

# **Rainbow Briefs**

**Kira Harp**

# Rainbow Briefs

Copyright 2013 Kira Harp

Smashwords Edition

Edited by Sara Winters

Cover art by Enny Kraft

**License Note:** **Thank you for downloading this ebook. In all formats, this collection of stories remains the copyrighted property of the author. It must remain in its complete and unaltered form, and may not be reproduced, copied or distributed for commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy. Thank you for your support.**

**This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.**

# **Dedication**

**This collection of stories started on the** Goodreads Young Adult LGBT Books Group **. Every month, the group votes on a picture prompt, and then members write original short fiction or poetry to match the picture. After almost two years, it occurred to me that we were accumulating a collection of fun LGBTQ stories with young adult characters, but they were only being read by group members. And there's not a huge amount of inexpensive LGBTQ fiction out there to be found, so it seemed a shame to keep all of these locked away.**

**Many of the best stories over on the group aren't mine, but I had written more than a dozen myself. It seemed like a good idea to put some of them out in a collection that might reach a wider audience. I chose a subset of my own work. There are stories about two boys, or two girls, or three boys, about trans teenagers and more. I tried to include some sweet romance, some angst, some paranormal. I hope readers enjoy them.**

**And if you like this collection, you're welcome to come by the group and read the many more stories we have posted there. They're all free, although you have to be a member of Goodreads to see them. That's easily done and also free. If you're curious stop on by.**

**There's a list of LGBTQ resources at the back of this book, and a longer list at the top of the Goodreads group. If you're looking for a place to chat, or to get information, or a sympathetic ear, check those lists. Life has its ups and downs, but they are easier to get through when you know how to find people who will be on your side.**

# **Acknowledgements**

**Thanks to Sara, for pushing me to put the collection together and for all the editing work. To K, Kiracee, Jess, Elci, Trisha, Samantha, for reading and helping to polish these, and to everyone on the Goodreads LGBT Books group for encouragement and support.**

Table of Contents

Rainbow Briefs

Copyright

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Future, Imperfect

Oblivious

Tomorrow

Designing Sam

Working

Coming Back

Behind Door Number Two...

Blind Sights

My Own Kind

Making Connections

In an Orange Glow

Change of Plans

In Unexpected Places

Variations

Doubts and Darkness

LGBTQ Helplines and Resources

About the Author

Also by Kira Harp

# **Future, Imperfect**

~Picture prompt: Two young men stand on either side of a tall chain-link fence. Each man's hands grasp the wire, white-knuckled, as they stare into each other's eyes. Only their fingers touch.

I loved to watch Julio play ball. The best days were when he was on the Skins team - I could stand and stare at the way his muscles moved under his smooth tan skin. This time he was on Shirts, and my favorite sights were hidden. The sleeveless white cotton clinging to his washboard abs was almost as good though. I stood back from the playground fence in the shadows and watched him.

They played hard, all of them. Young men, mostly tall, dark-haired and lean, on that playground court in the early summer evening. Shouting, leaping, a game of jostling shoulders and elbows, the echo of shoes slapping on the concrete, and the ring of chains as a shot ripped through the basket. Two points for Julio's team, and Carlos gave him a high five in passing.

Julio was damned good. If he'd stayed in school, he'd have had the college scouts after him. He'd dropped out, though, and gone to work for his second cousin's construction company. Coach just about had a fit, but Julio was helping to support his little sisters. He played for the joy of it now.

Watching Julio move the ball up-court was like watching a dolphin swim through a herd of seals. The other guys were good, moving with surprising grace for a crowd of lanky teens still growing into their size thirteen shoes and wide gangling shoulders. But Julio was better. He was sleek and swift and agile, his body under perfect control. Watching him made my chest ache.

He saw me before I was ready for it. I'd hoped to lurk unnoticed a little longer, to take just a few more minutes to fill my eyes with the sight of him, and pretend it was still last month, or last year, or any time when the future had felt simple. He spotted me though, as he always did. When play paused he gave his teammates a wave and headed toward me, mopping his face with the hem of his shirt.

He slowed as he came near. I stepped forward, trying to look casual. We met at the fence, unobtrusively close, restrained by the chain link between us from giving too much away.

Julio hooked his fingers in the wire. "So, are you off then?"

"Soon." There were a thousand things I wanted to say. They boiled down to just one. "I don't want to go."

"I know. We have to be adult about this though."

He was only a year and a half older than me. I _hated_ when he said stuff like that. "Screw you."

He grinned, with that heat in his eyes that made my dick hard and my knees weak. "You have." His lips hardly moved, but I heard those words right inside me.

For a moment, all I could see was Julio. I stepped closer, grabbing the fence myself, pretending it was to support my bad leg and not because he made me want to drop to my knees. Our fingers brushed, a bare touch of skin. It was safe enough, two guys, buddies, on either side of seven foot wire mesh... it was dangerous enough to make the whole world stand still. Neither of us moved for a minute.

"You have to go." Julio's voice was low but urgent. "You know that. Your mom married this guy to get this chance for you. College, surgery for your foot, everything you need for your future."

_All I need is you._ I couldn't say it. I did say, "I've gotten along with the damned club foot all my life—I walk okay; I don't need to jump and dance."

"I actually wouldn't mind if you could dance better than the last time."

We'd been in my room, safely alone, with Julio moving gracefully to the music from my iPod, opening his arms to me. I'd gone to him. We'd swayed together, found a rhythm for a moment, before I'd tripped over my twisted ankle. He'd caught me. Which had led to other things. "I fell on you on purpose."

"Riiiight, you keep telling yourself that."

"Anyway, I don't need to go off to some fancy college. I don't need my stepdad's money to be okay."

"Maybe I want you to be better than okay. Maybe I want you to go to college, 'cause I can't."

He'd said that before, and it still felt freaking unfair. _Do it for me._ What about what I wanted? Before Mom met Arne, I'd figured on going to community college and building a life here, with Julio. We'd been together for two years, and no matter what he said, I was nowhere close to getting tired of him. That would never happen. And now everyone in my life was telling me about this great opportunity, about New York surgeons and New York schools and how it would change my life. And all I could see was that it meant leaving Julio behind.

He must have seen the old arguments rising in my eyes, because he moved a little closer to the fence. I could smell his aftershave, and the sharp tang of his sweat. He said, "It's not forever. We'll text and I'll call you. Skype even, if I can find a way. You'll be home for Christmas." Then he wrecked it by adding, "Just... if you do meet a guy, someone better, tell me. I don't want you to feel guilty. I just want to know."

"Go to hell," I snarled. _God, I was so mad I could hardly breathe._ And yet, that wasn't what I wanted our last words to be. We had maybe ten more minutes before Arne came looking for me, tapping his watch and telling me time was money. _Don't be a freaking coward. Lay it on the line._

We'd never done that. We'd been together in every way there was. Tentatively at first, when I was sixteen and he was almost eighteen, and this thing between us was fresh and new. Secretly, later, when I was seventeen and he was nineteen. It was technically illegal then, and Arne, in his new position as my stepfather, might have used that against him, so we were careful, but we never stopped. We were together. Wildly and passionately in private, and once in a gay bar across town, openly and joyfully, since I turned eighteen. But we'd never said the words.

"I love you." I said it, just like that. I saw the shock in his eyes, followed by the heat. I added, "I'm not going looking for anyone else, and I'll be counting off the days till Christmas and the years till graduation. You'd better be doing the same."

Julio moved his hand so his fingers slid against mine through the chain link. "One thousand three hundred and twenty-five days to your graduation. Assuming they do it on the first Saturday after the end of term. And assuming you can keep your ass in gear and graduate in four."

I could feel the smile that tugged the corners of my mouth, even as my eyes went blurry. "You checked it out."

"Nah. Never even thought about it."

"Will you come to my graduation?"

"Sure. And I'll expect you to dance with me. Properly. Without landing in my lap."

From up the hill behind me I heard Arne's voice. "Mark? You out here?"

Julio stepped up close against the fence. "You have to go."

"Yeah." We'd said private goodbyes last night, but I hadn't been able to resist coming down for one last look. And now I was glad.

"Gonna miss you, Mark."

"You too. All the damned time. No matter where I go."

"Wish I could kiss you good-bye." His tone was low and intense.

"Your buddies are looking."

He met my gaze, and his eyes were dark and wide. "Mark. I will if you want me to. Right here, in front of them, and your stepdad up there, and everyone."

_Holy hell._ I'd wanted to come out as soon as I'd turned eighteen. He'd thought it was smarter to wait. He'd been right and it was still smarter, but this offer felt like a gift. I had to be careful about returning it. "Might dry up the college funds." When he held still, and silent, I added, "Besides, when we do that, we'll do it together. On a day when we can stay together, and look them in the eyes and hold hands, and not let go. One thousand three hundred and... how many?"

"Twenty-five days."

"Then. We'll stand up in front of everyone and do it then."

Very slowly he stepped backward, pulling his hands from the fence. His touch left me, and I clung to the chain-link. My foot ached and I shifted my weight off it, keeping my gaze locked on his. _Had I said the wrong thing?_

When there was a foot of empty space between us, he stopped. "I love you too," he said softly. "I can wait that long. Or, you know, forever."

Then he whirled and ran back toward the basketball court. With a leap he intercepted a pass, dodged two bare-chested guys, and threw a perfect three-pointer that never touched the net. He was like quicksilver slipping through them. None of them could hold him. But I could.

From behind me, my stepfather said, "There you are. Come on, time's wasting. Maybe by the time you come back from New York, you'll be able to play like that friend of yours."

Without turning, my eyes still on Julio, I said, "Never. The doctors don't expect me to ever heal up that perfect. It's okay though. That's not what I want."

"What do you want then?" His tone said he was humoring me, only half listening.

Down on the court, Julio jumped for the ball, missed and came down lightly. His body twisted and flexed, perfect motion, already leaping forward. An observer might have thought he was completely caught up in the game. But as a lull came, I saw him glance casually my way, then cross his arms across his chest and take two steps, smooth and gliding, and nothing whatsoever to do with basketball.

"I want to learn to dance," I said.

**####**

#  **Oblivious**

~Picture prompt: A dark-haired girl lies on her back, her eyes covered by a teal-green fabric sash. Above her, a lovely blond girl leans forward, her long hair drifting toward the blindfolded girl's cheek, mouths just inches apart.

The first time I saw her, I wanted to _be_ her. We were both twelve, and in seventh grade. A new school for Junior High, new people and hopefully a new start. I was going to be cool. I was going to be... well, not popular, but normal. Middle-of-the-pack. Hell, I'd settle for invisible. And then there she was.

She sailed into the lunch room that first day with her dark blond hair curling around her face, her green eyes laughing and her head high. She wiggled her fingers in response to a general wave from the girls at the popular kids table and then she _ignored_ them, and went to sit by this geeky boy named Steven.

I couldn't take my eyes off her. She lit up the room. The awkward boy I'd dubbed Silent Steven last year in grade school said, "Adara! You're back! And in this school! I didn't know that." I didn't think I'd ever seen him smile like that.

She nodded. "Home for good, as far as I know. You're stuck with me."

Steven laughed. "I'm willing to live with that. Sit down, eat, tell me about your trip."

She plopped her lunch on his table and pulled out a soda in an actual glass bottle. She tipped it up and drank, and looking at her, the way her throat made that line as she enjoyed the first sip, I could almost taste the cool liquid in my own mouth. She set it down and nudged Steven. "You first. What've you been up to since I moved away?"

Steven's response was too soft for me to hear, but she paid careful attention, her head tilted and her eyes only on him. And he talked and laughed with her, as she unwrapped a giant sandwich and made a game of trying to get a bite around it. The popular kids had turned away, but the occasional glance they threw her way looked envious, not disdainful. Her shirt was the perfect blue, her jeans fit just right, the rings on her fingers caught the light. And I wanted to be her, with an ache that almost took my breath away. I sat there, lunch forgotten, watching out of the corner of my eye, until the bell rang.

She stood up, crumpled her paper bag decisively and gave Steven a grin. And then she sailed out the door, hitting the garbage can with a paper-bag rim shot from twenty feet away. The cafeteria was a dimmer place without her. I overheard one of the cheerleaders ask another, "Who was that?"

"Adara Delaney. I guess she's been living in Paris for two years and she just moved back here. I used to know her in grade school."

Adara Delany. Even her name was perfect. It rolled off my tongue in a way that Candice Gordon never would. And _Candy_ was even worse. If I was _Adara_ , I'd be so much more than my geeky, mousy self. For months after that, in secret, I wrote little poems and did sketches and paintings and signed them all "Adara D." They lived in a drawer in my bedroom. Underneath the hand-knit sweaters from Grandma Gordon that even Mom didn't insist I should wear, my dreams were safe and secret.

At school we became friends, but just the way a lot of kids were friends. Adara was fun and I wasn't the only one swept along in her wake. I probably wasn't even the only one who spent hours in front of a mirror wondering how close to her curls I could get my straighter, dark hair, how many rings I could wear, before it became obvious. Wondering what it was that made her shine so bright, and how I could be like that.

Steven was always the person closest to her. I tried not to care, not to be jealous of the way they could count on each other, laughed about the same things, and finished each other's sentences. Adara was nice to me. She even sometimes asked my advice on colors for her clothes, or paused at my locker for a moment to chat. She glided through those awkward years that I was barely surviving.

Four years later, I didn't want to be Adara anymore. I just wanted her.

The gap between twelve and sixteen is practically an ocean. Standing on one shore, you can't even see the other. At twelve I was a dreamer and a nerd. My life goal was one day earning fame with my art. I envisioned a future standing in a gallery at the opening of my one-woman show, with my husband at my side. The guy may have been a bit unclear—wavering randomly between whatever actor or musician I'd noticed that week—but he was there, a rock to lean on as I spread my creative wings.

Until one day I realized that while I was setting up that cardboard cut-out of a guy in my careful plans, there was someone quite different in my mind. Someone who appeared as I lay at night, drowsy and brushing the edges of sleep. Someone who was softer and rounder and whose cheek was silk against my own. A light sweet voice and a scent not like musk but like wildflower perfume. I was sitting in class, doodling because we were discussing the correct use of apostrophes, _again_. Adara was three seats over beside the window, gazing out and looking as bored as I was. My pencil slid over the paper, limning the curve of her cheek, the line of her neck, the way the shadows pooled in the little hollow under her collarbone. And suddenly it felt like someone had dumped hot water over me. And I _knew._

That sketch never was finished. In fact, I ripped it into tiny little shreds and flushed it down the toilet in the school bathroom. I leaned against the side of the stall, holding back tears. Like I wasn't weird enough. Like the fact that I could define the word _somnambulism_ and cared who Diego Valázquez was didn't already set me apart. This was not who I'd planned to be.

But a small part of me was glad too. That little bit of me that had worried and fussed, and wondered if I was asexual, because I actually couldn't care less about Taylor Lautner's abs or Alex Pettyfer's cheekbones. That bit of me was feeling a soft rolling heat of anticipation. And so I stood there and cried and wanted and was freaked out and excited by turns. Until I got myself together, and took a shaky breath and tried not to think about anything at all.

It was a good thing we had no exams that day. I'd have totally flunked. I went home and spent hours online, looking at guys, looking at girls, Googling _GLBT_ and _lesbian_. And _bisexual_ , because completely giving up that cardboard husband felt like cutting loose on the string of my life's balloon. The sky was big and empty and cold when you got high enough. I wasn't ready. I wasn't sure enough. Except I was.

The day of the spring field trip was sunny and warm. It was a rare thing for us to have an outdoor field trip now we were in high school. Or any kind of field trip. Gone were the days of taking the whole class to dig for fossils or explore the nature preserve. But the Biology teacher had convinced the school that a day spent learning about identifying invasive species and doing our public service by preserving the woods and wetlands was worth allowing us to miss three other classes. Everyone was signed up by the end of the first day.

I sat beside Greg on the bus. It was purely by default. When I got on the yellow bus, there were three open seats left. One was next to Becca, but she defended it with a glare, waiting for her friend Shannon who was last in line. One was beside Toby and I'm sorry. It's dumb and shallow and I, of all people, should be better than this, but I hate sitting next to him. He's so fat he takes up two thirds of the seat and he sweats and... I know it's not nice of me and I should try to be friends with him. And sometimes when I see him alone at lunch I think I'll go over and strike up a conversation. But then he shoves a big bite in his mouth and chews, and I just don't. Anyway, that left Greg.

"Hey, Candice." He moved over to give me more than half the seat.

"Thanks." I dropped onto the cracked green vinyl, trying to spot where Adara was sitting. _There, two rows up._

"So this could be okay, right? I mean, a field trip beats being in class any day."

"Sure. I guess so."

"And it's in a good cause, to keep the preserve healthy. And we'll learn stuff."

I glanced at him and then turned to look up the aisle. "Yeah, it's a good cause."

Greg kind of likes me. At least, I think he does. He's always been nice to me, and if we happen to be somewhere together he asks what I'm drawing or finds something else to talk about. I used to think we might go out on a date, one day. He's not bad looking, except for the really short hair, and I must have imagined our first date a hundred times, but I just never could get it as far as the first kiss. _We'd talk and have a burger and then...nothing._ That was one of the things that had me worried, before I realized that just the sight of Adara's back could make me feel like I'd walked too close to the sun.

So I sat by Greg, and answered his awkward questions with even more awkward short answers. And instead of looking at him, I let my eyes wander, so that every now and then they could slide over to where Adara and Steven sat laughing two rows ahead. Adara's hair shone gold in the sun. It seemed like the light always found her.

We got off the bus and stood around, waiting for the park ranger to do his presentation. Greg wandered away from me after a while. I felt bad about that. It's not like I have a lot of friends. It would be cool if he wanted to be friends. But when we're together I get this feeling like... like he always wants more. His eyes track down to my boobs, even though I don't have much. (My chest makes me think about that joke where a lingerie salesman asks the guy shopping for a gift to describe his wife's size – cantaloupes, oranges, apples, eggs... and he goes, "yeah, fried!" That's me.) Anyway, I don't want to go there with Greg. So it's good that he found his buddies to hang out with instead.

The naturalist was kind of cool. He showed us what to look for and what to avoid (poison ivy!). Then he handed out gloves and clippers and set us to work. We were supposed to work in pairs. In a moment of insane penance, I went and stood next to Toby so we were 'accidentally' partnered together. It actually worked out okay. He didn't like bending over and cutting stuff, so I had him identify the invasive plants, and then hold onto them up high while I knelt down and cut them off at the ground. And while he was up there and I was grubbing in the dirt, I could let my mind wander.

What we were taking out was mostly buckthorn, with its glossy leaves and wooden stems. I was glad I had gloves, but even so those damned bushes don't have 'thorn' in their name for nothing. After half an hour, I dropped the latest victim of my clippers into the growing brush pile and pulled off a glove to suck on my thumb. I looked around at the other guys hard at work, scanning the area for no particular reason. _Yeah, right. There she was over beyond the ditch, working with Steven as usual._ She looked up at that moment and gave me a quick smile.

I let myself smile back just for a second, and then forced my attention away from Adara. _No lingering, no staring._ I gazed around with fake casualness and noticed that Toby was flushed and sweaty, leaning against a tree. He kind of vaguely looked past me as I slid my glove back on. His eyes seemed glazed.

"Hey," I said. "You okay?"

"Sure." Toby's voice was always higher than you'd expect from a guy his size, but even so it sounded a bit thin. "Just hot is all."

"You should take a break," I suggested. "Go get water and sit in the shade for a while. I don't mind."

"We're supposed to stay in pairs."

I glanced around. "The preserve is what, two square miles? I somehow doubt I'll get lost."

"I mean, I can do my share."

I shrugged. "It is pretty hot. I'm used to it, because my dad doesn't believe in air conditioning." That much at least was the truth. Until we could afford solar panels to power it, our house would swelter without the energy-sucking modern conveniences. "Why don't you just take a break. Then if you feel better before the lunch break you can come find me."

I headed briskly toward a tempting path without looking back. I didn't really want Toby along, puffing and sweating and making me worried he'd have a stroke or something. The day was warm but not that bad, and the quiet of the woods beckoned to me.

I decided to find a good private spot, make a secondary brush pile, and then haul things back to base later. There was no shortage of buckthorn. I could pick my spot. I kept walking, until the sound of voices had faded behind me. The woods were quiet. The nature preserve was small enough that the occasional distant buzz of traffic intruded, but it was muted and could be ignored.

For a moment I could pretend none of that existed. It was just me and the oak trees and poplars and the whisper of a breeze. There were birds in the underbrush, darting flashes of bright-crowned kinglets that tantalized me with glimpses of dark eyes and golden feathers. Blossoms still clung to the blackberry vines, marking the tangles of thorny brambles. Here and there, where sunlight penetrated the leaves, the ubiquitous dandelions raised yellow heads on long milky stalks.

Eventually I picked a spot that was as good as any, and started looking for the shiny oval leaves and sparsely-thorned branches. It was no problem to find some. In fact there was one big one that had somehow been missed in previous efforts and become a full-fledged tree. I dug in my pocket for an orange plastic ribbon and marked it for the team with the saw to cut down later. Around it, the small shoots of new buckthorns from fallen seeds sprang upward, spindly and fast growing. Like obnoxious teenage boys. _Ha ha – I have clippers, my pretties, and I know how to use them._

I had a pretty good pile of dead seedlings by the time I decided to take a break. I pulled off my gloves and waved my sweaty hands in the air to cool them. There was a spot on my thumb that was threatening to become a blister. I looked more closely and then noticed my watch. It was ten past noon. Somehow I must have missed hearing the recall whistle for lunch break. I knew I should head back. My hummus and cucumber sandwich was waiting in the cooler. But my dad's idea of good nutrition – on whole grain bread of course – couldn't compete with the gift of a school day when I could be alone in the woods. I sat down on a patch of grass, wrapped my arms around my knees and just _looked_ at the trees.

"Figured I'd find you staring at something."

I jolted and turned. Adara stood on the path, a paper bag in each hand. "Didn't you hear the whistle?"

"I guess not," I admitted.

"Oblivious." There was an odd, friendly note in her voice as she said it. "Anyway, I grabbed your lunch for you, so the teachers won't be worrying about why you didn't come get it." She held it out to me.

I scrambled to my feet. "Thanks! But you didn't have to do that. And... how did you find me?"

"Oh, I noticed you heading this way after you ditched poor Toby. So when Steven and I broke for lunch and you didn't show, I figured you'd found a flower or a boulder or a grassy knoll or something else to draw."

I raised my empty hands. "No pencil or paper."

"To draw in your head, then. You're always looking at things like they're pictures just waiting to happen."

_How did she know that?_ I walked the three steps to meet her and took my lunch from her outstretched hand. "Thank you."

"No problem." She glanced around. "Hey, we're close to my favorite place in this whole park. You want to see it?"

I'd have gone to look at a garbage dump if she'd asked me, but... "Where's Steven?"

She wrinkled her nose. "The ranger was handing out unlimited free chips and pop. He's a boy. Three guesses."

"Where the food is."

"Bingo. Come on, Candy."

I hated being called Candy. I'd pretty much got everyone stick to Candice now, all the time. But I loved it when Adara said it. I followed her down the path. About a hundred yards on, she took a small fork to the right. The path was closed by a gate, held shut by a loop of chain and a padlock.

"Oh, that's too bad," I said.

Adara grinned at me. "Have a little faith, girl." She put one foot on the bottom rung of the gate, leaned on it, and tugged the loop of chain upward. The gate dipped under her weight, the chain lifted and slid up over the post. "Come on." She pulled the gate open just enough for us to slip through, and then closed it behind us. "This way."

The path turned again, and suddenly we were in a clearing. The ground underfoot was flat slabs of rock, like the bones of the earth, exposed through the soil in tilted angles of sun-warmed slate. Around the edge of the glade, low juniper and the boughs of evergreens formed a screening wall, dark green and impenetrable.

Adara whirled in a cheerful pirouette. "You like? I live near here, and this is my favorite place to come and just hang out."

It was perfect. It was beautiful and secluded and quiet and romantic. I said, "Do you come here with Steven a lot?"

Adara froze in mid whirl. I bit my lip hard. It was like that moment in the fairy tales where the true princess has pearls drop from her lips whenever she speaks, and then the ugly step sister has toads. My warty question hopped around between us. I dropped my eyes to the dark rock underfoot.

Adara came closer. "You aren't jealous of _Steven_?"

I didn't look up. I wanted to say no. I wanted to say yes. I kept my toad words behind my firmly closed teeth.

Adara laughed and startled me into looking at her face. "You _are_ jealous." A slow smile curved her lips. "Holy hell, Candy, you're more out of it than I thought."

I didn't like being called _out of it._ I did like the way she stood there with her green eyes staring into mine. I freaking loved the way her lower lip tucked in at the corners, and made the dimple appear on her left cheek.

"Is that why you always walk away from me? Because you think Steven and I are a couple?"

I shrugged. I walked away from her before she could walk away from me, mostly. We were friendly, we chatted now and then. I said hi in the halls. I complimented her clothes (not too often) and laughed at her jokes (not too loudly) and shared complaints about the teachers or the cafeteria food. And I walked away before she could get tired of me. So I would never see that _Oh, my God, her again_ look on Adara's face.

She shook her head at me, an over-dramatic expression of sorrow on her face. "Candy, Candy. You must be the only person in the school who doesn't know Steven is gay."

I think I made a sound, like the grunt you give when you walk into the corner of a table with your hip. My brain shut off. I blinked at her.

Adara said, "You know what your problem is?"

_I'm an idiot?_

"You're too one-dimensional. You look at everything, you see the surface. And that's not bad. You see it pretty perfectly. Your drawings are amazing. But sometimes you have to turn off those eyes and feel."

I said, "You can't turn off your eyes."

"Close them then. Or better yet..." She set her lunch bag down on the rock and reached to her waist. She had a long thin sash of teal-green silk in place of a belt. As she slowly drew it through the loops of her jeans I noticed it matched my shirt almost exactly. Coincidence? Fate? Had I somehow psychically known what she was going to wear? Or had she...

She twisted the fabric in her hands. "Do you trust me, Candy? Really trust me?"

_Did I believe in gravity?_ "Yes."

"Good. Then, I'm going to blindfold you, okay? I'll be right here. I just want you to close your artist's eyes and feel things for once."

"Okay." I think I whispered it.

Adara came in close to me. I dropped my gaze. She wore a red cami under her black sweater, and her breasts made two perfect curves above the lace edge... The softness of fabric, warm from her body, touched with her floral scent, slid across my face. I closed my eyes. She eased the blindfold in place and knotted it gently. "That okay?"

"That's fine."

"Then listen." Adara's fingers slid over mine and clasped lightly. "Listen first. Hear those crickets? There's a chickadee in the trees to the left. I think a train is coming, a long way off. Hear that?"

"Yes."

"This way. Sit down." She tugged on my hand and guided me down onto the rocks. They were hard and rough under me as I sat obediently. "In fact, lie down." Adara's hands eased me onto my back. I stretched out cautiously.

"Now feel." Her voice was a honeyed whisper. "Feel the stone under your hands. Feel the sun on your face. Can you feel it?"

"Yes."

"And now?"

It was cooler. The breeze touched my cheek but the warmth had faded, as if a shadow blocked the sun. Something soft brushed over my forehead, and then across my eyebrow. "And now?"

"Your hair..."

"Very good." I heard her change position. She might be between me and the sun, but there were other kinds of heat. My skin was burning, sensitized and waiting. She shook her head, and her hair whisked across my forearm and wrist. I closed my hands to fists so I wouldn't reach for it.

"Candy," Adara said softly. "What do you feel?"

My mouth was dry. I was breathing fast. I licked my lips, wishing I could see her eyes through the blindfold, glad I could see nothing at all. There was a rustling again, as she moved closer. I could smell the scent she used, wildflowers and vanilla sweetness. I could hear her breathing slow and easy. Her hair moved lower, slipping over my neck and shoulder. I felt the heat of her nearness, heard the sudden hitch of her breath. And time stopped in that moment, as her lips touched mine.

####

# **Tomorrow**

~Picture prompt: Two young guys ride the subway train, seated in a half-empty car, one lying with his head in the other guy's lap. The train windows are dark, the lighting from the overhead strips is stark, and no one is near, or cares....

His head was heavy in my lap, but I wasn't about to complain. The rattling hum of the subway faded, in my focus on this one thing, on the boy lying casually on the seat beside me, using me for a pillow. The brush of his hair against my arm, the lingering touch of his fingers on the back of my neck, were important, precious. I leaned over him, looking into his eyes.

"I knew it," he said. "I've seen you looking at me. I liked it. Did you think it's a coincidence that we meet up in the doorway so often, coming and going from class?"

Well, I was a math major and there were four hundred students in calculus, more than half of us guys. I could calculate the odds. I shook my head.

"I've smiled at you," he whispered. He wriggled a little closer to me and the weight of his shoulder on my thigh felt like pure vibrant life. "I meet your eyes every time you look my way."

I wanted to say I had noticed. I wanted to say I remembered everything he wore, every question he asked. I was getting a B in class for the first time in my life, distracted by his presence in the next seat over, worrying when he sighed over a quiz, ignoring mathematical confusion in my general life confusion. I wanted to tell him I had been paying attention. I leaned further forward.

A heavy-set guy with pants falling off his hips and a dirty hoodie brushed past my bent head with a grunt of, "Don't block the fucking aisle, dude."

That beloved weight on my lap vanished like a soap bubble, imagination colliding with reality. I was alone, on a dull, stale-smelling subway car, going home to my stupid single room as I had so many times this quarter already. I sat back and lifted my backpack off the floor. I hugged it against my chest. Its weight was cold and hard, and not warm breathing life. The seat beside me was empty, as always.

This really and truly sucked. We were weeks into the quarter and I was frozen, struck stupid and dumb, still scared of what he'd do, what he'd say, if I made a move. But how could being brushed off be worse than never trying? I took a deep breath, and pictured his face, finding courage that I'd no doubt gain and lose a hundred times in the next twenty-four hours. I'd made these plans before. But this time felt different.

Tomorrow when we pass in the doorway for that improbable seventeenth time, I will ask his name. Tomorrow I will tell him mine.

**####**

# Designing Sam

~Picture prompt: A slim girl with dark hair stands in front of her full-length mirror, looking into it. From the mirror, a muscular young man with the same hair and eyes stares back.

He glanced down at his slacks. Was there any chance they'd pass muster? They were black, a nice fabric, and loose enough to look pretty natural. He'd paired them with a crisp, light blue button-down shirt that had loose sleeves and snug cuffs. It was a guy's shirt, but maybe a bit ambiguous, if you squinted. He glanced over at the mirror. Not bad.

Who was he kidding? It would never fly.

Sure enough, his mom tapped on the door and opened it without waiting for a response. "Sarah! You need to get dressed, right now. Everyone's waiting."

He said, "I thought maybe I could wear this. I like these slacks and the shirt's the right blue."

"Are you kidding? This is your sister's wedding. You can't go out looking scruffy. We spent two hours picking out that dress, and you need to wear it."

"Mom, I'm starting to kind of hate dresses." He'd always hated dresses.

"Well, most of the time you can wear whatever you like. But this is your sister's wedding and I'm not going to have you mess it up for her. She's going to look at the pictures for decades and I want them to be perfect. Now hurry up!"

Mom slammed her way out of the door. Sam sighed. He pulled off the shirt and hung it neatly, folded the slacks on a chair. He carefully avoided looking in the mirror, with his armor removed. He knew what he'd see - a betrayal of a body, with soft arms despite all the weights he lifted, and wide hips, and a chest only flattened and not eliminated by the binder he was wearing. God must have some really nasty sense of humor, to have given Sam size-C cups when he didn't want any damned tits at all. When his sister bitched about her size A's constantly.

The dress. He was supposed to be putting on the dress.

It was fine, if you liked that kind of thing, the same blue as the shirt. Which was why he'd picked the shirt, because it was Linda's wedding color theme and he'd thought maybe he could get away with it. Although no, that was a lie, he'd known Mom would never agree. He'd just wanted another minute of fantasy, that he was some normal sixteen-year-old guy getting ready for his older sister's wedding. And not a sixteen-year-old girl. _Shit!_ Tears blurred his vision as he grabbed the stupid dress out of his closet and pulled it over his head. And wow, wasn't that sob manly? He would blame the stupid female hormones, but he knew it was just him. He was a wimp. Always had been. How else would you explain the fact that at sixteen, no one but his friend Kate knew he was really a guy, down inside where it counted? He'd tried to bring the situation up hundreds of times to his parents, and always chickened out. If he hadn't needed a safe address to have some of his Internet stuff delivered, he'd probably never have told Kate either.

_Double shit!_ He ripped the dress back off. He couldn't wear it with the binder. The neck was too low and the stiff black fabric that kept his tits almost under control would show. He hadn't dared to wear the binder out clothes shopping with Mom. Which meant he needed a freaking bra and all the girly crap that went with a dress. Maybe he could just be sick today. Except he did kind of like Linda. For a sister she wasn't that bad, and he'd hate to rain on her wedding day. Okay. He took a deep breath. _Back into stealth mode._ He'd make it work.

Two hours later, sweat was trickling down Sam's back, his pantyhose felt like tourniquets around his thighs, and the bra straps itched, but the tears in his eyes were for something far better this time. For that look on Linda's face, when she said, "I, Linda, take you, Evan,..." He'd never imagined his older sister could look radiant, but that was the word that came to mind. Stunning. Lovely. Mom would probably say "Blessed," and if Sam hadn't started easing away from the church when he realized he was a gay guy and not a straight woman, he'd have agreed. There was something so sweet and real between Linda and Evan that it just shone through.

Sam bit his lip, and swallowed a surge of envy. He'd probably never have that. Sometimes he wondered why he kept trying. He could pretend to be a girl - a pretty girl, everyone said - and probably find some guy who'd be happy to date him. As a freaky gay guy with scars on his chest and a micro dick, if he even got that far... not so much.

But any guy who wanted to see him as a girl, _he_ wouldn't want.

He shook his head, and focused on the wedding. Enough self-pity. This was Linda's big day, and he'd try to enjoy it. He did like flowers and dresses, as long as they were on someone else. And the old church was lovely, with light streaming in the stained glass to lay bright colors across the back wall. The minister said, "I now pronounce you man and wife," and that was not a bad kiss for being done in front of both sets of parents and the whole congregation. Sam stood and applauded with the rest.

Once the wedding party had recessed, or whatever it was that was the opposite of a procession, down the aisle, Mom grabbed Sam's arm. "Wasn't that lovely?" Mom sighed. "I hope your wedding is just like it. Come on, time for pictures."

Sam let her drag him out to the front of the church, where the photographer was getting set up. The man acted like a movie director, turning and positioning them and asking them to look at this person or that. He wielded his camera like a baton, constantly in motion. After the first few takes, Sam found it much more interesting to watch the photographer than his sister. The camera guy wasn't tall or loud-voiced, but he had a kind of assurance that made even Dad do as he was told, and smile at his new son-in-law on command. Useful skill, that.

Sam obediently climbed one step higher and smoothed down his skirt a bit. He liked that guy's voice, not deep but rich in harmonics. Sam amused himself imagining how he would score the guy, in a musical theme for this scene. Violins, perhaps, or maybe violas. At least three-part harmony. Something fast but not discordant. With lighting that held the gold of the afternoon sun, gilding the guy's skin. He thought about gel colors for the spotlights, and where he'd place them. Sam smiled, smiled, smiled some more, and then gratefully stepped back out of the frame to allow for some smaller group pictures with the parents.

From over to the side, he could watch the photographer covertly. He had dark hair, neatly styled without too much product. His clothes were impeccably cut and fitted, suggesting he either had a great eye for fashion, or more money than you'd expect from a wedding photographer. His hands on the camera were long-fingered and graceful, and his body was lean and fit, with a control that hinted at good muscles under the very nice suit.

Mmm. Sam allowed himself a minute of fantasy. The guy _could_ be gay, after all, and looking for a smart, musical, femme guy. Resolutely, Sam didn't think how far he still was from the "guy" part of that. They might chat at the reception, get to know one another. What were the odds that a straight guy would bother getting himself to look that good?

When the interminable photo session was over, Sam made a point of intercepting the photographer on his way to his car. No time like the present.

"Hi, that's a really cool camera. I'm Sam, by the way. Sibling of the bride."

The photographer gave him a quick smile. "Hi, Sam-the-sibling, I'm Clint, photographer of the bride."

" _Clint?_ Really? Like Eastwood?" Sam was just too late to keep himself from coming out with that incredibly lame question that Clint had no doubt heard a hundred times.

Sure enough, Clint's eyes glazed, but he said easily, "Mom was a big fan. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get to the reception."

"Right." Sam hesitated and then decided there was no time like the present. He had no gaydar to speak of, but he was in possession of the perfect tools for straight-dar. He widened his eyes, pressed his arms together a bit so he stuck out his tits in that uplift bra Mom insisted went with the dress, and bit his lower lip subtly. When he said, "Maybe I'll see you there," he watched Clint's eyes.

_Wait for it, wait for it, shit!_ Sure enough, when Clint said, "Maybe," his eyes were glued to Sam's chest. It took a minute, maybe two, for his gaze to rise again to somewhere around Sam's mouth. And then he looked down again, giving Sam a not very subtle once over. _Crap. Straight._

Sam gave Clint a quick dismissive smile and turned away. Maybe that was rude, but so was talking to Sam's tits. He was so tired of having straight guys focus on a body part Sam just wished was gone.

He jumped as Kate appeared beside him. "Hey, Sarah, I mean Sam, that was a really pretty service."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Your cousin Troy is kind of hot."

"Troy?" He'd been one of Evan's groomsmen. "Really? Well, maybe. If you like them big and hairy."

"Which I do." Kate did a pretend dreamy sigh, hand to her heart. "A big bear of a guy."

Sam bumped her with his shoulder. "Want an introduction?"

"Not really. I remember him from your Fourth of July picnic. He was one of the guys who dropped Linda in the pool. He's kind of a jerk. But hot from a distance. So, anyone here your type?"

Sam said, "No." But he couldn't help glancing at Clint's retreating back.

"Ooh, nice choice." Kate paused to watch Clint swing himself into his low sports car. "I do like a man who moves well, and who has cool wheels."

"He's too old for either of us anyway. He has to be twenty-five. Maybe more."

"Well, a girl can dream." Kate looked quickly at Sam and then away, "Or a guy, I guess. It's weird to see you in a dress. I don't think I've seen you in anything with a skirt in years."

"My mom kind of made me wear it."

"You look so good though." Kate lowered her voice. "I'd kill for your legs and your boobs, you know. You're the prettiest girl I know, by far. Are you sure...?"

"I'm not a girl," Sam said flatly.

****

Sam sat on a stone bench out in the gardens, watching the lights from the reception hall reflect in the dark pond. He'd done his duty. He'd chatted with all the aunts and uncles, and Grandma, and Grandpa George, and Grandpa William. He'd had sixty gazillion people tell him what a pretty girl he was and how lovely his dress was and how he was going to make some lucky man such a lovely bride. He'd smiled and nodded until his cheeks hurt and he felt like a Britney Spears bobble-head doll.

And then he'd stolen Grandpa William's scotch and soda and come down here to be alone. He'd hoped to also get drunk, but one scotch wasn't cutting it tonight. Someone had watered the old man's drink. Anyway, after a year of stealing a nip now and then from Dad's vodka, he'd clearly built up a tolerance.

Sam held the glass up, looking at the lights through it, turning it to make them refract through the cut glass. They were really going first class for Linda. No plastic stemware for her wedding. He held the glass higher, saluting the sky with it, and heard a shutter click.

Sam almost dropped the glass, spinning around. Maybe the scotch had done more than he thought. Clint stood beside him, camera in hand.

"You'll get me in trouble with that picture. I'm not supposed to drink."

Clint's teeth flashed white in the dimness. "They're serving the sodas in the same glasses. No one will know."

"Oh."

"Not supposed to drink? How old are you?"

Sam hesitated, but Clint was straight, so really an extra obstacle to being hit on was a good thing. "Sixteen."

"Ah. Sweet sixteen."

That just hit the end of his patience. He said, "Fuck the hell off," and to his utter disgust, started to cry.

He'd have run away, but he was wearing these damned strappy sandals with heels, and the ground was uneven. So he just set the glass aside, pulled his legs up to his chest, and hid his face on his knees. He expected to hear Clint walk away, but instead after a moment he heard him sit down on the other end of the bench. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, I'm perfect. I'm lovely, the prettiest thing since Princess Di."

"Did someone... do something?"

"No. Nothing like that." His breath hitched on the last word, and despite clenching his teeth and breathing through his nose, a sob escaped, and then another.

There was a pause, and then Clint said, "Do you want to talk about it? Or I could find another girl to come hang out with you."

It ripped out of Sam's throat. "I'm not a girl!"

Clint grunted. "Huh. What are you?"

Might as well just go all the way now. "I'm a boy."

"F to M, or M to F?"

That was so unexpected, it caught Sam in the middle of a sob, and he choked and coughed. When he had his breath back, he said slowly, "F to M."

"Okay. And dressed as F for the family celebration?"

"Yes." Sam sat up and rubbed his hand over his face. At least he'd drawn the line at make-up, other than lip gloss, so he wasn't smearing mascara all over.

Clint nodded slowly, a motion Sam more felt than saw. For a few minutes they just sat, both looking at the sparkling lights across the water. Sam felt the tight knot of pain in his chest ease.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Why would you care?" Sam couldn't help adding, "How did you know...?"

"Well, as for knowing, you said you were a boy, and a boy in a dress is pretty much going to be one or the other. Or cross-dressing, of course, but I didn't get a liberal, everything-goes vibe from this crowd, so I figured that was unlikely."

"Hah, right. Not a lot of open minds up there."

"Are you out at all?"

"No. Just to one friend. Well, and you now."

"I'm honored. And I won't tell anyone."

"I'm kind of to the point where I don't care anymore. Girl, boy. It doesn't matter. Nothing really matters anymore." Sam could hear the flat, thin tone of his voice.

Clint hummed a quiet sound. "I've got to say, Sam-the-sibling, I don't like the way you say that. Of course it matters. It's who you are."

"Not in this family." It was funny. Sitting here in the almost-dark with a stranger, he could say things he'd never told anyone else. "I have two more years of being pretty and girly and not rocking the boat before I go to college, and then, maybe, just maybe I'll be able to be me. Part time. Of course by then..." He stopped. "You don't want to hear this crap. And you're busy."

Clint set his camera on the bench and turned further toward Sam. "I came down here for a few exterior shots with the lights. I got them and I have lots of reception pictures. Until the happy couple heads out, I have a few minutes off, and if I want to spend some of them chatting with a young guy who could use a friendly ear, that's my choice."

"Oh." Shock and wonder, to have someone say "guy" and mean Sam. Someone who knew, who wasn't being fooled by boy clothes and binder, but actually could look at Sam in a dress and say that.

"Although we can just sit here too for a bit. You don't have to talk."

"That's..." Sam couldn't say what it was. Overwhelming. "You really don't mind? Me, I mean?"

"Not my place to mind." Clint looked away at the lights. The sky slowly darkened, and a soft breeze picked up as they just sat there. There was an insulating quality to the darkness, and the muffled sounds from up the hill, and the slow ripples of the water. It felt like another world. Eventually, Clint said, "The first time my little brother brought home a boy instead of a girl, Mom made us all join PFLAG. He's with a girl again this month, but the one before that was another guy."

"He's bi?"

"Yeah. And a lazy horn-dog, but PFLAG at least opened my eyes to not judging. On the bi part. I'm still gonna judge the sleaze. I did get to know a couple of trans people at the meetings. You think maybe your parents might go..."

"No." Sam was sure about that. "Not a chance."

"Too bad. Do you go? To any kind of group?"

Sam just shook his head.

"Even online?"

"I haven't... I feel like I..." He couldn't express it – how he could barely stand to be inside this body, and how opening up to someone, anyone, even someone sympathetic, felt like it might shred him. He'd thought about it, cruised the web, even written an intro once for a group that sounded promising, and then chickened out. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the fabric of the dress move around him. It was so _wrong._

Clint nodded slowly. "I think it might be good, if you could find a group. Maybe every teenager feels like a freak on earth, who doesn't fit in. I sure did, without half of the reasons you have. Not that I'm saying you're a freak. Ah, hell, I'm doing this wrong." He pulled out a card and held it out. "Look, I'm no expert at anything, but I have some helpline and chat group numbers written on my fridge because there was a while when my little bro wasn't half as comfortable with the bi part as he is now. If you get... sad, or desperate, or feeling like you're boxed in, well, hopefully you've got other folks you can turn to. But if not, call me, okay. I'll find something, someone."

Sam slowly took the card.

Clint hung onto his end for a minute. "I'm not hitting on you, right? You're sixteen and I'm an adult, and I'm straight and of course, you're a boy, no matter how you look in that dress. But if you need one more person to call, who'll tell you it's okay to be who you are, put me on that list."

Sam nodded again mutely, and Clint let go of the card. As Sam fumbled with his purse, to tuck the card away, Clint said, "So. I'll see you around, Sammy-boy. Gotta get back to work. Good luck." He headed up the hill toward the party.

Sam watched him go, and then jumped out of his skin at a squeal beside his ear. "Sarah! Did that totally hot photographer just give you his number?" His cousin Amelia bounced over to sit beside him.

"Not like that." Sam grabbed for a reasonable explanation. "He, um, thought I was a senior, and might want senior portraits."

"Ooh. I'd pose for him any day." Amelia slid the strap of her dress lower on her shoulder and cooed, "Oh, Mr. Hottie, I think I have a wardrobe malfunction. Maybe you can help me fix it."

Sam shoved her roughly. "It was nothing like that. Anyway, he's into girls."

Amelia started at him. "So? Jeeze, you are so weird."

You don't know the half of it.

Amelia stood and tugged her skirt straighter. "Whatever. I was sent to find you. Linda and Evan are heading out and she's going to throw the bouquet. They want all us girls there. Come on. You're holding things up."

Sam gritted his teeth, rose and followed his cousin back inside.

****

Sam sat in the back of his parents' car, his head buzzing with thoughts and feelings so complex he couldn't untangle them. Up front, his mom and dad talked in low, tired voices. They were mostly happy though. Sam could hear it in the tone of his mother's comments about how the cake was wonderful and the chicken was a little dry and you'd think Cousin Lucille would buy a new dress someday, although maybe they'd just end up burying her in that same hideous pink one. His dad just murmured agreement, and added a wistful comment about how grown up Linda looked. To which his mother replied, "At least we still have one girl at home," with a glance at Sam in the rearview.

Sam let that comment slide through him without touching him. He was wearing a dress. What else could he expect? And the sweet, nostalgic tone of his mother's voice was nice, after how stressed she'd been these last couple of weeks.

At home, Sam followed his mother into the kitchen. It was really late, but sure enough she filled the kettle and started it. Mom's day always ended with a cup of jasmine tea. Sam got down her favorite mug and then one for himself. He put a peppermint tea bag in his own, the jasmine in hers. She gave him a tired smile. "Thanks, hon."

Dad said, "I'm just going to walk in the garden for a bit." He stepped out the back door, letting it swing gently shut behind him.

Mom looked fondly after him. "He's going to cry a few tears, you know. He's such a softie. No matter how happy Linda is, it's still him losing one of his girls."

"She's not going to the moon."

"No, but she's someone else's more than his now. That's a bit of a wrench. Happy and sad. You'll understand when you have children of your own."

"I don't think I want kids," Sam said quietly. In the best case scenario, his ovaries would be gone and not missed, and adoption seemed so far out of reach it might have been walking on the moon. "I'm not cut out to be a parent."

"Well, you have a lot of years to think about it. How recently was Linda saying no one man was worth the heartache of getting serious? Life changes."

"Yeah, it does."

Sam watched his mother fill the cups with hot water, the steam rising in curls of herbal scent, familiar from a thousand evenings. He took his cup, holding it between his hands. His fingers felt chilled, even though the night was warm. As Mom stirred her teabag around, waiting for it to steep, he gathered his courage. Mom was calm and sentimental and happy. If not now, when?

Even so, he started off with a careful feeler. "Are you glad to have all that planning over? It seems like the mother of the bride is the one who does most of the work."

"Well, in a way. But I did it _with_ Linda. That's where the difference is. Men just aren't as interested in wedding stuff as women are, so the mother of the groom doesn't have the same reason to be involved."

"I don't know," Sam said slowly, his mind racing around trying to find a way to steer the conversation without being obvious. "I saw a show about two gay men getting married, and they seemed to be into all the details."

"Well, that doesn't count, does it?" Mom wrinkled her nose. "That hardly applies in our family. I don't even know any gays."

Sam snorted. "I don't know how you can say that. There were at least two gay men at that reception." He hesitated. "Or three." Including him, and he felt like even in this oblique way he needed to include himself.

Mom stared at him. "What... who are you talking about?"

"You don't know?" He hesitated. One of the groomsmen had hardly been subtle about it. Had the signs really slid past Mom? "I'm not going to out anybody, but trust me, you know LGBT people."

"Well, I'm just as glad if they keep themselves to themselves. And I don't want you hanging around people like that. Anyway, the wedding was lovely and nothing spoiled it. Here, is your tea steeped? Give me your mug and I'll toss the teabag out for you."

Sam handed over his cup and watched uncertainly as his mother pulled out the bags from both his and hers, carefully placing them into the trash where the heat wouldn't melt the plastic bag. She was fussing a bit, wiping the rims with a paper towel. Why wasn't she looking at him? Had he gone too near the bone already? Did she suspect something?

But she gave him his mug back with a fond look. "Now drink that and we should all go to bed. Thank heavens tomorrow is Sunday. We can sleep in."

Sam sipped the mint tea, hoping it would settle his jittery stomach. He still couldn't decide whether this was an opportune moment, or a really stupid idea hatched out of stress, emotions and sleep deprivation. _Speak up/stay quiet, come out/keep that comfortable closet?_ Except the closet was so far from comfortable that the last bit was ludicrous.

Which answered that question. "Mom, can I ask you something?'

"Sure, sweetie."

At the last moment, he chickened out again. At least, most of the way. "Did you ever wish you had a son? Instead of just girls?"

"Oh, no. Never. I've loved having girls."

"A son would... carry on the family name." What a dumb thing to say. But Linda had taken her new husband's name. Maybe it would be a bribe?

"I suppose. Your dad might like that. But really, I just want some grandchildren. The name doesn't matter."

_Damn, not a good direction to go._ "I really wish I was a boy." He closed his eyes. Finally, he'd gotten that much out.

Mom said, "I guess most women do, now and then."

That sounded casual, but with his eyes closed, Sam could hear the tension in her voice that told him Mom also knew this was more than a simple bitchfest about the downsides to being a girl.

"Not now and then. All the time. Constantly."

"Oh, Sarah, you don't mean that."

His eyes flew open. "The hell I don't!"

"Sarah! Language!"

"Sorry, Mom. But you don't know. You don't understand... I hate this. I hate being me. I've never liked being a girl. Remember? Remember when I was a kid, you ironed on transfers of trucks and trains on my purple T-shirts, because I loved purple but I _needed_ them to have guy stuff on them?" It was a favorite memory, something Mom had done that made him feel warm inside, looking back.

But she stared at him with wide eyes. "You liked cars. Some girls do. That wasn't about being a boy. That was about just liking trucks."

"No, Mom, it wasn't. Remember how you had to tell me my Christmas dress was a shirt when I was two, and let me wear pants under it, to get me into it at all?" Mom had told that story a dozen times, with a little laugh at Sam's stubbornness.

"I don't want to hear this."

"I'm sorry. But..." He was drowning, grabbing out for a lifeline. "I'm still me, in most ways. But not the girl parts. They've never felt right. Not once. Inside, I'm a boy, not a girl."

"I don't get it. You've had crushes on boys. I know you did. You like boys to notice you. You've never once said a girl was cute, or talked about actresses on TV."

"I don't like girls. I do like boys. But I'm not a girl, I'm a gay guy. I like boys that way, two guys together." Sam's breath came short and tight, rasping through his throat, burning it like acid. He blinked hard, and waited.

Mom shook her head slowly, back and forth. "No. Oh, no. You don't. No. That's just... sick. That's wrong."

"Mom, it's not sick. It's one person in twenty. Maybe one in ten, who likes something other than straight boy-girl stuff."

"No."

"We have gay friends. Gay relatives. You may not know, may not see..."

"No! I don't care what kind of freaks are out there." Mom grabbed his chin in surprisingly rough fingers, although Sam felt them trembling slightly. "Sarah Marie Johnson, stop this, right now! Do you hear me? Just stop!"

For a moment they stared into each other's eyes. Sam saw through a blur, but he thought his mother's eyes were damp too. He jerked his head, breaking her grip and stepped back. "I can stop talking about it. But I'll never stop thinking about it. And my name is Sam."

"You're tired. Confused." Mom gripped the edge of the counter behind her, knuckles white and straining. "We'll find help. Someone you can talk to. Really, Sarah, it will be all right. I'll ask Father Anderson about it. I'm sure he knows someone, a therapist. You'll see, it will be all right."

"It will never be all right." Even Sam could hear the defeat in his voice. Because really, how could this end well? Even if his parents were the most accepting in the world, even if they said they were behind him, there was still this damned prison of a body. Although if they would just let him try to transition, go for the hormones, start changing himself, maybe he could somehow live with this.

"Sure it will, honey." The tremble was in Mom's voice now. "You're a lovely girl, so pretty, so talented. Everyone loves you and the boys all look at you, and it can be perfect. You need to talk to someone, we'll figure it out."

"What if the therapist says I really am transgendered? What if they say I should be allowed to become a boy?" He bit back the _gay boy_ part of that, because as essential as it felt, that would clearly be too much. Maybe just the trans part could be accepted. It wasn't like he'd be dating anyone, anytime soon.

"Honey, they're not going to say that. That's crazy."

"It's not. I'm not the only trans person in the world."

"Oh, sweetie. You're confused. I know the teen years are hard but you'll get through and have a lovely adult life as a wife and mother one day. Believe me. Believe and trust in God. Have you prayed about this?"

"I used to. I stopped." Because the God he'd grown up with didn't seem to have a place in his heaven for the gay trans boys. Maybe that version was wrong, and God really was unconditional love, like some people said. Sam hoped it was wrong. But prayer had become ashes in his mouth, a long time ago.

"Don't give up on God, Sarah. He'll help you find a way. You need to talk to Father Anderson and reaffirm your faith. And we'll pray for you and get you help."

"Real help, like someone who knows LGBT issues?"

"Whoever Father Anderson recommends. Someone who can make you feel like the beautiful girl you truly are. Really, look at you. You're a girl. You have..." Her hands made a cupping motion. "Um, a bustline, a lovely figure."

"I hate it! I hate them." Sam fisted the front of his dress. "I want to cut the damned things off."

And that was clearly too much truth. His mother's eyes went huge, and then narrowed sharply. "Sarah, we are not talking about this any more. I hear your father coming. I _forbid_ you to mention this. Don't you dare spoil today for him too! You hear me?"

Dad pulled open the back door. "Hear what?"

"Sarah's tired, and I'm just sending her to bed. Right now, honey." There was steel in her tone.

Sam gave up. How could he fight this? "Okay."

"We'll talk again. Another time. We'll figure out how to make you happy, okay?"

"Sure, Mom."

Dad glanced back and forth between them, then came and gave Sam a hug. "Why so somber? This is a good thing, a good change."

It took Sam an instant to realize Dad meant Linda and the wedding. He hugged back, clinging to the masculine bulk and warmth of his father. "I know. It's fine."

He could tell Dad was looking at Mom over his shoulder. "It's not like we're losing a daughter, we're gaining a son."

Sam buried a sob against the collar of Dad's jacket, and managed to pull back and turn away. "I'm going to bed. G'night."

"Good night, honey," Mom called after him. "Sleep well."

Sleep well. Right.

His room was sanctuary and prison. He pulled the door shut and locked it, looking around. This was a guy's room, wasn't it? How could his mother not see that? There were solid dark colors in the curtain and bedspread he'd sewn for himself. Very nice and masculine. Was it the sewing that had branded him as a girl? Did the sports posters of half-naked guys confuse things? Couldn't a gay guy have those, and the fake-tiffany glass shade on the desk lamp?

He wandered the room, touching his things. He _was_ a guy. He'd known it forever. Maybe not the most butch guy in the world. He hated boxing, and didn't care about guns and violent movies one way or the other. He'd tried not to worry about his choices, tried to tell himself that he fit into the range of gay boys perfectly well. But did he?

Sam closed his eyes. Was there just a moment when he'd seen Linda's joy, when she'd kissed her new husband and tossed that bouquet, and Sam had almost reached for it, reached for what Linda had? Was there still some part of him that liked the girly stuff? He _hated_ that he questioned everything these days. Every time some woman reading gay romance said everyone thought she was a gay guy in a female body, Sam winced inside. Was that him? Just playing with the idea, deluded, because he liked the idea of gay guys together? Did every woman wish sometimes that she had a cock and could have fast, hard, guy sex?

He tugged at the neckline of the dress he still wore, suddenly angry at himself and everyone and everything. He pulled harder and the dress gave a little. Somewhere in the back, a seam popped and it loosened enough to shove it halfway down. He fought the filmy, clinging fabric, ripping and tearing, trying to wreak destruction on it. For all its gossamer appearance, it was tougher than it looked, and he only managed to open a row of stitches, and loosen the skirt at the waist. Panting, his face damp with tears, he grabbed the scissors off the desk and snipped at it. His cuts were wild and blind, uncaring about underwear or flesh or anything but destroying that dress.

Finally it dropped in remnants around his ankles and he kicked it to the corner. He stood looking down. There were thin lines of red on his stomach and thigh from the scissors and one tiny triangular nick in his bra. Below that nick a spot of blood showed under the edge of the white fabric. It trickled lower, over the flat plane of his abdomen, where a six-pack _would not form_ no matter how many sit-ups he did. Above it, his breasts bulged like obscene pillows, mocking him with their roundness. He heard his mother's voice, saw her gesture; y _ou have a lovely figure..._

Ignoring the blood, he grabbed his girl tits in hard fingers, squeezing, bruising. He wanted them gone! No, he wasn't some woman, thinking two guys were hot, and then turning around and having a shower and dressing to show her cleavage and going off to her day. This was him. Trapped in flesh he would pay a fortune to have eliminated. Wrong body. Wrong voice. Every minute of every day, startling himself with the outside body that didn't match who he was. Pretending he was cross-dressing, pretending these monstrosities weren't part of his flesh. Being a drag queen, so he could feel like a guy underneath it.

His grip began to hurt, began to burn, and he both welcomed the pain and hated it. He shouldn't feel pain there. They weren't him. He unclamped his fingers. The marks of his hands were impressed into the flesh, red and deep, clearly beginning to bruise.

He laughed, an odd sound that reached his ears as half a sob. It looked like someone had tried to rape him or something. It occurred to him that he couldn't kill himself now. Probably not for a week or two. The cops would look at his dead body and assume there was abuse, and interrogate his family, his friends. Bad enough that he would hurt them with his death, a pain he'd not managed to be cruel enough to hand out yet. But this would be worse.

He yanked off his bra and grabbed his binder, pulling it on and fastening the velcro tightly. He didn't usually sleep with it, because it was harder to breathe. But tonight it was a comfort, like a hug, and it hid his tits and might even compress them enough to reduce the bruising. A win all the way around. He quickly pulled on a T-shirt and boxers and climbed into bed.

His teeth felt sticky, and his breath would be gross in the morning, but he couldn't face the mirror over the sink tonight. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing. He'd looked up a lot of stress relief and meditation stuff on the Net. He tried counting breaths.

Count your blessings.

His mother's favorite remedy for sadness floated into his mind. He'd done that with her as a child, kneeling beside his bed. _Thank you, God, for the new baseball glove and for jelly donuts and even if we didn't win the game and I grounded out and it really, really sucked, thank you for having Bobby tell me I was a good player anyway.Even if he did say "for a girl."_

Prayer. He'd moved on from the prayers of his childhood, with his mother by his side to love and guide him, and sometimes laugh when he was totally serious. She'd never heard the truth of the prayers underneath, the ones that even then he'd known better than to utter aloud. _God, I'd like to wake up as a boy tomorrow._

And then at eight and ten and twelve. _God, please change me. Somehow. If you can't change the outside, change the inside. Make me like girl stuff best. Make me feel thrilled when people call me pretty, cute, beautiful. Make me glad to follow the girls to the peach-tiled middle school bathroom, and not wonder what was in the grey one behind the boy symbol. Make me happy with what I have. Stop this feeling._

Unanswered prayers. Father Anderson had preached a sermon once about how "No" was also an answer. Either God wasn't listening to Sam's prayers, or the answer was a firm _"Negatory, you freak."_ Sam had quit asking. Years ago.

He lay stiffly, hearing the little ticks and rustles of the house around him. A run of water somewhere, brief and low. Not a shower. Someone dutifully brushing their own teeth. The click of a door down the hall.

When do you stop? When do you say, " _I can't see an ending that is worth the fight?"_ Sam didn't want to be dead. He loved life itself, loved words and colors, the painted golds and pinks of a sunset sky, the sound of Paolo Nutini singing about streets with too many names. Sun shining and children smiling. Which made it even harder to be pulled away from the good things over and over and over by the unwanted, soul-killing awareness of the shape he wore. He was so tired.

There were real, concrete things he could do. He'd missed the window for puberty blockers, even if his parents somehow suddenly jumped on the rainbow bus with him. The wide hips and female voice were his forever. But he knew there were hormones that could help him chisel muscle out of the soft roundness of his arms and legs. There were ways to be more hairy, less squishy. Top surgery that would leave big scars but free him from the tyranny of bouncing flesh or the breath-restricting binder.

And yet. And yet. The M2F guys were luckier. They could cut and trim and implant and become almost indistinguishable from the real thing. He'd seen a couple of posts where trans-women hadn't even told their boyfriends what gender they'd started with. Not to downplay the hormone side effects and Adam's apple shaving and deep voices, but they could pass naked.

He never would. All those pictures of naked guys he secretly surfed, with dicks erect and rampant, or soft and nestled down along a hairy thigh. His dick, if he got one, would hardly reach his thigh. Cutting away is always easier than creating. He would never be a real boy.

So when do you stop trying?

He took a harsh breath, and his chest throbbed painfully, bruised and sore. Not tonight, obviously.

Sam had a vision of the cops searching his dad's things for evidence of child abuse and shuddered. Or maybe they would ask Amelia, and she might point them at Clint. _She was hanging about with this older photographer guy in the dark._ God, no.

Remembering Clint was good, though. There was actually someone out there who didn't think Sam was a freak. He slid out of bed and went to the dumb purse he'd been carrying, to get out Clint's card. His room was too dim to see the writing on it, but he remembered the invitation. _Call me, and I'll find someone for you to talk to._ Maybe he would. Not at two in the morning, no matter how his stomach churned and his heart felt like lead in his chest. This wasn't the ragged edge. Yet.

Maybe sometime when he was mostly okay, just a call to say, _"Can you suggest someone?"_ If his parents were up for him getting therapy, maybe he could ditch their first Church-approved choice and find someone who could actually help. It was a plan. He got back into bed, the card clutched in his hand even when he'd meant to set it down safely.

Look for help, and count your blessings. He could try.

Thank you, God, for giving Evan to Linda, and for the taste of wedding cake, and Dad's face when he danced the father-daughter dance. Thank you for dark nights and music, for cool breezes and fireworks, and the kindness of strangers.

As long as he didn't ask for anything, he could pretend God still listened. He finally fell asleep, with a scrap of cardboard clutched in his hand.

****

Theater was Sam's favorite class. Most of school sucked, or at best was tolerable, but this one thing made coming in worth it. Even now, when opening night was only a week away, and everyone was strung tight with it-won't-be-ready and he-forgot-his-lines- _again_ , Sam loved it. He wasn't in the play this term, but he was in charge of set design and that was awesome. Although they were also behind schedule. He bent over the flat he was painting. Re-painting.

"I don't see why we need to bother," Lori whined. "I thought we were done with this one. Why do we have to redo it?"

"When the lights hit it you could still see the shapes from the old scene underneath," Sam pointed out, trying to stay reasonable. "Which is why we're doing it over. To get it right."

"Well that sucks. We shouldn't have to keep reusing these. This school is just too cheap to buy new stuff. I have a date and I need to wash my hair."

"Just go." Sam didn't want to lose any pair of hands with so much left to get done, but it wasn't as if she was doing much work anyway.

As Lori dropped her brush in the paint can and walked off, Chloe gave him a quick smile. "No loss."

"Yeah."

"Some of us are glad you're so picky about making everything perfect."

"Thanks. I think."

"Are you ever going to try out for an actual part again? I thought you were great last term."

"Maybe." That had been an odd experience. He'd had the chance to play a male character - there were a lot more girls than guys in the class, so they'd adapted and cross-dressed a few. He'd done it well. People had said how he got the walk and the voice just right. It had been fun, and yet it had felt like he was faking being who he actually was. Getting praised for acting like a guy when he felt like he _was_ a guy was strange. The teacher would never have told Andrew _"You have male body language down pat."_ Sam shrugged again. "Maybe."

"Well, you were good." Chloe smiled, even more warmly. For a while they worked in silence, covering over Sam's first layout with a thicker undercoat. Sam tried to lay the strokes on as evenly as he could. This time he would set it up under the lights and check from every angle to see if the damned window and flowerbox showed through, _before_ repainting the cityscape on it.

Eventually, Chloe said, "So this is your second year in Theater, right?"

"Yeah."

"So. Um. You wouldn't have signed up again if you weren't okay with, you know, gay people. Right? Because we have Luke and Brad making out behind the curtains, and Marvelous Marvin being as camp as the teacher will let him get away with."

Sam shrugged, wondering where this was going. Yeah, they all knew about Luke and Brad. Sometimes Sam was totally jealous, but he didn't figure anyone had noticed. He didn't really have a crush on either of them. He was just jealous about how simple being together was for them, with bodies that fit, and met their needs. He'd been careful though. He was certain Chloe didn't know.

"So, um, how do you feel about, um, lesbians?"

_Wow, that was out of left field._ "I don't know. They're people, right? Same as you and me?"

Chloe hesitated before saying, "Exactly the same as me."

"Oh. Um. That's cool."

"Really? You don't mind?"

"Hell, no," he said emphatically. Who was Sam to complain about anyone else's orientation?

"Oh. Oh, good. That's, um, great." Chloe gave him a big smile, her eyes bright and happy, before bending to her painting again.

Two hours later they had the all offending flats well coated and stood them up out of the way to dry. Sam flexed his fingers and took his roller to the back sink to wash it out. Chloe followed him and leaned close when he turned on the water. She dug her fingers through the bristles of her brush above where Sam's hands were, and laughed at the trickle of white that coated Sam's wrists and fingers. "Sorry."

"Yeah, right. Just for that you can wash out the tray."

"I will." She rinsed her brush and set it aside. "Hey, you want to get an ice-cream float at the Coffee Shack when we're done here?"

Sam glanced at the clock. It wasn't as late as he'd thought, and home held no real attraction. "Sure. Sounds good. Or, you know, real coffee because some of us are adults here." He stuck his hand back into the water, scrubbing at the paint around his fingernails. "And some of us are not."

"Just because I got paint on you."

"And wrote _'Lisa is a bitch'_ in white before painting over that last panel."

"Well, she is. And it was a perfect opportunity to say so in foot-high letters, even if you were the only one who saw it. So, are you too grown up and law-abiding to be seen with me?"

"Hell, no." Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd hung out with someone other than Kate after school. Chloe was fun and sharp, and if she was a lesbian then Sam wouldn't have to watch every comment and gesture the same way. He lowered his voice to a deeper register. "I'll forgive you this time, young lady. _Oof._ " He rubbed his ribs. Chloe had one hell of a sharp elbow.

"Oops. Sorry." But Chloe was grinning. "I have to get my books and crap from my locker. Meet you over there?"

"Sure. Half an hour?"

"Sounds good."

Sam got to the Coffee Shack first, and stood in the long line to order his coffee. It was almost rush-hour and the place always got crowded. A small table in the corner opened up and he grabbed it out from under the nose of a rumpled businessman in a suit. It was only a few minutes before Chloe arrived. She'd changed her shirt and her hair was up in a cute ponytail. She stood inside the doorway, scanning the room with a small frown. When she saw Sam, her eyes lit up and she hurried over. "Hey, you got a table!"

"Yeah. Just lucky." He liked the way just a little luck made Chloe smile like that. He spent so much time in a fog of depression, he really was glad to have someone happy around.

Chloe put her backpack on the other chair. "Watch that. Be right back."

"In ten minutes or so," Sam said, eyeing the line. "Don't worry, I'll keep your seat. If I'd known what kind of soda you drink I'd have got it for you, saved you the wait."

"That's okay. Cherry Coke, just so you know for next time. Vanilla ice-cream." She hesitated. "Do you, like, want a refill? Because if I'm standing in line, I can get you one."

"Nah. I'm good."

Ten minutes turned out to be a good guess, but Sam pulled out a book. He was absorbed enough that he didn't notice Chloe was back until she moved her backpack to the floor with a thump, and sat, with an exaggerated scowl. "Whose bright idea was it to come here?"

Sam forced himself to put the book away. Friends were good. The fight scene would wait. "That would be _your_ bright idea."

"Oh, yeah." Chloe took a long slow drink from her float, eyeing him over the straw, and then sat back. "So, are you planning to go into theater in college? Like set design? I know Mrs. Knight thinks your designs are really good."

Sam could feel his face heat up. Until now he'd been seriously mediocre at just about everything he tried. But the teacher's praise had been clear and effusive and delivered in front of the cast and crew. "Yeah, it just feels like it clicks. I love art, but I didn't want to do advertising and I'm not a genius painter. This, yeah, I love it." He did. And it didn't hurt that Chloe was right about the theater crew. If they could smile at Marvin in Nora's heels and a feather boa from props, doing show tunes, then maybe they could accept Sam.

Chloe nodded and took another long, slow sip. "Me too. I mean, I want to act. But the whole theater thing is great. It's me!" She gave a theatrical wave of one hand.

They grinned at one another, and Sam felt himself relax a little more.

Chloe turned out to be a lot smarter than her bubbly personality had ever suggested. They got into a serious discussion about whether there were incest overtones in the father-daughter relationship in their play, and time flew by. Sam got up once to get them refills, and two of the Shack's seriously awesome double-chocolate-chip cookies. He deliberately didn't check his phone for the time.

There was the sound of laughter and a group of teenagers pushed in through the door. Sam glanced over and recognized three of the school's top athletes and their A-list girlfriends. He lowered his head, watching covertly as they joked and flirted. People like that felt almost like aliens. How could they be that comfortable, that outgoing and confident? Every move said, _look at me, want me, know how wonderful I am._ How did they learn to do that?

Chloe wrinkled her nose. "They think they're so hot."

"Yeah."

"Although, I admit, Lisa is gorgeous. Her legs are like a mile long. I'd do her in a minute if I could stuff a gag in her mouth for it."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. I kind of feel that way about Nick." The guy had a body that was sleek and ripped and golden. But he had a way of calling people names that looked like joking but took off a strip of flesh. So damned hot though.

"Nick?" Chloe said. "Really?"

"The gag thing also applies," Sam said hastily. "I know he's a douche. But damn." He snuck another look at Nick, laughing with a friend, blue eyes wide and sparkling. "Such a pity all that hotness is wasted on him."

"Yeah." Chloe's voice was oddly flat. She pulled out her phone and glanced at it. "Oh crud, is that the time? I've got to run. Listen, I'll see you in class, okay?"

"Sure." Sam knew he was staring as she jumped to her feet, grabbed her backpack and hurried off without a backward look. He pulled out his own phone, and shit, yeah, it really was late. No wonder she was running off. "See you," he called after her retreating back. His voice was loud enough to get him a dismissive glance from the group at the counter, but they immediately went back to their discussion of their summer plans.

Sam crumpled the cups and napkins from the table together and stuffed them into a nearby trash can. It was a pity Chloe had run off so fast. He'd been working up to ask her if she'd ever talked to anyone about the LGBT thing. Maybe, possibly, to ask if she knew anyone who'd had therapy or talked to a counselor. His mom had made him an appointment with some counselor, but from the way Mom had talked about getting God-centered grounding, Sam was betting he'd be sitting and keeping his mouth shut, mostly. And looking for someone else.

Not that he'd have the nerve to come out to Chloe. Even after her confiding in him so easily, he couldn't imagine saying the words. He was a coward. He hadn't even told his Dad anything, just nodded when Mom said he wanted to talk to an advisor about his life direction. She'd made it sound like vocational counseling, and Sam had just gone along with that. Dammit.

He'd hoped telling Clint and Mom would have gotten him over the hurdle, but each new confession seemed to be just as hard as the first one. Maybe he'd ask Chloe to hang out here again sometime, and work up to the subject. Sam took a deep breath, or as deep as his binder would allow, and vowed again. _No giving up. One step at a time._ Even if those steps seemed insurmountable, the key was not looking too far ahead. He'd set coming out to Chloe as his next goal. That, he could surely do.

He wiped his hands on his jeans and picked up his back pack. He had to pass the seniors on his way out, but they didn't even give him a look. Outside the coffee shop he paused, calculating bus times. He was going to be late for dinner, no matter what. After a little more thought, he texted his mom that he was held up at school with the play and would miss the meal. Getting yelled at later would be easier than walking in late to to the family table, and facing his father's "Where have you been, Sarah?" in front of everyone.

To make it sort of true, Sam headed back toward school. The odds were the doors would all be locked by now, and he'd have a hard time catching someone who would let him get back in. But he turned in at the parking lot none the less. As he stood there, staring at the door of the auditorium, it opened and Mrs. Knight came out, struggling with a bag full of papers. She managed to get the bag slung over her shoulder and paused, noticing Sam.

"Hey, Sarah. Did you forget something?"

"Not really. Thanks." Sam figured Mrs. Knight would head off to her car, but instead she came over to him.

"You're just the person I wanted to see. I thought I'd catch you after you were done painting, but you were faster finishing up than I expected."

"Chloe helped. And then we went out for coffee and hung out for a bit." Sam wasn't sure why he said that, except that he was still a little off balance. He had a new friend. Or maybe not from the way she ran out of the Shack. But it had been pretty late, all right. But she hadn't looked back at him, almost like she was ditching him. Did she have some crush on Lisa? Should Sam have said something different?

"You and Chloe?" Mrs. Knight said. "Like a date?"

"No! Just..." Sam trailed off, his confusion worsening.

Mrs. Knight sighed. "Sarah, you know I'm the faculty advisor to the Gay Straight Alliance? Chloe is one of our more outspoken members. And she's been flirting with you for a month. I'm sorry if I misinterpreted."

"She has?"

"You didn't notice?"

"No." Sam blinked, trying to think of what Chloe had said to him, what she'd done. It had all been friendly, nothing more. Hadn't it?

Mrs. Knight smiled slightly. "That's pretty impressive, actually. Chloe's hard to miss."

"I've been..." – _confused, crazy, crashing –_ "...busy."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"What's keeping you too busy to notice a pretty girl practically doing smoke signals to get your attention."

"I'm not... I have no interest in pretty girls."

"Mm."

"I like guys."

"Okay."

"I'm gay." The words came out before Sam could censor them. They hung there, like evil balloons in the soft spring air, between Sam and his teacher.

Then Mrs. Knight said mildly, "If you were gay, you would like girls. I'm guessing you're trans?"

Sam almost heard those balloons pop, releasing something he'd never meant to let out. He gasped for air, and couldn't speak.

"Don't worry, I won't pry. But I've been the GSA advisor for years, and I _do_ work in theater. It takes all kinds, and you'll meet them there. I know someone from every letter of that LBGTQIA alphabet. I'm good friends with a gay man who makes Marvin look like Arnold Schwarzenegger. If you want to talk about something, I'm listening."

Sam managed, "When you came over you, um, said you wanted to see me about something?" Because he just couldn't say anything else. His stomach clenched queasily.

"Oh. Yes. I'm working in summer stock starting in June. It's a small production but the set designer is first rate. I think you could learn a lot from him, if you were interested in joining the crew."

"Like a job? Or volunteering?" Despite the nausea he felt a surge of interest.

"Oh, you should try for a job first, definitely. They can pay you for your time. It would be dogsbody work mostly. Nothing creative. But you could learn a lot, make some contacts. If you want to."

"Absolutely," Sam gasped, a bit dizzy from the turns of the conversation. "I've loved doing sets this year. I'm interested."

"And you have a real talent for it. I'll get you the job info and give you a recommendation."

"Thank you."

Mrs. Knight nodded. She turned as if to go, but added quietly, "Are you being careful with the binding? On your chest? Ace bandages and duct tape can cause problems if you're not careful."

And wham, right in the solar plexus again. Sam couldn't keep from pressing a hand to his chest. "How did you know?"

"Last year, you had a bustline."

"Mm." He just gave up. "Yeah. I bought a real binder online now. It's fine."

"That's good."

Sam braced himself for _the talk._ Surely now he'd exposed all his secrets, there would be a lot of discussion and are-you-sure and heavy commentary.

But Mrs. Knight just headed for her car, calling over her shoulder, "Don't let me forget to give you the recommendation letter."

Sam stood there blinking. At the last moment he called after her, "When you write it..." This was so damned hard. But she'd stopped at the curb and turned back, waiting. "Could you maybe... I know it has to be in my real name, I mean it has to be legal and all, but... could you write that I prefer to be called Sam?"

"Sure." Mrs. Knight's smile was soft. "I'll tell them I'm sending them the best, most reliable set design student I've had in the last ten years, and they'd be crazy not to hire him. And his name is Sam."

####

# **Working**

~ The Devil's Valentine's Day Challenge

Gail stared at the wall over Mephistopheles' shoulder, trying to breathe lightly and not choke on the odor of brimstone. She _hated_ these meetings with her boss. Mephistopheles leaned back in his chair, the creak of protesting wood loud enough to pull her reluctant eyes to his.

"Sooo, little succubus." His voice was harsh and deep. "Care to explain that?" He waved a hand at the wall behind him.

She looked over his shoulder again. It was hard to look away. The entire wall of Mephistopheles' office was now paneled in a sheet of matte black, punctuated with hundreds of little lights. Many of the lights were blue, a thin mournful azure, and a small few glowed heart's-blood red. But some were—Gail choked a little despite her control—some were pink and lavender!

"Um. I had nothing to do with the bad decorating job. Sir."

Mephistopheles' smile had been known to make crocodiles tremble. He turned it on her now. "That's not decorating. That's a progress board. Look up there. Go on. Fourth row from the left, seven down. Look at that light."

Carefully Gail made her way around the big mahogany desk and stepped up to the new wall. Four over, seven down. The light was one of the pink ones. Deep pink actually. "Sir?" She let her voice rise at the end but didn't ask a question. You didn't question Mephistopheles.

"That's your target. What were their names? Sharon and Ellen?"

"Sharon and Elaine. Sir."

"And what color do you see?"

"Um, it's..." _Pink...rose, carmine..._ "It's desaturated red, Sir."

Mephistopheles snorted loudly, and the smoke wafted on the still air of the room. "It's pink, succubus. It's pink progressing to red. Do you know what that means?"

"No, Sir."

"It means you're failing. Blue means sadness, pain, isolation. Blue is your goal. That _pink_ means they are affectionate, content, moving perhaps toward _love_." He spat the word like the taste of it was foul. Mephistopheles sat up and planted his hands on the desk. "You will go back up there now and seduce that girl Ellen. You will break them up. It's your job. I gave you the perfect form for it, her fantasy girl exactly as she described in her diary, perfect in every detail. You have no excuse."

Gail looked down at herself. She was clad in a lovely tall female body, slim but subtly rounded, with raven hair and alabaster skin. She knew her nose was small and pert and her eyes were sapphire blue. Everything that _Elaine_ had written she dreamed of. And she hadn't been able to come even an inch between Elaine and the short, plain, laughing, brown-haired girl she was falling in love with.

"Yes, Sir."

Mephistopheles waved at the board. "And I'll know how you are doing. I want to see that light shading toward blue."

"That's pretty impressive technology," Gail said, trying to butter him up.

"Isn't it? We picked up a new computer programmer. We didn't think we'd catch him, but in the end it turned out every book on his Kindle was pirated. Heaven has a soft spot for writers so that tipped the balance. He's a whiz kid with the LEDs. Now git!"

Mephistopheles waved casually and Gail felt the room dissolve around her. When her eyes cleared, she was back in the hallway of the club, watching Elaine and Sharon sway together to the music that was playing. Sharon's head was on Elaine's shoulder. Elaine's cheek lay on the shorter girl's brown curls and her eyes were closed. A soft smile curved her lips. _Break them apart. Right._

Gail smoothed the line of the lace bustier she was wearing, and ran a hand over the black leather of her skin-tight pants. She looked good. She knew it. She should tap on Elaine's shoulder and ask for a dance. But she just watched them move, like the same music was running through both of them, like they knew each other heart-deep.

A voice behind her said, "The tall one's pretty. The short one's not much."

Gail turned. The woman beside her was gorgeous, with smooth cafe-au-lait skin, silky dark hair to her shoulders, deep brown eyes. "Hey," the woman said. "I'm Gabrielle."

"Gail."

"We match." Gabrielle gave her a wide, brilliant smile. "Come on Gail. Dance with me for a bit. What can it hurt?" Gail glanced back toward her target and hesitated. Gabrielle shook her head ruefully, and then turned Gail's face back toward her with one finger on Gail's cheek. "You're not going to be tapping that one – not before the end of the song, at least. Anyway, I'm ten times as hot as she is." A little shimmy of her lush body, clad in thin silk, emphasized the fact.

Gail felt herself respond. She _was_ a succubus after all. Sex was her obsession. She glanced back at the two women. They weren't completely in love yet. A succubus knew when her target passed that point of no return, that took them out of play. She had a little time. And Gabrielle was smoking hot. "Sure," she said. "One dance."

She moved into Gabrielle's arms. The music ran dreamily over them, as Gabrielle danced Gail in slow swoops down the hallway instead of out onto the floor. It didn't matter. This was wonderful. Gail closed her eyes and leaned into the firm heat of Gabrielle's body. With her eyes closed, she didn't see the faint flicker in Gabrielle's hair, as her halo gave light in the darkness of the corridor.

Behind them on the dance floor, Elaine moved her mouth closer to Sharon's ear, and whispered a brief question. Sharon stumbled, looked up at Elaine, and smiled in amazed delight. "Yes. Absolutely yes."

In his smoky office, in the upper levels of Hell, Mephistopheles saw a light on his board go from pink to heart's blood red, four from the left, seven down. His curses filled the air with sulfur and fumes.

And the angel Gabrielle smiled silently, closed her eyes and pulled the lithe succubus in her arms a little closer. Sometimes she loved her work.

####

# **Coming Back**

~Picture prompt: The ocean stretches out, pale-blue and calm, and on the beach a young man stands with his wide eyes reflecting that blue. He grips one forearm with his other hand, looking distressed and off-balance. He won't fall, though, because he's securely held in the tight embrace of another boy.

I scanned the shoreline. It had been five days. Five interminably long days. If I found Torren I was going to beat the hell out of him for scaring me like this. Before or after I kissed him, I was no longer sure. Five days. Dammit.

I didn't even know what form he was in. He'd shifted on his own, with no elders present to guide him, no one to talk him through it or run with him in fur or scales. He was a damned fool.

There was a reason we weren't given the spell for shifting until we hit eighteen. It wasn't just the elders being selfish or not trusting us, or any of the other things he'd muttered about, in the nights we'd spent hanging around outside the meeting hall when we were kids.

It sounds all cool and romantic, doesn't it? _Hey, you can become a cat, or an eagle, or any other damned thing you please, with just the right blood in you and the right spell on your lips._ The reality is different. I turned eighteen first, and found out what it's like to have the spell flay you open and remake you. How hard it is to find your human thoughts in a brain filled with scent and sound. How vital that other man at your shoulder is, the first time you stagger up on all four feet and shake your head and the world is remade.

But I couldn't make him understand. He didn't believe me when I talked of the risks and the pain. He thought I was trying to make him feel better for having to wait.

Then he stole the spell. I felt him shift.

Five days. I'd patrolled the shore most of that time, all of the nights and some of the days, any moment I could spare from the masquerade of daily life. A lot more than I should have, according to the elders. I was going to flunk out of my classes and Father would not be pleased. Father could go to hell.

I didn't even know if I was in the right place, but this was where Torren always came when the wild moods were on him. He would talk about swimming as a dolphin, playing as a sea otter, or just soaring the sky as a frigate bird and never touching land. These were the creatures he'd studied in preparation. The ones he'd observed in life and dissected in death. His preparation and his obsession. I should have known when I passed the threshold to adulthood that he would not bear to be left behind.

He would be here. He had to be here. I would stay here until I found him.

And yet I almost missed him. I would have discounted him as just another seabird, ill or oil-slicked, huddled in the crevice in the rocks. But as I passed by, the bird looked at me. A hint of Torren green lurked in its eyes.

A moment later I was on my knees on the sand. "Hey there." My voice broke and I steadied it to a calm whisper. There was very little left that was human in those eyes. "Hey, sweetheart. You came back."

The gull stared at me. For a moment it just blinked, and I wondered if I was wrong. It was an ordinary Western gull, white head, grey wings. Nothing spectacular or romantic about it. Nothing like the choices Torren had whispered in my ears, half encouraging, half envious, before my first shift. But then it ducked its head in an awkward un-birdlike motion, and I was sure.

I stuffed my arm through the handles of the plastic bag I'd been lugging around for days, to free my hands. Carefully, murmuring "Hey, Tor, you idiot, you crazy fool, Tor, my Tor," I reached for the gull. The bird's head swiveled back and forth, watching my hands as they came around him. He pecked at my thumb, drawing a little blood.

That was okay. Good even. Blood draws to blood. I smeared the crimson droplet on the white feathers of his cheek and he closed his eyes and let me cup him in my palms. Beneath the feathers, he was light as a ghost and I could feel the trip-hammer of his heart. I lifted him gently against my chest.

I stood, glancing around. By all right and law, I should bring him home. Torren belonged on the floor in the center of the meeting hall with the elders bringing him back to himself safely. But I thought of him opening his eyes to Elder Corbin's frown, and Elder Drew's cold steel gaze, and I couldn't do it. There's a moment when you come back from a shift that your human self is vulnerable. I didn't want Torren to face that moment with them.

I cradled the gull against my shirt. He made a small harsh sound, and I rubbed my cheek over his head. "Don't worry," I whispered. "I have you. It'll be all right."

I knew a place. It was sheltered by the jagged rocks of the beach, visible only from the air unless someone forced their way through the narrow gap between the stones. Not really safe, not half safe enough. But this was our private place on the coterie's privately-owned beach and I was willing to take the chance.

I carried Torren with me, tucked up under my chin for space. When I reached the familiar gap in the stones, I slipped in sideways. The space barely fit me now. A little more bulk and I would have to shift to a smaller form to get into our childhood refuge. A thread of my sweater caught on the rough stone, pulling out in a wisp of grey. I felt a moment's ache for the children we had been, here in our pirates' cave, our bears' den, our eagles' eyrie. When I reached the little center crevasse with its cool sand floor I set Torren down.

He settled onto the sand as if too tired to stand. I stroked his feathers with a finger, soothing him in gentle rhythm, wondering how to begin. I could say the spell for him, but he needed to have it in his mind, the words and the sense of it. Our myths are full of the stories of shifters who sank too far, fell into the beast and were lost. Like Gareth the grey wolf whose wife found him and brought him home, who then killed and ate their children on his own hearth as his wife screamed. I had liked those tales much better when I wasn't in the damned wife's position.

I began to talk to him. I kept my voice soft and slow. I reminded him of this place, of our younger selves. I called him Captain Hook, and Bru, and a dozen childhood names. And then I called him lover. I told him again of the night we found each other as more than best friends. And as I talked, my voice hoarse and uncertain, I saw the green in his eyes grow stronger. Until finally he stretched his neck toward me and tapped his beak on my wrist in three solemn strokes.

"Torren," I said, "Are you in there, you son of a bitch?"

He tapped me again, a little harder than necessary.

I winced. "Okay. I can do this. _We_ can do this. I hope. Because if we can't I'll have to take you back to Elder Drew and he is _not_ happy with you."

Torren shook his bird head rapidly.

"Okay." I took a deep breath. "I'll say it, Tor. But you have to follow. Run it through your mind. No skips, no missed words, with your human goal in your mind. Think about last week. Me in your bed and my mouth you-know-where. You need to be human if you want to do that again."

Tor's beak dropped open a little, almost a smile, and he ruffled his shoulders and stared into my eyes.

I cleared my throat and began. The spell starts easy, like reciting poetry. But then it gets harder, harsh, like the words are glass in your throat ripping you open. And I'd never done it like this, for someone else. I said it for Torren, as I clung to the rags of my human self and pulled them together when they wanted to fall apart.

On the sandy floor of the niche, Tor flattened, head dropping, beak touching the ground. He squawked, as if stabbed, and then groaned in a sound no natural bird has ever made. He spread on the sand, his body flowing like thick oil, congealing in a pool of formless dross. My Tor. I shut my eyes for a moment, but I had to watch. I needed to know.

The last words are the hardest. Your mind resists them. I said them for Tor, loud and clear and with force of will. And he came together there, collapsed at my feet. A human boy on the threshold of manhood. Light brown hair and fair skin and those sea-green eyes. When I was sure it was safe, I let my knees give way and gathered his naked body in my lap.

His skin was cold. He blinked his eyes at me, and it was almost as if things were reversed. Those were Tor's green human eyes, but they gazed past me blankly, as if the sense of him was just a glimmer in their depths.

"No you don't, you bastard," I muttered. I rubbed his back, stroked his arms, chafing his trembling muscles and dry cool limbs. I dug into the bag I'd brought for a shirt and jeans, wrestling his limp body into the clothes. He didn't fight me, but he didn't help much. I buttoned his shirt and then tugged the jeans together. I'd touched him before, often enough, but there was something odd about tucking him safely away from the zip. "You could do this yourself," I grumbled. "Less chance of ending up singing soprano." I slid the zipper up carefully, and his hand landed on mine for that last inch. That was something.

I pulled him back into my arms, wrapping myself around him. I kissed his neck, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. "Come on, Tor. Talk to me."

He grunted and moved slightly, stiff and uncoordinated in my arms. "Bayl'r?"

"Yeah, it's me. You rat's ass bastard." I let my growl hide the hovering tears. "What the hell did you do?"

"Baylor." There was a thread of satisfaction in his voice. "It _is_ you."

"Yeah." For a minute we just sat there. His back was to my chest, slowly warming. His hair was in my mouth. My legs were wrapped around his, as we sat on the cool damp sand. Nothing in my life has ever been better than that moment.

Eventually he said, "Walk?"

"Huh?"

"Need to walk."

"Oh, yeah, sure."

I stood and hauled him to his feet. He swayed, looking around with a bobbing head and blinking eyes. I guided him out of our refuge and onto the beach. He walked oddly, a few rushed steps and then a pause, arms out for balance. He stared up at the sky again and again, as if looking for something unseen. I put my arms around his stiff awkward frame, and kissed his cheek.

"It's okay," I said. "It takes a bit of time. Your body still wonders if it should walk or fly."

"Yes." He leaned into me and put his hand over mine on his arm. "Weird. Getting better. Thank you."

"I love you, dumb ass," I said. I crooked my arm around his neck and kissed him again. "Come back to me all the way."

It took several more long minutes before he felt human in my arms. Slowly he softened, and his eyes came back to earth. Finally he sighed, and kissed me back. "Baylor. God, I messed that up, didn't I?"

"Damned right." I wanted to yell at him, but somehow the feeling of holding him as his body found its humanity again had put my heart in my throat. There was no room for the anger. I tugged him down on the sand beside me. "Sit here for a bit. Let me hug you."

He leaned back in my arms, wholly human now. "It wasn't what I thought."

"Why did you do it?" I whispered in his ear. "You're only two months short of your birthday. Why the hell would you sneak off and do this?"

"I felt it," he said. "Every time you shifted. I felt it like a creeping in my bones, like a ringing in my head. It called to me, until I had to follow."

"What the hell?" I pushed him away enough to see his eyes. "You _felt_ me shift?"

"Oh yeah," His eyes went a little dreamy. "Burning through my skin."

"That makes no sense," I said. "Only lifemates can feel each other..." I let the thought trail off. Because I knew he was telling the truth. Because the reason I knew what he had done, where he had gone five days ago was because I felt it, _burning through my skin._

"We can't be," I said.

"Why not?" Torren looked at me with those green, green eyes. "Why not?"

It wasn't that he was a boy and I was too. Shifters don't care. When form is fluid, how can it matter what shape your beloved wears? But he was just seventeen.

"You haven't had your quest. For that matter, neither have I. We're too young. Anyway, you've heard people talk about finding their lifemates. They talk about how it came on them in a thunderstroke, in a lightning flash, that this was their other half. I don't remember anything like that."

"You don't want it to be me?" His eyes filled with tears.

I kissed his eyelids, hopelessly besotted, tasting the salt. "No, Tor, I've prayed it would be you. But how can we be that far already?"

He shrugged. "Does it matter how? All I know is, I feel you, here inside." He put a hand on his chest. "Maybe sometimes lifemating isn't a lightning stroke but a rising tide. I've for damned sure drowned."

I took a breath that rattled in my chest, and another, no easier. Then I said, "Me too."

His mouth was dry and stale from five days as a gull. I'd never tasted anything better. He kissed me like he owned my breath. When we finally broke apart I was panting, and he was smiling.

"Now you have to face the elders," I said, a little nasty, because it seemed unfair that I was more shaken than he was.

He grimaced. "Not going to be a good thing."

"No. Although if we're really lifemated..." I thought about it. "They might cut you some slack, if it was my shifts that drove you over."

He shrugged and leaned against me again. "I'll live. It's not my first time to have disapproving elders pouring scorn on my head."

True enough; most of our supremely bad ideas had been his, although we'd shared the consequences. "Never for anything this serious."

"I imagine I'll be scrubbing floors and cleaning toilets for a couple of months. They'll get over it."

"I hope so." I put my face against his neck and closed my eyes. I would worry enough for both of us.

"So," Tor said speculatively. "If we're really lifemates, then you'll presumably get to come on my first sanctioned shift."

"Assuming they ever let you shift again."

I could hear the smile in his voice. "They will. Eventually they will. So when they do... wanna be a dolphin?"

I might have known not even this, not even five days a gull and the wrath of the elders hanging over him, could dim the spark in my man. "I'll think about it," I said. "Now we have to head home. Are you hungry? We could stop and get something. Did you eat at all while you were a gull?"

"I'm not sure."

I made sure I was watching his face as he searched his memory. I'd done a gull once, for practice, and I remembered it. As he thought, an expression of distaste slowly became panicked nausea. "Don't ask," he choked. "Holy hell, gulls are disgusting from the inside."

I kicked his ankle as we headed up the beach. "Aren't they? They eat anything. Rotting garbage and dumpster french-fries and dead fish..."

He jerked away from me and began walking faster.

"And eviscerated rats and road-kill..."

He hit a run, his bare feet kicking up the sand.

I chased after him. "And sun-melted mayo on decaying fun fish..."

He's an inch or two taller than me with longer legs, and he put them to use as we sprinted for the parking lot. But I kept yelling after him.

Hey, he may be my lifemate and my beloved, and the hottest damned thing walking around on two legs. But he'd left me alone for five interminable days. I owed him one.

####

# **Behind Door Number Two...**

_~Picture prompt: In a very narrow brick-walled alley, a young man stands with his back to the bricks, face tilted up. He's not looking at the sky though_ — _his eyes are closed_ — _because above him, bending to kiss him, a second young man is comfortably braced between the walls, six feet off the ground. The ease of his pose shows that climbing like this is nothing new for him._

What do you do when someone you love has secrets?

My brother Justin and I were inseparable when we were small. Even though I was a girl, I was Robin to his Batman, Samwise to his Frodo. He's two years older than me, which isn't a lot when you're little kids, but it seemed to stretch to infinity as we hit our teens. Somewhere in there, maybe about the time I was twelve and he was fourteen, a wall went up between us and I found myself on the outside trying to catch glimpses through the cracks.

I'm not complaining about Justin. Well, I am, but I shouldn't be. I mean, how many fourteen-year-old guys would make any time at all for a twelve-year-old tag-along brat of a little sister? And Justin did. He didn't completely ditch me, and there were times he'd let me hang out with him and he'd let me talk to him. But over the next year or two I began to see he was only letting me in around the corners of his life. He listened to me, but he never talked about himself, and it hurt. He'd been my only real friend for so long, and now I felt like I barely knew him. By the time we were fifteen and seventeen, we rarely said three words to each other from one week to the next.

Still I'd never have started stalking him if it wasn't for Haley. Haley Braun. Doesn't that name just make you shiver? Well, it would if you saw her. Tight curls so black the highlights were blue, skin a perfect smooth olive-gold, dark eyes you could drown in. That Haley. My second friend.

We were sitting in my room, watching YouTube stuff and hanging out. Well, actually Haley was sprawled on her stomach on my bed watching random videos on my laptop, and I was sitting cross-legged only inches away, watching her. She said through a mouthful of tortilla chips, "Hey, Bri, this guy looks like your brother."

I leaned toward the screen. "Yeah. A bit." It was the back view of a young guy with a slim build and wavy brown-blond hair. He was doing some kind of complicated dive that involved a lot of bouncing on the springboard first. Haley bit her full lower lip. She seemed to be fascinated by the lines of the guy's back as he stretched his arms up. Do I have to say what I was fascinated by? I yanked my attention from her mouth back to the screen to see the guy perform some kind of cool flippy dive thing, and splash into the water. He _did_ look a lot like Justin. I waited, but the video cut out before the guy came back to the surface.

"Hell, it could be Justin, for all I know," I grumbled. "It's been years since I've had any idea what he does in his spare time."

Haley glanced at me. "That bugs you?"

"No. Well, kind of." I sighed. "It's just... we used to be friends. There was a time I could have just yelled down the hall, 'Hey, Butthead, did you take up diving?'"

Haley chuckled. "And he wouldn't have beat your face in?"

I shook my head. "He's not like that." I swallowed hard, realizing how long it had been since I'd done something like that. I used to just wander down the hall when I was bored, and stick my head in his door to see if I could wheedle him into a session of Guitar Hero or even something boring like Scrabble. Now I had to knock, and often there would be nothing but silence behind that unrevealing wood, and I'd have to slouch disappointedly back to my own room. "He's busy a lot."

"Doing what?" Haley rolled over on my bed and stretched, proving that she'd matured a lot more than I had, at least on the outside. Mm, that outside... it was distracting.

I unfolded my legs and stretched out on my stomach so it was harder to look at her, and pushed the play again on the video. It could be Justin... "How the hell should I know? He's out of the house more than he's here."

"What does he tell your parents?"

"They don't care. As long as we bring home good grades and don't get arrested, they don't have much interest in us."

"Really?" Haley's hand touched my arm for a moment and then fell away. "That's kind of sad."

"It's okay." It wasn't, actually, but I wasn't about to tell her that. That was part of what made my chest ache when I realized how little I knew about Justin these days. I'd always felt like Justin held the keys to understanding the universe. It was Justin who explained how the Humane Society worked when Mom wouldn't let me keep the kitten I found. It was Justin who figured out how to get us into the neighbor kid's pool party one hot summer day.

Our parents were nice enough, but, well, Dad's favorite way to spend his time away from work was in front of the TV with the sound up high. If I ever tried to talk to him about something important, I'd get a line like, "Well, on _Star Trek_ when Counselor Troy's mother..." About there I would stop listening, because hell, if life was like TV it wouldn't be half as confusing. As for Mom, her career was taking off and when she wasn't flying off to conferences she was talking about Powerpoint, and proposals, and project budget meetings. If I talked to her, after a couple of minutes she would oh-so-subtly shift her arm so she could see her watch. Time was money, calculated by the minute, and I was probably costing her a mint.

So that left Justin. Only I didn't have Justin any more.

Haley replayed the diving video a couple of times and then sat up. "That looks so freaking much like him. Let's go ask him."

"He probably isn't home," I snapped because it sounded like Haley was getting a crush on my brother. That made me jealous six ways from Sunday. Haley wasn't just my first crush, she was my first everything. First real not-my-brother friend, first person I ever had over to my room since we moved here three years ago, first person who saw the real me and somehow still liked me.

If I'd had school friends before, I might have been less of a freak. But the best I'd had since I was about seven was acquaintances. In middle school, everyone around me had seemed to be exploding in a volcano of hormones. The girls were sprouting boobs, the guys were becoming hairy jerk-offs with loud mouths and feet the size of canoes. Every move seemed to be governed by who was watching it and what they might say to who else. And then there was me, in the corner with my mousy hair and my flat chest, and my nose in a book.

It could have been worse. I wasn't bullied, or not much. Sure, I got a few of those _geek_ and _loser_ comments, but no one cared enough to push the issue. Mostly I was invisible. Watching, wondering, trying to figure out the perfect opening, the thing that I might say that would show me to be witty and wise and friend-worthy. Unfortunately those lines tended to come to me in my room late at night, hours after the opportunity was past. Not that I'd probably have had the courage to say them anyway.

And then I began to realize I liked girls. I mean, I really liked girls. Boys were loud and crude and sweaty, with hair in uncouth places and a tendency to push and grab. Girls were soft and sexy and smelled good. I knew I had a problem though. Like being an uber-nerd wasn't enough? Being a lesbian would make it ten times worse. I had no plans to come out, like, _ever._ At least until college. But when Haley Braun walked into English class, first day of freshman year in high school, I was lost.

She was quiet too, but a different kind of quiet, like she just knew what she wanted and the rest didn't matter. She was tall, strong, and curvy where I was awkward. When she did speak up, she had a quick, confidence I envied. Not someone I'd ever have dared approach. But about two weeks in, I was walking out of class and I accidentally dropped the book I'd been reading under the desk. Haley happened to be right there and she picked it up and started to pass it back, then paused.

"The Dresden Files? The new one? You are so lucky! I can only afford to get them in paperback and the wait-list at the library is, like, into the next millenium."

She held it out to me, and for once my mouth said the right thing at the right time. "This is a reread for me. Do you want to borrow it?"

That got me Haley's best smile, the one where her dimples show. I'd have given her the book, hell, I'd have given her the whole set to have her smile at me like that. "Wow, thanks, I'll get it back to you soon."

"No rush." I cleared my throat. "You know where to find me." I blushed because how dumb was that?

But she grinned. "Yeah. Listen, I want to start it right now. Hang out with me at lunch and keep the jerks away while I read?"

"Sure." I didn't know the first thing about handling jerks, but having someone to sit with at lunch would be amazing. Having that someone be Haley? I was floating ten feet off the ground.

It turned out we shared a love of books and a snarky sense of humor. Over the next few weeks I went from a hermit to someone with a friend. My phone actually rang. Haley came over to my place and commandeered my bookshelves and DVDs. I was pulled in her wake in helpless, silent infatuation. Now, six months later, I'd got it together enough to sign things BFF with some belief in the F, and not doodle hearts in the margins of my notebooks. That didn't mean I was any less infatuated, but I thought I had it under control.

Although if she was going to start drooling over Justin we were going to have a problem.

Haley arched off my bed and up to her feet in one move, showing off her limber build. I got up more slowly. "What are you doing?"

"It's driving me crazy. I want to know." She whirled out of my room and down the hall to Justin's before I was moving at all.

I caught up with her as she laid a hand on Justin's doorknob. "You'll have to knock," I began, just as the door, unlocked for once, swung open under her touch.

Justin was sitting on his bed, dressed only in a pair of boxers. He had one leg crossed over the other, and was inspecting a foot that even I could see was bruised and swollen. His head snapped up at the sound of the door. For a moment his eyes met mine, and he stared at me like Haley wasn't even there. In that moment I took in the sight of him. Not just the injured foot, but a huge purple bruise on his hip under the waistband of his shorts, and another on his elbow. Across his ribs a line of odd red scrapes looked old and healing, two shallow parallel cuts tracked from his thigh to his knee, and on his shoulder fading marks in yellow and green lay under his pale skin.

"Get out!" His eyes blazed with sudden fury.

I hesitated, shocked at the evidence of violence. In a quick, decisive movement, Justin grabbed a long-sleeved T, yanked it on, and shoved the sleeves up to his elbows. "This is my room, Bri. You can't just fucking walk in here! Now get the fuck out!"

The curse words shook me out of my stasis and I backed up, shoving Haley behind me, and pulled the door shut. Justin cursed as much as anybody, but not at me. Never at me.

Haley looked at me with big, round eyes. She glanced at the shut door, and then seemed about to comment. I slapped my hand over her mouth, for once barely noticing the feel of her lips on my palm, and tugged her back to my own room. Not until we tumbled back inside my door did I let go of her.

"Wow, that looked harsh. You think someone's been beating on him?"

I shook my head, more in disbelief than denial. "I don't know. I really don't. He never says anything."

Haley settled on my bed again and patted the spot beside her. "Can't be from diving, unless he's really crappy at it."

I backed away from her. "You think it's funny?"

"No. God no, just trying to lighten the mood. Shutting up now." She mimed a zipper across her lips.

"Shit. Fuck!" I rubbed a hand across my eyes. Justin was almost six feet tall, and the running he'd started back in middle school had put some muscle on him. He was wiry, but not weak. I couldn't imagine what it would take to put those marks on him. Or maybe I could.

"Some of those looked fresh and some looked old," Haley said quietly.

"Yeah."

"So whatever happened, it's not just a one-time thing."

"I know."

"Why would someone go after him? He's a cool guy." We looked at each other. Her eyes were intense, and gorgeous. For once, Haley seemed to be aware of the heat that flooded through me, because her face slowly flushed. I couldn't look away.

_Justin. Think about Justin._ Well, I could think of one reason why a guy like Justin might be bullied, and didn't say it because it cut too close to home.

Haley's gaze dropped. "It's not right," she said to the floor.

"Not like there's anything we can do."

"You don't know that." Haley looked up, her eyes bright. "Maybe there is. Maybe we can, like, see who it is and get them on camera or something. Warn them off."

"That's dumb." Although even as I said it, I felt a touch of warmth. How great would it be if for once I could protect the big brother who'd always looked out for me?

"It was just a thought."

"No. Sorry!" I dropped to the bed beside her. "It's a good idea. Really. I just don't see how it could work."

"We'd have to follow Justin." Haley had regained her sparkle. "It would be good practice for me anyway, tailing somebody."

"You're still thinking about becoming a detective?" I'd figured that was a temporary aberration brought on by the mystery book binge we'd indulged in.

"Yeah, I am. Cop first, detective eventually. Lucky for you, since it means I've been reading up about how to follow someone without being noticed."

"I don't see how it can work. It's not like following a stranger. Justin knows us. Me especially. Don't you think he'll get suspicious if I keep turning up wherever he is?"

"Not a problem." Haley leaned toward me, talking with animated hand gestures. "Really. My dad has a camera with an amazing telephoto lens. We don't have to get close. We can follow at a distance, and if something happens we'll shoot a bunch of pictures and get the evidence. It will be so cool. "

"I don't know." It felt wrong, to invade Justin's privacy like that. On the other hand, it wasn't like he was making it possible to do anything else. I sighed. "Let me talk to him. Maybe if I ask him outright, without you there, he'll talk to me."

"Maybe. What if he doesn't?"

I thought about that for maybe three seconds. There was Haley, looking at me with eager eyes, and there was Justin, closed in his room with bruises purpling his skin. "Then we do it. Follow him and figure out what the hell is going on."

"All right." Haley grinned, and then sobered. She stood and put her hand on my arm again, right where she'd touched me before. "As much as it would be cool to solve a mystery, I hope we don't have to. Maybe he'll give you a better explanation. I'm going to head out so you can ask him. Call me later, okay?"

"Later."

But after she'd gone, when I got up the nerve to walk down the hall and tap on Justin's door, my knock rang hollow and unanswered.

****

I had to assume that Justin was avoiding me. Even though he was a junior and I was just a freshman, our hours were the same. We didn't talk, but we usually dodged each other racing for the bathroom in the morning, or bumped shoulders going for the last Lunchable in the fridge, or passed each other in the hall at school. But after that day, it was almost a week before I saw him again. I even contemplated asking Mom to insist on a family dinner for a change, just to get us in the same room at the same time. But the thought of ripping Dad away from his tray in front of the tube, and having Mom flipping through her calendar to find a date when she didn't have a business meeting... Well, that would always be a last resort.

I finally decided on the second-to-last resort, which was to sneak into his room while he was out and wait for him. I sat on his bed and looked around the room. It felt like eons since I'd been in there, but really nothing had changed. Still tidy, full of books, with the framed picture of some guys on mountain bikes racing down a hillside hung above the desk. For a moment I wondered hopefully if maybe that was what Justin had been doing to get so beat up, but I knew he didn't have a bike.

It was late before the door opened. I set aside the book I'd been reading. Justin froze for an instant, looking at me, but then he came on in and closed the door behind him.

"I didn't look at your private stuff."

"I know. You wouldn't do that."

"I was tempted," I admitted.

His lips twisted in a wry grin. "I can imagine. There's not much to find though."

"Justin..." I stalled out. How do you ask your older-brother-the-god if someone is beating him?

Justin let me hang for a minute and then said, "I figured you'd wonder about the bruises."

"Yeah."

"I'm into sports. I play hard."

"That hard? What sports?"

"Um, stuff like mountain climbing."

"Bullshit. The nearest thing we have to a mountain around here is the landfill." I surprised myself. While I still had the nerve I hurried on. "Really, Justin, if it's... Is there something you want to talk about, something I can do?"

He shook his head at me. "I'm fine. Believe me. It's nice that you care, but there's nothing sinister going on. I run, I climb, sometimes I fall. End of story."

I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to say that if he got those kind of bruises from running he was the clumsiest damned marathoner the world had ever seen. But the flat line of his mouth said the subject was closed. I nodded jerkily, once, clamping my jaw shut and squinting around sudden tears. Damn him, anyway.

I went to my room and phoned Haley. "You still want to practice your shadowing skills?"

She put on an accent of some kind, in fun. "Sure t'ing, boss. We'll get da goods on da guy."

"Bring your camera to school. We'll start from there."

****

It turned out to be easier said than done. I knew where Justin's locker was, and we staked it out, but the tidal-wave-rush of kids leaving school after the last bell is worse than shoppers at Macy's on Black Friday. It took three days until we figured out which door he usually left by. Then we decided to drag all our books with us to last class, so we were able to get out as soon as the bell rang and stake him out from outside the building.

Justin came through the door in the middle of a throng of guys, seeming comfortable and at ease. At the parking lot, most of them turned to find their cars, since driving to school was one of the prime reasons to bother turning sixteen around here. Justin and two other guys continued down the sidewalk. Haley and I followed, trying to watch them while appearing to be chatting inconspicuously at the same time. After a couple of blocks, the two other guys gave Justin a punch in the arm that seemed to be guy-speak for goodbye, and turned left. Justin kept going straight.

"All right," Haley muttered, as we quickened our pace to keep up. A block further into the city, Justin broke into a steady run.

Shit! Having tried, back when I was twelve, to keep up with my fitness-obsessed brother on a morning run, I knew we were screwed. But we had to at least try. We kept close enough to see him for about six blocks, slowly dropping behind. My backpack thumped against my shoulder and my breath came short. Ahead, Justin turned a corner and disappeared out of sight.

Haley and I stopped. She was just breathing hard, but I sat down on the pavement, grabbing at my side. Haley reached down a hand to haul me up. "Walk it off. You'll make it worse sitting like that."

I hobbled in a rough circle, clutching my middle until the stitch eased off. By then Haley was standing easily, staring after Justin, her eyes narrowed. "Bikes."

"What?"

"We'll have to bring bikes to school and follow him that way."

"I don't have one."

"You don't?" She stared at me and then shrugged. "You can use my sister's. Maybe you can spend the night at my house and we can ride to school together in the morning. Then we'll be ready."

I'd been about to object. Somehow, chasing after my brother on bikes seemed more stalkerish than on foot. But that phrase _spend the night_ stopped my objection in its tracks. "Sure. I could do that."

Haley grinned at me. "Come on. There's a bus stop across the street. Let's go back to your place to ask your Dad and get your things together."

_"_ _Tonight?"_ I took a quick breath. Was I ready for this?

"Yeah." Haley smiled. "It'll be fun, although, you know, I share my room with my obnoxious sister so we can't even stay up late."

As we headed for the bus stop I turned her words over in my mind, trying to figure out if there was anything more than a friend's invitation in them. Damned if I knew.

We had to wait until Dad came home from work to ask permission, which gave us two hours to pack an overnight bag for me. Haley picked through my clothes, holding stuff up against me for color. It was sweet agony to have her handling my shirts, to have her hand brush against my chest as she held something close to my face.

"I've always wanted to pick out clothes for you," she said, dropping yet another shirt on my bed in disgust. "You have the worst damned taste. I swear, you dress like you want to be invisible."

I didn't say, _"I do want that. At least, I did."_ I didn't say, _"How long have you wanted to dress me."_ I just stood there, concentrating on not reacting to her as she circled around me, her head cocked to one side.

"Hold that one." She shoved a smoky-green three-quarter-sleeved shirt into my hand and stepped back. "Yeah. Brings out the green in your eyes. That and the black jeans." She took it back, folded it with quick, competent moves, and slid it into my back-pack. I turned to my underwear drawer, pulling out my best panties and the matching bra, and tucked them in too, averting my eyes from hers.

"I'm going to change this T-shirt too," I said. "I kind of sweated after that run."

"I hadn't noticed." But she stepped back and let me past her. I grabbed a blue T-shirt she'd lingered over, trying to be inconspicuous about also hiding clean underwear clutched in my hand, and headed for the bathroom.

Behind the locked door, I stared in the mirror. My hair was like my brother's, a blond that was almost brown, _dishwater blond_ an aunt had once called it, while recommending highlights that I now wished I'd gotten. My eyes were a changeable hazel, which sometimes could go green. I pulled off the sweaty T-shirt I'd been running in. I really wanted a shower, but how obvious was that? She would hear the water go on, and it might look like I was expecting...something. I made do with a good wash in the sink. At least I'd shaved everything yesterday night. I pulled on the clean clothes and dumped my dirty things in the hamper.

My dad was perfectly willing to let me go home with Haley. All he asked for was her address and phone, before settling himself in front of a rerun of _Firefly_. We let ourselves out into the afternoon sun.

Haley's house was totally different from mine – noisy and crowded and warm. Her mom was cooking when we came in the door, but she called us into the kitchen, quizzed me on whether I had homework or chores I was neglecting, and topped it off by calling my dad to be sure I had permission for a school-night sleepover. When she hung up she gave me an odd look and then said to Haley, "Next time, ask me first, okay? Supper's in half an hour."

Haley's whole family sat down to eat together, her mom, dad, brother, two sisters. I'd met them all before, but not together like this. It was almost like the Brady Bunch, if the Bradys had been prone to all talk at once with their mouths full and fight over the mashed potatoes. I ate and listened, trying to answer random questions thrown at me while not looking at Haley too often. My plate was still half-full when Haley grabbed my hand and pulled me up. "Let's escape this circus. Can we be excused?"

Haley's mom frowned. "Maybe Brianna wants to finish eating."

"No," I said, "That's okay. I took more than I want."

"All right then."

Before she was done talking, Haley hauled me out of the room. "Come on." She tugged me toward the stairs. "We have about ten minutes before Lindsey's done. She'd never skip desert."

We went up to her room. There were two beds, one on each side, and Lindsey's half of the wall was decorated in horses and more horses. There seemed to be twice as many as the last time Haley had me over. Haley wrinkled her nose. "She's twelve. Hopefully she'll outgrow it. Come on – sit here."

We both dropped onto her bed, but my moment of breathless hope faded when she said, "We need to plan for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow." I was stupid with her closeness, the smell of her shampoo, the heat of her hip inches from mine.

"Yeah, the bikes?" She snapped her fingers in front of my face. "Get with the program. I'll set my alarm early enough so we can bike to school instead of catching the bus. We'll have to lock them in the rack at school, so no one steals them, but if we use my bar lock on both of them, it opens fast. The trickiest part will be not getting spotted following your brother. Plus I can't use the camera while I'm on a bike."

"Right." I forced my thoughts back to Justin. "Can you hang it round your neck to have it handy when we stop?"

"Maybe. Although my dad will skin me alive if anything happens to it. Worth it though. It'll be an adventure."

"Maybe we should skip it. Maybe if Justin doesn't want to tell me what's up I should let it go."

"You think so?"

"I don't know any more."

"He looked pretty rough."

"I know." And yesterday, before we lost him, I'd seen a new bruise on his arm that wasn't there last week. "No. I want to know. I need to know what's going on. If it's nothing, if it's not a problem then we'll just back off and he never needs to know we were there. If it is something..." I let it trail off.

"Information. We can't make good decisions without good information."

"Right."

Haley's gaze met mine. Under thick dark lashes, the liquid brown of her eyes was like sweet melted chocolate, pulling me in. I think I leaned forward, and I might have dared to do more but at that moment her sister Lindsey came barreling in the door. "No fair! I wanted to have Annamarie sleep over yesterday and Mom said not on a school night. How come you get to and I don't?"

Haley and I jerked apart. Haley said with perfect big-sister contempt, "Because I'm fifteen and you're twelve. Mom trusts us not to stay up all night giggling over My Little Ponies."

"I don't giggle and that stuff's for babies. I like real horses. And it's still not fair."

"Tell Mom that." Haley stood up. "Come on, Brianna, let's leave the kid to her ponies. The Wii's in the game room."

We had fun, but there was never another moment I felt really alone with Haley in that house. Someone was always wandering through wherever we settled down. Eventually we went up to the bathroom and cleaned up and I changed into the sleep-shirt Haley had picked out for me. Haley's mom set up an air-mattress for me on the floor right next to Haley's bed. But it was a foot lower than her mattress and anyway, even whispering lost its appeal with Lindsey there. I'd expected to lie awake for hours, tortured by the thought of Haley so close and yet so far, but instead I fell right to sleep, and was oblivious until the alarm woke us next morning.

****

It was good we had to start by riding the bikes to school, because it really had been years since I'd been on one. For once the old saying was true, though, and it came back fast. The only thing I had to practice was my balance with a loaded backpack. When last bell came that afternoon, we were ready.

Justin set out in the same direction, heading into the city, his strides fast and even. We followed at a distance, but he never looked back. Haley pulled up beside me at a light, her eyes on Justin still running easily down the next block. "Damn, the guy's in shape," she muttered.

"Yeah." I was torn between pride and not wanting Haley looking at my brother that way. Then the light turned green and we set off again.

We ended up in a somewhat grotty part of town. Not really scary-looking but made up mostly of small, run-down businesses and low brick apartments separated by narrow alleys. Justin finally slowed and then stopped, looking around. Haley and I pulled over in the parking lot of a vacuum repair store a hundred yards away.

"What do you think he's doing here?" Haley breathed.

"No clue."

Justin walked in small circles as if cooling down from his run. Periodically he'd look up, his head cocked like he was listening for something. About ten minutes later there was the light rumble of a scooter.

Haley and I turned away, trying to act as if we were looking in the dusty picture window of the store. Although why two teen girls would be staring at vacuum-hose attachments was a question I'd have been hard put to answer. The scooter passed behind us and glided up to Justin. If I angled myself right, I could see him in the reflection. The guy on the scooter was about Justin's age, with dark hair and a geeky band T-shirt. He settled the scooter and got off. He was a little taller than Justin, and probably skinnier, although under the loose shirt it was hard to tell. He and Justin talked for a moment, and then Justin led the way back into the maze of buildings behind him. The other guy gave his scooter a doubtful look but followed him.

"Come on," Haley whispered, leaning her bike against the shop wall and heading after them.

"Wait!" I said, but she was already ahead of me and I didn't want to call loudly enough to attract the guys' attention.

I followed her around the corner and then stopped in the shadow of a doorway. The unfamiliar guy was standing there in a narrow space between two buildings, watching Justin with his mouth open. In the bigger courtyard in front of him, Justin ran three steps toward a wall and then kept on going up the side of the wall, like something out of a cartoon. Just when it seemed impossible to go on, he pushed off the wall in a back flip, landing on the pavement lightly. He came right out of the landing into a jump that launched him upwards, his hands reaching for a drainpipe. With a chin-up move that showed my brother had more muscle than even I knew, Justin propelled his inverted body upward into almost a hand-stand, and hooked a foot into an overhanging railing. Another seemingly impossible move put him on the flat roof of the one-story building.

Justin grinned down at the other boy. Something in his expression was fierce and proud and oddly tender, and it made me feel like an intruder. But I didn't dare leave. We were hidden in this patch of darkness, but if we moved, Justin was sure to notice from up there. Suddenly Justin launched himself off the roof. I bit my tongue to hold back a scream, as Justin flipped in mid-air and landed safely, rebounded, ran two steps toward where the other guy stood and propelled himself impossibly fast up the chimney created by the two brick walls of the narrow alleyway.

I saw the other guy look up, one hand reaching skyward, as if drawn inexorably toward Justin. Three stories up, Justin stopped, parked between the walls on braced legs, looking as unruffled and comfortable as a kid on a park bench. The dark guy dropped his hand and called up, "What the hell is that?"

"Parkour."

"Is that another word for insanity?"

Justin laughed in apparent delight. "I've heard that before. It's free running. Urban gymnastics, sort of."

"Where did you learn it?"

"A friend. And one of the local gyms had a class. Then I've practiced on my own."

The other guy began to smile. "So all those bruises and the scrapes..."

Justin grinned back down at him, that same private look. "I told you not to worry, Vic. I told you it was just me being clumsy."

"Yeah, well, excuse me if I couldn't imagine the level of clumsiness it would take to do all that damage. If you'd said you were trying to imitate Spiderman, then maybe."

"I wanted to show you. I wanted to be good enough to show you something convincing."

"I'm convinced. Any chance you might come down now?"

"But I like it here."

"I'd make it worth your while."

"Oh yeah?" Justin began walking down between the walls, his hands and legs braced so easily it seemed almost natural. A few feet above Vic's head he paused. "What are you offering?"

"Come closer and see."

I couldn't help watching as Justin moved those two feet lower, as he braced neatly on the brick and bent towards Vic's upturned face. Their mouths met, and this was clearly not their first kiss. There was an ease about them, the way they fitted together. Male lips brushed lips and then pressed home, faces angled to deepen the kiss. Slowly Vic raised an arm, sliding his hand over Justin's muscular calf below his shorts, and then moving to curl his fingers around Justin's neck. Justin's eyes closed, and then Vic laughed and yanked him downward. Justin's hands gave way, but Vic caught him, blocking his fall and pulling him into a full embrace. Justin came up laughing too.

"Bastard."

"Just don't want you climbing out of reach again."

"Never."

I whispered to Haley, "Come on. While they're kissing." But before we could move the guys had broken apart.

Vic reached out to run his fingers over the fading bruise on Justin's elbow. "It's a relief to find out the guy I'm falling for isn't hiding abuse, just a death wish. At least, I think it's a relief." He cupped Justin's cheek with his palm.

"Falling for?" Justin's voice was small and uncertain.

"I think so. Is that all right with you?"

"Very all right." Justin leaned in for another kiss, short and sweet. "And I don't have a death wish."

"Even for a parkourer you seem rather battered."

"The guys who do the sport are called _traceurs._ And part of this is Patrick."

Vic frowned. "He _did_ hit you?"

"No. No! I mean, he's the one with a death wish. Seriously, following him over obstacles took the idea of no limits almost too far. But I could hardly let him go alone."

"And now? Do you still run with him?"

"I haven't since I met you. Not for over a week now." Justin wrapped his fingers around Vic's wrist, pressing Vic's palm against his face. "Patrick was my first. But he's so screwed up. I wasn't allowed to talk about him to anyone, couldn't even mention parkour for fear of someone connecting me to him, since he's well known in the group. We couldn't touch in public. He hated for me to even look at him too long. And all that fear, all that self-hatred seemed to come out when he ran. It wasn't just freedom anymore, it was scary. I couldn't stand it, and I told him so. I can't live like that."

"What did he say?"

"Good-bye?"

"Oh shit." Vic pulled Justin in against him. "I'm sorry, but then I'm not, because you're here and you're single."

"Am I? Single?"

"Not anymore. Not unless you want to be."

"Nope."

Vic kissed him hard, and Justin melted into his embrace, arms wrapped tight around Vic's back. If it hadn't been my brother, I'd have called it sweet. But as it was, I dropped my eyes to the toes of my sneakers. "So will I see you later?" I heard Vic ask.

"Sure. Give me an hour to practice and I'll be there. Promise."

"All right. Is it okay if I worry about you?"

"I know what I'm doing." There was an indulgent tone in Justin's voice.

"You still want to keep doing this crazy stuff?"

I glanced up, wondering what Justin would say. He was looking into Vic's eyes.

"Yes, I do. It's like nothing else, like setting myself free, just me and my body and what I can do with it, stretching myself to my limit and then moving that limit up a notch." When Vic kept frowning at him, Justin smiled. "But I'll be more careful, I swear. Now that I have someone to be careful for."

After another long moment, Vic let go. "All right. You do that. I'll see you at my place."

They stepped back from each other. Vic's hands trailed down Justin's forearms as if reluctant to lose touch. Then Vic turned toward his scooter, and Justin ran back up the brick chimney, like a squirrel up a tree, pulled himself over the parapet of the nearest roof and was gone. Vic sighed, rubbed his eyes, and headed back past us. He gave us a questioning look when he caught sight of us in the shaded doorway, hesitated for a moment, and then walked on by. I let out my breath. At least Vic had no clue who we were, and I guess we didn't look like a threat. Behind us the scooter purred to life, revved once and then rumbled away.

Haley looked at me. "Wow. That was... unexpected. But good."

"Yeah." I went past her, over to that narrow brick alley. How had Justin done that? I could stretch my arms out and touch the brick on either side. I put a little pressure on my hands and tried to raise my feet. Nope, not like that.

Behind me Haley said, "Did you know he was gay? Your brother?"

I didn't turn around. "No. But I thought he might be." After a moment I had to ask, "Are you disappointed?"

"Why should I be?" Haley came past me and leaned on the brick, looking at me. "That was hot, though."

"What was?"

"All of it. The climbing. The way they kissed."

I leaned my back on the opposite wall and raised a leg, pressing my sneaker to the bricks. With that leverage, I could lift the other leg off the ground, but I couldn't figure out how Justin got higher. "It didn't bother you? To see two guys kissing?"

"Are you kidding? You know, I'd kiss someone too if they climbed a brick wall for me."

"A guy?" I raised the other foot, but when I tried to push upward I could feel the roughness rasping over my back, against the shirt Haley had picked out for me. I lowered my foot again.

Haley moved to where she could catch my eyes. "I'd rather kiss a girl."

Just like that, I felt like I could float up that wall. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"I can try." I set myself again, pushing upward. And then I squeaked in alarm as a fast-moving body dropped down the narrow space and swept me to the ground, rolling me on my back in the dirt.

Justin's eyes bored into mine. "What the hell are you doing here, Bri?"

I pushed him off roughly and squirmed out from under the knee he was pinning me with. "Trying to climb the damned wall. And thanks for wrecking my favorite shirt." Well, starting today it _was_ my favorite shirt.

Justin looked less angry and more puzzled. "What do you mean, trying to climb?"

I got to my feet, dusting off my jeans, and pointed. "Me. Wall. Up."

"It's not your thing. Anyway..."

Haley interrupted, "I promised to kiss her if she did it."

Justin stared over his shoulder at her, and then turned back to me. "She did?"

"Yeah. So get out of the way, monkey boy, unless you want to give me pointers."

Justin put a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Maybe I will, in a minute. But you didn't just happen to be here in my part of town to climb a wall. You followed me."

"Yeah, okay, we did." I shrugged off his grip. "I was worried about you. So sue me."

"What were you _thinking_?"

Haley said, "We were thinking if someone was hassling you we could take pictures, give you some evidence to make them back off or to take to the cops." She hefted the camera on her chest.

Justin dropped his hands. "That's... pretty smart, actually. If it had been something like that, and if I was the kind of person who needed protection."

"I should have known you were fine," I said crossly.

"Yeah. You should. But I'll forgive you, since my own boyfriend thought the same thing."

For a long moment we eyed each other, each of us maybe seeing someone unfamiliar in sibling's clothing. "He seems nice," I said feebly after a while.

"He's awesome." Justin glanced at Haley. "Is she your... girlfriend?"

I let myself look toward her too. Her wicked grin was giving me ideas, but I didn't want to go too far. "I'd like her to be," I said, still looking over his shoulder, watching her face.

"First you have to climb the wall," Haley told me.

"How high?" Justin asked.

"Like you did when you kissed what's-his-name. Shoulder height." She tilted her head at me and pursed those gorgeous lips. "Make it convenient."

"That's not dangerous," Justin agreed. "Okay, come on Bri. Like this."

It took a couple of tries, with Justin showing me where to put my feet and hands, before I could inch my way up the wall. Once I got the hang of it, it wasn't too hard.

"That's far enough," my brother told me. "Trust me, you don't want to be hanging upside down to kiss someone and end up falling on their face."

"Right." I braced myself more securely and looked at Haley. "So. Does this work for you?"

She grinned up at me. "It's a new angle all right. Can you hold that until your brother leaves?"

"Probably." There wasn't much strain yet, although I was shorter than Justin so my leg was braced pretty much straight.

Justin looked from me to her. "You guys have a way to get home?"

"Bikes," Haley said.

"Don't linger too long. This neighborhood gets rough after dark."

"Yes, grandpa," I said. "Are you leaving now?"

"Maybe when we both get home later we'll talk." Justin looked at me with that old open smile, like before the walls went up between us. Then his smile became a smirk. "Enjoy your kiss. Don't fall on Haley's face."

He jumped and braced between the brick walls beside me, climbed past me in a rush, and disappeared over the roof-line again.

"Show-off," I muttered after him. I looked back at Haley. She was standing there, just a few inches away, her curls tousled and an expression I'd never seen before in her dark eyes. Her lips parted just a little.

"I don't think I can move much," I said.

"I can." She shifted closer, slowly, until her mouth was within reach of mine.

However hot my brother's kiss with Vic may have been, it didn't hold a candle to ours.

####

# **Blind Sights**

~Picture prompt: In a suburban kitchen, two young men kiss, eyes closed and focused on each other, while next to them, a slightly younger guy covers his eyes. You can almost hear his long-suffering sigh.

Older brothers are the worst. Well, some of the time. Roy's actually not that bad – there's less than two years between us and we used to hang out together a lot. When we were little, people even used to joke about us being twins. But six months ago he told Mom and Dad he's gay and since then he has been one major suckfest PITA. Or maybe suck-face PITA...although I'm not even sure I want to think about pains in the ass and Roy together.

Because the reason Roy got up the nerve to come out to the 'rents is because he has a boyfriend. Does he ever. Jordan. Tall, athletic, perfect Jordan who always says the right thing and does the right thing. Even his hair is always perfect. I can't stand the guy.

And he's always around these days.

It's my own house. You'd think I could get a freaking glass of milk out of the refrigerator without tripping over Jordan, but no. There he is, actually putting peanut butter on bread with a knife, instead of eating it out of the jar with the spoon like a normal guy. He says his parents were shocked and surprised when he came out to them at the early age of thirteen, but if so they have to be the most unobservant people on the planet. He irons his shirts, for God's sake. You'd think they'd have had a clue.

But people can be pretty damned blind.

I shoved Jordan out of the way to open the fridge. Just to freak him out a bit, I pulled out the milk carton and drank from it without bothering with a glass. He didn't have to know that I'd never do that if it wasn't almost empty. I got a lot of satisfaction out of his loud "Ewww."

A hard palm landed on the side of my head. "Colby, you're disgusting." Roy took the carton out of my hand, finished the last mouthful himself and then grinned at Jordan. "Now all I need is some peanut butter to go with that."

Jordan took a big, deliberate bite of his bread, swallowed, then set it on the counter, and turned to let Roy kiss him. Kiss him long and slow. With tongue.

My turn to be obliged to say, "Ewww." I covered my eyes. "Let me know when you're done sucking face, okay? So I can find the chips."

There was a muffled, "Mph," and then Jordan said, "Sorry, Colby. It was all your brother's fault."

I could hear the grin in his voice, so I didn't bother to uncover my eyes. Sure enough, more kissing noises.

"You know what," I said grumpily. "Don't let me interrupt you. I'll come back later." I stomped out and went up to my room.

I'd had a half hour to mess around online and get in a better mood before there was a knock on my door. "Colby? Can I come in?"

"I guess."

Roy opened the door a little tentatively, but dropped on the end of my bed with his usual thump. For a skinny guy, he sure moves the furniture around.

"Go ahead, break the damned bed."

"It hasn't ever broken before."

"No thanks to you, you gorilla. Where's your better half?"

"He had to go to piano class."

Did I mention Jordan plays piano? Not geeky classical either, but jazz piano. Really good jazz piano.

Roy sat further onto the foot of the bed, leaned against the wall and drew his feet up on my comforter. He put his arms around his knees and looked at me. His eyes were thoughtful and a little sad, but I ignored him, clicked my laptop to the next page, and concentrated on the screen. Eventually he said, "Can I talk to you?"

"Can't stop you." I snorted at the joke I'd found, not looking at him at all.

"Right." Another long silence. Then he said, "Does it really bother you that much, me being with Jordan?"

"Depends on what you mean by bother. Having you two making out in my freaking space every time I turn around is not my idea of a good time."

"You know we can't go to his place. His mom hates me."

It was true. Jordan might be hideously perfect but his family left a lot to be desired. I said he came out to them at thirteen. I didn't say they took it well. Basically they reached a truce. If he never mentioned it again, they wouldn't throw him out of the house. He was counting the days to graduation. Which made me a real asshole for wanting them to take the PDAs elsewhere but... "You have a perfectly good room, with a perfectly good door on it."

"Which Mom and Dad will take off its hinges if we're caught making out on the other side of it."

Also true. Our parents had been far less unpleasant about the coming out part, but the new rule for Roy was open-door when any guys were over. I gritted my teeth. There should be some rule against brothers being right, when you're mad at them.

Roy sighed. "And it's too freaking cold to be outside. Listen, one day you'll want to have some girl over and you'll see her looking all pretty with the light on her hair, and you'll just want to kiss her, right then. Like sometimes I look at Jordan, and his eyes are so blue, and he kind of smiles and I just have to kiss him. I'm not doing it to gross you out or anything. It just happens."

"I'm not grossed out."

"Well, that's good."

"I guess." There was another long silence, an unfinished one like we both had more to say, but weren't sure how.

"I know having a gay brother isn't the easiest thing. I'll try to give you space. You've been pretty okay about it for a punk. You've never given me shit, not since the first day, even if it bugs you to see me with Jordan."

Okay, that was just about enough of that. I couldn't help it. I said, "It doesn't bug me to see you making out. I'm freaking jealous."

"You're just fifteen. I didn't date when I was fifteen. You'll find a girl soon enough."

I gritted my teeth and laid it out for him flat. "I don't want a girl. I want a goddamned guy. Like Jordan, only not so fucking perfect." Actually, just like Jordan. I could live with perfect, if it was _my_ perfect.

I stared down at my laptop screen and pretended I didn't feel the weight of his startled gaze on me. I told you some people were blind.

"You're gay?"

"Takes one to know one."

"Are you sure?"

That snapped my head around. " _Jesus Christ!_ I didn't freaking ask you that!"

"Well, I was already with Jordan... Sorry, I'm sorry. Of course you're sure."

We stared at each other.

Roy asked, "When are you going to tell Mom and Dad?"

"How about the fifth of never."

"Damn." Roy laid his face on his knees, and closed his eyes. "Mom will have a cow."

"Exactly." When Roy came out, there had been days of wailing about the loss of hypothetical grandchildren. Weeks, even. Then Mom had fastened on the fact that she had two sons and cheered up. "My balls are the treasure trove of family DNA, the source of the holy grail of future generations. How about you tell Mom that I'm hoping never to unload them inside a female body."

"Damn."

"So you and perfect Jordan make out and be gay all over the house if you want to. Don't mind me."

"I'm sorry." Roy sat up and put a hand on my shoulder. "Really, I didn't know. I didn't mean to make it harder for you. Do you...want to talk about it?"

"Don't get all touchy-feely on me. I play football. I love beer. I don't do that crap."

He laughed shortly and took back his hand. "Okay, I know you're the cool one, although you'd better not let Mom catch you with a beer. But I am older and I do have more experience. So if you want to ask anything..."

I waved at my laptop. "There's a whole world of answers from people who actually know shit, right there on the Net. I'm good."

"I'll try to cool it with Jordan."

"Nah. I was just jerking your chain." Now that he knew, it didn't feel so bad somehow. Although I was going to have to watch how I looked at Jordan. Because sometimes the sun did catch the red lights in his brown hair and I knew I'd been staring. And the only way I was going to survive the seven months until they both graduated and left for college was by hiding and denying my yen for Jordan, big time.

"I'll back you, if you want to come out to Mom and Dad. Anytime. Just say the word. Or I can be elsewhere if you want to do it by yourself."

"No!" I fumbled across the comforter and found my fingers locked in the hem of his shirt. Pathetic, but I couldn't let go. "You started this, you can't desert me."

"Wouldn't dream of it, bro." We both breathed for a bit. Then he muttered, "Although I do think it might pay you to wait just a little bit longer. At least until Mom stops muttering, 'Such a waste' when she thinks I don't hear her."

"Yeah." I uncrimped my fingers from my freaking brother, and tried to look relaxed. "Now how about you get the hell out of my room?"

"Okay." He stood up. "Colby?"

"Yeah?"

"Love you, bro, straight or gay. You know?"

"More freaking touchy-feely. You give gays a bad name. Go put on make-up or something. Text love notes to your boyfriend."

He paused at the door. "You'll have a boyfriend too someday. I promise. And for the record, gay sex is awesome."

I threw a paperback, but it hit the closing door without doing any damage. _Bastard._ Like I needed the image of Jordan getting naked, all hot and bothered, with that hair and his muscles from baseball, and his voice hoarse and losing that perfect control. _Damn._ I went back online. There was a quote from George Takei. "Marriage equality AND marijuana laws passed? Now we know what Leviticus really meant by, 'A man who layeth with another man must be stoned.'"

I laughed. Two things I'd never tried. Not yet. I wasn't sure if I was interested in the pot, but the laying with a man - yeah, that had my definite interest.

Nothing I could do about it for now. And I didn't know if I was ready to crack that closet door any wider than I'd just done. But the future felt a little brighter, just a touch more likely to work out, for knowing that my brother had my back. And in the meantime, well, I was fifteen and the Internet was full of good stuff. I clicked another link.

####

# My Own Kind

I stuffed myself into the stupid little seat in Mrs. Gerber's room and slouched, trying to find space for my legs under the desk. You'd think someone would have figured out by now that some of us juniors are a bit big for these sucky chair-connected-to-desk combo things and replaced them. But nooo. My third year coming into this room, and I'm six-five now, so I have to fold like a pretzel.

I let my eyes close halfway and waited as the room filled up, but I wasn't so out of it that I missed Landon coming in the door. He was laughing at something the guy behind him said, waving his hands like he does, with that wide grin on his face, and my dick stood up and saluted immediately. I slouched lower and hoped no one would notice.

Of course, he stopped by my desk. "Hey, Jerry."

"Hey, Lanny." He made a face at me, and I glared back. My name's Jerrod and he knows I hate nicknames.

"Listen, Chris and I are going to the Keystone tonight. Want to come?"

"Are you nuts?" We'd broken up a month ago. It hadn't seemed to faze him much—he'd quickly found a new guy—but I'd been pretty sore about it for a while.

Landon gave that little one-sided shrug I used to think was cute. "Come on, Jerrod. It's no big deal. We're friends, right? We can just hang out, scope out the guys together, sneer at the rednecks down the street."

_Hah._ There was just a little ring of extra truth in that last bit. And I guessed I knew why he wanted to be all buddies again.

I never took any shit for being gay. I'd been out since last year. Landon had made me go to the GSA and be visible when we were dating, and it had been worth it to have him. Plus I really hate lying. So I'd done it, and been all out and proud, and I was big enough and tough enough that no one called me out for it, at least to my face. Landon liked that about me. He liked hanging out with me at school, because he could be as flaming as he wanted and no one messed with him when I was around. And he liked parading me in front of the straight guys around town sometimes. It looked like he was missing that part of being with me.

"So, just the two of us?" I asked, to needle him a bit with Chris standing right there bumping his hip. "Like old times?"

"Well, no, you and me and Chris, and maybe we can find another guy there that you'd go for. Have some fun. Maybe even fun all together." He winked, and ran his tongue over his lips, and despite my brain knowing it was him putting on a move, my body went on full alert at that.

But I said roughly, "Forget it." and looked away. I thought about icebergs and gross stuff, to take the edge off. Right then, I didn't want people to notice me still getting hot for Landon, and the reason why had just come through that door, looking damned good herself.

Yeah, I said _her._ After Landon and I broke up I started looking around, you know? Because I like having somebody to be with, and not just for the sex... Wait; if you're a parent-type person or teacher or something, put your fingers in your ears for a moment, 'kay?

For the non-uptight peeps, yes, we had sex. Me and Landon. Come on. We'd been two sixteen-year-old guys who'd long ago figured out what that body part was for. You think we wouldn't try out all the ways it can be put to good use? That had been one of the best parts about discovering I was gay. Because another guy wants a lot more sex than a girl does, at least in my limited experience.

That turned out to be the bad side too, because Landon liked sex a whole ton, even more than I did. And he decided he liked it with other guys too. I'm not a prude, but I kind of prefer to be doing one person at a time, even if there weren't diseases and AIDS and shit out there. So we broke up.

After that, I started looking at other people again, and when my eye found someone who made me heat up and take notice, it turned out to be Danielle. A girl. A very pretty girl.

So when Danielle came in the door to Geography class, my dick did the same sit-up-and-beg routine as when I saw Landon. Maybe even more. Because it's an equal opportunity joystick.

Danielle's just gorgeous. And hot. Long legs, tight little bod, shiny black curls to her waist, and a way of smiling that makes her cheeks round and her eyes bright. Danielle's too smart for me, really, but when I'd asked if she wanted to go to a movie and maybe get a burger tonight, she said yes, she'd love to. And she meant it. I was sure. Just like I was sure that Landon meant it when he said, "Sneer at the rednecks."

Because I wasn't just the biggest guy in the class, and apparently bisexual, when I'd just got used to thinking I was gay. I was also, as far as I knew, the only Truth Reader in the school. Truth Reader – like, I can tell when someone's lying, if I concentrate enough or the lie is big enough to register. It comes from being a quarter Wanderer, and that's a whole other story. It's a bit relevant here, but not a ton, so just think stranded-aliens-back-in-my-pedigree, and that'll be enough to get you by.

Aliens. Don't freak out. You think NASA would spend all that money hunting for intelligent life in space, if they weren't pretty sure we're out there? And maybe they'll find my ancestors' home planet one day, and send a message or something. But we're all mixed in with humans now – I doubt any of my generation would really want to go back. For us it just means a skill or two that would let us star in Twilight. You don't believe me? That's good, because it's best for all of us if you don't.

Anyway, I've never told anyone who wasn't family. There's a few of us Wanderers around, and we pretty much all have different Traits, but even my people don't like to think you're reading their mind. Which this isn't, exactly—more of a nasty slithery feeling I get on the back of my neck, if someone doesn't truthfully believe the words coming out of their mouth. My Trait's not super unusual, but none of the other kids in the community have it, as far as I know.

To most humans, it would be a freak skill, like some kind of mega-ESP, so I'm even less likely to tell them; sometimes I get caught up in being human and it seems freaky even to me. And it's not as useful as you might think. Still, knowing it can be done means I usually tell the truth, myself.

So I said to Landon, "I'm not interested in going anywhere with you. Now or ever."

He gave me a little sneer, and stuck his hand in Chris's back pocket, while watching me to see if I noticed. I didn't even bother to look away. After a minute Mrs. Gerber came in and the guys went off to their seats. Which were far away from me, praise Jesus and all his reindeer, while Danielle's was up front but closer.

I sat through Geography, and snuck a lot of looks at Danielle, and a few at Landon, and didn't learn much from the lecture. I guess it might be good one day for me to know where Yemen is, or what its capital is. But the odds are if I ever go there, it will only be as an Army draftee, if we screw up the Middle East worse than we already have.

Hopefully that won't happen. And unless I get drafted, well, my people don't tend to leave their community, so I knew chances were I'd live in the good ol' U S of A, probably right here in Angelwood, for the rest of my life. It didn't inspire me to pay attention.

I began planning my date with Danielle. First date. It'd been a while since I'd done that with a girl, and I'd learned a thing or two since then. And not just what you're thinking.

For a bunch of years I didn't use my Truth Reading skills much around my friends. I didn't always want to know if they were messing with me, ignorance sometimes being bliss and all. But I'd wanted to do right by Landon, as my first serious crush. I'd paid attention, and learned to use my talent now and then to tell how much truth was in his voice, so I could treat him the way he needed. So I'd know the difference between when he said, "That's fun," and meant it, and when he said, "That's fine," and didn't. Tonight was going to be all about making Danielle happy and paying the right kind of attention. Even if she was too good for me in the long run, I was determined to make a hell of a first impression.

****

I picked Danielle up at her house at six. We were gonna eat and then catch the movie. I'd washed the car, and even cleaned all the crap out of the backseat. Girls care about that kind of thing. Well, Landon had cared too – he's kind of a picky bastard – but after we split, I'd taken to tossing all sorts of stuff back there, just because I could, maybe. For Danielle, I'd made it all nice again.

She looked great, in a cream-colored sweater that showed off some of her assets, and a short denim skirt that bared others. Yeah, maybe I should be singing praises to her eyes or something, but the first thing I thought when I saw her was that she was _smokin'_ hot. And I was gonna say so to her, because I'd figured out Landon used to love that kind of thing, when he got me worked up enough that I'd actually tell him that stuff out loud.

I started with, "Holy sh...crap!" Her mom was only a few feet away, and she followed Danielle out onto the porch. I rephrased to, "You look great."

"Thanks." Danielle gave me a wicked smile that her mom couldn't see.

Her mom said, "Now you remember you have a midnight curfew."

Danielle sighed. "Yes, Mom."

"And if you need a ride home or anything, you just call, and I'll always come get you."

She said, "Mo–ther..." all drawn out like that.

But I'd heard the truth in that, where her mom really would come get her, anytime. It made me miss my mom a little, so I said, "Not to worry, Mrs. Davidson. I don't drink or smoke or nothing. Danielle'll be safe with me."

Danielle stepped on my foot, and she was wearing these killer heels, so it hurt like hell, but her mom looked pleased. She said, "Your name's Jerrod, right?"

"Yes, ma'am. Jerrod Lane."

"It's good to meet you, Jerrod." And damn me if there wasn't truth in that too. She told Danielle, "See you later," and stepped inside and closed the door.

Danielle said, "Sorry. She gets like that. I had one boyfriend who was kind of a jerk. I'm over it, but Mom still worries."

_Lie, and truth._ Danielle wasn't over that guy as much as she said. I had a sudden urge to smash someone's face in, but since I had no clue who he was, all I could do was not _be_ that guy.

"So, is Donna's Diner okay to eat?" I asked, as I held the car door for her. She smiled and nodded as she got into my car. I figured she'd like that. Girls like to be taken care of. That was part of what broke me and Landon up, too. I thought I was taking care of him, and he said I was smothering him. We had different ideas about it. I had a moment's uneasiness, thinking about him being out at the Keystone tonight, with just Chris, and a bunch of rednecks somewhere that he'd maybe been giving a hard time. Chris was almost as much of a flamer as Landon, and neither of them was a big or tough guy. But I had to let it go. He didn't want to be taken care of, and so he'd have to figure out his own problems.

I smiled at the girl who was letting me take care of her. "Did you pick out a movie?"

Donna's was a nice place for a first date. It had decent food that wasn't too expensive, so you could go Dutch and not break anyone's budget. There was all this memorabilia crap all over the walls too. A bunch of old time pictures, and antique kitchen gadgets, and football pads from, like, the nineteen fifties, and a canoe, and a stuffed possum, and a birdcage with a stuffed crow in it. You could talk for a long time about that stuff \- what it was supposed to be and where in the hell Donna found some of it. It broke the ice real well.

Landon and I hadn't had a real first date. We'd hung out and then gone back to his place, and played his X-box for like three hours, and then... I pulled my attention back to Danielle. It did no good to compare them, and she was well worth paying attention to.

"So are you sure you wouldn't rather go see Oblivion rather than Jurassic Park 3-D?" she asked when we were done eating. "I'm good with watching Tom Cruise. I know you've seen JP. I wouldn't mind."

"I'd rather you watched me than Tom Cruise," I said, because I could hear that she would mind. "Let's go be eaten by dinosaurs."

The movie was better than I expected. I'd seen the original a bunch of times, but the 3-D was pretty cool. The best part was the way Danielle jumped and screamed and hung onto my arm, though. Worth the price of admission just for that. She even hid her face on my shoulder during one of the scary bits, and I put my cheek on her hair and smelled the vanilla scent of her shampoo. I hugged her, and when the bit with the Velociraptors was done, she cuddled up against me for the rest of the movie.

We came out of the theater into the soft darkness of the evening. I was about to head for the car, when Danielle said, "I need to use the bathroom, actually. Wait here for me?"

"Sure." I didn't mind waiting outside. It was a perfect night.

Danielle stood on tiptoe and pulled my head down. And kissed me. Wow. It was sweet and hot, but different from the first time I kissed Landon. Quieter, less knowing, more kind. I couldn't explain it really. Two lips are two lips. But even blindfolded and wrapped in duct tape to the chin, I'd have been able to tell whose first kiss that was. "Back soon," she whispered, and headed back inside.

I watched her go. It was a fine sight, and if she was putting an extra little swing in her hips, knowing I was watching, there was nothing wrong with that. As she disappeared through the door, I realized someone else was watching me. In the shadows over by the wall, the red tip of a cigarette glowed and then dropped to the ground and was crushed out. I turned that way, and just waited. When you weigh over two hundred pounds and play defense on the varsity hockey team, one lone guy is more of a curiosity than a threat.

When he saw me turn, the guy pushed off the wall and came out under the light of the street lamp. I recognized him. Me and Landon, and this guy Matt and his boyfriend Tommy had hung out together sometimes. I said, "Hey, Matt. Is Tommy around? I thought he hated scary movies."

"He does. I told him this was more lame than scary but he still made me come alone." He gave me a look I couldn't quite decipher. "You're here with Danielle, huh?"

"Yeah. First date."

"Does she know about Landon?"

"Know what? We broke up a month ago."

"Does she know you used to fuck him?"

It was really none of Matt's business, but I liked him and his tone had this odd intensity, so I said, "She should. Given the way he liked to suck face with me in front of the lockers, I figured the whole school knew." I added, to throw him a bit, "Anyway, he used to fuck me, mostly."

He blinked rapidly and said, "Then what are you doing dating her? Did beg her to save you from being gay?"

"What? Hell, no. We're just dating. I like her."

"So you're going back in the closet?"

"There is no closet. I've figured out I'm bi." That was for damned sure now. I'd sprung as many boners for Danielle tonight as I'd sprung for Landon, although I had a feeling I was a bit less likely to get to do anything about it on this first date.

"That's a cop-out! Bi is just a gay guy who doesn't have the guts to really _be_ gay."

"Bullshit. There's a reason there's a B in LGBTQ. And I'm it."

Matt shook his head hard. "I don't believe it. Seriously, it just kills me to see you going back to girls. You, of all people. You're like the walking proof that gay doesn't mean all swishy and can't fight and wears pink. You're the most regular guy of regular guys, and when you're out and gay you blow the stereotypes out of the water. Now people will say, _'See? It wasn't really true. It was that flamer Landon that made him gay and now he's seen the light.'_ Dammit, you can't do this."

"So... what? I should only date guys, not girls, because you need a poster child for butch and queer?"

"You should date guys because girls are a cop-out."

"I like girls. They're soft and curvy and smell good. They don't fart and laugh about it, and they let me hold doors and say thank you."

"I bet she won't go down on you tonight." Matt moved closer and put a hand on my hip. "I bet she won't do what Landon did for you, every night and twice on Sundays." He moved his hand lower.

I took his fingers off my crotch. "Landon's out probably blowing three other guys. Danielle's here with me. I like her."

"You liked that from me." He pointed to the tent in my jeans.

"Well, you'd get a stiffy if I grabbed your crotch too."

"Go ahead." He moved closer, looking up at me. "Show me what you've got."

"Go back to Tommy," I said. "Leave me alone."

Danielle came across the sidewalk towards us, and I went over to her. "Ready to go?"

"Yes." She smiled at me, and then gave Matt a glance. "Hi, are you going in or coming out? It was awesome."

"And how was gay-boy there?" He pointed at me. "Any good?"

"I'm bi, and I'm also awesome," I said. "Although Danielle hasn't had the chance to find out just how much yet. G'night, Matt. Say hi to Tommy for me." I looped my arm around Danielle's shoulders and headed her toward the car.

"Were you and Matt fighting?"

"Discussing." Although that wasn't quite honest. "Arguing maybe. I'm bi, you know that right? I like girls and guys."

"Yeah. You were with Landon." Danielle glanced at me as I opened her door again. "I can't really imagine it but... you were, um, careful, right?"

"Yeah, we were." I got in but didn't start the car. "Matt thinks you have to be one or the other, gay or straight. He thinks I'm faking it with you. But I swear I'm not."

Danielle fiddled with her purse, then suddenly turned and kissed me. I was surprised, but went along willingly. Happily. Enthusiastically. When we finally separated, Danielle said, "Matt is full of crap."

"Yeah, that's what I said." I sat back in my seat. "Whoo. You're good at that."

She dimpled a smile. "Thanks. You're not bad yourself."

"So now what?" I turned the key. "Do I drive you home and practice that some more in your driveway? Or go somewhere else? We've got over an hour 'till your curfew."

Danielle said tentatively, "Would it be okay... I'd kind of like you to meet someone."

"Now? Tonight?'

"Yeah. She keeps late hours. We don't have to, though."

I could tell this was important. "Who is it?"

"My grandmother. She's, well, she's got these great instincts about people. She told me my first boyfriend was a douche who would cheat on me, and she told me my last one was worse. She made me promise that before I got serious about anyone else I'd bring them by to see her."

"And you want to do that tonight?" I wasn't sure whether to be flattered or scared.

"Yeah, I really do." Danielle must have heard how odd that sounded, because she said in a rush, "I know this is our first date. I'm not trying to rush things. But I like you, and before I get in any deeper I want to do what Gran said, and let you meet her, and just feel _safe_ about this."

"Your last guy really was bad news, wasn't he?" I said slowly.

"Yeah. He was."

"He hurt you? Physically?"

She shrugged and said, "Not really." I concentrated my Truth Sense and could hear the lie screaming out of that, but I didn't call her on it. She added, "It's not far, and once Gran has checked you out I'll be a lot more relaxed." She tried to purr that last word in a sexy way but it was a lot more house-cat than tiger. "You don't have to though."

I couldn't see a reason not to let her have her way, if it would please her. "Sure. Why not."

Her grandmother lived in a small neat house on a quiet circle, with a big garden full of knick-knacks. It looked like a Grandma kind of place, although when I got close enough I saw that the garden gnomes were actually more like gargoyles, odd-shaped with twisted creepy faces. My curiosity rose a bit. Danielle jumped out before I could come get her door, and I followed her up the walk. She seemed tense, so I said, "Your Gran has an interesting taste in statues. It's cool."

"She's a sculptor." Danielle flashed me a smile and relaxed a bit. I could tell this was important to her, and resolved to be on my best behavior. Old ladies mostly liked me.

The woman who answered the door wouldn't have come up in my personal dictionary under "grandmother," any more than her statues would have under "garden gnome". She was tall and very thin, with a smooth cap of iron grey hair and a narrow face that was almost unlined. She looked like a fashion model for some high-end older-folks catalog. She smiled warmly at Danielle, and then looked over her shoulder at me. Something flashed in her eyes, and I tried to give her my best harmless expression. I'm tall, and sometimes that startles people.

"Well, Dani, you _have_ picked a big one this time," she said. "Come on in."

She let us into the entry hall and then pointed. "Go sit, and I'll make us some tea."

I was going to say I didn't need any tea, but she was already striding off so I just followed Danielle.

Danielle hesitated in the living room, so I said, "Couch? Chair? Where do you want me?"

"Couch, I think." She sat beside me, but not touching. "You have to understand about my Gran. She's... different. A bit old-school."

"I'll be good," I offered.

Danielle shook her head, but before she could tell me what was wrong with that, her grandmother came back carrying a tray with a teapot and three cups. I jumped up to take it from her, but she gave me a cool look and set it down on the coffee table herself. "Sit, young man. Tell me your name."

"Jerrod Lane." Because sometimes I'm mistaken for being older, I added, "I'm seventeen. Danielle's in a couple of my classes."

She nodded, and then reached out to cup my chin in her long, cool fingers. That was a bit unwelcome, but I went with it, and looked back. I'd nothing to be embarrassed about, after all. She nodded once, let go, and then flat-out rocked me by saying, "You're Wanderer. Part, anyway. How many grandparents?"

"Ma'am?" For a moment I was going to pretend not to know what the hell she was talking about, but then I caught the flash of pure, clear gold in her own eyes. Of their own accord, my knees hit the carpet and my hands locked behind my back. "One, my lady."

Danielle looked back and forth between us. She said, "Gran? What are you doing," in a very small voice.

Her grandmother broke her gaze from mine. "Don't worry, dear. I'm just finding out you've chosen well indeed. One of Jerrod's grandparents was one of my people."

"Really?" Danielle looked at me avidly. "You too? I didn't know there were any others around here."

"Neither did I." Her grandmother's voice was cooler. "All this time we lived here, and I never knew. Oh, don't kneel there, boy. Sit back down for a while and stop alarming my granddaughter."

I got back on the couch, my head spinning a bit. There were still a few original Wanderers in our community. My grandfather was one of them. But mostly we were halves now, and quarters like me. And other than on festival days, I could go weeks without seeing another of my people outside my family. And now Danielle... I turned to stare at her, but I couldn't see a trace of the gold in her.

I wanted to say a bunch of stuff, to ask Danielle what Traits she had, to ask her grandmother if I could tell grandfather about her. But I knew better than to push a full-blood with dumb chatter. I folded my hands in my lap, kept my back straight and eyes down, and waited.

Slowly, Danielle's Gran reached out and poured tea into each of the cups. She handed one cup to me and another to Danielle. "Drink slowly. Don't talk." She eyed me steadily over the rim of hers.

I made myself relax, one muscle at a time. I reminded myself that the intensity in her voice was probably because she was worried about her granddaughter. It wasn't me screwing something up. It wasn't her fault that this felt like one of those _"Where is your life going, young man?"_ conversations with Grandfather. The ones where my grades weren't quite up to his standard, and I was dating the wrong boy. I touched the rim of the cup to my lip, smelling something herbal in the steam, and glanced at Danielle's Gran again.

She nodded firmly at my cup. "Drink your tea."

So I did. It was interesting stuff, a bit minty and thin, but with a bite at the end of each mouthful. As I got to the bottom, the leaves were grit on my tongue. Danielle screwed up her nose at the first taste, but finished hers without complaint and put the cup back on its saucer. I set mine beside hers.

Gran touched Danielle's cup with her long, graceful fingers, and then traced the rim of mine. Then she said, "Come here. Kneel now." She pointed at the rug by her feet.

Danielle said, "Gran? Seriously?" She looked at me with a flush of pink on her cheekbones. "She's not usually this, um,..."

"Don't worry," I told Danielle. I slid off the couch and knelt where Gran had pointed. "I'm familiar with the drill."

Gran's lip twitched, and she told Danielle, "This boy's one of us. I don't have to hide what I'm doing." She pinched my chin and tipped my face up again, and this time I kept still, knowing she was Reading me in some way. Her eyes held mine, and I could almost feel the echo of her gaze in my bones. Time slowed to a syrupy flow, the passing of breath after breath, as a lady who I could break in two with my hands, held me captive with her eyes, and three fingers. Eventually she said to Danielle, "Don't worry. This boy's not the type to ever lay a hand on you to give you pain."

"He won't hurt me?"

"Did I say that? There's hurt and hurt. He might break your heart, but he'll never mean to. You're as safe with him as you can be with anyone." She let go of me, and gestured me back to the couch. When I sat down, Danielle gave me a little smile, and brushed my knee with her hand.

Jesus God, that sent unexpected heat through me. Which I did my damnedest to ignore, because here I was sitting not just in front of her grandmother, but in front of a Wanderer herself. The last thing I wanted was to spring a boner right then. I shifted in my seat, and thought of ice cubes and the cat puking in my shoe, and kept it under control.

Gran gave me a look that held a touch of humor, and added, "By the way, boy, I don't know if you'll ever become a family with my granddaughter, and raise quarter-blood children." And crap, that was embarrassing! I could feel how red my face must be, because there I was, first date, and her Gran was telling this girl I was thinking about forever and kids. I hadn't been. Not that way. Just randomly, thinking that Danielle was great _and_ she was Wanderer, and really, how much more perfect could it be? I hadn't minded being gay with Landon, except for the idea of giving up having kids of my own. I'd had dreams about being a dad someday. But I had no idea Gran would pick up on all that when she read me. It was way, way too soon and I didn't want to scare Danielle away.

I said, "Danielle, I wasn't really planning our wedding or nothing..."

Gran laughed. "I'm teasing him, Dani. And don't worry, Jarrod. I won't tell her what else you were thinking."

"Just stick my head in a bucket, " I muttered, putting my hands over my face.

Danielle said, "Gran!" and her exasperated tone told me she was all easy and familiar with her full-blood grandmother to an impressive degree. I would _not_ have used that tone with Grandfather.

Gran actually ruffled my hair. People didn't do that much, since I hit my full size, but she did. "You're a good boy and Danielle's safe with you. Which means I'll sleep easier. What's your Trait, dear?"

"Truth Reading. And a hint of Sensing."

Danielle said, "Sensing is when you know stuff without being told, right?"

"Yeah. For me, I can tell when someone in my family is in trouble. It's come in handy a couple of times." I smiled, to lighten the mood. "Like the time my little sister climbed a tree and got stuck up there. 'Course, I was ten at the time, on a sleepover at a friend's house across town. I knew you were s'posed to call the fire department to rescue cats out of trees, so that's what I did. Next thing Mom knew, she had a hook and ladder in the front yard."

Gran said, "I'm sure she was grateful your sister was all right."

"She'd rather I'd just called her, but yeah, I guess." Mika's panic had made me scared and stupid, but Mom hadn't been mad at me. "So Danielle, what's your Trait?"

Danielle blushed and looked at the floor. Gran said, "She's a Fire-starter. Kept us all hopping when she was a baby."

"Um. That's exciting." I wasn't that fond of fire, but it wasn't likely to come up a lot. At her age, her control would be good.

"So, he's a Truth Reader, Danielle-love. That's a little trickier, in a relationship." Gran looked at me. "Have you had other girlfriends? How did that go, knowing when they were lying to you?"

I took a breath. "I had a boyfriend, ma'am. For over a year, so I guess it went okay. We split up, but not because I knew about him telling lies." Landon hadn't really bothered to lie to me. He thought so highly of himself, he didn't feel the need to hide the shit he did. He'd figured I'd either go along, or it'd be my loss, I guess. It had felt like a bad loss for a while, but it didn't hurt so much now.

Danielle shifted uncomfortably when I mentioned Landon, but I wasn't going to hide who I was. Especially not from someone who could probably spot a lie as well as I could. Gran made a little sound, but she seemed more thoughtful than disgusted or surprised. "Well, I guess that's for you and Dani to figure out now." She stood and I held out my hand. We shook, and Gran held onto me for an instant longer than I expected. A few expressions chased each other through her eyes, but I couldn't tell what they were. After a moment she let go, and gave me an odd look, intense and steady. "Remember, it's okay to be a hero, but watch out for the bystanders."

"Huh?"

She just smiled. "I'm heading to bed. Jerrod, tell your parents to come by sometime. I'd like to meet them. I've been alone a long time."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll tell my dad. And Grandfather."

"Now get going. If I know my daughter Lori, she's hovering by the window waiting for Danielle to get home."

I glanced at my watch. We still had half an hour, but it was probably better not to cut it too fine. "Yes, ma'am."

Danielle stood, and stretched on tiptoe to kiss her grandmother's cheek. "Thanks, Gran."

"I'm glad you brought him by." A sudden, predatory look came into the old lady's eyes. "I'd pay money to be around the first time the two of you meet up with Bill. If he so much as looks at you wrong again, Jerrod will take that little bloodsucker apart. And you _will_ let him, won't you?"

Danielle blushed and looked down unhappily. I made a note of the name. Bill. For some reason, Danielle's grandmother hadn't dealt with this guy herself. Maybe Danielle had asked her not to. But she was right. I would be way more than happy to handle the creep, if he showed up.

The streets were getting quieter as midnight approached. I drove on auto pilot, with a lot of stuff going through my mind. After a while, I had to pay more attention as the traffic picked up, and I only realized why when Danielle said, "This isn't the way to my house."

I stared, suddenly seeing that I'd brought us most of the way downtown. "Shit. Sorry." I was going to blame it on being distracted, when I realized it was nothing of the sort. " _Shit!_ " That was far more heart-felt. Because when I paid attention, I could feel Landon's panic, beating in on me. And I guess although I'd broken up with him, somehow he'd stayed like family. Because I could tell he was in a load of trouble. I pulled over in front of an all-night convenience store, even though my foot wanted to stomp on the gas and _go_.

"Danielle, listen." It occurred to me, I could tell her exactly what was going on. No fumbling or hiding it. Wow, that was really nice. "You know about the Sensing. So, right now, I can Sense that Landon's really scared."

"Landon? Your ex-boyfriend?"

"Yes." I saw her bite her lip hard, and hurried to add, "And he is ex. I swear. But I still know he's about to get his ass beat on. So..." What was my duty here? "I can get you home on time and let it happen. Painful for him, but for all I know, he deserves it and it's not likely to be fatal. Or I can let you get out here with money for a cab. You'd make it home on time that way too. Or you can come with me, while I go rescue Landon."

Danielle glanced at me briefly, and then said, "Drive, you big moron." Her laugh was a bit hesitant, but she added, "He's too pretty to let someone break him."

"Thanks." I hit the speed limit and busted through it, taking a back road for a better approach. The Keystone was five minutes away.

As we got close, I became sure that Landon was out back. That made things easier than going into a busy bar. Especially with Danielle, because it was a gay bar, and while the bouncer might look the other way on fake ID for young guys, he wasn't going to let a seventeen-year-old girl in. I pulled around to the laundromat on the corner, parked and glanced at Danielle. "You should be pretty safe here, if you keep the car closed and don't get out for anything, okay? I'll be right back."

"I'm coming with you." She got out, and I had no choice but to do the same. My sense of urgency was beating at my brain. I grabbed her hand, and ran down the alley behind the lot. It was only half a block to the Keystone. And sure enough, there were four guys standing in back there, in two pairs. One pair was Landon and Chris, the other pair were bigger, older, and holding a couple of pieces of scrap rebar from the half-demolished building across the way. The bigger of the two smacked the steel bar slowly against the side of his boot in a slow, ominous rhythm that I could see but not hear over the pounding music from the bar.

I panted up to them, acting a lot more flustered than I felt. "Hey guys, Chris, whassup?"

They all turned to Danielle and me, and Landon straightened from his protective hunch. The bigger of the goons said, "Nothing for you and your girl to worry about. You can just head out, right?" He smacked his boot again, lightly.

I reached out fast and grabbed that rebar out of his hand, before he guessed what was coming, and threw it off into the darkness. "You could hurt someone with that thing," I said. "That would be a bad idea."

His partner in crime stared at me. I wanted to confuse stuff, keep them off balance. Didn't want to fight, especially with Danielle there. So I kind of pushed Danielle at Chris and stepped in front of Landon. "Seriously, guys, bad idea. Why not call it a night?"

"Huh?" The smaller guy peered at me. "What the fuck do you care?" He poked at me with the end of his rebar, like a bored kid in a zoo teasing a lion, so I took that one away too and tossed it. I felt much better, and I kind of liked the squawk he made when I ripped the rough metal through his grip.

"Me and my friends are calling it a night, too," I said. "C'mon Chris, I'll give you guys a ride."

"Are you hanging out with these faggots?" the other guy asked. "What does your girl think of that?" He sneered at Danielle. "Didn't know the man-mountain likes fags, did you?"

Over her saying, "Oh, I knew that," I said, "You know, you might watch your mouth."

"Huh?"

"Some of us don't like to be called fags." I wanted to put myself clearly on the side of the gay guys. I leaned toward Landon a bit, but I saw the sparkle in his eyes. He was enjoying having me come to his rescue a bit too much, now that he was safe. So I turned and kissed Chris instead. Just a peck on the lips, to make a point, and because Chris was no idiot and Danielle was right there, he didn't take liberties like Landon might have. I turned back to the men. "Any comments?"

If they'd had their weapons, that might have been a risky move. But with bare hands, well, the taller one was still five inches shorter than me. And I had the momentum going. They snarled a bit but eventually moved off down the alleyway. I blew out a breath.

Landon said, "Wow. You're hot when you get really protective."

"You haven't seen me really protective. I'm told that's gonna happen when I meet up with some guy named Bill. Anyway, you said you didn't want to be smothered by me."

"I'm rethinking that."

I gave him a hard look. "I'm not." I glanced at Chris. "You guys got transportation?"

"Yes. I drove. Jerrod, thanks for showing up."

"No problem."

Landon frowned at me. "How did you know to show up anyway? Are you following me?"

"You wish." I curled my lip and half-lied. "Someone wondered if I wanted to see my ex get beat down. I decided I wasn't _that_ mad at you." If he assumed I got the info on my cell phone, that wasn't my problem.

"Oh." He seemed downcast. Maybe he'd wanted me to follow him.

"So, we're gonna head out," I said, looping my arm around Danielle. "Keep an eye open, but I think those guys were just looking for trouble in general, not you in particular. Unless you've been ragging on them?" Landon dropped his eyes, so maybe he had, but my Sense was quiet now, like the danger was over. "Drive careful and Chris, next time maybe one of you could have the sense not to hang out in a dark alley behind a bar? Especially with this guy?"

"Fuck you," Landon said.

"Never again," I told him.

He hesitated, then added defensively, "It's never been a problem making out back here before. Usually no one comes by."

"Well, they did tonight. You might want to warn the other guys, when you go back in."

"We'll do that," Chris said, grabbing Landon's arm. "See you in school."

I waited until they'd let themselves safely back through the service entrance and sighed. God, Landon and his quest for adventure was gonna get him killed one day. Hopefully I wouldn't be around for that. I glanced at Danielle. "Sorry. We're gonna be late getting you home. Will your mom be really mad?"

"Not if I call her right now," Danielle said. She slid her arm around me too, and it felt warm and perfect, in the cool dark night. "And I'll tell her I'm bringing home a guy with Traits, just like us. She'll be thrilled. She hasn't had contact with other Wanderers since she married Dad and she and Gran moved here with him. I'll tell her Gran likes you. It'll be fine." She fumbled for her phone with her free hand.

"Tell her I'm real sorry," I said. "Tell her my own grandfather will tan my hide for not keeping my word to a lady."

Danielle faltered. "Will he?"

"Nah. He might make me clean out her garage for her though."

Danielle giggled. "I'll tell her that."

When she was done chatting with her mom she put the phone away. We reached the car and got in. As I started it, she said, "Those guys were pretty scary."

"I guess. I could handle them." I glanced at her. "And I will handle Bill, anytime you say so."

She shook her head. "Let it go. It's over."

"Well, if he comes around you and you change your mind, I'll be there." A thought occurred to me. "A Fire Starter should be able to take care of things too, in a pinch."

She turned away. "I wish. I can't... I'm crappy at it. I had a couple of mistakes as a kid, and I guess I scared myself, and now, well, it takes me ten minutes to get focused enough to do anything. Plus I can't use it to hurt someone. I just can't."

I patted her knee. "Well, that's not a bad thing, right? Means you'll never start a fire by accident, just 'cause you're mad or something."

"I guess."

"It's not a super useful Trait anymore. But hey, I love camping. You and me could go up to the hills this summer, maybe. And if you wanted to start a campfire or two for me, that would be cool."

Danielle laughed, soft and warm. "I never thought I'd date a guy I could say this to, but yeah, it might be fun to set things on fire for you."

I reached over to squeeze her knee. And then, daring a lot that I wouldn't have if I'd never dated a guy, I took her hand and put it on my crotch. "You already set things on fire for me."

For a second I worried I'd gone too far. Landon would have loved that, but maybe it was too raunchy for a girl. Then Danielle laughed again, and patted me with her small, hot hand. "Save that thought for our next date. I'm late for curfew."

I drove through the darkness, squirming a bit and trying hard to concentrate on the road, because she kept her hand right there. My breath was a little fast, but my heart felt happy. I could see that dating a girl, _this girl_ , might be just a whole different version of a very good thing.

####

# **Making Connections**

**~Picture prompt: Two teen boys stand locked in a tight hug. The shorter boy has his face pressed tightly to the other guy's neck and his arms hang limply. His whole body slumps. The taller guy has wrapped his arms tightly around the boy's shoulders, and just holds him close. Behind them, a hundred candle flames flicker in the dim evening air.**

**Tommy was lost. He was lost in his feet and lost in his heart and lost in his own stupid head. "Stupid" was a bad word. Mom said it was a bad word and if anyone said it around Tommy she would get her angry face with the little crinkle between her eyebrows. But Tommy knew sometimes he** _was_ **stupid and today was one time for sure.**

**It wasn't fair. Because he'd thought this was going to be a pretty-good-almost-perfect day. It was music day. On music day he stayed behind at school after class. He went to the library and stayed until four-thirty. He watched the clock carefully and he knew four-thirty. He'd been able to tell time since he was ten. It was super easy.**

**Then at four-thirty he went to Mr. Conner's music room. And he could take out his flute then. No playing in the library, because that was a quiet time place, but in the music room, oh yes, he could play. Mr. Connor said so. Tommy loved Mr. Connor and he loved his flute. It was the one thing he did that was never, never stupid. Even Suzie with the blond hair once said he was good on the flute, and she didn't say he was good at much. So it must be true.**

**An hour with Mr. Connor and the flute, with music just coming out of Tommy like it wasn't part of him, but it was. He did that. He was practicing this new piece that sang so nicely. Mr. Connor said Tommy could play it at the spring assembly concert and people would be amazed. It would be nice to make people amazed.**

**Then it was have-to-go-now put-the-flute-away-carefully time. And Tommy started to walk home. That was easy too; he never got lost anymore, even when it got kind of dark because it was late. But now he was lost.**

**It was the fault of the candles. He'd been walking home just like usual. And two girls went by carrying candles. They weren't lit but they were tall and white and Tommy liked candles. And then he could see there were lights in the distance like lots more candles. And maybe it was a birthday. A big birthday. So he followed the girls.**

**They got to where the lights were and it was a park and there were lots of people with their candles all lit. And the girls lit theirs. And it was so pretty, all the flames bright and yellow. But the people weren't happy like a birthday. They were all sad. One of the girls started crying. It made Tommy feel bad in his stomach. He walked away from them to find happy people.**

**But none of the people were happy. They weren't all crying but Tommy was good at faces and they all had sad faces and low, not-happy voices. He kept walking, and his heart got lost. And then he looked around and his stupid,** _stupid_ **self was lost too. And he wanted to cry too, but big boys don't cry. Except he looked around and there were some boys crying and some of them were even bigger than Tommy.**

**And then he saw one of the crying boys and it was his brother, Darryl! Tommy ran. He ran and he got to Darryl and he dropped his precious flute and just wailed, "Darryl!"**

**Darryl hugged him. Darryl's arms were big and strong and he hugged Tommy hard and Tommy put his face on Darryl's chest. Darryl was saying something like, "Tommy, what are you doing here?" But Tommy couldn't tell him. His throat had the sad closing thing and he just had to cry. And Darryl held him tight and rocked him back and forth and let him cry.**

**After a bit it was better and Tommy looked up at his brother. "I'm lost."**

**" It's okay, bro. You can come home with me."**

**So that was okay. Darryl never got lost. But the people weren't okay. Tommy looked around. "It's so sad, Darryl. Everyone is so sad. Candles are for happy but they all feel so bad.**

**" Yes, they do." Darryl's voice sounded funny and lumpy.**

**Tommy looked closely at his brother. "You're sad too. You're my brother and I want you to be okay and have nice times."**

**Darryl gave him a squeeze. "Don't worry about it, bro. I'll be better soon."**

**That should have been good, because Darryl always, always told Tommy the truth. But then someone with a microphone said something and Darryl's shoulders shook and the girls near them were crying and it** _wasn't_ **okay.**

**" It's not fair!" Tommy knew his voice was loud because Darryl winced a bit, like he did sometimes. But when Tommy felt bad he couldn't help the loud. "It's not fair. It shouldn't be bad. People shouldn't cry and feel bad. It's not fair."**

**" Come on." Darryl tried to make Tommy walk away.**

**But he felt like his feet were stuck in the ground. Somebody needed to LISTEN. "It's not FAIR!"**

**" No, it's not." That was a different voice. It was a nice voice, deep and furry and big. Like a teddy bear voice. But when Tommy turned to look at who was talking, it was a man, not a teddy bear. A nice-looking man, with curly short hair and big shoulders and he was bigger even than Darryl. He had a smile on his face. He didn't look sad, even though he had a sadness candle in his hand. He looked okay. Tommy managed to stop crying.**

**The big man said to Darryl, "Hi. We met last week, at the bookstore. I don't know if you remember."**

**" Yeah, I do." Darryl's voice was softer. "Your phone rang and you ran away like there was a fire."**

**" No fire, but my sister's car broke down in a bad part of town. I had to go get her. I've kicked myself all week for not getting your last name or phone number or something."**

**" His name is Darryl," Tommy said helpfully. "He's sad, though. Everybody is sad. These are bad candles."**

**The man looked at the candle in his hand**

**Darryl said, "My brother has Down Syndrome. He doesn't understand."**

**" Sounds like he has the basic gist," the man said. "What's his name?"**

**" Tommy."**

**The man came a step closer and looked at Tommy in his eyes. He had nice dark eyes. Young man eyes, not old and smart like Mr. Conner, but nice. He said, "Tommy, a bad thing happened and people are sad. But the candles will help. You watch. Come on, let's walk over there to the hill where we can see."**

**He turned and walked away from the sad people toward the hill where it was dark and quieter. Darryl put an arm around Tommy, and turned that way too.**

**" My flute!" Tommy bent and picked it up and opened the case to make sure it was okay. Then he let Darryl steer him toward hill. From up on the hill the candles looked more better again, so pretty and flickery.**

**" Now watch," the new man said. "People will put their sadness in the candles and let it burn, and then when they blow out the candles the sadness will be gone."**

**" Really?" Tommy looked down the hill. The man with the speaker was all done. And the teddy bear man was right. Because all around the park people started blowing out their candles. Just out, out, out, and then they were walking. And some were hugging each other, which was good. And the ones who were walking had stopped crying. The new man was right. The sad was going away. Tommy turned to the smart man. "Can you make Darryl's sad go away too? He doesn't have a candle."**

**The man held his own candle out. "He can blow out mine. I'm not so sad since I met Darryl here."**

**Darryl stepped over close to him. They looked at each other. The candle light was flickery in both their eyes, the new man's dark ones, and Darryl's blue eyes. Then Darryl bent a little and puffed and the fire went out. Just a little red tip was left and it was pretty and glowy in the soft dark.**

**" Do you feel better now, Darryl?" Tommy asked hopefully.**

**" Yeah," Darryl said, and he was still looking at the new man.**

**" Good. That's good." Tommy looked at him too. "You're a good man. I like you."**

**" My name is Chris."**

**" Hi Chris. I'm Tommy." He held out his hand like he was supposed to.**

**Chris shook his hand and did it nice and not too hard like some people did. "Very nice to meet you, Tommy."**

**" So now you should come with us, and bring the good candle. Darryl is better so you should come and walk with us."**

**" You don't have to," Darryl said quickly. "We're good now, thank you."**

**" I want to." The man laughed. "How can I turn down the chance to find out where you live?"**

**" I'll show you," Tommy volunteered. Then he realized, "Darryl, my feet are still lost."**

**" This way." Darryl walked down the other side of the hill. Tommy followed happily. Chris was walking on the other side of Darryl and they were talking. Tommy didn't really listen, but he heard bits of it.**

**"...wasn't even sure you were gay, but I'm glad..."**

**"...first year pre-med. You're a senior?"**

**"...turn nineteen in August... at Sparky's is eighteen-plus on Saturday..."**

**Tommy wasn't sure what they were talking about but it was okay. They had nice happy voices, the clear music voice that was Darryl and the soft fuzzy voice that was Chris, the teddy bear man. Tommy felt his heart get un-lost again. And then his feet were un-lost too. "Hey, I know where we are! This is our street. Chris, this is our street. And that's our house, right there. Will you come to our house?"**

**" Maybe not tonight."**

**" You should come. Darryl likes you too. He's happy. And I like your shirt."**

**Chris had a nice smile. "You do?"**

**" Yes." Tommy reached out and touched it. The shirt was all rainbow color. It had words on it. "No" and an "H" and an "8". Tommy could read pretty well. Teacher had once said he read "almost at great level" and was amazing. This shirt was pretty simple. And the letters were white and shiny. Tommy reached out and touched the 8 with a finger. It was slick and shiny. But oops. "Sorry. No touching. Mom says no touching people unless they say okay."**

**" It's okay." Chris ran his own finger over the letters. "I like this one too, and I don't mind if you touch." The shirt was all tight and pretty on Chris.**

**" I like it too," Darryl said.**

**Tommy looked at his big brother. Darryl wasn't sad, not any more at all. He was looking at Chris and smiling and he looked happy. Chris was smiling too.**

**And Tommy decided he had been right this morning after all. It** _was_ **a pretty-good-almost-perfect day.**

**####**

# **In an Orange Glow**

~Picture prompt: The smooth, calm surface of the sea reflects the brilliant sky, a wash of gold and orange light across the scene. Side by side, thigh-deep in the water, silhouetted against the glow, two young women hold hands and face the light.

It was like a vision of Hell. Like the Inferno painted on the south wall of our church, that I'd stared at every Sunday all through my childhood. Flames, licking upward, hungry white-orange many-fingered hands reaching to turn the world to ash and cinders. I ran.

It came on so fast. I'd been aware of the tang of smoke in the air that morning, but that was nothing new. It'd been that way since Monday. Fires two counties over had dumped ash and haze our way for days now, until it had begun to feel more like a nuisance than a real threat. Mom had driven Bobby in to the ER last night, when his asthma got so bad from the particulates. But she'd left me home. There wasn't supposed to be real danger around here.

We kept a day-pack for each of us, in her car and in mine, just in case, but the radio said the fires were far away. I'm seventeen and independent. Still, she'd kissed me as she went, told me to be a sensible girl and keep the radio on, and the car gassed up and ready to go. She'd have taken me with her, but my immune system sucks and a hospital ER full of coughing people was absolutely the wrong place for me to be. At 2 AM, leaving me in our clean, air-conditioned house was the safer choice. I'd be fine at home. I'd spent a restless night, worrying about Bobby more than anything, and I left the house at dawn.

Early mornings have always been my time, for walking, for daydreaming—although I might not have braved the smoky air for that. But mornings were also for meeting Nicola, when she could get away, and last night she'd texted me that she'd be here for sure. I lived for those mornings. Ironic that I might die for this one. One moment I was standing waiting in the dimness under the trees, thinking of the day that was coming. Then the world fell apart. And now I ran.

The fire had leaped out of nowhere. At first it was a brightening I mistook for the rising sun, as I waited on the trail for Nicola to come by. The next minute, with a crackle and a roar, it came charging through the trees like a live beast, driving reality before it.

Home and the car were back there, somewhere, on the other side of that flame monster. No hope there. But ahead of me was the sea, if I could reach it. I coughed, choking on ash as I ran. My chest burned. My feet hit the trail hard, but the noise was hidden in the crackle of the flames. I couldn't even hear my gasping breaths. It was like something out of a dream, a nightmare, silently flying through a world gone mad.

I took the roar behind me for the fire at first, and sobbed as it drew near. _Momma, I'm so sorry. Bobs-a-lot, I loved you._ _Nikki..._

Then the noise resolved into a familiar growl and I whirled. The bike appeared out of the smoky dimness, flamelight flickering off the neon green sides and the black shiny helmet of the rider. Nicola skidded as she came up to me and stopped. "Get on!" She threw my helmet at me.

I slammed it over my head without fastening it and struggled onto the pillion seat behind her. As soon as she felt my arms around her waist, she gunned that bike.

It was still hell. To my right, where town and safety should lie, the smoke rolled thick and black, shot through with flickers of red. To the left was a haze of light through the darkness. But my arms were around my best friend, and we plunged forward down the trail toward the beach.

Talking was impossible. I buried my face against Nikki, and held on tight. If I closed my eyes, the whine of the bike revved high masked the fire. I could imagine this was just another stolen morning, an hour of time before Nicola's job watching the twins began, an hour before the school bus came. _No school today._ I choked a laugh.

The bike lurched, and I was almost thrown off. I clutched Nikki harder and opened my eyes. We had reached the beach. Ahead of us, the water lay, dark and serene as if nothing was happening. The beach stretched out along it, a pale strip of hard-packed sand. Nikki swung right along it, and we sprayed sand in a fan through the air.

But our favorite private beach was a small one, short and narrow. Half a mile down, a spit of rock and trees extended to the water and as we neared it I saw the crown of a fifty-foot pine burst into flames. With a crack like the stroke of doom, it sent a cascade of sparks skyward and began to fall. Nikki slammed us in a circle so tight my knee scraped the sand.

The beach was getting crowded. A deer leaped from the forest, its coat smudged and scorched along one side. Its eyes were wild and white. It ran back and forth along the sand and then plunged into the water. Another followed it and they swam out, angling past the spit. I saw a rabbit do the same.

Nikki stopped the bike. The trees along the edge of the forest were silhouetted now against the flames behind. One tipped and crashed to the sand thirty feet away. Smoke swirled thicker and hotter, and we both coughed behind our facemasks.

Nikki drove the bike forward to the water's edge, and then slowly deeper, until the little waves lapped up the tires. Then she stopped, took off her helmet, and unclasped my hand from her waist. "We have to go in deeper."

I got off and took off my helmet too. "But the bike..."

"Isn't important." Only the raging inferno made those words possible. Nikki loved that bike. "You are, though. Come on."

She grabbed my hand and tugged me into the water. Behind us the fire sounded like an oncoming train. It was a strange sound, full of fury. I imagined I could hear the trees screaming as they fell, and bit my tongue against the urge to join in.

We waded into the salt water. It was a calm day, and a tiny swell moved against our legs. A dog ran by, splashing us as it went. I grabbed for it, and Nicola called, "Here, boy! Come!" But it eluded us in panic and ran off to the left, turned deeper and vanished swimming into the swirling smoke.

"Don't think about it." Nikki grabbed my arm. "Deeper."

Clinging to each other, we waded hip deep, and then knelt down. The air was hot and the ash stung our eyes. The water was salty. Ducking under was only a small relief. We crouched together, arms wrapped around each other, faces close together as if breathing each other's air gave us strength. I know I was crying, and in the flickering light I could see trails of shine across Nikki's cheeks.

Mom and Bobby should be safely in town. The Simpsons and the twins though, where Nikki au-paired, were on the other side of the smoke. We could only hope. I'd have prayed, but years of staring at that church mural, knowing the talented bastard who painted it would have put me there in the flames... well, that had already burned the prayer out of me.

Gradually the fire quieted. The light became steadier, and the choking, rolling smoke passed in patchy clouds that slowly cleared to a haze. I leaned against Nikki. As the roaring moved away, I could hear us both breathing, rough shaking gasps that trembled against each other.

I should let her go now. Somewhere in there we'd moved closer, clung together from knee to cheek, her slim body plastered up against mine. Nikki was my best friend, had been since the day we met at the playground in town, each with a small boy in tow. Bobby played with the twins and Nikki and I... talked. Mostly just that. Getting closer, finding out how comfortable we were together, chatting about everything and anything under the sun. Except the one thing I'd wanted more and more to tell her, and couldn't find the courage for. _I like girls. I like you. I more than like you._

_And then one day, it had come out of my mouth, without even meaning to. "You're so gorgeous." I knew as I said it that the words, the look on my face and the tone of my voice, were too much, but I couldn't stop. And when I leaned forward, she'd met my lips with hers. A first kiss, so soft and short it was over almost before I realized it had happened. We'd stared at each other for a long time. I almost started to babble, to apologize and back away. But then Nikki put a hand up and touched my cheek, her fingers trembling, but not with anger. And she kissed me again._

For weeks and weeks now, we'd done just that, and no more. Soft kisses, rare gentle touches. I wanted more. Sometimes I couldn't sleep for how much I burned for her to want me too. But I needed Nikki as a friend, even more than I needed _that._ She was from Italy, and Catholic. I knew she wasn't religious, but still, being okay with atheism and birth control and Adam Lambert wasn't the same as having another girl touching you, wanting you, for sex. I could feel the way she was unsure and confused, every time we were together.

I should let go of her.

My arms wouldn't unlock from around her shoulders. We knelt there in the water, hugging each other tight. Her thigh in wet stretch-denim pressed against mine. Her breath fanned my hot cheek. I should let go.

"How bad..." I began, and had to cough. I let go then, because coughing in someone's ear is _not_ sexy. "How bad do you think it is? The houses? The bike?"

I started to turn and look but she held my elbow firmly. "Not yet, Kim."

"Not yet what?"

"Don't look back yet." She rose and lifted me up to my feet, keeping me close to her side. When we were standing, she moved away slightly, but kept a tight hold on my hand. I looked at her, and resolutely didn't let my gaze move beyond her face.

It was no hardship. Chapped and smudged and ash-stained, Nikki was still the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

She looked back at me seriously. "I think I heard the bike go. I don't want to turn yet. I want to look at something else."

"What?" It wasn't just the smoke that roughened my voice.

"You. And that." She pointed out across the water. Over the flat, shifting surface of the ocean, the sun was rising, an orange glow that was soft and steady. It took that malevolent firesign color, transforming it into the promise of day. "That."

We turned toward it, holding hands, looking across the bright water, with devastation at our backs.

"That's the future, Kim, sweetheart." Her voice shook, and I could tell whatever was coming wasn't easy for her. "I want that, the sunlight, and you. There'll be other bikes, even other houses. As long as the Simpsons got clear..." She paused as we both thought of the young couple and their boys forging through that inferno in their car to safety. I hoped. We hoped. "As long as no one died, if you are safe, then that's what the world is to me." She stared into the rising dawn. It bathed her face in gold. "I'm sorry I've held back, and made you wait."

I tightened my fingers on hers. "I didn't care." When she choked on a tiny laugh, I changed it to, "I didn't mind. We have time. There's no rush."

"You've been great, and I... I finally told my mom. I called her last night."

I stared at the golden sky and didn't look at Nikki. She and her mom were close. I was afraid, but I had to know. "What did she say?"

"She's angry, confused." Nikki sighed. "She wants me to come home and marry a nice Catholic boy and give her lots of grandchildren."

"Ouch." I turned to her. She was still gazing out to sea. "You don't have to..."

"I'm staying here. I told her, this is who I am. This is what I need. She loves me. She wants me to be happy, and I'm happy here. As long as I still have you."

At last she looked directly at me, and the light in her eyes was just as bright as the sky. "Do I have you?"

There was only one answer to that. Our arms around each other felt strong and warm, her body was sweet against my own, and her mouth tasted like ashes, and new beginnings.

####

# **Change of Plans**

~Picture prompt: A dark-haired boy wearing only swim trunks and a towel around his neck pins another boy against a row of high-school lockers, holding him there in a hard kiss, restraining him with body and hands and mouth. The second boy does not look at all unhappy to be kissed that way.

Con Preston fidgeted in his seat and mentally zipped his lips shut. At the front of the classroom, the teacher projected a painting from World War II on the screen. Con shook his head. American high school history was about as far removed from the actual sweat and blood and pain of real life as a Harlequin Romance novel. Con had seen dead men, destroyed men, live men with dead eyes, as part of his training. The idealized patriotic drawings in the books seemed almost obscene. Not that he was about to blow his cover by saying so.

He settled lower in his seat and covertly eyed his target across the room. Nick Stavros. Age sixteen. Dark hair, dark eyes, five foot nine inches of livewire enthusiasm. Bright, fun, full of crazy ideas that he could sometimes pull off. It had been a long time since Con had been like that. Maybe he never had. But he could fake it, and had for weeks, until Nick now thought of Con as his best friend. Con had always been small and looked younger than his years. Despite being nineteen, he fit into this tenth grade classroom seamlessly. At least in appearance.

The teacher droned on. Con didn't even bother to listen. He wasn't going to be around long enough to take the exam. Already he'd stayed far longer than he really should have.

His job was simple. Make friends with the son of Takis Stavros, lure him away from the guarded school premises, and call for pickup. The boy's father would be told that the ransom was the secure encryption program Takis had designed for his adopted homeland. Except that Con knew his superiors would never release the boy. They'd keep him alive, close at hand, and milk the brilliant father's brain dry. And if the father refused, Nick would pay the price.

Con felt his stomach lurch at the thought. He knew exactly how coldly and dispassionately the men in the Salazi criminal empire would deal with Nick. The same way they'd sometimes dealt with Con when he'd failed to meet expectations or attempted defiance. They weren't sadists, they were worse, men who could use pain as a tool because they were without souls.

"Con? Are you all right?"

Con blinked away nightmares and looked up. Nick was standing beside his desk, eyeing him with concern.

"Sure. Fine."

"You didn't even hear the bell."

Con frowned, realizing that the room was nearly empty. Damn. Spacing out like that could get you killed. Perhaps not in a classroom, but the world was an unsafe place. He made himself relax and grin. "I think I fell asleep. Henderson's lectures could be marketed as a cure for insomnia."

"I guess." Nick slung his bag over one shoulder and gave Con that ridiculous smile, the one that said the world was a happy, sunny place with butterflies and little white clouds. Con hated that smile, at the same time as he was coming to the terrified realization that he lived for it.

Nick kicked his ankle. "Come on. We'll be late for gym."

Con walked at Nick's side as they headed for the locker room. The halls of the exclusive private school seemed suddenly smaller and echoingly loud. And yet not loud enough to drown out the voice in Con's head that said, _"You know the consequences if you fail."_

Stripping in the locker room was fine, as long as he kept his eyes off Nick. But occasionally his gaze would drift over there, until his mind caught up with his preoccupation. Nick was slim and sleek, with smooth hairless skin and lean swimmer's build, adolescent-soft, with just a hint of biceps and quads to come. Innocently sexy.

Sometimes Con wondered if it was some kind of narcissism that made Nick so attractive to him. Con had been raised to stay looking young. He'd been forbidden to lift weights, allowed only moderate cardio exercise, and his body was a close match for Nick's. Even their hair and eyes were similar.

Or maybe the attraction was that Nick was the light side to Con's dark coin. Nick was who Con might have been if he'd grown up with two loving parents and money and safety, instead of an addicted mother who died young, and a puppet-master who saw a use for a small clever boy.

Nick shone. And it was going to be Con's job to turn out that light.

He tore his gaze away from Nick's back, where it had somehow drifted again, and pulled on his trunks. He brushed his hand over the implanted tracker in his thigh, reminding himself. You didn't defy the Salazi and you didn't escape them. He'd woken that morning to a note on his pillow, inches from his face, with the window and door still locked on the inside. It said simply, _"Today."_ No threats, nothing more. It wasn't needed. He'd held it in a shaking hand, sweat trickling between his shoulder blades, his breath coming in shallow pants. It had taken all his hard-earned control to get up, get dressed, and walk to the bus.

_Today._

PE this semester was swimming. Today Con threw himself into it with single-minded determination, forcing his body to its limits and beyond. He swam under water without breath until his vision was dark and sparkling, and the pain in his chest burned out rational thought. Maybe he could just continue like this. Stay under until he passed out, until his body's demand forced him to gasp in water, fill his lungs with fluid. He could drown here and Nick would never know what Con was. Nick would stay in the light.

Against his will he surfaced and sucked in a ragged breath. The instinct to survive had kept him going through his time on the streets, and the years that followed in the hands of his trainers. It wasn't letting him go now. It was just like the bridge he hadn't been able to jump off last week, and the bus whose wheels passed by without touching him yesterday; he couldn't do this.

"Wow!" Nick was at his elbow, eyes bright. "You were under for ages! Are you okay?"

Nick's hand was warm on Con's shoulder. Con blinked his eyes, feeling the sting of chlorine-induced tears. And took one more shaky breath before saying, "I'm fine."

The teacher leaned over them. "Preston, that was really dumb. Push yourself too hard and you can black out and drown down there. Some kid did just that in 2009 in England."

_I'm not that lucky._ Con managed to say, "Sorry, Mr. Foretti," before a fit of coughing took him.

"Okay, that's it. You're out of the pool." The teacher reached down a hand to pull him upward. "Stavros, you go with him. Get changed and then make sure he checks in with the nurse."

"I'm fine." Con needed that strong grip to haul himself out of the pool, and his knees threatened to give way as he stood. But it wasn't lack of oxygen. _Don't, don't send me out alone with Nick, last class of the day, perfect chance to lure him away. Please don't._ "I can finish the class."

"Are you arguing with me?"

"No, sir. But anyway I don't need Nick to babysit me."

"You'll do as you're told, both of you. Go on."

"Come on, Con," Nick said warmly, putting a hand under his elbow. "You're still shaking."

The teacher turned back to the rest of the class, yelling at them to start swimming lengths, four basic strokes. Helplessly, Con let Nick guide him back into the locker room. He stood immobile as Nick pulled their towels out of their lockers, watching as Nick dried all that warm, smooth, unblemished skin. Golden Nick.

Nick noticed him staring eventually. His vigorous rubbing slowed and he smiled hesitantly, dropped the towel and ran a hand over his hair. "You're looking... odd. Here. Let me..." He reached for Con's towel and began drying him off, gently rubbing Con's shoulders and back, swiping across his face and down his arms. Con stood still under his hands, every muscle locked and screaming.

Nick glanced at Con's legs but finally ran out of nerve. He draped the towel lightly around Con's neck and tilted his head appraisingly. "Are you going to be able to get dressed? Do you want to just head to the nurse now?"

"God, no." Oxygen deprivation to his brain was the only reason Con could find for suddenly grabbing both of Nick's wrists and shoving him against the locker in a hard, desperate kiss. For a moment Nick's mouth was soft and hot under his own, and then Con pulled back. He let go of Nick's wrists and waited mutely. Whatever Nick wanted to do to him, he didn't care anymore. Punch him, swear at him, let him down gently – at this point it didn't matter.

Nick stared into his eyes and said, "Do that again."

"What!"

"This." Nick's kiss was fumbling and unpracticed, and all the sweeter for it. He was laughing when he leaned away enough to look Con in the eyes. "I've been waiting weeks for you to do that."

"No." _No, no, no. Nick was supposed to push him away and run off mad, not stay and... holy shit!_

Con had lost all sanity as he moved into Nick's arms and opened his mouth, pressing closer, tasting Nick, more vital than air... _No!_

He jumped back, far enough to be out of range. "Nick. We can't."

"Yeah, this isn't a great place for it." Nick began toweling his hair as if to keep his hands occupied. "After school then. Maybe we can find a place."

It was the perfect opportunity. All Con had to do was say, _"I know somewhere. Duck out with me before your driver gets here, and I'll show you."_ A few simple words, and Con would live. The cold tiled rooms where the wired electrodes waited with their clips and pins would light someone else's nerves on fire. _Maybe Nick's, to make him scream for his father._

"No." Con grabbed Nick's wrist and pulled him deeper into the locker room, looking around. There was the equipment storage room. It was locked, but it was the work of a moment to retrieve his lock picks from his locker and open the door. "Come on. In here."

Nick hesitated, looking at the picks in his hand, but then grinned and followed him in. When Nick would have moved close and kissed Con, Con held him off with a hand on his chest.

"Listen. We don't have much time."

"And you're wasting it."

"Shit. Listen to me. I'm not who you think I am." Con spoke as softly as he could. He knew there was a listening device in his shoe; it was safely back inside his locker but he didn't know how sensitive it might be. His handler was nothing if not thorough.

Nick shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Your father is Takis Stavros, the cryptographer."

"And yours is Don Preston, the tycoon."

"Mine was a sailor who went to Mexico after a dishonorable discharge and got his girlfriend pregnant."

"What?"

"I'm not Con Preston, I'm Con Amado. I'm not sixteen, I'm nineteen. And I'm not your friend, I'm the guy who is going to deliver you to hell."

"Con?" Nick put a hand toward his face. "What are you talking about?"

Con dodged it, catching Nick's wrist in a bruising grip. "Listen to me and listen good. I belong to a group called..." He retched, conditioned nausea hitting him. He couldn't say the word, couldn't begin to pronounce it. "Never mind. The important thing is, I was sent to get close to you, make friends with you, and then kidnap you. My bosses want to control your father. If they have you, they have him."

"But... you're here to kidnap me?"

"I was. That's my mission, but I can't. When the bell rings at the end of the period, run, don't walk, to your car. Tell your driver that someone tried to snatch you. Tell them the same group will try again. You need better security than even this special school. And you..." Con grabbed Nick's jaw and squeezed, forcing Nick to stare him in the face. "You need to be careful. Jesus, sixteen years old and you still expect the world to be beautiful and fair and safe. You look at strangers and expect them to become your friends. You have no idea of the risks you're taking."

He expected Nick to pull free, but instead Nick turned in Con's loosening grasp just enough to kiss the inside of his wrist. "This one looks like a good risk to me."

"Hell." There was really no time, but there would never be another chance. Con grabbed him, kissing him, furious and needy and wanting just this once to have this – Nick in his arms, his to hold for just this moment. Then he shoved Nick away hard. "Not every man who comes up against you is going to fall in love with you. Get out of here. Go."

Nick staggered but held his ground. "So you're a what? A hit man? A spy?"

"I'm a puppet," Con said bitterly. "A tool for someone more ruthless than you can imagine. Nick, you have to believe me."

Nick was shaking his head. The damned fool. Con fumbled for a way to prove it. To make his point, hard and right now. His lock-picks had sharp tips. He jammed one into his thigh, over the tracker. The blood trickled down his leg.

Nick grabbed his arm, looking horrified. "What are you doing?"

Con shrugged him off, turning away so Nick couldn't interfere. The picks were a crappy tool, but he had no time for better. He dug into his muscle, the fascia between the layers, finding that little scrap of treacherous electronics, and levered it free. He held it out to Nick, between bloody, shaking fingertips.

Nick stared, making no move to take it. Then he dropped to his knees, pressing his towel to Con's thigh. "I don't care. You idiot. I'd have believed you without this."

Con's leg throbbed with pain, but it was distant, far less sharp than the pain in his chest. "You need to get away from me. Now."

Nick was silent a long moment, looking up at him. "Okay. I'm not that innocent. My father is aware there are risks and he's talked about it with me. I have a driver to chauffeur me around and there are guards on the house – that kind of makes your point for you. It's just... I never suspected you."

"I'm damned good. I've trained for this. But if I fail—no, when they know I've failed, they'll try again. You need to go warn your dad, ASAP." Con took the towel from Nick's hands, pressing it down himself. The blood was already slowing. "Go."

Nick stood and folded his arms. "Not without you. What are you going to do while I run to safety?"

"I'll be all right," Con lied. "I'll just tell them something spooked you. I'll be reassigned."

"Yeah. Look me in the eyes when you say that."

Con dragged his gaze up to Nick's, and bit his lip.

"Come with me to my Dad," Nick said. "Tell him what you told me. He'll help."

"I can't. You don't know."

"Know what?"

"They'll find me. Sure, I can leave this tracker here, but I bet there are more, where even I don't know. They'll find me and if we're together they'll find you too."

"So you're just going to go tamely back to them and say you couldn't do it?"

_Was he?_ He thought about returning with nothing but failure, and his knees grew weak. He leaned against a pile of mats. Maybe once his choices were that narrow, the bus or the bridge would start to look appealing again.

"Dammit, Con. The look in your eyes! If that's how you feel about going back, what can it hurt to come with me? What's the worst that can happen?"

_They get to you through me?_ The odds were that the FBI or whoever would take possession of him would be able to find all his trackers, but men could be bribed and there were a lot of ways to locate someone. In any case, he probably wouldn't be allowed to see Nick again. This was the end, however it played out. At least he wouldn't be the person who brought Nick down this way. He hadn't really thought past the moment when he told Nick the truth. "I don't know."

Nick moved closer and gripped his arms. "If you come out of the building with me, and get in my car with me after school today, will they... do anything?"

Con considered it. "No, probably not. Even if they're here watching, they want you alive. Those ex-SEALS your dad employs are pretty sharp, which is why they haven't tried a frontal assault so far. They'll probably hope that shows I'm getting close to you, and that I'll get you away later." Maybe. That _"today"_ chilled him, and if there was another locater in him, and the two signals moved apart... He closed his eyes. He didn't know how the endgame would play out, once they realized he'd been turned.

"So that's all we need to do. If we get you and me into the car, we're home free. We'll go back to Dad, and tell him you're with us now and you can give them whatever information you have. It will be cool. They'll keep us both safe, and we'll be together. It's going to be great!"

Con looked at Nick's bright face. He just couldn't tell Nick that as soon as he said _anything about_ _kidnap_ or _leverage_ or, if he could force the word out, _Salazi_ , he'd be yanked away from Nick so fast there would be smoke under his feet. He'd be wrung dry, maybe eventually patted on the back, but never, ever allowed near Nick again. It was the way of the world. Con knew how the game was played.

He was too untrustworthy, too dangerous, too hard, to ever be a match for this untouched boy. But for a little longer he'd stand beside Nick and watch him smile. He'd memorize the way the light danced in his eyes, and the way his lips moved as spoke. Nick in sunlight. That memory could last Con a lifetime.

"Sure," he said, taking a deep breath. "That could work. Take me home."

####

# In Unexpected Places

The minute Lisa came into the high school bathroom, Zeke was hit with all kinds of emotions. There was some envy and admiration, because Zeke couldn't imagine how much guts it took for her to walk in through the boys' room door, but they were buried under a bigger dose of fear and anger. He didn't want to see this. There were several other guys in there, doing their thing, and one of them was Charlie, who could be trouble. And Mike wasn't much better. Zeke had been coming out of a stall, and he just stepped back inside and held still.

Lisa was wearing loose jeans and a big shirt that kind of hid everything. Zeke guessed it was because that way no one could tell if she had a flat chest or curves, and her hips could have been narrow or wide. Her hair was straight and sleek past her shoulders, and the shirt was a girly print, in an abstract pastel. But she was in the boys' bathroom, and they all knew who she was. Mike and Rick quit horsing around by the sinks and stared. Charlie was peeing at a urinal and he grinned and waggled his eyebrows at her.

Rick said, "The girls' room is down the hall."

Lisa sighed. "Look, I just need to pee. I'll use a stall. I'll be out of here in two minutes, okay?"

"Y'don't need a stall to pee," Rick drawled. "Whip it out, honey. Let's see what kind of dick you have."

"She doesn't have a dick," Charlie said. "She cut it off so she could be a girl."

Mike grabbed his crotch and squealed, "Ooh, that hurts."

Lisa tried to edge past him and Mike grabbed her arm instead. "What're you doing in here with the real men? Changed your mind?"

"The staff bathroom has a water leak. They told me I had to use this one instead of the girls'." There was a sharp flush of color across her cheeks.

Charlie grabbed his dick and waved it at her. "Here, faggot, you don't want your own prick, but you can have a taste of mine. You've got the mouth for it."

Lisa looked as if she was ready to bolt for the door, except that Mike had her by the arm. Zeke steeled himself to say something, anything, even though he'd never once stood up to Charlie on his own behalf. Somehow the words sounded worse hurled at Lisa's wide brown eyes and pale face than when they were ground into his own cheek against a wall. He thought maybe, just maybe, this time he'd get up the guts. Then the door of the end stall slammed against the wall and Derek came out. He smacked Charlie's chest with the back of his hand and said, "She doesn't want your little dick, Charles. She'd need a microscope to find that thing." He extracted Lisa's arm from Mike's hand and shoved her toward the nearest stall. "Go ahead. They won't bother you."

As Lisa ducked inside and shut the door, Mike stared at Derek. "What the fuck, man? Why'd you take the freak's side."

"Your brain is even smaller than Charlie's dick. Honest to God, guys, just give it a rest. Go be pricks to someone who can fight back, all right?"

"I don't like having that _thing_ in here," Charlie muttered. "Who does he think he is, anyway?"

"She thinks she's a girl," Derek snapped. "And if you touch her, I'll tell your momma you beat up on a girl in school."

"Christ. You are such a buzz-kill." Charlie zipped up and pushed out past Derek without bothering to wash. Mike and Rick followed him.

Derek leaned against the wall, and caught Zeke's eyes in the mirror. "What about you? Are you gonna give her a hard time too?"

Zeke shook his head, and came cautiously out of the stall. "Nah. I'm fine with her." He bent over the sink, letting the water run over his hands. One more thing to be jealous of. Where had Derek been when Charlie called _him_ a faggot and dunked _his_ head in the toilet bowl? But the jealousy was a shallow thing, over a well of fellow-feeling. Christ, he knew what that moment felt like, when they grabbed your arm and looked at you with that glaring disdain, deciding whether to spit or hit, or if you were lucky, just shove you and walk away. He knew how helpless it felt waiting to see how it would go down. He scrubbed his hands again.

Derek said loudly, "You about done in there, Lisa? I've got class on the third floor."

Lisa muttered through the door, "Just go ahead. Thanks."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. See you around."

The bathroom felt bigger and less safe with Derek gone. There was no sound from Lisa. Zeke ran the water some more in his sink, then turned on the next one full blast. He knew how hard it was to pee when you were standing in a stall wondering what kind of mayhem was waiting on the other side of that metal door. Maybe the water noise would help.

After a few minutes, Lisa came out and went to one of the running sinks. She gave him a sideways glance. "Thanks."

"I didn't do anything."

"If Derek left with you still here, then you must be on the right side."

"I'm not on any side." It popped out before Zeke could think. He'd survived this long by being flexible, being a clown if he had to, by laughing shit off and not taking sides. Everyone knew he was gay, but he didn't stand up to be counted by anyone. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he wished he'd said it differently. Before he could tell Lisa he really was okay with her - more than okay - she gave him a twisted smile and hurried out. A group of guys pushed in right after, looking over their shoulders at her, and the moment to say anything was lost.

****

Lisa stared down at the flat tire on her old Corolla and hugged herself, controlling the urge to either take an axe to the damned car or burst into tears. _Not now, not today!_ It was probably just coincidence, since she'd known for a couple of months that there was pretty much no tread left. But it had been the day from hell, and she just couldn't cope. And there was always the chance that it wasn't coincidence. She shivered and glanced around.

The parking lot was full of kids escaping the torture chamber known as high school. They walked, ran, pushed, skateboarded and mock-wrestled as they fled the building. Most headed for the big yellow buses pulled up in ranks out front, but some of the juniors and seniors came her way. The parking lot was full; student parking permits were at a premium, and she'd been lucky to score one. In fact, as a transfer student it had been damned nearly a miracle.

She had a suspicion her therapist had weighed in on the inadvisability of having the transgender kid riding the bus. It was an embarrassing thought, but if it was true she would have gladly kissed Mr. Brookdale's feet. Except today when the magic steed that would whisk her away from the scene of her latest humiliation needed to be shot and put out of its misery. _Shit, shit, shit._

She pulled out her phone and called Triple-A. And then had the added humiliation of realizing her credit card wouldn't cover a new tire. The spare was already on the car, after the flat she'd had a month ago. With trembling lips she arranged to just have it towed to the shop. She managed to be gracious and mature, and didn't let her voice drop to a lower register even once. Made it through until the transaction was done, and then she tucked away her phone and just sat right down on the curb, and put her face against her knees.

"Hey. Are you okay?"

Lisa looked up. Zeke Larson stood a few feet away, awkwardly hefting his backpack up and down on his shoulder. His forehead was creased in a worried frown. The way he shuffled his feet might have seemed like he wanted to be elsewhere, but even just a few weeks into the term, Lisa had figured out the guy was either some variant of ADHD or way, way overcaffeinated. Or maybe on speed. He was never still for a minute, and the little tapping of his fingers on the side of his leg wasn't unusual either.

"Yeah. Flat tire." Lisa stood, dusted the seat of her jeans, and tried to look on top of things.

"That sucks. Need help changing it?" Zeke's smile was a bit sheepish. "I know I don't look like it, but I actually do know what a lug wrench is."

"So do I." Lisa bit her lip, and made an effort to soften her tone. _Schizophrenic much? You want to be seen as a girl, and then you get huffy because a guy offers to change your tire?_ "No, I mean, thanks but the spare is flat too. I've called for a tow."

"Ah. Ouch. Painful for the wallet."

"Yes." Lisa had a moment's wish that she could say something clever, keep the conversation going. So far at Crossroads High she had people who tolerated her, and people who stared at her like she was a two-headed chicken, and her favorites \- the ones who wanted to beat the crap out of her. No friends. Derek might stick up for her, because that was the kind of guy he was, but they'd hardly exchanged ten words. Even Zeke-the-freak would be better than no one. But she'd heard her voice crack and drop on that one word, and she wasn't taking the chance.

Zeke didn't seem to be put off though. He lowered his pack to the sidewalk and peered at her from behind his shaggy blond hair. "Is it just a, you know, regular flat? Or did someone..." He made what was probably meant to be a stabbing gesture toward the tire.

Lisa shrugged. She really didn't want to know.

For some reason, Zeke still didn't walk on. He just hung out there, looking at her, looking at the car, bopping a little to some unheard music, or maybe random neurons firing. Oddly, it was more comforting than annoying. After a minute he bent to peer at her tire. "Huh. Can't tell." He circled the car, and then shrugged. "No other damage, no graffiti, maybe it's just your bald-as-hell tires, because I have to say, girl, those are some of the oldest rubber I've seen in a long time."

Lisa shrugged again. She'd been broke for a while. Not that she didn't work, but all her money went for the hormone treatments her parents had permitted, but wouldn't pay for. Like somehow if she covered the costs, it proved this was for real. Those had to be her top priority. Which meant tires didn't make the must-buy list until they went flat. Until two went flat. _Shit._

"So, when the tow truck gets here, you figure they'll give you a lift home?"

Lisa was damned if she would shrug a third time. "Maybe. The shop's not that close to my place, though."

"Because I could..." Zeke trailed off, then said with renewed determination. "I could give you a ride. In my truck. If you don't mind, you know, being seen with the freak."

"You're not a freak." Lisa realized she'd thought that very word just minutes ago, but seriously, that had been pretty sick considering how often she'd had it hurled at herself. And here was Zeke offering her a ride, and she was pretty certain he wasn't interested in getting into her pants, since he was obviously gay. Although he knew she had boy parts, so... She eyed him dubiously but no, he wasn't even looking at her, just tapping one toe and staring across the parking lot.

She realized she'd waited too long when he added, "Well, it was just a thought. I guess they'll give you a ride. I should probably head out."

"No. Wait. I'd appreciate it." And _fuck,_ her voice had cracked on the word 'wait'.

But Zeke smiled. "Really? That's cool. And you know, I cleaned out the truck this weekend, so it's not even, like, a pit."

"Great."

"So. You're new here, right? I mean, I know you're new because, well, you've gotta know you're news, huh? I mean, I think it's so cool that you're willing to be out as trans and not just come here as a girl, which seriously you could have. You look just like a girl. I mean, I know you are a girl, really, but... crap, I'm seriously putting my foot in my mouth here, aren't I?"

Lisa laughed, feeling suddenly lighter, and looked down at his... Size thirteens? Fourteens? "I'm not sure it would fit."

"Yeah. I've got a big mouth, but these feet." He held one up and mournfully inspected the huge boat of a Converse he was wearing. "Well, nothing tiny about these, huh?"

"Do you want tiny?"

"Nah. Not usually. Once in a while though. It might be nice not to be a moose. I'd like to be elegant." He swiped a hand over his unruly, wavy blond hair and struck a pose. After a second he laughed and slumped though. "Not happening."

"How tall are you?"

"Six-one. People keep telling me I might grow more, though. To match my hands and feet. I don't really wanna. I meant, this is enough, right? I'm not coordinated for basketball and if I dance with a guy, I don't want to have to lead."

Lisa blinked. "I don't think it's a rule that the taller guy leads."

"Maybe not. But it looks better, don't you think? I mean when you watch two guys doing a tango and..." Suddenly Zeke blushed bright red. "Yeah, okay, I'm so cool. Impress the new girl by revealing that you watch gay ballroom dancing in your spare time."

"I might've watched once or twice too." Lisa was stunned to hear that come out of her mouth. Not that it wasn't true, but she _never_ handed anyone that kind of ammunition.

Zeke looked more cheerful though. "Really? That's even more cool. Sometimes I feel like I'm this alien, you know, dropped down into this school with feet the size of California and no coordination, and, well, I was never in the closet because it became futile in about seventh grade. So to find someone even..." He bit his lip. "Oops."

"More freaky than you?"

"Ouch. No. I was, um, going to say 'as freaky as me', maybe. But even that's not fair, because really, look at you. If you weren't out, no one would know. You look like half the other girls in the school. You could totally just walk in and no one would look twice. Which is more than I can say. You're sure you want a ride home with me?"

"I'm sure."

The tow truck pulled into the lot about then, and Lisa got involved with watching the mechanics of getting her car out of its spot and hooked up to tow. She signed away all of her spare cash on the dotted line, and ignored comments and a few jibes from the passing students as her car was cranked up and hauled away. Someone called, "Whatsamatter? Lost the ability to change a tire when you cut off your dick?"

Lisa resolutely didn't even look over there. It really didn't matter who it was this time. She shouldered her book bag and glanced at Zeke. "Are we good to go?"

"Huh? Yeah, absolutely. Come on. It's over this way. It's not much, you know, and I wasn't trying to out-macho anyone or, like, compensate for something with the truck. It was my older brother's because he used to do yard work for cash in the summer, and needed something that could haul his mower and stuff, and he let me buy it cheap when he finally went off to college..." He stopped at a rusty, huge Dodge pickup and fumbled with his key. "You can just stick your bag in behind your seat. Is this okay?"

"Compared to riding two buses? Or walking from the repair shop? Hell, yeah."

Zeke grinned and went around to swing up into the driver's seat. "Cool. It's not much to look at but my brother's good with mechanical stuff so it still runs great. Which way?"

"Turn left out of the lot."

For a few minutes they drove in silence as Zeke navigated the crowd of cars and jaywalking students still streaming out of the high school. Lisa noted that when concentrating, Zeke apparently was able to focus and stay on task. But once they were clear of the school zone he relaxed and shifted his left elbow to the windowsill, fluttering his fingers in the breeze.

"Phew! I swear, I hate that part. Some of those guys must have got their license, like, yesterday, from the way they drive."

"Probably some did."

"True. And the pedestrians are almost worse, the way they step off the curb without looking. I love being able to drive and quit riding the damned bus, you know." Lisa was looking at Zeke so she saw the shadow that passed over his face. _Yeah, being six-one and flaming must not be a picnic on a school-bus either._ "But I have these nightmares where I run over somebody and when I go to court, the punishment is that I have to stay in high school for another ten years."

"Ouch."

"Or sometimes worse."

"There's worse?"

"Heh. Not much worse, I guess." Zeke flashed her a quick glance. "So, I have to ask. Well, I don't have to but I'm gonna, because I'm too curious not to. Why _did_ you tell everyone you're trans? I mean, seriously, you could easily pass for a girl. Why not just come in under the radar and _be_ a girl? That would get you into the girls' bathroom and locker room and not have to put up with shitheads like Charlie when all you want is the chance to pee."

Lisa hesitated. She could tell him it was none of his business, or just ignore the question. Or even pretend to have the moral high ground and talk about being out and proud.

Zeke muttered, "See, I didn't have a choice. Or maybe I did, but I was too stupid when I was twelve and thirteen to know which crap that came spewing out of my mouth would mark me as a big queer. But you could seriously avoid all the pain."

"Not so much. Do you have any idea how hard it is to change your gender on paperwork?" Lisa bit her lip. Some corner of her damned brain obviously wanted to spill all her secrets today.

"Really? That was the problem?"

"Yeah. A name change is easy. Or at least, there's a normal way to do it. A sex change though..."

"But couldn't you just ask the office to keep quiet about it? I mean, who all has to see that part of your paperwork? You could just go to class as Lisa, and no one would be the wiser outside the office."

"Until I had to use the bathroom," she said bitterly.

"Huh? The girls' room has stalls."

"Which I'm apparently too freaky to be allowed into. So the answer was clearly to have me use the staff bathroom, right? For my own _safety._ " She heard the acid in her own voice. "But that meant that all of the teachers and staff had to know why a healthy student had permission to go in there. So then the question was raised about locker rooms, and which gym class I'd be in. Even though juniors don't _have_ to take gym and I'd rather die than play sports. And by the time that discussion was over..." She frowned and looked out the window. They were halfway home already. The suburban neighborhood was becoming green with new leaves, accented by pink and lavender bursts of spring blossoms.

Zeke said softly, "By then, everyone knew."

"Yeah."

"Shit."

"Yeah." She'd really hoped to start fresh here, where no one knew her as Austin, the weird Frazier boy. Start as Lisa, the cute Frazier girl. But that hope had crashed and burned fast.

"That totally sucks! Why wouldn't they just let you be a girl? What's it gonna hurt? Did they think if they turned you loose in a girls' bathroom you were somehow going to jump some little freshman while she was taking a dump and rape her?"

Lisa rubbed her eyes. "Who knows?"

"Well, hell. Bigots are everywhere." Zeke gave a disgusted sigh.

Lisa just caught a flash of motion at the curb ahead and then she shouted as a large black-and-white cat leaped off the curb right in front of the truck. Zeke spun the wheel and slammed on the brakes. The truck spun in a 180, and tires screeched as it shuddered to a halt. Lisa held her breath. There hadn't been a thump or a jolt. Maybe somehow they'd missed the cat. Zeke ripped off his seatbelt and tumbled out of the car. Lisa followed a little more slowly.

She rounded the hood to find Zeke on his knees in the gutter, hovering over the cat. "Is it... dead?"

"No. Thank God! But it's bleeding. I hurt it!" Zeke's voice had a serious wobble.

She put a hand on his shoulder as she bent over to look. The cat was looking around and moving a bit, but there was definitely blood on its shoulder and it wasn't running away. "It needs a vet."

"Yeah. Right now!" Zeke looked around frantically. "How do we figure out who owns it? You'd think someone would have heard us and come to see what the fuck I did!"

"Calm down." She tightened her fingers on Zeke until he stilled in her grip. "Just listen. You get the cat to a vet, right away, and I'll stay here and look for the owner. Okay?"

"Like, I should just drive it somewhere?"

"Yeah. There has to be a vet around the area." She was new to this damned town. She had no idea.

She fumbled for her phone to go online, but Zeke said, "Yeah. Dr. Killbrew. He's only, like, ten minutes away. We take our dog there."

"Perfect."

Zeke reached toward the cat, hesitated, then yanked his long-sleeve shirt off and wrapped the cat in it carefully. Lisa held her breath but the cat didn't fight or bite him, just uttered a pathetic little mew. Zeke said, "Oh, damn. Oh, fuck."

"Here." Lisa held her door open. "Put it on the floor, so it can't get hurt worse. Are you okay to drive?"

"Yeah. I have to be, right?" Zeke tenderly set the cat-in-shirt bundle on the floor mat and looked at her. "So, I'll go to the vet and... Crap, give me your phone."

She passed it over and he punched numbers into it, saying, "That's my cell, and I put Dr. Killbrew's name in but no number, because I don't know it. But you call me and then I'll have yours. And if you find the owner, they can call me, and come right over, or tell me what they want, because I'm totally going to cover all the costs... somehow, if I can, because I don't know what it costs for something like this, Mom always pays..."

"Zeke. We're good. Take a breath. And then drive carefully."

"Carefully." He took an exaggerated breath and handed her the phone. "Right."

She stepped back and he closed the passenger door carefully, ran around and got in. He had to wait while a car passed the other way, the driver slowing to stare at the spun-out position of the truck. Once he'd moved on, Zeke pulled across the road and drove off. Lisa was left there, with her phone in hand, in front of a row of small houses. With her bag still in the back of Zeke's truck. Trying to find someone and explain that they'd run over her cat. _Dammit._

Well, for now the bag was irrelevant. That cat had to have been fifteen pounds and pretty flashy with those black-and-white markings. Someone would know where it lived. She gathered up her resolve. None of these people knew anything about her. She would just be some high school girl trying to find the home of a lost cat. No big deal. She strode confidently... um, slowed her walk a bit and put more hips into it, as she headed up the first front walk.

At the fifth house, she finally hit paydirt. The woman who opened the door looked at her suspiciously, but when she explained, said, "Sure. That sounds like one of Claude's cats. Kitty corner behind me, with the big screen porch in the back. The red brick house."

"Claude? Do you know the house number?"

"No. It's one street over, though. Here. I'll show you." The woman stepped out onto the porch, and then yelped as a lithe brown form seemed to launch through space to land on her satin-clad shoulder. "Shit! Mr. Pebbles! Bad!"

Lisa jumped back, but when she looked more closely the attack-creature turned out to be a small brown and tan monkey with dark eyes. It clung to the woman's hair and stared at Lisa.

"Naughty monkey," the woman scolded. "Just wait a minute, hon, and let me put him away." She disappeared back inside and came out a few minutes later without her pet. "Sorry. I don't let him outside. He might get lost. Now, here, come around to the side." She pointed at a small brick house with a large back porch. "That one there is Claude's. He has a bunch of cats, and I'm pretty sure one is a big black-and-white one. And if it's not his, he can probably tell you whose it is. Claude's crazy about cats."

"Thanks." Lisa glanced around to fix the geography in her head. She could maybe cut through the back the short way, but there were fences and she didn't want to get caught climbing into people's yards with no ID on her and no actual sign of the missing cat as an excuse. It was only a five minute walk to go round the corner and come to the house from the front. She found the one that looked right, peeked around the side far enough to confirm the screen porch, and rang the doorbell.

The man who answered was elderly, tall and thin, with dark hair that didn't look natural above his lined face. But his expression was friendly. "Yes?"

"Hello, sir. I, um..." It was a bit harder to get the question out knowing this was probably the cat's owner. "Do you own a fat black-and-white cat?"

The man smiled fondly. "We say pleasantly plump in this household."

"Is it at home? Safely, I mean?"

The man's smile faded. "Why do you ask?"

"I was driving with a friend and this big cat jumped out in front of the truck one road over." She pointed. "My friend tried to miss it, but it was hurt. He drove it to a vet."

"Hurt! How badly? Not... dead?"

"Oh no. At least, not then. And he'd have called me." At least, she assumed so. "But we wanted to find the owner so I stayed here to look."

"My cats don't go outside but... Wait there." The man turned away and closed the door between them. Lisa stared blankly at the white door. Behind it she could hear the man's voice calling something unintelligible. After several minutes the door opened. "I can't find Marnie." He rubbed his face agitatedly. "It might not be her."

Lisa had a thought. "Here, tell you what." She texted Zeke. _"Found possible owner. Can you send me a pic of the cat?"_

His reply was swift. _"Good thought. Hang on."_ There was a pause, while Claude laced on black dress shoes and juggled a bunch of keys. Then the ping of an incoming text. The photo showed the cat's head and one shoulder, with its eyes closed. Claude looked at it over her shoulder and gasped. "That's Marnie! She looks... bad."

Lisa texted, _"Got him. How's the cat?"_

" _Sedated and on a drip. Waiting for an owner to okay more treatment."_ Lisa tipped the phone so Claude could read it.

"Tell him I'll be right there. Wait. Which clinic is she at? Killbrew's?"

A minute later Claude was on his own phone with the clinic, confirming his desire to do whatever Marnie needed in the way of treatment. Lisa fidgeted. She'd done her bit. She didn't really want to hang around and watch the guy find out how hurt his cat was. But she felt responsible too, and she realized she had no way to get home, and Zeke had her stuff.

Claude hung up and looked at her. "She has a cut and a broken leg. I'm driving over there now. Do you need a ride?"

"I guess. If that would be okay. I can meet my friend there. He has the truck." She had to add, "He really tried to avoid her. She just jumped in the road. It really wasn't his fault. I'm sorry."

Claude nodded. "Marnie's an indoor cat. She has no real idea about traffic, so I can believe that. I'm just glad it's not worse."

"Me too."

"Let's go."

Which was how, five minutes later, Lisa found herself in the passenger seat of an ancient but cherry Lincoln Continental, driving somewhere unfamiliar with a man she'd known for ten minutes. It was the awkward capper to a really weird day. She fidgeted, texting to Zeke, _"When this is over, can I still get a ride home?"_

" _Of course."_

" _The cat's really okay?"_

" _Will be, I guess."_

" _Claude says we'll be there in ten."_

" _Claude?"_

" _Owner. C u soon."_

" _kk."_

Claude said, "How did you find me?"

"The lady behind said you had a bunch of cats."

"Just four. Marnie, and Lottie, Esther and Morton."

"Um. Interesting names."

"My wife named them after vaudeville singers."

"Oh. Will she be very upset about Marnie?"

He pressed his lips together, then said, "If she hadn't passed away four years ago, she would have been. Marnie was her favorite."

"Sorry."

"No. That's okay."

For a few minutes he was silent, but then he began to tell amusing stories about the other cats, and all the crap they got into. Lisa had never had her own cat, but from Claude's descriptions they were either little fur geniuses or possessed by devils. It wasn't clear which. His voice was indulgently fond, though, and he only wobbled and lost the thread once when Marnie's name came into it. Eventually he broke off a story of how Esther had learned to open the refrigerator to turn in the entrance of a parking lot. "Here we are."

The clinic was busy. Three people sat in chairs with their small dogs held up on their laps. The reason was clearly a huge black Great Dane that was jerking its owner around the lobby with gleeful abandon. The small man on the other end of the leash repeated, "King! Heel! Sit!" frequently and with absolutely no effect. Lisa and Claude slipped around the blundering dog, dodged the taut cord of the flexi-leash, and approached the desk.

Lisa hung back as Claude consulted with the receptionist about permission slips and payment. There was a yip and someone said, "Control your dog, damn it!" She turned to see the Dane trying to lick the face of a small white poodle, as the toy dog hid in its owner's armpit.

Lisa was relieved to finally spot Zeke behind the chew-toy display. He stayed put there, half hiding, as she went over to him. Zeke's eyes were red, there were sweat stains under the arms of his T-shirt, and his hair was disarrayed. He gave her a pretty weak excuse for a smile, and then bit his trembling lip.

She asked, "Is the cat worse?"

"No, I don't think so. But I feel so bad. And the surgery for the leg is going to be, like, five hundred dollars. And I don't have nearly that much. I don't know what to do. I offered to work it off, clean cages or something, but the vet said he didn't need the help, and anyway at minimum wage it would take like months to earn that much and..." Suddenly Zeke broke off, staring. "Oh, shit!"

Lisa whirled around in time to see the Great Dane wrap its leash completely around Claude's legs, and suddenly lunge after a departing customer. The leash yanked tight, jerking Claude's feet out from under him. Claude grabbed for the counter, and the slap and shout as he missed his hold sent the Great Dane into a frenzy of deep barks. The owner dropped the leash with a shriek, and the Dane darted out the closing door.

****

Zeke's heart leaped into his throat. _No, not after all this shit!_ He lunged toward the counter, but came short of either of his objectives. Someone else snagged the flexi-leash before the dog made good on its escape, but no one caught the cat's owner, who looked like a frail older guy. He went down with a crash and a thump, followed by a definite pain sound.

A second later, Zeke's knees hit the floor beside the man. He fumbled with untangling the leash from around the guy's legs, aware that the receptionist was kneeling by the old man's head, talking to him. Zeke couldn't hear what they were saying through the rush of his pulse in his ears. At least the old guy was talking. So no one was dead yet in the clusterfuck of Zeke's day. He slid the loop of the extension leash down over the guy's blue socks and very shiny black shoes, and held onto it so it didn't snap back too hard into the reel.

The motherly woman who'd got hold of the leash nodded her thanks and he let it play back slowly, as she locked it and hauled the dog back in the door. Zeke kept his attention on her, because he didn't want to know how bad the old guy was. She chewed out the dog's owner for not having a head collar on the dog and not bothering to train it before it got elephant-sized, in surprisingly salty language for a motherly woman. But when she was done, Zeke had no choice but to look at the poor old guy who wouldn't be there on the floor if only Zeke had been paying more attention to his driving, instead of thinking about finally finding a friend willing to hang out with him...

Lisa's hand gripped his shoulder with her surprising strength. "Come on and sit down. You look like crap."

"Well I feel like _shit!_ " Zeke let himself be guided up and over to a chair. "Now the cat and the owner are both hurt."

"Well it's not your fault," Lisa said tartly. "Either one. That cat had a death wish."

"Seriously? You don't think I should have paid more attention or managed to swerve or something? Because I was talking to you, although I'm pretty sure my eyes were on the road, but I might have looked away for a second."

Lisa gave him a thwap on the back of the head that reminded Zeke forcibly of his older brother. "Not. Your. Fault. Cut it out."

"Okay." Zeke subsided, although he couldn't hold back a groan when the receptionist and hastily-called-up-front vet decided an ambulance was in order for the owner.

The old man was pretty tough. He insisted on sitting up against the counter, and gave Lisa a little smile despite the icepack the receptionist was holding to his head, and the broken arm the vet had wrapped in padding. "Hey, girl, never a dull moment around me."

"I guess not."

"Do me a favor?"

Zeke said, "Sure! Anything!" before Lisa could even open her mouth. He felt like he owed this guy a lifetime of favors.

The man turned that little smile on him, but said to Lisa, "In my front right pocket you'll find my house keys. My neighbor on the right in 2038, Mrs. Colby, has fed my cats for me occasionally. But she doesn't have my new door key. Could you get them out and I'll tell you which one to give her? Ask her to go take care of the cats tonight and probably in the morning too?"

Zeke felt a _wful._ "You think you won't be able to go home tonight? Are you really hurt? I'm so, so sorry."

"It wasn't your dog. And I'm sure I'll be fine. But I know doctors. At my age, any little bump and they want to keep me overnight to see if I break out into purple spots or something."

The vet said, "Since you live alone they _should_ keep you for observation with a head injury. I'm sure between my insurance and Mr. Borden's liability for King's behavior, any costs will be covered."

The cat's owner rubbed his head and slumped a bit. "I have insurance too. But the damned cats eat only canned diet, thanks to you, Mr. Veterinarian. And if they don't get fed every twelve hours, they'll be very cranky."

"We can do that," Zeke said eagerly. "Glad to. I swear, you can trust us with the key and we'll take it right to your neighbor, and if you tell us exactly what she needs to do we'll pass along the message. I'll write it down. You can tell me every detail. I'll make sure she gets it all. And here, I'll have the reception lady copy my ID, okay? So you know who we are..."

This time it was the veterinarian who came and put a hand on his shoulder. "Take a breath. It'll be okay. If you're volunteering, and Mr. Delacourt trusts you, it could be good to have you run his errand. I'm a bit behind here and we're all busy." He glanced at the owner. "I've seen this kid in here with his mom and their dog, so I have his address and all. But Claude, if you don't want to give your key to these two, I can find someone else to run your errand after we close."

"No. That's fine. The girl obviously likes cats. And the boy seems like the responsible sort. Although I will take that copy of his ID."

A minute later the ambulance pulled up out front. Lisa said, "I've got this," so Zeke just sat in his chair and watched and took deep breaths while there were discussions and keys found and notes written and the EMTs did their thing. Eventually the owner was wheeled out on a gurney, and Lisa came over to him. "Got it. Let's go."

Zeke stood, but went up to the counter instead. "The cat will be okay, right? Whatever it costs? I'll get the money somehow."

"Don't worry. Mr. Delacourt left his credit card number. She'll be fine. You can take the question of money up with him directly."

"Oh. Okay."

Outside in the lot, Lisa peered up at his face and then held out her hand. "Keys."

"What?"

"You're so not driving right now. Truck keys."

Zeke wanted to protest, but in the face of Lisa's confidence he just limply handed them over. Lisa gave him Claude's door key and the scribbled note in exchange. "You can give me directions to get back there."

It seemed much faster getting back than the drive to the clinic with the injured cat had been. Lisa drove with competent skill, and slotted the big truck into curb-side parking just a few houses down. Zeke took a breath, and got out. He'd expected Lisa to stay in the truck while he ran the errand, but she got out and locked it. "I'm coming with you."

"Okay." He triple checked the street number, and went to the neighbor's door. Her bell echoed inside and he practiced his opening statement. _"You don't know me but...", "Remember your neighbor Mr. Claude... Mr. Delacourt... your next door neighbor had a fall..."_

His practice was in vain though, because there was no answer to the doorbell, even on a second and third try. He and Lisa glanced at each other. Lisa pulled out her phone and said, "Well, it's only four thirty, maybe she's still at work or something."

"Sure. Right. Absolutely, that's got to be it. Wow, I thought it was much later." He turned what he was sure was a blank gaze on Lisa. "What now? A different neighbor?"

She shook her head slowly. "I don't like handing his key to someone he didn't give permission for, you know? We could just wait."

"Yeah. Okay. Here? Or in the truck?"

"Truck. Definitely. It might be pretty creepy to come home and find strangers camped out on your doorstep. If we circle the block I can take that other parking spot so we can see her front door. And I have more than enough homework in my bag to keep me busy."

"Sure. Good. Me too." Zeke swallowed. All his normal verbosity seemed to be short-circuited right now. He forced his shoulders straight and pasted on a cheerful expression. "You drive again."

An hour later they were still parked facing the neighbor's porch. Lisa had completed a math assignment, and started on history. The deep frown on her face, which truthfully made her look like a guy for the first time since Zeke had met her, might have been due to the intricacies of the Prohibition era. Or it might have been due to the fact that Zeke had put in ten minutes on his French, and then on his calculus, and his business accounting... and his hair, and the novel he brought to school to read in spare minutes, and searching the net on his phone. He'd gotten out twice to go peer at the neighbor's house from the sidewalk, in case she was really home and just deaf. Then he got out once more because he'd been tapping his foot in time to the music on his iPod, while chewing gum, and drumming his fingers, and he had the distinct impression that if he didn't give Lisa some space he might just end up with his iPod crammed down his throat.

Crap. He liked Lisa, and having a friend who also had no hope of being accepted into the school elite would be so good. But he was well aware that, in his case, enforced time together in a small space wasn't the way to bond someone in friendship. He jogged down the road a bit, did a few stretches and went back. He leaned on her window and said, "How much longer should we wait?"

Lisa sighed, and checked the time. "Another half hour?"

Zeke decided it was best to leave Lisa to her writing and wander around a bit more. The street was quiet. A couple of cars had turned in at neighboring driveways, but there was no one outside walking a dog or doing yardwork that he could strike up a conversation with. He walked up along the side of Mr. Delacourt's house. In a window near the back of the house, he saw two cats perched on the sill. Two pink mouths opened at him in silent mews. Two pairs of green-gold eyes seemed to glare at him. Zeke hurried back to his truck.

"I think we should feed the cats. They look hungry."

Lisa hesitated, then stowed her books in her bag and got out. She let Zeke go first down the walk, but at the front door she took the key and shouldered him aside, opened it carefully, and slithered in through a narrow space. She pulled the door tight behind her, nearly closing it in Zeke's face.

"What the hell? Let me in."

"Carefully." She pulled it just a fraction wider. "The last thing we want is to let another cat loose."

"Oh. Hell, no." Zeke squeezed inside.

The house was dim, with curtains drawn across the front windows. It smelled faintly of dust, and garlic, but not unpleasantly so.

A loud mew from down the hall heralded the appearance of the two cats he'd seen earlier. The large fluffy orange one stomped over, at least as much as a cat can stomp, and meowed again loudly. The smaller black one stayed in the doorway watching them.

Lisa said, "There should be one more."

"Really?" The guy had _four_ cats?

"Yeah; Lottie, Esther and something else - a guy's name."

"Maybe if we get the food out, it'll appear."

Lisa quirked a smile. "Good bet. So, we need the kitchen." She led the way toward the back of the house. Zeke glanced around and then followed her, because he had no better idea. She turned out to be right - the kitchen was just past the doorway where the black cat sat.

Zeke was familiar with dogs, but with Mom's allergies they'd never had a cat. The two visible ones wound around Lisa's ankles, like they knew she was the source of their food. Zeke lounged against the counter, as Lisa tentatively opened a cabinet or two. He jumped when she snapped, "Well, you want to help me find the food or are you just here for decoration?"

"Sorry." He tried a cabinet or two of his own. Plates and bowls. Glass jars and condiments, including some pickled something-or-others that he had to take a second look at. Okra. Huh. Then as he bent for a lower cupboard... "Holy Christ!" Something heavy and sharp landed on his back. He grabbed for the counter for balance, and yipped even more shrilly as tiny knives pricked his shoulders. The weight slid and dropped off, and he whirled to see a huge grey tiger-striped cat on the floor at his feet, staring up at him.

Lisa snickered. "I guess you found what's-his-name. He was on the refrigerator."

"Crap. It looks like a lynx. Lying in wait to leap down on its prey."

The big cat eyed him with a haughty glare, then stalked over to a dish in the corner and gave it a smack with one massive paw. The bowl slid six inches across the floor.

"Better feed it before it decides to actually bring you down and eat your carcass."

"You're smaller," Zeke muttered. "You'd be an easier kill."

"You're slower. I'd only have to outrun you. Ah. Bingo." Lisa bent to pull a couple of small cans out of the cupboard. "He said give half a can each and don't let them have more."

The grey cat was clearly tracking the food in Lisa's hands as she set the cans on the counter.

Zeke said, "Maybe we should give the big one a whole can, just in case."

"I don't think you want to let him know he has the upper hand."

They opened the food, carefully got the grey cat's dish out from under his watchful eyes, and found three other bowls in separate corners of the kitchen. Lisa chose two at random and dished out the measured amount. The cats clearly had a routine, and each settled in to eat its share. Zeke tried not to look at the empty bowl in the fourth corner. That cat would be fine. She'd be home soon. It hadn't been his fault. When the grey monster walked over to sniff at the empty bowl and then gave him a look, Zeke actually told it, "It wasn't my fault."

Lisa laughed. "Here, I put away the rest of that can in the fridge. Let's head out."

"Do you think we should... I don't know, clean the bowls or look for, um, litter boxes?" The black cat was still nibbling slowly but the other two were done.

"I think we should head home, and not wander around the guy's house any more."

"Oh. Yeah." Zeke could feel the flush on his face. "Right."

"If the neighbor is still out, we'll have to come back tomorrow morning to bring back the key. If you're still feeling guilty enough to clean out cat boxes, you can offer to do it then."

Zeke followed Lisa as they left, locked the door, confirmed that the neighbor still wasn't answering, and made their way to his truck. There he felt the need to assert himself, after an hour of playing the idiot. "I'll drive."

"You're sure?"

"Give me the damned keys."

It wasn't far to Lisa's house. Zeke pulled into her driveway, and cleared his throat, drumming on the steering wheel. He suddenly didn't want to see her go. It had been so good not to have done all that alone. "Do you, um, want to come with me tomorrow? When I go back to feed the cats or drop off the keys or whatever?" He hoped he didn't sound as anxious as he felt about facing Claude or his neighbor in the morning.

Lisa hesitated.

"I mean, I know it's Saturday, so maybe you're busy or want to sleep in or whatever. But I think it looks better to have both of us. If he's not home, I mean, and the neighbor's not, and we have to go in again. Like we're keeping each other honest. Not that I wouldn't be honest even if you weren't there."

Lisa put a hand on his knee and squeezed firmly, and Zeke jumped in surprise, then realized he'd been bouncing in his seat. She was just trying to stop his jiggling, that was all. He tried to settle down calmly, and look like he didn't care whether she came along or not.

Lisa's little smile suggested that was a total fail. "Don't worry. I'll come with you. Pick me up at eight? That way if Claude isn't home yet, the cats won't starve."

"Thanks." Zeke sighed. "Really, thank you."

"Tomorrow then." Lisa moved his... her, _her, her_ hand off Zeke's knee and got out. Zeke watched her walk up to her door and go inside. She looked like a girl, she moved like a girl, well, mostly. She had long silky brown hair and a purse. Zeke reminded his stupid body that the fact that she probably still had a dick inside those jeans didn't make her boyfriend material. But his drive home was more uncomfortable than he'd expected it to be. He firmly turned his thoughts to Viggo Mortensen. That was what he wanted in a boyfriend. But maybe in Lisa, he'd find a friend.

****

Lisa groaned and pulled the pillow over her head. It barely muffled the irritating sound of Justin Bieber, who was wealthy and frankly had a more feminine voice than Lisa's and therefore could have been someone to envy. Except there were lesbian Justin Bieber look-alike contests and a wealth of craziness that Lisa was just as glad to take a pass on. She sat up, fumbling at her nightstand, but she'd moved her clock radio across the room for just this reason. By the time she'd stood up, crossed the room, and smacked the hell out of the mute button, she was awake.

Downstairs she could hear her parents in the kitchen. They would be surprised to see her at this hour on a Saturday, and there was the issue of her car being in the shop again. It might be better to just sneak out. But she really wanted a shower and had to shave, and by then they'd know she was up. With a small sigh, she went to the bathroom.

It was tough looking at herself in the mirror straight from her bed in the mornings, but even harder to shave without doing so. She did that first, to get it over with. She'd hoped that starting hormones would reduce her facial hair, but so far it wasn't doing much. She scraped her skin smooth, and jumped into the shower. By now she was an expert at the twelve second clean but not lingering version of a shower, and she was out fast. She hadn't shaved her legs or down there in two days, and didn't want to tuck with tape over hair, so she did a makeshift job and pulled on two pairs of briefs and looser-fitting jeans. The hormones had at least started to give her an A-cup chest and she enjoyed hooking on a real bra with just normal girl-type padding in it.

Then she made time for a quick session with the drier and round brush, to get her hair sleek and straight. She plucked her eyebrows more perfectly, put on a light touch of makeup, and she was good to go. She decided to skip breakfast, and brushed her teeth.

Sure enough her parents were at the dining room table, chatting over their coffee when she came down the stairs. They glanced at her and her dad said warmly, "Hey there. Plans for the day?"

Her mom gave her that smile Lisa was used to by now - the one that said, _"I love you but don't quite know who you are,"_ \- as she got pushed her chair back and turned toward the kitchen. "Can I make you some breakfast, sweetie?"

"No, thanks. I'll grab coffee. A friend will be picking me up soon."

And didn't it just say something about how pathetic Lisa was that the simple statement made both of them come alert like bird dogs on point. Dad said cautiously, "A friend? That's good."

Mom added, "You look very nice this morning. Very, um, pretty and, um, nice."

_Nice. Sheesh._ Lisa said, "Just a casual friend. Don't get all excited."

Dad said, "Well, that's still good, right? It's a shame your car's out of commission. But you say your friend has transportation?"

"He has a truck." Lisa smiled to herself just a little, as she headed to the kitchen to find the damned coffee. She was betting that bald statement was _not_ making them think of someone like Zeke. Not that everyone didn't drive trucks these days, but Zeke really should have had a Miata, or maybe a 1950's-vintage Ford. Not a beat-up old Ram. Unless maybe Zeke did think driving his brother's truck somehow made him look more butch...? Lisa pondered it, through her first heavenly sip of the dark brew, and decided even Zeke couldn't imagine what he drove would fix his image. No doubt it just came down to the money.

Zeke was a good guy. She'd noticed him before, although she'd kept her distance because she seriously didn't need the kind of heat he got, on top of her own. But for all his bopping and annoying chatter, and the flaming obviousness of his clothes and gestures and conversation, some of the kids clearly liked Zeke. She liked him too, after yesterday. She finished her coffee in one long swallow, and set the cup in the sink.

Zeke arrived on time, and Lisa walked down to the truck before he could get out. The ride to Claude's was brief, and quieter than she expected. Zeke was blinking sleepily and drinking an extra-humongous, coffee-smelling something. She eyed it skeptically, and he grinned at her at a stoplight. "Just fueling up."

"Did you ever think maybe less caffeine would be a good thing?"

"It's decaf. Still wakes me up. I am _not_ a morning person."

By the time they reached the house he was less bleary. The neighbor still didn't answer her doorbell, but when they rang Claude's, just in case, the door opened a moment later. Claude stood there in a dark terrycloth robe, with his arm in a sling.

Zeke said, "Here. We wanted to return your key." He held it out. "We couldn't find your neighbor last night, sorry. And we weren't sure which other neighbor you might want to have a key to your house, because you know, neighbors vary. There's a guy next to us I wouldn't want within ten feet of anything valuable I owned. So we fed the cats, and we were going to do it again, but you're here. So we don't have to. So here."

Claude took the key, but said, "You were the ones who fed them?"

"Yes."

"Thank you. I wonder. Would you be willing to come in for a moment and..." Claude shrugged painfully. "You have no idea how hard it is to use a can opener with one hand. I think the little beggars are about ready to trade me in for a better owner if they don't get their Fancy Feast soon."

"Sure," Zeke said eagerly. "I'd be happy to help. We would. I mean, opening a can or two is the least we can do, really."

"Great." Claude pulled the door wide, and let them in. They followed him back to the kitchen. The two smaller cats immediately began winding around Claude's ankles as if intent on finishing the job the Great Dane had started. The big grey cat sat on the top of a cabinet and stared at them.

"Watch out for Morton. He likes to pounce." Claude pointed to the counter, where a can opener, a rubber glove, a clamp, a screwdriver, and two unopened cans of cat food bore witness to his frustration. "The bowls are in the sink."

"We meant to wash those." Zeke made quick work of the cans. "Really. But we weren't sure if you wanted us in the house that long, and one of the cats was eating slowly, and..." He trailed off.

"Lottie, I bet." Claude flicked a finger at the black cat, who was now standing on her hind legs flexing her claws into his bathrobe. "She acts like she's starving, and then takes an hour to eat."

"Yeah." Lisa got the bowls out of the sink, and held them for Zeke to divide up the food. "Oh, there was an open can in the fridge from last night."

Claude shrugged. "I'll toss it. And the leftovers from this morning. This crew are the ultimate divas. They would _never_ eat rewarmed food."

Lisa thought he looked a little pale. She pulled out a chair at the table. "Here, you should sit down. I'm surprised they let you out of hospital."

Claude sat and smiled gratefully at her. "I checked myself out late last night. I'm AMA actually. Against Medical Advice. But I didn't have a concussion and all they wanted to do was watch me for fifteen more hours while forcing me to eat hospital food and listen to my insomniac roommate's TV shows. I thought I might have a relapse from the pathos of it, so I caught a cab home."

"Well, we'll feed the cats again," Zeke said eagerly. "And maybe clean the cat boxes, if you tell me where they are. Whatever you need."

"You..." Claude frowned. "What are your names again?"

"I'm Zeke, and that's Lisa."

"And I'm Claude. Well, Zeke, I'm grateful for the help, but seriously, you shouldn't be acting so guilty. When an indoor cat gets out, they sometimes have no sense at all. You did what you could for Marnie, and I'm just grateful it was you and not some bastard who wouldn't even stop, like when my neighbor's cat got hit."

"God! Who would do that?" Zeke looked horrified.

"There's all kinds in this world. You're clearly the good kind."

Zeke blushed and hurried to set the bowls down for the cats. Big Morton launched himself off the cabinet, rebounded from the edge of the counter and landed with a thud that shook the floor. Claude said, "Morty, old boy, you're giving cats a bad name. What happened to stealthy and graceful?" The big cat buried his face in a dish and ignored him.

"So," Lisa said, "The cat boxes?" Not that she had a particular desire to clean kitty litter, but Zeke had offered.

"There are a couple spread out around the house." Claude moved and then winced. "If you're really offering, I'll show you, but how about if we sit for a bit and you let an old man get his energy back before we traipse all over? Come sit. Grab a cup of coffee if you like." He waved at the coffee-maker on the counter.

"Would you rather have a friend come over?" Lisa eased into a chair.

"I'm ancient enough to have outlived most of them, unfortunately."

"You're not that old," Zeke protested.

"I'm eighty-four."

"Seriously?" Zeke leaned closer to peer at Claude and then flushed. "I mean, you don't look nearly that old."

"Thank you. Have a seat and tell me about yourselves."

Lisa sat quietly and let Zeke field most of the questions. Claude soon had him chattering away about school, and his older brother moving out, and the band his younger brother was in. Claude might have been old, but he was clearly pretty sharp. He tried a couple of times to turn the conversation to Lisa, but she answered briefly. Moved here recently. No siblings. No pets. After the third monosyllable, he just smiled at her and gave his full attention to Zeke.

Lisa got up and picked up the two finished bowls to wash in the sink. Lottie eyed her coldly and went back to licking each morsel slowly with her tiny pink tongue, so Lisa left her to it. When she was done, she set the bowls back where they had been. Morton came over and wound around her legs once, and she rubbed his broad cheeks. His fur was long and silky under her fingers.

Claude said, "He likes you. That says a lot for your character. He's a misogynist. The only other woman he ever warmed up to was my wife."

Lisa pulled her hand away as if she'd been burned, and Claude gave her a narrow look. Then he stood slowly and carefully. "Come on. If you're really willing to help with the boxes, I'll show you where they are. Although you have to let me pay you something for your time."

"Oh, we couldn't do that!" Zeke's protest was immediate, and Lisa nodded.

The first box was inside a clever cabinet in the bathroom. The next two were apparently down in the cellar. Lisa made sure she got ahead of Claude on the stairs, so if he fell she might have some hope of catching him, but it went okay. He turned on another light at the bottom of the stairs and they stared around in surprise.

The room was crowded with props of different kinds, bright standing painted screens and tall coffin-like boxes, small tables and silky red drapes on a frame. The walls were lined with picture after framed picture of smiling people in fancy clothes.

"I was a magician," Claude said with a note of pride. "My wife was my assistant. Here." He led the way to one of the bigger pictures. "My wife Mary."

"She's very pretty," Zeke said. Lisa looked at the young blond woman in the picture. She was short and slender, with her hair in a fancy up-do and a stunning evening gown slit to her thigh.

"She was a contortionist when she was a child. Her family were performers. She could fit into spaces you would never believe. We did some stunning illusions together. Look here." He showed them a picture of himself standing next to an upright coffin, which had its middle section hinged out. His wife's face smiled out of the top section, while her shoes were just visible in the bottom one. Where the middle half of her was, given the way the coffin was nearly cut in three, Lisa wasn't sure.

"How does that even work?" Zeke sputtered.

Claude laid a finger next to his nose. "A magician never tells." He turned to Lisa, as if to say something, and then just stared at her. There was a silence, as Claud's gaze stayed fixed on her with an odd intensity. Lisa resisted the temptation to turn away, or ask Zeke if she had something on her face. But then Claude relaxed and moved on along the wall.

"There are a lot of old memories in these. A lot of old friends. Morrie the Magnificent and his twin assistants Betty and Bridget. They weren't really twins, but they looked alike and dressed alike, and no one could tell. Nice girls, both of them. Or here." He tapped another picture. "Amanda Grace. One of the few female magicians of that era. She had to put some ballet movements into her routine, and bill it as a Dance of Illusion, to get the jobs. Or this one." He pointed at a tall blond man with his sultry dark assistant. "Sylvester." Claude's smile looked bittersweet. "He was a friend of my wife's more than mine. God, he could make her laugh. He passed in nineteen eighty-nine, and his assistant Louise a year later. They'd been together forty years at that time. My wife and I managed fifty-five years, before she died four years ago."

"I'm sorry," Lisa said.

"I miss her every day," Claude admitted simply. "You know, there have to be two dozen magicians on this wall and they were all different. Some were playboys, some were quiet family men. Some dated their assistants, some married them, some had pretty boys in the dressing room after a performance." He was looking at Zeke as he said it, and Lisa could hear the whoosh of Zeke's breath.

"And you didn't care?" Lisa asked, because Zeke looked a bit stunned.

"Well, maybe I did somewhat. At first, when we were all starting out. It was a different time and I was raised an all-American boy, even with the Cajun name. It was Mary who got me thinking differently. Ah, my Mary."

Claude looked sad, or perhaps tired. Lisa said, "Why don't you sit somewhere and point us to those litter boxes?"

Claude patted her arm. "You're a thoughtful girl. There's one in each back corner of the room, and a toilet in that little half-bath. And there should be a couple of chairs over there, under the wardrobe chest."

Lisa said, "Zeke, you wanted to deal with cat sh...poop. You do the boxes, I'll find the chair." She lifted a heavy old trunk to the floor, and sure enough there were a couple of straight chairs under it.

Claude sank into one, and gestured her toward the other. "Sit and keep me company and let that nice boy work off his guilt."

Zeke was currently puttering with one of the cat boxes, while Esther, who had followed them down, got in his way. Zeke paused in his cleaning to pet the cat, and surely didn't look like he needed help, so Lisa sat.

"My Mary was something else," Claude said reminiscently. "Daytimes she'd look like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Perfect suburban housewife. But in the evenings, she'd dress in those show-girl costumes that looked so fan-damned-tastic on her and wiggle and bat her eyelashes and divert the crowd so much I could have driven to the pet-store for a rabbit instead of pulling it out of hat and they'd never have noticed."

Lisa snorted a laugh, and Claude grinned sideways at her. "Yeah. She had a mouth on her too, when she was around friends. But she didn't judge anybody, except by what was in their hearts. And she taught me to do the same. I got the picture more slowly, but I learned. By the time Sylvester and Louise came along, I was half-trained. And after a year or two of being friends with them, well, I'd figured out that who a person sleeps with is the least thing about him."

"You're saying Sylvester was gay too?"

"Yeah. Well, bisexual I guess. And Louise, wow, she was a hoot. She liked to play, bring other guys home, and her favorite was drag queens. Some of whom are straight I guess. Who knew. Or maybe they mostly got it on with Sylvester. I didn't ask. Point is, I met a lot of interesting folks in their company, and learned to hold my tongue and get to know people before judging them. A man can be a good person even if he likes to wear a dress. You understand?"

Lisa said faintly, "Zeke doesn't wear drag." A quick look showed that Zeke had wrapped a swath of red satin curtain around himself and was teasing the cat through it, and she modified that to, "I don't think."

Claude pointed a gnarled finger at Lisa's neck and said quietly, "You missed a spot shaving this morning."

She clapped her hand to her neck, feeling the heat rise in her face. Sure enough, a patch of stubble rasped against her palm. She couldn't breathe. There had to be something she could say, but her mouth opened and closed like a dying fish out of water. Finally she managed a strangled, "I should go."

"No, wait, I said that badly. You're fine. I didn't mean anything, and I surely don't want you to go. I don't meet many interesting people any more, just the mailman and the lady at the grocery check-out and my doctor, who is a boring as a person can get. You and Zeke are a breath of fresh air. Are you a drag queen?"

"Um. No."

"But something like that?"

"Sort of."

"Well, I don't know all the terms. You did seem a bit young. Not like Daphne and Angela, the two we got to know best. They were in their thirties. Those were some of the raunchiest, funniest, and bravest men I ever met. Holy cow, the sharp wit on both of them. They could slice your pretensions to ribbons and make you laugh doing it. I miss that, you know, the days when life had that kind of color. Now it's more beige, like oatmeal and Metamucil."

Lisa had to laugh, and relaxed slightly. "I've never met a drag queen."

"Well, you should sometime. Although, God, maybe not for a few years yet. How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Oops. Yeah, maybe wait another year or two. You wouldn't want to miss out on the jokes. Lots of stuff about sex and hormones."

Lisa thought she probably could follow those jokes. She knew hormones. She'd done the research. From finding out she'd missed the chance for puberty-blockers, to researching every estrogen under the sun and eating soy, flax and miso until they came out her ears, she felt like an expert. As for sex, well, maybe not so much. But the Internet was a big, big place, and not all experience had to be up close and personal. "So, Daphne and Angela? Were they, like, taking hormones to become female?"

"They joked about it, but I doubt it. I don't know, though. This was the seventies, dear, and even among friends you didn't ask those questions. Daphne was just, um, big. When she was Richard she looked like a biker, and a tough one. Angela, well, maybe. She had that softness, even as Harold. But mostly they were just fun. We drank and laughed and partied with them, and they were a bit like the kids Mary and I never had. And after we would go home in the evening, we never asked who ended up where. So sad." His face fell.

"Sad?"

"Damn." Claude reached out and put a hand over hers. Lisa was startled but didn't shake him off. "They all died, dear. It was the eighties and nineties, and we were in New York in those days. And they enjoyed parties and sharing people around like party favors. Then AIDS ripped through the community and by the late nineties, it was only boring old fogeys like Mary and me who were left standing."

"Damn." Lisa's eyes got blurry for people she'd never even met.

"Well, it was a good life first. So if you're not a drag queen, what do you call yourself?"

"I'm trans. Transgender. M to F."

"Uh huh. I'll try to remember. Not that it matters, because I can just call you a girl, right? You're who you say you are. Now Chloe over there," - he waved at a picture of a man in a turban and his exotic-looking assistant with what looked like a live snake around her waist - "She claimed to be the reincarnation of Cleopatra. About had a fit if you said otherwise. I didn't argue. How would I know? Maybe she was. You gotta just let people be. She was a kind woman, under the drama."

Lisa wasn't sure she liked having transgender equated with the delusions of someone who thought she was the reincarnation of an Egyptian queen, but clearly Claude meant well. She sat and nodded as he went on telling her about some of the other characters on his wall, and his career with Mary and the time he got to perform in front of Sammy Davis, Jr. in Las Vegas. After ten minutes, Zeke was done with both litter boxes, only somewhat delayed by a game of string-chasing with Esther, and repacking a case of hats and balls and scarves that popped open when he bumped into it.

He came over to them. "Claude, you have some of the coolest stuff. But anyway, the cat boxes are clean now."

"Thank you."

"Are you okay to get back up the stairs?" Lisa asked Claude softly.

"Oh yes, dear. It's my arm, you know, not my leg." Still, Claude climbed carefully, one step at a time, and both Lisa and Zeke heaved a sigh when he was safely sitting in the kitchen.

"I guess you kids have to go," he said sadly.

"Yeah. We should." Zeke brightened. "I could come back tonight. You'll need someone to open cans again."

"I was thinking I might go out and buy myself an electric can opener."

Lisa nodded. "That's probably smart. But you should wait until you're a bit better, like tomorrow. Or maybe we can get you one and bring it by tonight?"

"Oh, would you? I'll pay you back the money." Claude sighed. "You know, this broken arm and Marnie's leg are no fun, but meeting you two is one of the best things that's happened all month. Maybe all year. Are you sure you want to hang around an old has-been magician?"

"Sure," Lisa said, before she could stop to think. "It's cool. I like your cats." _And your stories._

"Me too," Zeke added.

"I just wish Marnie hadn't had to get hurt to do it. And I wish I knew how she got out. I swear the house was closed up tight. This is the second time in the last two weeks. I had to fetch Esther from a neighbor's vegetable garden last time."

"Would you like us to check the windows before we go?" Zeke offered. "Make sure nothing is open?"

"Well, I did that last night when I got back home, but I was a bit out of it. Sure, that might be good. Fresh eyes and all. Just excuse the mess."

Zeke leaned over the sink to test and tug on the window, which seemed solid. "That one's okay. Do you want to follow us around?"

Claude waved a hand. "I'm a bit tired, actually. You two go ahead."

Zeke led the way into the hall, and they checked the living room windows – locked – and the bedroom – open but with solid screens neither of them could budge. There was a second bedroom, and a spare room full of books. Both were well secured. Lisa turned back into the hall, and found a mudroom, leading to the back door. The door was both locked and dead-bolted. She turned to the little window next to it and yelped in surprise, as it canted open enough for a small hairy hand to reach in and tweak her nose. "What the fuck!"

Zeke leaped to see, jostling her, and then laughed and pointed. "It's a monkey!"

The window clicked shut and the little brown monkey scampered across the lawn, shinnied up a downspout and disappeared in through a second floor window of the house across Claude's garden.

Lisa rubbed her nose, and laughed. "It's Mr. Pebbles."

"Who?"

"That lady's pet." The mudroom window moved when Lisa pressed on it. She tugged it firmly shut and tried to lock it. The latch was stiff and barely moved.

Zeke took a turn wrestling with it, then said, "I'll ask if Claude has some kind of grease."

Before he could go ask, Claude hurried in, clutching his bad arm against his chest. "You screamed."

"I yelped," Lisa said, trying to sound dignified. "You would too, if someone grabbed your nose."

"If who what?" Claude glared at Zeke. "Were you manhandling the lady?"

"What? No! Anyway, she's not a..." He stopped at the glare he got from both of them. "Sorry."

"I should think so." Claude tilted his head. "Are you two, um, boyfriends then?"

Lisa choked. This old guy never quit.

Zeke said, "No. We're not."

In the helpless spirit of full disclosure she was in, Lisa said, "I don't think either of us is butch enough for the other. Now Derek Robertson..."

Zeke made a little Mmmm sound, and then blushed. "You've got a shot, you know. With Derek. I've seen him watching you."

"Really?" Lisa sucked in a breath. Derek had come to her rescue twice now, but she hadn't dared think anything of it...

"Yeah. I'm so jealous, you bitch."

Claude demanded, "Wait. I don't get it. Why did Zeke grab your nose then?"

Lisa was jolted out of thoughts of Derek Robertson's broad shoulders. "He didn't. It was..." A motion caught Lisa's eye, and she stopped and pointed. "Look."

Across the back yard, that second floor window opened again slightly. The monkey's lithe form slipped out, and back down the drain pipe. Halfway across the lawn the monkey looked up and caught sight of them watching him through the window. With a sudden jump, it whirled around and bolted back up to its refuge.

Claude laughed. "That grabbed you?"

Lisa pushed on the frame and stuck a finger through the opened window in answer.

"Oh heavens. That little brat let my cats out!"

"Looks like it," Zeke said. "Do you have some lube? I mean grease, lubricant, like oil?" He was blushing again. "If I oil up this bolt, maybe it will slide all the way into the frame again and then the monkey won't be able to jiggle it loose anymore."

"Kitchen drawer next to the stove."

When Zeke hurried out, Claude looked at Lisa. "You sure you don't want that boy? He's got a good heart."

"I don't think he'll want me," she said, a bit heavily. "Not once I get where I'm going."

"Oh, well." Claude gave her a little pat on the back. "You'll find somebody. I never wanted the drag queens that way either. But they were excellent friends, and friends are a good thing."

"Yes," Lisa agreed wholeheartedly. Something soft brushed her arm and she grabbed Lottie before the little cat could reach the window, holding onto her as gently as she could. Lottie turned in her arms and purred, willing to exchange a shot at freedom for a cuddle. Lisa rubbed her slightly-stubbled jaw against the soft cat, and closed her eyes. She felt really relaxed for the first time in a long time. She murmured, "Friends are excellent."

####

# **Variations**

**~Picture prompt: Two boys lie sprawled on their stomachs, side by side on a bed, dressed in T-shirts, jeans and socks. They're each propped up on their elbows, in front of a big bedroom window. The lighter-haired boy has his leg draped possessively over the back of the other boy's thighs as he gazes at him, but the dark-haired boy's attention seems focused through that window into the brightly-lit space beyond.**

**~ Spencer ~**

Mitch was lying on my bed staring out the window, like there might be answers outside the glass. Well, I guess there could have been, but as of right freaking now there was a completely silent street and a lot of sunshine, and he'd been staring at it for half an hour. And I'd been staring at him.

Mitch is worth looking at. He's got this dark hair that drives him crazy 'cause it won't lie right, even with gel. But I love it. And he has these blue eyes that are so dark you'd almost call them black, but they're not. Especially now, with the light reflected in them, so you could see how they have that deep-sea color at the heart of them. And don't get me started on his mouth. Or lower bits.

Best part is, he has no clue. Really no freaking clue. He thinks he's all skinny and ordinary, and says his shoulders are only wider than mine 'cause he plays basketball. He doesn't realize how many girls are watching when he slouches into his seat up front in history class, or leans on his locker shooting the bull with me. The even better part? He doesn't want those girls. He wants me.

But d'you know the bit that sucks dead lemmings? While I want him like I want breath, we both want Adam too, and we've royally screwed it up.

Adam. How to describe Adam? He's tall and blond and so skinny a good wind might just land him in Kansas. He's smart, scary smart, more than Mitch 'n me put together. He's, um, sweet. No, not sweet, but _good_. The kind of guy who does the right thing, even when it's going to hurt like hell. The one who makes friends with the new kid with the lisp and the booger in his nose. The one who stares at you without any understanding, when you try to explain why it's not a good idea to post his "It Gets Better" video on his own Facebook page. At fourteen. You know. The one life is gonna kick in the balls six thousand times, right until he goes out and discovers the cure for cancer or something.

That Adam.

Mitch and I are ready to beat to death anyone who tries to hurt him now. Only this time it was us, and we didn't freaking mean to.

Mitch said, for the tenth time and without looking at me, "He needs to come back."

"I know." I slid my leg over the back of his thighs, to comfort us both, even though I could barely feel the heat of him through two layers of denim. I fumbled for my phone, but there was no new text and no missed calls. I thought about texting Adam again, but if he hadn't answered the first three, one more wasn't likely to do it.

Mitch said, "Dammit." His voice broke a little toward the end.

I bumped his shoulder with mine. "Remember, it's _Adam_. If we can just get him to listen, he'll forgive us. You know he will."

"If. If he doesn't run off and join the military or something."

I choked a laugh. "Yeah, right. Adam in Basic Training?"

"They've canceled Don't Ask, Don't Tell." But a little smirk twitched Mitch's lips. "Okay, maybe the Peace Corps."

"I think you have to be eighteen."

"We shouldn't have done it. We should've waited to talk to him first."

"I know." Hormones, right? Those damned things can fry a guy's brain. You know the biggest irony? We'd just got done hashing it out—how much we both cared about Adam. How this freaky thing we all had going wasn't going away, just getting stronger. How the three of us were virgins, hell, I hadn't even kissed anyone, because any two of us together just never felt right. And none of us could stand to look elsewhere.

It was Mitch who'd turned to me, standing in my front hallway, as we waited for Adam to come over after chess club, and said, "There's no other way. It has to be all three of us, or nothing."

I'd said, "People will freak. I mean, gay is tough enough. A three-way? Christ, we're going to get our asses handed to us."

"Worth it," Mitch growled. "I'm not losing you and I'm not giving up Adam, and I'm not waiting until I'm eighteen for my first freaking kiss."

"Me neither." I was limp with relief at finally having it out in the open, and yet fizzing with dawning excitement too. We were finally going to do this thing.

"We'll tell him as soon as he gets here."

"What if it... freaks him out?"

Mitch frowned. "You think?"

"No." I didn't, really. "Adam's more out than you or I ever were, and I'm sure he feels the same about us. He almost kissed me at that picnic, you know. And then he looked over to where you were, out on the raft, and he didn't. I'm betting he'll be fine with it."

"We're both betting."

"If he isn't, there's still us," I said, but the sinking in my stomach told me that would always be second best. "Do you have any idea how... you know, how three guys can get together?"

The grin Mitch gave me was wicked. "I've been doing a bunch of research."

I could feel an answering smile on my face. "Oh, I just bet you did." I couldn't help it. I put my hand behind his head and pulled him down. That first kiss was, oh my God, it was good. It was fumbling, and his nose bumped mine at first. Then he tilted his head and we just fit. His lips on mine were the best thing I'd ever felt, and he pulled me closer, opened his mouth a little, and... at that moment Adam opened the door.

I really didn't want to think about the look on Adam's face, in that moment. It made me sick. I turned to look out the bedroom window with Mitch, at the place where Adam had disappeared from view, pumping his bike faster than I'd ever seen his skinny legs move in my life. But it was easier to lock my gaze back on the guy next to me on that bed, than to stare at that empty place. "Mitch, tell me he'll come back."

_~ Mitch ~_

I knew Spencer was looking at me. I couldn't meet his gaze though. I was the oldest, the calm one, the one who thought things through. I should never have kissed Spence, before we _all_ knew the score. Or if I had—because seriously, when Spence looks up at me with those melty brown eyes he's so worth kissing—but if I had, I should have said something to Adam when he caught us. Something right. Something that would have kept Adam's face from that expression of shock and pain and disappointment that still made my gut ache. I should have been faster. Better.

I said, "He'll come back." Because that was what Spencer needed to hear.

But I wasn't so sure. Adam's the kind of guy who would be best man at his dream lover's wedding and never say a word. And he was smart, he noticed things. I knew what kind of emotion he must have seen on my face, when I was looking down at Spencer. Love.

Holy hell, I loved both these guys. Spencer's a fireball, always moving, a little motor mouth with a heart bigger than the whole outdoors that he keeps well hidden. He's had kind of a hard life, raised by his aunt and uncle, so he's guarded. He doesn't always understand where Adam, with his supportive parents and eternal optimism, is coming from. Sometimes Spencer can be harsh or seem like he doesn't care about anything.

But with the two of us, Spence is different from the way he is with anyone else. He opens up and he has these dreams. It was Spencer who said it to me a week ago, when I was sitting with him in my room, looking back and forth at his face and then the picture of Adam on my cork board. Wringing my heart out until I ached with wanting both of them and not able to choose. It was Spencer who put his hand on mine and had the guts to say, "I feel the same about both of you. Have forever, seems like. So how about all three of us, together?"

"Like, all of us being boyfriends?" The idea wasn't new, but the thought that he might go for it gave my heart wings. "You'd do that? Seriously?"

"We could think about it." He gave me his wonderful grin, the one that's twisty where his lip has a little scar and shows that chipped tooth, but that lights his eyes all the way to their depths. "We're bucking the system anyway. We should think about it."

And I definitely had. In fact, I'd nearly flunked a math test, cruising the Internet looking for info on threesomes and polyamory, when I should've been studying. Then today I'd had the nerve to reach for the stars.

And I'd had the stupid, moronic, selfish, damn impatience to take what I wanted, just a minute too soon. And Adam had found us, and taken it wrong, and run.

I pulled out my own cell phone. Spencer had texted Adam the second we'd failed to catch up with him. You'd think with all my training, I could have outrun that nerd-boy. But I was in sock feet, and he'd caught us by surprise. He was on his bike before I moved, and gone before I got properly started. Spence's thumbs were in motion on his phone before I could even catch my breath. And I let him take point with the messaging.

But maybe Adam needed to hear it from me too. I texted, with no abbreviations, to show I was serious:

_"_ _Adam, we love you. I know that's a big little word, but we mean it. Both of us. We've all been going around and around, trying not to be two boyfriends and a spare wheel. And it sucks. So we decided, it has to be all three of us together. Three boyfriends. Spence and I were celebrating that idea. If you'd just stuck around for one freaking minute, I'd have kissed you too. And so would Spencer. And yeah, I know it's complicated. But we both want it. Want you."_ I sent that.

But maybe that wasn't enough. I wasn't proud. After more than two years of ignoring and stuffing my feelings down, and waking up hot from dreams of both of my guys, I could beg for this chance. I added, _"Please. Come back. We'll prove it to you."_

I waited, waited, but there was no answer. I stared down at the street. A car went by. A bicycle, but not big enough to be Adam's. A UPS truck. Another car. Spencer's leg was warm over my thighs and when he started to move it away I reached back without looking at him and held it there. I needed that touch. Because I figured the next few hours would either make us a threesome, or break us. It was up to Adam now.

_~ Adam ~_

I sat on a bench and stared down the hill at the swing stand. There were some kids playing down there. I saw three little boys, teasing and pushing, climbing the outside of the play structure. One had blond hair, and I flashed back on Spencer and Mitch and me, so long ago. It was easy then.

_Spencer and Mitch are in love._ I finally had to let that thought claw its way out into the open. It wasn't a new idea. It had burned at the back of my mind for a long time. I'd noticed them looking at each other for what, two years now? Maybe more? But we'd all been looking, all three of us, ever since the other two realized that they liked looking at guys a lot more than at girls.

It was different for me, because I knew I was gay from about the time I could walk. My mom says I used to make my sister's GI Joes play house together, and apparently I told Mom in kindergarten that I was going to marry Mitch when I grew up. She joined PFLAG when I was six. So I've always known who and what I was, and for the longest time I'd prayed that one of the other two would turn out to be bi or gay. I must have had a pipeline straight to the big guy upstairs, or else he really liked irony, because both of them were.

Mitch came out to me first. He'd been my first friend too. We didn't pick up Spencer until second grade, when we found him crying over a road-kill squirrel and helped him bury it instead of laughing at him. He'd been acting the tough kid in school, but from then on we were the Three Musketeers, and he slowly lost the toughness when we were on our own. So when Mitch told me hesitantly, the summer we turned fourteen, that he thought he might be gay too, I felt bad for Spence, but thrilled for the two of us.

I didn't pounce though. I figured Mitch needed time to work through how he felt about it all, especially since his dad was _not_ going to be happy about it. And then a couple of days later, Mitch came out to Spencer. Spencer got this funny look on his face, like he might be about to cry. Then he swore, about sixteen cuss words, three of which I didn't know. And said, "Yeah. Me too."

And there we were, stuck.

I came out to the whole world in middle school, because I was already getting called a fag, and it seemed easier not to deny it. The other guys didn't yet, although they caught a lot of flak anyway for being my friends so I wasn't sure what they were waiting for. To my surprise it was Spencer, first day in high school, who walked up to the sophomore who'd just poked me in the chest and said, "I'm starting a Gay-Straight Alliance at this ass-backward school, and my buddies are joining it. You can join too, or you can stay the hell out of our way, but you can't pick on Adam anymore."

The sophomore looked like some pet puppy had reared up and bitten his nose off. He said, "Who gives a shit what you're going to do?"

Spencer said, "You do. Just back off." And he looked fierce, and then Mitch came up behind him, and even though Mitch isn't a really big guy, he's tall and has muscles. He did even at fourteen. And the creep said, "What the fuck ever," and walked away. Then Spence actually marched into the vice-principal's office and got all the forms to start that GSA. We'd had each other's backs ever since, but that was all we'd had.

That wasn't all I'd dreamed about though. I'd been beating off to some nebulous idea about Mitch's hands and mouth for a while by then, and yet sometimes I'd imagine I was looking down and seeing Spencer's wicked grin, and it got me off and messed me up completely. I'd planned to marry Mitch since I was five, but Spencer's cute little butt and his fire-spark personality made me want all kinds of X-rated things. I was so confused.

Then for the last few months I'd started noticing how things felt more serious between Mitch and Spencer. I'd catch them looking at each other, and they would blush and look away, or have this look in their eyes like a man in the desert seeing water. I realized they'd stopped touching each other much, nothing more than a punch in the arm. We all used to wrestle around, or sling an arm over each other's shoulders. Now they never got that close to each other, or to me, which I figured was their sense of fairness coming out. We still spent most of our free time together, but it was different, charged with things moving under the surface. And because I _was_ looking that low, on both of them, unable to stop myself, I noticed how often one of them would spring wood, just at the sight of the other one.

It hurt. It hurt so badly that some nights I almost couldn't stand it. They spent more time together than with me, because I had school government and several other activities, but usually we'd meet up at least for a couple of hours in the evening. I'd watch them walking in wide circles, so as not to touch each other too much, but their eyes would meet again and again. And then they'd look at me, like they were wondering if I'd noticed. Every night, after we'd split up and gone home from whatever we were doing that day, I would lie in my bed and try to figure out ways to leave town and let them be together. And pretend like it wouldn't nearly kill me to go. But not as badly as it would hurt to see them actually make a move on each other.

And then today I walked in on Spencer and Mitch kissing, with that soft look on both their faces. And I turned right around, ignoring whatever they said behind me, and ran.

I leaned back on the park bench and watched those happy, oblivious little kids playing together. Why couldn't things stay that simple? Why did the guys you loved more than all the world and wanted to make happy, have to find that happiness without you? How could I manage to be unselfish enough to go back and pretend to be pleased for them?

I was betting that was their first kiss. There had been wonder in it. Plus Spencer had told me just last week he'd never yet managed to kiss a guy, and I believed him. I'd almost offered to fix that. Would today have been different if I'd kissed him first?

The air was cooling as the sun began to set. I didn't know how long I'd been sitting there. I'd heard my cell phone chime and then ring. Several texts. Spencer's ringtone. Mitch's. I hadn't pulled it out.

But I could do this. I would do this. I'd be strong and tough and tell them how pleased I was that they'd finally found each other. I was glad for them, truly I was. They're my best friends in all the world and I'd step in front of a bus to make them happy, and if they did that for each other that was a good thing, a wonderful thing. And someday I'd stop feeling like all that happiness was stolen out of my heart for them. Because that was okay, wasn't it? Wouldn't I have given them all I was, all I had, if they'd only asked?

The wind picked up and I shivered, chilled to the bone despite the spring day. The sun was below the trees now. Mom might be wondering why I'd missed dinner. I got out my phone.

There they were. Four missed calls. Five waiting text messages.

I wasn't going to look, but... little bits scrolled across the screen. _"Adam you idiot..."_ from Spencer. _"Come back and..."_ Spencer again. _"We didn't mean..."_ And then the one that made my heart almost stop. From Mitch. _"Adam, we love you..."_

That couldn't mean what it sounded like. I stared for long minutes at those four words running across my phone. My pulse in my throat was almost strong enough to stop my breath. It wouldn't be what I'd dreamed of. The next few words would be "like a brother" or "as our best friend" and then my heart would truly break. I closed the phone. Opened it. Closed it and put it in my pocket.

I got on my bike and pedaled slowly toward home, but my bike knew the way to Spencer's. At the bottom of his front walkway, I stopped, laid my bike down gently in the grass, and finally looked up. Spencer's window faced out the front. I glanced up there, and saw that it was empty, and the curtain swayed slightly, hanging open but askew as if tugged by some invisible hand. I wondered where they were, and what they were doing together. I felt cold and empty thinking about that. If they were lying on the bed, surely they'd have closed the drapes...

I pulled out my phone and looked at it again. _"Adam, we love you..."_ Slowly, taking a breath to hold back the pain, I clicked to read it. And the first thing after that was a period. Full stop, no qualifiers. And then, _"Both of us."_ I sobbed harshly, and bit my lip, my eyes leaping across the words. _"all three of us together."... "I'd have kissed you too."_ I looked up, blinking.

The front door swung open and there they were, in jeans and T-shirts and socks, just the way they'd been when I left. Mitch's hair stood on end, like he'd been running his hands through it again. Spencer's brown eyes were wide and dark.

We stared at each other. Then Mitch said, "Where the hell have you been? We've been waiting for you for hours." And Spencer added, "I want another damned kiss and he won't give me one until you do it first."

I laughed. And then cried. And then walked up that front path into two sets of waiting arms. Mitch kissed my mouth, tasting of cherry Coke and all I'd ever hoped for. Spencer kissed my neck, until I guided him to my mouth too. I said, "You know you're both crazy. We're all crazy."

Spencer said, "Hey, if it doesn't work, well, hell, it won't be because we didn't try." And he grinned.

And Mitch said, "We'll find a way. I promise both of you, we'll find answers that work."

So I kissed them again. And although I _had_ kissed a boy before, experimenting a bit, it had been nothing like this, nothing like the feel of these two guys pressed up on either side of me. I said, "Spence, what time does your aunt get home? Because I want..."

He said, "Me, too." But a glance at his phone had him swearing. "She'll be coming up the road any minute now."

Mitch cursed too, but I laughed. "It doesn't matter. It really doesn't. We have all the time in the world, now." And we did.

####

# Doubts and Darkness

~Picture prompt: Looking straight at the camera is a handsome young man with model-perfect features, flowing hair, and bare chest. His expression is controlled and unrevealing. Draped in a fireman's carry over his shoulders is another muscular young guy in dark shorts. This boy's eyebrows are raised, and his expression is wry, and amused.

I opened my counseling-office door to let my newest patient in and, as always before a first session, wondered how this boy and I would navigate his dark waters. Well, this young man, really. Joe was nineteen, well-muscled although slim, with a hint of stubble on his cheeks. It was my own middle-age that made him seem like a boy. I shoved that perception down deep. Joe had a man's problems and surely considered himself grown up.

I waved at the chair and couch. "Sit wherever you like."

He limped two steps, and looked from one seat to the other. "I don't have to lie down?" His voice was rough and hoarse, but not deep.

"Hell, no. Sit wherever you feel comfortable."

He chose the couch, settling himself carefully at the end further from my desk. He looked tired, but calm. Considering he'd come from police custody to my office, I was pretty sure that was a facade. That idea was confirmed when Cleo, my Labradoodle, got herself up off her padded bed in the corner with a sigh of effort, and climbed up on the couch next to him.

Cleo is my therapy dog, sixty pounds of fuzzy yellow love on four paws. She has the best instincts I've ever seen for knowing when someone's hurting. She clearly felt this kid needed the full treatment, because instead of just leaning against him with her head at his shoulder, she made every effort she could to climb into his lap. He seemed startled at first, but then laid a hand on her head and gently ruffled her ears. She put a big paw further across his thighs to pin him in place, closed her eyes and leaned into the petting.

After a minute, I saw his tight shoulders begin to ease. I said, "Hi, Joe. I'm Doctor Smythe. That giant mound of dog-hair who's getting you to give her a free massage is Cleo."

"What breed is she?" His eyes stayed fixed on the dog.

"Labrador and poodle mix. That's why she has that odd scruffy coat."

"It's softer than it looks." He kept petting her.

"Yes." I waited a beat, then asked, "Joe, why do you think you're here?"

"Because I'm crazy?"

"Do you think you're crazy?"

He shook his head slowly. "I don't know. Maybe. The cops think so anyway. They should know, right?"

"Why do you say that?"

He laughed humorlessly. "Just like on TV. Shrinks always answer questions with questions."

"Sometimes we do. I can't help you without knowing what you think and feel."

"No one can help me now."

I was used to blanket defeatism from troubled teens, but his tone was glacially bleak. "Why not?"

"I screwed it up. So bad." He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, and bent closer over Cleo, pressing his face into her fuzzy shoulder.

"Tell me about it."

"You won't believe me."

"Try me."

For several minutes he was silent. Just when I thought I'd have to redirect him, he said, "Okay, why not. I'll tell it one more time. The cops didn't believe me, my parents didn't believe me. Maybe the third time's the charm."

"I've heard lots of improbable things. I like to think I have an open mind."

He lifted his cheek from Cleo and gave me a long, slow look. His face was flushed, and the circles under his eyes were dark as bruises. His short brown hair stood in disordered spikes and his lashes were damp and clumped. I imagined he was a handsome kid most of the time, but now he just looked lost. I glanced down at his file in front of me. The police report stated... _missing three days... evidence of possible abuse... delusional... dehydration and exposure... violence and resisting rescuers..._ I set fresh piece of lined paper over it, and waited to hear his story. "Tell me what happened."

Cleo suddenly raised her head and swiped Joe's cheek with a big wet tongue. She's not a kisser, so this was a sign to me that the kid was near breaking. It hung in the balance for a moment, but eventually he gave a soft laugh and pushed her muzzle away gently.

"So... the beginning. It starts with Lance. Begins and ends there, and all of the middle too."

_Lance Graymark's name had been in that file too. Still missing._

"Lance and I..." He stopped. "You're a doctor, right? I mean, this is confidential, what I tell you. You can't tell anyone else unless I say so, right?"

"I have the duty to tell the authorities if you're an immediate danger to yourself or to other people. Otherwise it's private and confidential, absolutely." But finding Lance might fall into the _immediate danger_ category.

"Okay. Lance." He cleared his throat. "So, I'm gay, right? I've known since I was, like, seven. I just felt different, when I was with other kids. And when I met Lance, when I was twelve, I realized exactly how different."

Once again there was a long silence. Joe seemed to be looking through me at something in the distance. Eventually I had to prompt him. I'd canceled my other afternoon appointments for this, because the other boy was still missing and it might be life or death. And specifically for that reason, I needed to push him just a bit. "You liked Lance."

"Hah." Joe's breath came out in a puff. "I fu...freaking worshiped him. Not that I was the only one. Lance is, well, he's smart, he's a good person, and he's like some cover model for a romance book. He's got that jaw, the face, the mouth, the dark eyes, the brown hair past his shoulders, the body, all of it. At twelve he was already hot. At sixteen he could make girls' panties fall off just by smiling at them."

"So he's straight?"

"I thought so. He liked girls. I was his best friend and we hung out together, and he dated a lot of girls."

"And you dated boys?"

"Well, no. He knew I was gay. I didn't hide that. But... there was Lance. I couldn't see past him to date anyone else. I did try a couple of, um, hand jobs in bathrooms. It was hot, all right, but it felt like cheating. So I stopped."

"Did he know how you felt about him?"

"Not at first. But eventually, well, I'm a crappy actor I guess. He says so anyway. He could tell. He says he was waiting for me to say something or make some kind of move."

"And did you?" The guys had been out camping when they were lost. I had wondered if _camping_ had been a euphemism.

Joe looked down. "Yeah. Eventually. He just turned eighteen, a month ago. He's a year younger than me, but in the same grade. We'll start college in the fall." He took a deep shuddering breath that echoed of barely-restrained tears.

"Going to the same school?" I tried to pull him back to the mundane facts.

"We're supposed to. If he gets... if we find him. If he's okay."

His voice was still very ragged. I asked, "What are you planning to study."

"Engineering for me. History and music for him."

"You want to build machines or bridges?"

"I don't know. I want to make something that lasts, looking forward. Lance likes to look backward." Joe gave me a little twisted smile. "Swear to God, he really is a romance hero. He loves chivalry and myths and old trad music. Plays the flute. Wants to study in England our senior year...wanted..." He swallowed hard, and coughed.

_Redirect._ "So you told him you were interested in him?"

"I kissed him. On his birthday."

"What did he do?" The cops speculated that Joe might have lured Lance out to the hills and killed or imprisoned him there. One of my main jobs was to look for the truth or lies in his voice. I listened carefully.

But Joe's smile was soft and fond, without any anger in it. "He kissed me back. Asked what took me so freaking long to make a move."

"What did?"

"I was scared. Being his friend was better than nothing, a whole lot better. If he'd shoved me away, I'd have died. And then there were his folks."

"What about them?" When you have a missing person, look to the family and friends first.

"They're very bigoted, very much about family and heritage and Ye Olde Country. Even the girls he dated were usually not good enough for them. They're wealthy, and he's the only heir to the empire. They want lots of little rabbits."

"Rabbits?"

"Sorry, Lance's joke. Heirs. Grandchildren."

"So they wouldn't like to have known he was gay."

"They'd have arrested me for statutory rape. Then they'd have locked him in a tower and thrown away the key. They'd drop rich, sexy, blonde, perfect girls in the top until he, um, reproduced."

"But he is gay?"

"He's bi. But he says..." Joe fought for control, found it, said in a strangled whisper, "Lance says that the only guy worth taking on his family for is me."

"And did he take on his family?" Perhaps they'd spirited him off to some real-world version of that tower. There were plenty of turn-a-gay-kid-straight camps and isolated country estates. I knew the cops were looking at the family, looking hard, but if this was new information, it might provide a motive.

The boys had been missing for three days after their expected return from the camping trip, and the search had been intensive and broad. Eventually a party searching miles from the campsite had found Joe wandering, dazed, suffering from dehydration, incoherent and alone. The assumption had been that Lance was out there still, or perhaps had been kidnapped, but there'd been no ransom demand. If he'd instead been whisked away by his own family, that would explain a lot.

Joe said, "He was waiting to talk to his folks. He wanted, _we_ wanted, to be a real couple before doing that. We'd kissed and fooled around a lot since the first time, but not done, um, everything. We've been planning this trip for weeks. A chance to be away together and really talk, and, um..."

"Have sex?"

"Um, yeah."

"And did you?"

"Yes."

"Absolutely nothing wrong with that. In fact, you're both eighteen and adults. I'd have been more surprised if sex _wasn't_ part of a relationship between you." And that might take Joe's doctor's report of _signs of possible sexual abuse_ off the table. I didn't want to push, but that was a key point for the investigation. "Did you bottom for Lance, for anal sex?"

He looked down, flushing, and crossed his legs, bumping Cleo's chin. He patted her in apology. "Yeah."

"But it was your choice?"

He nodded. The next silence was far longer.

I eventually said, on a rising tone. "... and you liked it, and you'd do it again in a heartbeat, if he asked you?" It was risky, putting those words in his mouth, but time was of the essence. He might have hated it, of course, or might regret it now, but the sudden shift of his body and that tiny smile playing across his lips suggested otherwise.

He turned a startled look on me, and then his eyes filled. "Yes. Exactly. I would. Oh, I wish to God I could."

"Tell me where you think Lance is now," I said softly, just flat out.

"He's under the hills."

"Dead?"

"No. God, no, I hope not. He was all right when I saw him."

"When was that?"

"The last day, when we... when it happened."

"Tell me."

He hesitated a long moment. "You'll think I'm crazy. They all do. The cops and the doctor, and his folks, even my folks. Everyone thinks I'm crazy. Or I'm high on drugs, or just plain lying. They think I killed him. I didn't. I swear. I love him. If there had been a way to save him, I would have. I'd have stayed in his place. Gladly. But she wanted him. Everyone wants Lance."

"Who did?"

"The Queen under the Hill. _Mab._ "

I blinked. He'd been so rational to that point, this came right out of left field. No wonder they sent him straight to me, though. "The fairy queen?"

"Yeah." He laughed and it was a horrible sound, not amusement at all. "Fitting, right? The queen of fairies took a liking to a fairy. But it wasn't right. It wasn't fair! Lance isn't like that. He just did it for me. It was my idea, it should have been me that paid. So _stupid_. And of course once she saw him, between the two of us, she wanted him. I'd have been useless to her anyway."

"Slow down. Start at the beginning." I'd have to sift the truth from the delusion carefully. It was likely there had been a woman involved, I thought. The way he spit out Mab's name held real venom. Lance's mother perhaps? Even a grandmother?

"The beginning?"

"You went camping. You were together."

"Yeah. It was great. Even when I sprained my ankle. Here, look." He pulled out his cell phone, and clicked around and called up a picture. "Here. Check this one. We took a bunch of pictures, with the timer, and I downloaded some, before the cops took my real phone, the bastards. My mom gave me hers - look." He held it out.

I looked at the screen. Two young men, barely out of boyhood, dressed in swim trunks. One guy, who was clearly Lance, stood staring at the screen, dark eyes wary as he gazed out from under straight brows. I could see what Joe had meant - you could imagine this young man, posed with his long wavy brown hair artfully windblown, clutching some half-clothed maiden to his chest under a title like _"The Knave's Passion"_ on a book cover. Instead, he had Joe slung over his shoulders. Joe's face was turned to the camera with a quizzical expression, just a hint of a smile quirking his lips. It could have almost been a straight-guy-rescues-buddy pose, except that where their hands met for balance, their fingers were entwined.

"The very first day, I twisted my ankle. Lance wanted me to go back to town and get it looked at, but it wasn't that bad. I convinced him it would be better to let it heal up than hike out on it. But he was, oh man, he was so damned sweet with helping me out and trying to keep me off it. That picture was two days later. We were clowning around with the camera, and I said we needed one to commemorate the way he'd been half-carrying me everywhere. And he just swung me up there."

"He seems serious," I said.

"That's Lance. He can crack the worst jokes, or totally be pulling your leg, and he'll have that same look. It takes, like, a Monty Python marathon to get him to smile, or just the perfect bad pun. But when you do manage, his smile was is worth it. Girls have been known to faint."

"And other boys?"

"Not that I know of. I mean, sure, other gay guys had to want him. Everyone wanted him. But he said I was his first guy."

"Do you know anyone who might have stalked him? Anyone who might have been jealous? Might have wanted him for themselves?"

"I hadn't noticed. But it hardly matters, does it? Mab got him first."

"Tell me about Mab." I thought I'd kept my tone bland, but he glared at me.

"You think I'm crazy too, don't you?"

I said carefully, "I think that when someone tells me that their friend was kidnapped by the queen of the fae, I'm entitled to a bit of skepticism."

"Heh. True."

"So convince me."

"It was Midsummer Eve. It was all my fault. I suggested it. We'd planned to hike up Tyne's Peak, to see the longest day of the year end there, but my stupid ankle messed that up. So I said, let's celebrate on the little hill instead, with wine and song. Lance liked that kind of romantic crap."

"You didn't?"

"Not in books and stuff. But with him?" Joe's voice softened and thinned. "With him, I loved it. Anything that made him look at me like that."

"Tell me about the whole day." Perhaps someone had planned to kidnap Lance, and had somehow drugged or confused Joe. Or perhaps Joe was deluded. Or lying. "Tell me everything you did."

"We, um, slept in. Kind of."

"You had sex."

"God, it sounds like some kind of porn that way. Yeah, we did stuff. It was so freaking red-hot, and hell, it was sweet. I felt like I had all the time in the world in that tent with Lance. I don't want to tell you about it. That was ours."

"The details don't matter, unless they're bothering you. Did you argue? Are you upset about anything that happened there?"

"Hell, no. Except that if I'd known, I'd never have gotten out of bed. I'd have spent the whole day holding him, you know? I'd have never let go." Joe's voice broke. "It was perfect and I could have just stayed there, but I got hungry."

Cleo nuzzled her nose against his ribs. I said gently, "I bet Lance did too. He looks like a young man with a healthy appetite."

"Yeah. I guess. Anyway my stomach was rumbling, so we got up and had breakfast, which was kind of lunch. Then we went swimming, because I could do that without bugging my ankle."

"Where'd you swim?"

"There's a lake there, near where we camped. It's pretty small and shallow, which keeps the water warm."

"Were there other people there? Did you see anyone else that day?"

"Yeah, I guess. There's a beach, on the opposite side. There were people over there, hanging out and swimming. I don't remember any of them though. They were across the water. Some kids, I think, with their parents. Maybe a couple of college girls."

"Could Mab have been there?"

He gave me a cool look. "Not likely. But the stories say the fae can wear a glamour, like a disguise. Lance says so. So who knows where Mab was. I doubt that hanging around on a little crowded beach is her thing though."

"Go on. The two of you went swimming."

"Yeah. Then we went back to the tent, and, um, messed around some more. Then Lance went for a run around the short loop trail and I took a nap."

"When he came back, how did he seem?"

"Hot. And tired and quiet and normal. Just Lance."

"Did he say he met anyone, or talked to anyone?"

"Nope. Not that he said."

"And then?"

"We built a fire and made dinner, and talked for a bit, dumb stuff about baseball and college and figuring out what to pack. We talked a bit about how he was still dealing with his folks getting mad about college. They wanted him to go to Princeton, but I didn't get enough scholarship money to go there. We both picked Berkeley. It's far, far away too. His folks didn't like that, especially since he wouldn't tell them why."

"Did he seem very upset about it?" With any disappearance, there was always the chance it was voluntary. Could Lance have picked this as a chance to make a fresh start, and drugged Joe to make his getaway?

"Not really. Oh, he was a bit frustrated. But Lance has been battling with his folks' expectations since the day he refused to go to a prep boarding school. He picks his battles, and tries not to let it get to him."

"Still, fighting with his parents has to be pretty hard for him."

"He doesn't really fight. He slides out from under, just nods and then goes his own way. He's stronger than you'd ever guess."

"Do you think he might run away from them now?"

"Lance? Nah. He's eighteen now. If he needs to, he'll walk away. We talked about that, how if they make it too hard, he'll just have to choose. And he'll choose me and Berkeley and history. Not being straight and Princeton and pre-law."

"So you don't think he might be in hiding right now, trying to make a fresh start?"

"I told you, I know exactly what happened and where he is. It's trying to make people believe me, to believe we need some, um, occult kind of help, that's making me crazy."

"Okay. Tell me about Mab."

"Mab." His eyes got a far-away look. "You can't imagine... Let me start at the beginning. We'd brought some wine along. And yeah, I know we're under age."

I waved my hand. "Not a concern right now. I assume neither of you has a drinking problem."

"I drink, I fall down, no problem." He shook his head. "Nah, we both drink some, but not a lot."

"So you opened a bottle."

"We went up the little hill, and lit a new fire there, right on top. And we sat by it, passing the wine back and forth. Lance hates the taste of beer, but he likes red wine, so that's what we had. The fire through the bottle looked like light in the heart of a ruby. We'd look through the bottle, take a sip, pass it back, watch the ruby turn to an emerald as the level went down."

"Whose idea was that?"

"Lance's, I guess. He's the poetic bastard, but when he says it, I see it."

"Go on."

"It got late. We started the second bottle. The stars were out and the air was still. It was perfect. Knife-edge perfect, like it will never be again."

"Then?"

"I asked him to play his flute. It was stupid, really. But I like to watch him play, his lips and how his eyes close, and the way he tips his head. I wanted to see it."

"He had it with him?"

"Always. He plays every day."

"So did he?"

"Oh, yeah. He laughed. So gorgeous. He said, _'Sure. Any requests?'_ and I said, _'Play something with fairies'_ , just teasing him because he likes that old folky crap and it was Midsummer night. And he did. Better than ever, drunk as he was, he played _Tamlin_. The bottle fell out of my hand, when I was listening, and spilled on the ground. And she appeared."

"Mab?"

"Yes." Joe pushed up off the couch suddenly, dumping Cleo to the floor. She whined but stayed by his knee as he turned to the window. "I know how crazy this sounds. Do you think I don't know? I don't _do_ this crap! This is all Lance, with his fancy name and his head in the clouds, and his damned fantasy books. But it happened. And no one will ever believe me!"

"Go on," I said evenly. "What happened?"

He kept his gaze fixed on the blue sky outside. "She said, _"Who summons me, with libation and song?'_ And we laughed. It was just... impossible, you know. There she was, beside the fire, in a green and gold gown and tiny gold shoes, and hair like the flames. It was _crazy_. We laughed." He made an odd retching sound, and pressed a hand to his stomach. "She didn't like that."

"What did she do?"

"She waved her hand." He made a small negligent gesture in the air with his free hand. "And we couldn't breathe any more. Neither of us. I fell on my knees. Lance was pawing at his throat. His face turned red and then pale, and he staggered. And then she let us go."

"And then?" I tried to think about those symptoms. A toxic mushroom, perhaps, causing swelling of the throat and hallucinations? Joe had had a tox screen in the hospital, looking for drugs and alcohol. But you could never test for everything.

"Then she said, _'I'm bored, mortals. 'Tis a fine night, but few in this land know the old songs and the old ways. Play for me, bard.'_ And she gestured at Lance. He picked up his flute. He moved... Oh, God, he moved in jerks, like a puppet. Not like himself. He put it to his lips, but the sound was bad. Thin and sharp like a cry. And then he said, _'I can't play this way.'_ She let him go. He almost fell over. She said, _'I am Mab, and queen, and you'll do as I command.'_ He said, _'You can't make me play.'_ Dumb bastard, just like with his folks, rock-headed when he didn't want to be commanded." Joe wrapped his arms around himself and rocked back and forth, staring at the sky. His breath was coming faster and faster, and I was worried he'd hyperventilate into a panic attack.

"Sit down," I suggested. "Let Cleo get back on the couch with you and calm you down a bit."

He whirled around. "How can I calm down? Mab has Lance, and no one believes me. Or... or maybe I'm crazy. That's more likely, isn't it? I'm crazy and Lance is gone. Did I push him off a cliff? Did he drown in dark water? Is he out there somewhere, calling for me, waiting to be rescued while my stupid, crazy brain dreams up fairy queens?" He tugged at his hair so hard that a tuft came out in his fingers. A little trickle of blood made its way down toward his eyebrow. "Please, doctor, am I crazy?"

I passed him a tissue, and helped him press it to his scalp. "Suddenly going insane is only slightly more likely than fairy queens," I told him. "If this is all just your imagination, then I think there's a chemical explanation. You're not crazy, but you could have been high, or hallucinating."

"Maybe. Bad wine. Maybe there was something." He collapsed back down on the couch as if his knees suddenly gave out. Cleo sat on his feet and put her chin on his thigh. "It felt so real."

"Maybe we can tease the truth out of it. Go on with your story."

"So... Lance defied Mab. And she waved at me again. And it was like I was on fire. Holy shit, it hurt. Hurt worse than anything, ever. I started writhing around, and maybe screaming. She watched for a minute, like she liked it. My eyes were blurry, but I saw her smile. Then she said, _'Play for me, bard, and make it good. And maybe I'll release him.'_ So Lance did it. He played the flute. Shaky at first, but she eased me enough so I could stop screaming. Then he did better. He played, oh God, for hours. Whenever he'd try to stop, she'd set my feet in the flames again."

"Can you describe her?" I wondered what Lance's mother looked like. Could she have drugged the boys to separate them? Would a mother do that?

"She was tiny, but... but large. No, not large, she was... she filled the space. You couldn't imagine a place big enough to contain her. She barely came up to Lance's shoulder. Her hair was red, like fire. Or maybe gold. Both maybe, and her eyes, green eyes, chips of ice. Her skin was white. Her voice. It was soft but strong, like silk and iron. It held you until she let go. She was Mab. We laughed, at first, but she was Mab."

Not much of a description, but I'd pass it along, if I could get his permission. Anything might help. "Then what?"

"Dawn was coming. She said we were dead. No, she said our lives were forfeit, for calling her without protection around us. Lance was angry, because she came to us of her own accord. We didn't go after her, or plan to call her. Why should we die for that? She said, _'I like your nerve, bard, and your music. I'll offer you a bargain. Come to my realm, to play for me, and I'll let your leman go unharmed.'_ I thought she'd said, 'lemming' - I said, _'What the hell about a lemming?'_ She made me scream, until Lance said, _'Stop it, please, my lady! Leman, Joe. Hush. That's you.'_ He asked her, _'How long would I have to play for you?'_ She said, _'Until I tire of you.'_ "

"Did you think this was real?"

"The pain was real. I've never... I burned myself once, on a woodstove." He tugged up the leg of his jeans to show a shiny old burn scar below his knee. "That hurt like hell. But this? This made me want to be dead. And all she did was wave her hand. I believed in it then."

"And now?"

"Lance is gone, right? Gone where the best search teams his parents' money can buy can't find him."

"So far."

"They won't. I know they won't." He hugged himself again. "Lance said, _'A day and a night.'_ Mab laughed. She said, _'You don't value his life very highly then?'_ Lance said, _'Name your price.'_ She said, _'Seven years. I'll let him win you back in seven years.'_ I asked, _'Wait! Win how? Can't you take me instead?'_ She smiled and it was sharp, like a shark's. She said, _'He's prettier. And far more gifted. No. But if you stay true for seven years, then you may come back here on the solstice night. If your love is still pure, I'll give him back to you then.'_ Then she touched him, ran her hand down his chest and I swear, he got this blissed out look and he was, you know, hard. And she said, _'If he still wants to go.'_ "

I had to wait, while he cried into his hands. His shoulders shook. The sobs were deep and hoarse, like a man grieving, not like a boy. When it eased, I passed him more tissues. "Then what?"

He cleared his throat, twice. "Not much more. We argued, but she had all the power there. As the sun began to come up, she took Lance's hand in hers. He raised his flute to his lips with the other hand, and blew. It was that nasty sharp stuff, her doing not his. But he couldn't speak through it. He looked at me. His eyes were on mine all the time. Until the first ray of sun hit the ground in front of them. Then they were gone, and the fire was out, the ashes cooling in the pit. And I was alone."

"What did you do?"

"I searched. I looked everywhere. I called his name. I promised him... promised her... I looked everywhere. Then I ran. I wasn't... I couldn't see properly. I don't know where I went. There were brambles and rocks and, and someone found me in the end. We went back and searched, both of us, while someone else went for help. But he was gone. And like an idiot, when more searchers began coming I gave them the truth. Over and over. Until they strapped me to a stretcher and took me to the hospital."

"You told them Mab had taken him under the hill."

"Yeah. I guess. Variations on that. No one believed me, of course. How can they? Even you can't. But it's the truth, I swear."

Poor boy. I could tell that he believed it, or wanted to. Whatever had really happened out there, he'd concocted this tale to cover it. Maybe his mind couldn't handle the truth. Or maybe he'd been drugged. It would take time and work to figure out just what was happening in his brain, and to finally tease out the truth of the events of that night. I was desperately afraid it would be too late for Lance, by the time we managed it.

I said, "Sit there and relax for a bit. I have a few calls to make." The hospital still had his first blood samples. I'd suggest adding a few drugs and toxins to their screening list.

Joe huddled into the corner of the couch. Cleo leaned into him and he hugged her tightly.

"Try to breathe slowly," I said. "I'll be right back. Try to think of anything that might help us figure this out. Did you see anyone else? Did Mab remind you of anyone in real life? Who might want to kidnap Lance?"

I left quietly, and tried to avoid seeing the bleak, betrayed look he gave me. Poor boy. He wanted me to buy into his story, of course. He was distraught, and at some superficial level, he'd convinced himself the whole fantastic tale was real. Whether he was another victim, or the guilty party, he'd need gentle handling not to break him, as we uncovered the truth.

****

Lance Graymark climbed the endless stair behind his lady. How long had it been? Time passed oddly, here under the hill. Days were twilit, moving dreamlike. No one seemed to sleep except him, and he might be summoned at any time to play. He clutched his flute in cold fingers. At least he'd improved his music already. Days of endless practice, and a seat at the feet of some of the best bards in the land, had been good for that.

"Where are we going, my queen?" he asked finally. They'd been climbing for hours.

"You'll see, pet."

Finally they reached the top of the stair. It was a dank landing, smelling oddly of dirt and mold, and dying vegetation. Mab gestured, and the wall ahead of them cleared. Outside there was a waiting darkness. "Step through, mortal." Her voice was cold.

Lance had learned to fear that, both the tone and being called _mortal._ "Have I offended you, lady?"

"No." She turned and smiled thinly at him, her expression fierce in the faint light. "Step through."

He did so. He found himself on a low hilltop. Around him, scrubby grasslands merged into woods of poplar and pine. A wind brushed his face, smelling faintly of... of chemicals, of soot, of gasoline. Of things solid and mortal, soiled and damaged and real. "This is..."

"The mortal world. Yes. Hast not kept count, pet? It's been seven years."

Lance dropped to his knees as if shot. The hard lumpy perfectly-imperfect earth hurt his knees. It was glorious. His breath whistled in his chest, as if trying to escape. "Joe!" He didn't think he'd said it aloud, but Mab laughed.

"He's not here, is he, pet? I told you, he felt not for you, what you did for him. Seven years gone in the mortal world, and him a young virile man all that time? He'll have had a dozen lovers by now. A score."

Lance shook his head. "How long until...?"

"Until midnight? Ten minutes, pet. And not a sign of him. But never fear. You'll always have a place with me." She ran a hand over his hair.

Lance shuddered with the mix of blinding desire and revulsion that she always gave him. She was Mab, perfect and beautiful and desirable. She was... He made an effort to drop the terms of the fairy court. _She was sex on a stick, that's what._ She was the hottest woman who'd ever touched him, and she could make him so blind with desire... _so hot for her_ that he couldn't see anything else. But she couldn't make him love her.

_But where was Joe?_ For all the days or centuries or whatever it had been that he'd spent underhill, he'd never let himself say Joe's name. But he'd never stopped thinking it, and hoping, and believing.

"Seven minutes," Mab said. She examined the perfect ovals of her fingernails. "I think I'll have a collar made for you. Silver, perhaps, like that flute. Won't that be nice, pet?"

But Lance barely heard her. Somewhere down the hill was the sound of someone running. Maybe more than one someone. He'd have called out, but a gesture from Mab robbed him of breath. He swayed on his knees, waiting.

A voice called up the hill, "Lance? Are you here?"

Joe's voice was deeper and rougher than Lance remembered, but still oh so familiar. He battled to answer, but his lady's will still held him silent. The scrambling noise got louder, and then Joe burst out of the trees, with a dog at his heels. Lance drank in the sight of him. Bigger, more muscular, with his hair cropped even shorter but unmistakably Joe. He was dressed in jeans and a dark T-shirt that clung to a truly-sculpted body. He came fast up the hill and stopped in front of them, the dog dropping to a seat at his side, her tongue lolling out. Joe gasped for breath, but he glanced at his watch and managed to say, "Two minutes... to midnight..., Queen Mab. Here I am. Now keep... your side of the bargain. Where's Lance?"

Lance blinked and waved a hand, but Joe didn't even glance his way. Lance gritted his teeth. The games of the fae. He was fed up to his eyeballs with games.

"He might have chosen not to come," Mab said in a cool, sweet voice. "Perhaps he finds life as my musician sweet and has forgotten you."

Lance groaned silently. The fae do not lie, but they are masters, and mistresses, of the truth that sounds like a lie.

"Then he can... say so to my face," Joe panted. He took a few slower, steadying breaths.

"Perhaps he does not wish to face you, after so long. Life underhill is beautiful in a way the mortal world can never match." Mab took an ostentatious breath and wrinkled her perfect little nose. "The very air here is foul."

"But mortal, same as we are. And he gets to choose. On your word, Mab. Where is he?"

She pouted prettily. "You could at least go to him. Come underhill. See the wonders of my realm. Meet with your friend there, and ask if he is not content. Shall we?" She gestured behind her.

Lance wanted to scream at Joe not to do it. Change a bargain with the fae, and it's ended. One step underhill by Joe, and Mab's promise to bring Lance out to him would be over.

Joe said, "Here and now, lady Queen. On your word."

"Oh, all right. Tiresome mortal. There." She waved a hand at Lance, and he saw the instant that he became visible to Joe. If he'd worried that maybe he was a fool, that there'd be nothing left for him in Joe's heart after seven years, he was answered then. Joe smiled like a blind man finally seeing the sun rise.

"Lance. Holy shit, it is you."

Lance swallowed and tried to speak. And succeeded. "Hey, Joseph. Cut it a bit fine there." He'd expected Joe to be camped out and waiting. "Trying to give me heart failure?"

"The car died. I should have brought back-up, a bike, something. I had nothing. I ran."

"You're here now."

"Yeah. And you. God, you haven't changed. Seven years, and not a speck of change." Joe's gaze clung to Lance like he couldn't look away. "I've missed you so damned much."

Mab drawled, "How touching. But there's the other part of our bargain. You were to stay faithful through all those years. Long, long years without touch, without the sweet-silk pleasures of the flesh. Did you manage that, mortal man?"

Joe glared at her. "Do you think that was _hard?_ That was nothing. I'd had Lance for my own, however short it was. I didn't want anyone else, not really." He turned that burning gaze on Lance again. "I did look, I'll admit that. There were times... It's been seven years. A lot of very helpful, nice, professional people spent months trying to convince me that I'd made all this up. I finally went along with them, before they committed my ass to a nut-house. And since then, well, there were times I thought I'd dreamed it all. The cops stopped looking. There was no trace of you, no ransom demand. Some of them still think I offed you and made up that crazy story to cover it. Except they never found your body."

Lance nodded, his mind reeling. _Seven years._ He'd planned to keep perfect track, but somewhere in the twilit lands he'd gotten lost. It was still hard to believe the time had gone so fast. Maybe he was the one dreaming, and would wake again on silken sheets, with starlight in the window.

Mab said, "Kiss him then, mortal. Kiss your lover. If you're telling the truth, he'll go down the hill with you a free man. If you're lying, he'll die, here and now, dust under the moon. Have you been true?"

Joe took a step toward Lance and then frowned. "True means what I actually did, right? Not like never having a moment when some hot twink caught my eye and I thought it might be nice? True means who I touched for sex, or didn't touch?"

"Ah, but even a kiss can be a betrayal, if it was meant with affection and desire. Think well, mortal. You can kill him with your mouth, if you did him wrong ever in the last seven years."

Joe took another step to where Lance knelt, and held down a hand to pull him to his feet. The meeting of their hands was like waking from a dream. Joe's palm was sweaty and warm and strong, with unfamiliar calluses. He lifted Lance easily, and steadied his elbow with the other hand when he swayed. Their eyes met. In the moonlight, Joe's eyes were still that muddy hazel he'd claimed to hate, that Lance had remembered every conscious night for seven years.

"Kiss him if you dare," Mab said silkily.

Joe grinned, wide and slow. "Not. A. Problem." He leaned toward Lance.

Lance had a moment of fear. Seven years was a long time. He'd once been a horny young guy in the world of teens and students, of hormones and opportunity. Had Joe truly waited for him? But meeting Joe's open, anguished gaze banished hesitation. Lance closed the gap, bringing their mouths together.

They kissed hungrily. Lance felt like he'd been starving for this, for touch that held only affection, for need that was honest and clean and had no sharp hidden edges. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth and let Joe plunder at will. He leaned forward, and Joe's chest, familiar-unfamiliar in its broad strength, supported him. He wrapped his arms around Joe and kissed his cheek, his neck, his jaw, and breathed in the scent of sweat and deodorant and laundry softener. Joe's hair smelled like Lance's own favorite shampoo, a coconut one that Joe'd always claimed smelled like sunscreen. Lance murmured against Joe's neck, "Coconut?"

Joe chuckled, but there were shaky tears in the sound of it. "I'm wearing your aftershave too. And your old T-shirt."

"Enough!" Mab's voice whipped at them, but they separated only enough to turn toward her. Joe's arm was around Lance, Lance's hand deep in Joe's back pocket.

"Time to choose, bard. You can still choose. Come back with me, and sleep on silk, eat only the finest foods, live in starlight and music. No stinky air, no aging, only the best for you always." She stared at him, her eyes getting bigger and bigger, the green of mountain streams, of the inside of glacier ice, cold and yet somehow hot enough to melt steel, like her beautiful, unending, inhuman desire.

Lance felt his body respond, as it always did, but he shook his head to clear it. "Then I choose Joe." In the end, it was the easiest thing he'd ever said.

"Take him, then." Mab tossed her head. Her flame gold hair moved like watered silk in the moonlight. "Foolish boy. You've thrown away what men have sought throughout generations, what they've killed for, and died for. And all for what? Some clod of a human who'll doubtless betray you and grow old and ugly and be dead himself soon?"

Her scorn whipped at him like an icy lash, but he said, "For Joe. Nothing you can offer is better than this." He leaned harder, and Joe's hip steadied his. On Lance's other side, the dog pressed her muzzle against his cold fingers.

Mab clapped her hands. Lightning flashed. The concussion buffeted them, and they clung together as air rushed deafeningly past their ears. Lance shut his eyes automatically, and held onto Joe, his face tucked into the curve of Joe's neck. Until he knew Mab was gone. And then it was quiet and warm and dark on the hilltop.

He realized Joe was saying softly, "Lance. It's all right. We're okay. It's over. I'm here." A slow gentle litany of reassurances, as Lance went from rigid, to shaking, to a full sobbing, snotting, drooling mess against Joe's shoulder. Joe rubbed his hair, and held him. The dog licked his limp hand, until he managed to raise both arms and wrap them around Joe again. Then she licked his bare ankle. He choked, and shuddered, and laughed. "That tickles. Damned dog."

Joe said, "Good girl, Cleo."

"Cleo?"

"Named after a dog I knew, back in the dark days. That original Cleo was old, and she wasn't mine, but I think she saved my life. I really felt like she was the only one who believed me, that I wasn't faking it all. When I got a place of my own, I got this Cleo. She's a golden mix, a bit of all kinds of things. She's my second-best friend."

Which meant there was a first. Lance's joy faded a bit. But after all, seven years was a long time. He should be glad Joe'd had people to help him through it. "Second to who?"

"You, dummy." Joe hugged him until his ribs creaked. "Only you. Jesus, you should believe it. I had to prove it to Mab herself."

"Friend and lover are different things."

"You're both. Although..." Joe's grip loosened slightly. "I don't want to presume. I have an apartment, but I got a two-bedroom and a spare bed, just in case."

"Screw that!" Lance kissed him again, fumbling and eager and needy as hell. "I want... God, I want."

Joe kissed him back, but then gentled him down. "Yes. Absolutely. Whatever you want, whenever. But I'd rather walk back to the damned car, and call a tow, and get to a clean, soft bed first. Is that okay?"

"Sounds like heaven."

"It's been a long time. We may have to go a bit slow, but I'm all yours."

Lance sighed, feeling tension draining out of him. "Joe. It's so good just to say your name. It's all good."

"What was it like, underhill?"

Lance only realized how hard he'd shuddered when Joe hugged him tight, saying, "Sorry. I'm sorry. You don't have to talk about it."

"Not, it's okay. I will. But not here and not in the dark."

Joe put a hand on his face. "Did they... hurt you?"

"Not... so much. Not really. We'll talk, I promise."

"If you need to see someone else, someone professional, this Doctor Smythe that I saw was pretty good. Fully convinced that I was one fry short of a Happy Meal, of course, but she really tried to help. You could talk to her."

"Maybe." Lance wasn't sure he could think that far ahead. He wasn't sure he could think beyond getting down off the hill.

"Come on." Joe turned him with an arm around his shoulders. "Let's start walking. I want you to meet Smythe anyway. You'll blow her socks off. You know you haven't changed a bit in seven years? Even your hair is the same length."

"It is?" Lance leaned into Joe, even if it made walking difficult.

"Yeah. You'll have to decide what to do about getting your life back, too. Your folks are forty-eight hours from having you declared officially dead. That could be tricky. And they hate my guts. Although actually, that's mostly because your dad believes I murdered you and hid your body, so it might be fixable."

"Not if he finds out you're my, um, boyfriend." _Lover_ was too underhill. He was human again. He'd be ordinary and even crude if he wanted. "That we were fucking."

"That ship has sailed," Joe said, with stunning casualness. "The police investigation was very thorough. And your DNA was in my ass. I _knew_ there was a reason to use condoms."

Lance laughed helplessly. "In case I was kidnapped by the fae, and you were DNA tested."

"Well yeah, gotta be prepared."

"Oh, God." Lance stopped, there on the side of the hill, forcing Joe to stop too. Joe turned to him, an eyebrow raised, his face so dear and so human in the light of the moon. Lance kissed him again, gentle and soft and sweet. "I love you, Joseph. I've missed you so damned much."

"Double for me." Joe cupped his cheeks and kissed him too. Their left hips bumped this time, and Lance was aware of an odd metallic clank.

"What's that?"

"This?" Joe stepped back and fumbled at his hip, to reveal a sheathed sword. "I came prepared. I didn't know what she'd make me do to get you back. I've been taking fencing lessons, and I hired an ex-Navy SEAL to teach me hand to hand and survival and get me in shape."

"Wow." Lance felt a little ashamed of all the times he'd doubted whether Joe would care enough to come for him. "All that?"

"Yeah. And then all it took was a kiss. Kind of a waste, I guess."

Lance gripped Joe's hard bicep, and then slid his hand over Joe's chest. "Not wasted, believe me."

"There is that." Joe settled the sword at his side again, and slung his arm around Lance. "Come on. Let's get out of here. I want to get you home and then it'll be my turn to fall apart and cry on your neck."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to."

"Nah, didn't you hear me say I'm gonna do that too, as soon as I get you somewhere safe? You can hang onto me then. And afterward I'm going to show you how good all the fight training made my ass look."

"Deal."

"Absolutely."

They walked down the side of the hill, stumbling a little in the long grass because they wouldn't let go of each other, even for a moment. The dog ran in big, joyful circles around them, making the dust rise through the weeds. An airplane passed by far overhead, and Lance paused, looking up at the flashing red and white lights. The whine of its engine was perfectly, annoyingly human. He watched it carve its way across the sky toward the city. Joe grinned at him and nudged him on. "Let's go, slowpoke. The damned car quit four miles from the trailhead."

The moon shone down. Its silver light shimmered on one man's short-cropped hair, and gleamed through the long wavy curls of the other. The breeze blew across the clearing, stirring the meadow grass. If someone had looked down from the hilltop, they'd have seen the two men pause again at the foot of the hill to kiss, to touch each other's faces in renewed wonder. One last look might have stirred that jealousy immortals feel for mortals, to see the simple joy they found in each other. To see them turn at last, hands clasped, and head for home. But fate was kind, and the top of the hill was empty under the arch of stars.

####

If you enjoyed these stories, remember that you can find more, by various authors, on the

Goodreads YA LGBT Books Group _._

# LGBTQ Helplines and Resources

US resources:

The Trevor Project \- LGBTQ youth nationwide, 24/7 crisis intervention lifeline, digital community and advocacy. The Trevor Lifeline: 866-488-7386

GLBT Near Me \- a US-based search engine for LGBT organizations close to a zip code you enter

GLBT National Help Center \- with hotlines and chat available

Brandon Shire's website – an extensive list of LGBT organizations

PFLAG \- Parents, Family and Friends of Lesbians and Gays

Gender Spectrum \- a resource site for trans/genderfluid kids and their families

Trans Youth Family Allies

Gay Straight Alliance network \- for starting school GSAs and dealing with LGBTQ support issues especially in US schools

Stomp Out Bullying \- a non-profit with info and resources about bullying of all kinds

It Gets Better Project (including Canadian help line)

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline \- 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

Rape Incest Abuse National Network \- 1-800-656-HOPE (4673)

ACLU:  Know Your Rights! A Quick Guide for LGBT High School Students

Gender Education and Advocacy

The Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network

Queer Attitude online community

International:

Canada Youthline \- The Lesbian Gay Bi Trans Youth Line peer support - 1-800-268-YOUTH

PFLAG Canada

OK2BMe - Ontario, Canada

Lifeline Australia \- 24hr/7 day a week helpline for crisis support, suicide prevention & mental health support. - 13 11 14

Open Doors Australia

Rainbow Youth In New Zealand \- For a listing of national resources, including mental health, safer sex and counselling support, visit Keeping Safe.

For youth who need help or crisis support - please contact Youthline on Phone (09) 376-6633 or Freephone 0800 37 66 33 or Text 027 4 YOUTHS

In the UK the main starting point for LGBT information would be Stonewall

UK - Queer Youth Network

Mermaids a UK organization in support of gender-variant kids and their families

Germany: Lambda Youth Network.

# About the Author

I've been writing since I could put words together. Early stories were about dolls and horses and kids who surmounted the odds and came home with a kitten. Gradually I learned about punctuation and point-of-view and my characters grew up. But real life came along, with forays into psychology and teaching and then a biomedical career and children. Writing happened in my head, for my own amusement, but didn't make it to paper.

Then several years ago, my husband gave me a computer. And my two kids were getting older and developing their own interests. So I sat down and typed out a story. Or two. Or three. Now I have adult novels published, and the chance to share some of my YA stories.

I currently write constantly, read obsessively, and share my home with my younger teenager, my amazingly patient husband, and a crazy, omnivorous little white dog. I can be found at my author page on Goodreads, and look forward to sharing many more stories with YA readers in the future.

# Also by Kira Harp

Intervention

**The Benefit of Ductwork**
