“It’s an indicator of degree. I set it up so that you’ll see at least a hint of blue on anyone who has a touch of twinkiness. And a lot of blue on . . . well, you get the idea. Come on, let’s go for a walk.”

It was like seeing the world through new eyes. Most of the people looked just the same as always, of course. But Mr. Alwain, the fat guy who ran the grocery store, looked like a giant blueberry—which surprised me, because he was married and had three kids. On the other hand, Ms. Thorndyke, the librarian, who everyone knew was a lesbian, didn’t have a trace of blue on her.

“Can’t tell without the spell,” said Melvin. “Straights are helpless at it. They’re always assuming someone is or isn’t for all the wrong reasons.”

We were in the library because Melvin wanted to show me some books. “Here, flip through this,” he said, handing me a one-volume history of the world.

My bluevision worked on pictures, too!

“Julius Caesar?” I asked in astonishment.

“Every woman’s husband, every man’s wife,” said Melvin. “I met him at a party on the other side once. Nice guy.” Flipping some more pages, he said, “Here, check this one out.”

“Alexander the Great was a fairy?” I cried.

“Shhhhh!” hissed Melvin. “We’re in a library!”

All right, I suppose you’re wondering about me—as in, was I blue?

The answer is, slightly.

When I asked Melvin to explain, he said, “The Magic 8 Ball says, ‘Signs are mixed.’ In other words, you are one confused puppy. That’s the way it is sometimes. You’ll figure it out after a while.”

Watching the news that night was a riot. My favorite network anchor was about the shade of a spring sky—pale blue, but very definite. So was the congressman he interviewed, who happened to be a notorious Republican homophobe.

“Hypocrite,” I spat.

“What brought that on?” asked Dad.

“Oh, nothing,” I said, trying to figure out whether I was relieved or appalled by the slight tint of blue that covered his features.

Don’t get the idea that everyone I saw was blue. It broke down pretty much the way the studies indicate—about one person in ten solid blue, and one out of every three or four with some degree of shading.

I did get a kick out of the three blue guys I spotted in the sports feature on the team favored to win the Super Bowl.

But it was that congressman who stayed on my mind. I couldn’t forget his hypocritical words about “the great crime of homosexuality” and “the gay threat to American youth.”

I was brushing my teeth when I figured out what I wanted to do.

“No,” I whispered, staring at my bluish face in the mirror. “I couldn’t.”

For one thing, it would probably mean another beating from Butch Carrigan.