In an Eastern Shore community, a teen-age girl announced her bisexuality, causing students to harass her. In April, the 17-year-old dropped out of her public high school.

At a private school in Baltimore, another 17-year-old revealed to friends that he is gay. He took a male friend to the senior prom, weathered the comments, graduated in June and recently left for his freshman year at Oberlin College in Ohio.

Such declarations about sexual orientation can be painful and difficult. Nonetheless, homosexual teens nationwide are finding it increasingly important to "come out" -- and seem to be doing so at younger and younger ages.

"The increased visibility of gays and lesbians has led young people to identify themselves as gay earlier. They are claiming their rights to express themselves as they believe they should be able to," says Carol Gush, executive director of the Sexual Minority Youth Assistance League of Washington, D.C.

From same-sex proms in Los Angeles to marching in Baltimore's Gay Pride Day Parade, young gays and lesbians increasingly are going public, but the consequences can be daunting.

"While increased visibility has led to more acceptance, it also has led to more overt opposition and hatred," Ms. Gush says. "In some areas, it may be safe for young people to come out, but in some it may be more risky to be open."

According to health professionals, rejection or harassment during the volatile teen-age years can heighten self-destructive behavior: substance abuse, unsafe sex and even suicide.

Of the 5,000 suicides each year by young people, a third are related to problems with sexual orientation, according to a 1989 federal report.

A chance to talk about those pressures draws youths to the Gay and Lesbian Community Center of Baltimore on Saturdays. The meetings, moderated by an adult, act as part support group, part safe haven for gays 14 to 24 years old. Anonymity is assured.

"Some are 'out' to their families, and some are not," says Everett Sillers, group leader. "Some have difficulty with their parents; some find support. Some are harassed on the street or in school -- especially those who are more obviously gay." And several are involved in long-term relationships, he says.

On a recent Saturday, about a dozen young men and women sat in a tight circle. Talk was about suicide and grieving: A few weeks before, a former group member had shot himself. Reportedly, he was distraught over his relationships with his parents and his boyfriend.

Because of the death, Henry Westray Jr., state coordinator for youth suicide prevention, was there to discuss the warning signs of someone who might be suicidal. He also wanted these young people to know that help is available -- through this group and through a Maryland Youth Crisis Hotline, (800) 422-0009.

As he talked, Mr. Westray slowly drew out group members. Two were grieving for their former friend. Two said they had thought about suicide themselves.

Self-esteem problems

Many young gays have trouble conforming to gender stereotypes at an early age. They may be the "tomboys" or "sissies" who are picked on as children, say mental health professionals. They often enter adolescence with self-esteem problems, which imperils them emotionally even before they begin wrestling with issues of sexuality.

Jennifer Canard, the Eastern Shore girl who "came out" in the town of Berlin, found that the cost of openness included facing insults from fellow students at Stephen Decatur High and losing friends. When she dropped out of school last spring, she was in her junior year.

Ms. Canard identifies herself as bisexual but says she does not believe in precise categories. "Sexuality is a very open part of living. It can't be defined," she explains.

She began to realize that she was different at about age 13. "I remember thinking this thing was wrong with me. I didn't understand why I wanted to look at a woman more than a man. I don't know how I got to a point at which I said, 'This is what this means,' " Ms. Canard says.

Coming out for Ms. Canard, the oldest of four children, began with telling her mother, a day care provider. Next came one friend, then two.

In 10th grade, Ms. Canard began wearing a "gay equality" button to school.

"It has been a process," she says. "I was trying to move to where I really understood what was going on.

"I didn't know anybody else like me. It was just me, trying to deal with it myself. I didn't want to talk to my family about it. They are religious and don't really want to accept gay social issues."

Last fall, Ms. Canard reviewed a book about a gay romance for the school newspaper -- and escorted a girl from Delaware to a school dance.

The book review prompted some parents to call school authorities and some students to call her names in the cafeteria and halls. Several friends refused to speak to her, Ms. Canard says.

Her brother, who is 15, also was harassed. "Kids gave him a really hard time. . . . It caused a lot of problems at home. They said to my brother, 'If I were you, I'd punch her in the face,' and, inevitably, he did."

School officials confirmed that Ms. Canard dropped out of school last spring but declined to be interviewed.

Now Ms. Canard, who has been in therapy, is getting along with her family better. She is undecided about her plans but hopes to take the high school equivalency exam and apply to college.

A slow process

Coming out for Scott McCaughey, who graduated in June from Gilman School in Baltimore, also was a long, slow process.

As a student in an all-boys school, he tried to fit in, feigning an interest in girls and making jokes about homosexuals with the other guys.

But by seventh grade, Mr. McCaughey knew he was different. "My whole life, I had tried to make it clear [to my parents] that any girl I hung around with wasn't a girlfriend. I think I was trying to drop clues to give them a hint," he says.

In October, perhaps because of those hints, his parents confronted Mr. McCaughey and asked if he was gay.

"The hardest thing is coming out to your parents," he says. "But now I don't have to pretend I'm something I'm not. And when the usual question comes up -- 'Why don't you have a girlfriend?' -- I can say, 'Because I have a boyfriend.' "

Last spring, Mr. McCaughey put a bumper sticker with a rainbow, symbol of gay pride, on his car. Within 48 hours, everyone at Gilman knew.

"It was really eerie," he says. "Everyone was standing around talking about something, and no one would look at me."

His two closest friends dropped Mr. McCaughey socially when they learned he was gay but have since begun speaking to him. And, though a few students made wisecracks about homosexuals, "I was never harassed, never touched," Mr. McCaughey says.

The faculty's reaction helped him weather the comments and the stress he felt during that time, Mr. McCaughey says.

"The national statistics about the truly unhappy and even suicidal emotional roller coaster that some of these kids [experience] is something that I think we're all aware of and are concerned about," says Archibald Montgomery, Gilman's headmaster.

Sorting out feelings

Mr. Montgomery met with members of the senior class to help them sort out their feelings. In the meeting, students were told that "their personal moral feelings belonged to them, and we as a school were not going to tell them what to think, but we would insist that Scott be treated with the same sensitivity as anyone," Mr. Montgomery says.

And in June, Mr. McCaughey donned a tux and took a young man from North Carroll High to the prom. The year before, Mr. McCaughey had escorted a young woman.

"I really wanted to go, and I guess it was a statement," Mr. McCaughey says. "I was proud that a lot of people acted normal."

Overall, the experience of coming out was positive, says Mr. McCaughey. "It seemed like everyone had more respect for me after."

But it still wasn't easy.

"Your parents and your religious leaders and your peers are telling you [homosexuality] is wrong," he says. "You are taught heterosexual is the norm and if you are not heterosexual you are not OK."