think so. But even if I am, what of it? As you’re so fond of saying, Coach ... no risk, no reward.” The principal held Torkelson’s eyes. “What you don’t understand is that you’re playing my game, and no matter which game plan you choose tomorrow morning, you’ve already lost. And I already know which option I'm rooting for.”

He looked back at the team, and he grinned.

“Go, GAY!” he said, and walked out the door to pick up his niece Mindy from the hospital.