Holding On
By Sarah Hadley Brook
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2017 Sarah Hadley Brook
ISBN 9781634864879
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
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Holding On
By Sarah Hadley Brook
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Chapter 1
The lunchroom was noisier than usual and there was a buzz of anticipation in the air as students reveled in their last day before spring break. Stressful midterms were over for most of us so it was finally time to let loose and have a little fun. Having skipped over the main lunch offering—a small slab of indefinable meat—and opting instead for a slice of pepperoni pizza and a Twix bar, I swiped my lunch card and ignored the disapproving look the frumpy cashier aimed at me before carefully navigating my way through the throngs of teenagers to my usual spot.
I set my tray on the empty table, taking a seat before sliding off my backpack so I could search for my contraband Mountain Dew buried among the various textbooks, pens, and a crushed pack of spearmint gum. After my fingers wrapped around the now-warm can, I slipped it out of my bag as I scanned the large room for Jeff. No sign of him yet. Carefully, I checked over my shoulder for the watchful eyes of any teachers. It appeared I was in luck as none seemed to be around, so I chugged some Mountain Dew before discreetly setting it on the floor by my feet. Now that Stone Gate High School wasn’t selling soda anymore, wanting us to choose from healthy alternatives instead, I had been smuggling in my daily Dew. Warm or cold, it was still the best. Without that extra jolt of caffeine, there was no way I could make it through my afternoon classes. As for the candy bars? I couldn’t figure out why those were still for sale, but I certainly wasn’t going to bring it up and open a possible can of worms.
My gaze traveled the lunch room again in search of my best friend. As I watched the large double doors, I still didn’t see Jeff, but was surprised to see Russell and his posse of football players. They rarely ate lunch in the cafeteria, preferring instead to drive off campus to grab something. It was one of the perks of being a senior, but I seldom took advantage of it.
Russell Adams was the Big Man on Campus. He was star quarterback, dated the head cheerleader, had a 3.9 grade point average, and was gorgeous in every way. I furtively glanced around to make sure no one noticed me drooling over him before I let my eyes feast on my secret crush. Well, I guess I wouldn’t really call him a “crush”—I didn’t really want to date him. I mean, I could care less about football, which was what he basically lived for. Russell was just too sexy not to watch, though. And, yes, I admit he starred in some of my favorite fantasies, but in reality, we had nothing in common anymore. Not like when we were kids.
But God, he was beautiful. With his thick dark brown hair tousled on top with a gradual fade on the sides, deep soulful eyes the color of milk chocolate, and those full lips, I was amazed more people weren’t openly salivating over him. In addition to all that beauty, he was tall with broad shoulders and thick legs. In a word, hot. Hot. Hot. Hot. Did I mention he was hot?
I watched as he made his way to the cheerleader table, where his equally beautiful girlfriend, Deidre, waited for him, his crew of fellow jocks following close behind. She greeted him with a grin and he wrapped her up in his arms, as if all the noise and chaos in the lunchroom fell away and they were the only two people there.
They were Stone Gate High’s golden couple. I suppose every high school has one. A sigh left my lips before I turned my gaze back to the door, searching for my friend and wishing, once again, I didn’t have to hide who I was from him. I trusted Jeff with almost everything else, but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell him my secret. Sometimes I wondered if I would ever be ready.
I could still remember the first time I realized I was a little different than my friends…
Fourth grade had just begun, and several of the girls had started to develop, which meant they wore bras. This quickly became a main topic of conversation among the boys on the playground, and the first time it was brought up, I was more than a little lost.
There we stood, a bunch of ten-year-old boys huddled on the playground, just as we always did when discussing our football game. Football was—and still is—a huge deal in Stone Gate, Kansas, and we all spent a lot of time plotting our next big play. To be honest, we probably spent more time planning than actually playing.
But this conversation was different. I heard the words, but didn’t understand what they meant. They certainly weren’t discussing football and everyone was speaking in hushed tones.
“Did you see her?”
“Which one? Kari?”
“Yeah! Maria had one on, too!”
The boys giggled and I tried to follow along, although at that time I had no idea what they were talking about. I wanted to ask, but even at my young age I somehow knew, if I did, I would only be laughed at. So I pretended to understand, giggling right along with them. Funny how young we are when we first learn to hide a part of ourselves in order to fit in.
“I think Dawn has the biggest ones!”
“Oh, yeah!”
“Definitely!”
The boys hooted, but I was still trying to decipher the conversation, which could have been in Russian, for all I understood. Until Russell Adams spoke.
“Man, boobs are so awesome,” he declared in a voice already way too deep for his age.
My cohorts nodded in solemn solidarity.
Comprehension flooded my young brain as I realized they were talking about girls and bras. Personally, I hadn’t even noticed, but I felt great relief that I was up to speed. Not wanting to look out of place, I was eager to share my knowledge and join in the conversation. Of course, the only thing I knew about bras was that my mom wore them, and whenever I saw them in the laundry, they looked weird and uncomfortable. Oh, and there were wires! Finally, I had something to contribute.
“Did you know some bras have wires?” I offered, keeping my voice level so as not to betray my relief at being part of the conversation.
All eyes turned to me, intrigued by this new tidbit.
“Wires? What for?”
Leave it to Kevin Mason to stump me. I had no answer. The only thing I really knew was that I had overheard my mom talking about how muc
h she hated those “damn wires.”
“They help hold up the biggest ones,” Andy revealed.
That made sense. With eight sisters, he would definitely know.
We all “oohed” and “aahed” over that new information. Once again, I joined in, although it felt like being in some sort of weird alien brotherhood—one that now included boobs, bras, and girls. I didn’t understand the interest, but these guys had been my friends since kindergarten, so I certainly wasn’t going to stray from the pack.
Over the next few weeks, our playground discussions began to include who was cute, which girl was “going out” with which boy and, of course, more about bras.
One boy, Mark Hilton, even filled us in on how to remove a bra. Apparently you had to reach around back while you were kissing the girl, so you could unhook it. This was big news because his brother was eighteen and dating a cheerleader, so we knew we could trust any knowledge Mark passed along. Removing a bra sounded like a lot of work to me, and I couldn’t really see an upside to putting in all that work.
Suffice it to say, fourth grade was a confusing time for me. I had no interest in talking about boobs or bras. Or even cute girls. I had no idea why my friends were so drawn to these topics. I knew there was something different about me then, but I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Why didn’t I care about these things? (This is what I now refer to as “Clue #1.”)
That question was answered nearly three years later when I attended one of our annual family reunions. I was only one week away from starting seventh grade.
It was incredibly hot and humid, a typical August day in the Midwest, and the reunion was being held mostly outside as a large family barbecue. It was always a pretty big affair, as my grandparents each had several siblings. That year it was being held about an hour out of town at a great-aunt’s dairy farm.
I was missing a friend’s birthday party at a laser tag center and less than happy about it. Needless to say, I spent most of the drive pouting and sighing loudly while staring out the window.
My dad, who usually ignored me unless it was to tell me to “grow up,” “man up,” or “shut up,” decided he had dealt with enough, finally barking that I needed to “shape up” or he was going to “give me something to pout about.”
I knew that tone and sat up straight, panic filling my chest. My mom turned to look at me tenderly, her lips curving up. She could always calm my fears; she knew how scared I was of my dad and was there to protect me. My younger sister, Pamela, looked just as panic-stricken and my mother gave her a small smile, too.
For a little while, the only sound in the car was the Christian music my dad listened to. Instrumental only. My panic slowly ebbed and I looked out the window again, watching the farms that dotted the land pass by. Jeez, there were a lot of them. I sighed and resigned myself to a day of boredom. Until my mom spoke up.
“Aaron, did I tell you your cousin, Jason, will be there?”
My eyes widened at the news and I swiveled my head to see her. “He will? That’s great!” Now I was excited. Jason was only one year older than me and we had been practically inseparable for years, until his family moved to California when his dad got a new job. I hadn’t seen him in over a year and had really missed him. We were actually second cousins, twice removed or something like that, and not even blood-related because his mom already had him when she’d married into the family. But it didn’t matter, we had always felt more like brothers. Suddenly, the day was looking up.
I looked at Pamela with excitement, but she was leaning against the headrest with her eyes closed. I wasn’t sure if she was sleeping or not, but I left her alone. I had already learned that girls, even seven-year-olds, were full of drama and I wasn’t about to be the target of her next meltdown.
I kept quiet, trying to ignore the music that made me want to stick a fork in my ear, and kept my eyes on the moving landscape. Time crept slowly, but it usually did when I was in a tight space with my dad and fighting the urge to flee the car.
We finally pulled up to a picturesque farm with a massive black iron sign arching across the wide drive, announcing we’d arrived at Pickard Dairy. Two enormous metal cows, probably taller than I was at the time, stood on each side of the entrance. We drove through the front gate, following the signs posted in the grass with arrows pointing to a field on the far side of a large red barn.
I kept my eyes on the people mingling on the grass while my dad parked in the makeshift lot where more than twenty other cars were already sitting. I was eager to stretch my legs and escape the heavy weight of my dad’s silent anger. I was old enough to know his moods, and any family affair always brought out his temper. As soon as the car stopped, I jumped out, eliciting a stern warning from my dad.
“Aaron! You wait for us,” he warned, his voice tight.
Yes. Of course. Family. Dad was big on making us look like the perfect family. It didn’t matter that once or twice a month he came home drunk in the middle of the night and beat the shit out of my mom. Oh no, we were the picture of happiness when out in the world.
I pasted on my “blissful son” expression, the one I kept for these occasions, and waited. Pamela slid out of the car and joined me while our parents finished some sort of heated discussion. I shuffled my feet in the grass while I checked out the farm. There were a lot of people at the buffet area and I was pretty sure I saw a chocolate cake, my favorite. A variety of scents filled the air, and I inhaled deeply. Mmm, I could smell the smoked ham, as well as apples and cinnamon. My stomach growled in response and I wished my parents would hurry so I could find Jason and get to the food before it disappeared.
When my mom finally climbed out of the car, she was rolling down her sleeves, and I caught a glimpse of a bruise on her forearm. I frowned. She had been wearing long-sleeved shirts more often this summer and, while I hadn’t actually witnessed any more than usual, I was pretty sure the beatings were increasing. If that was the case, my mom kept it to herself, just as she always tried to do. I knew she was hiding the mark from family members at the reunion and I was overcome with a sense of sadness.
I glanced at my dad and noticed he also wore his phony smile. It was the “I am a wonderful person” face. Damn. I knew that expression. It usually meant that later, in private, he would berate my mom for doing something wrong. At least what he considered wrong. Last week her great sin was that her heels had clicked too loudly on the tile when she’d walked into church.
“Aaron!”
I heard the shout from across the field and turned to find out who was calling. I beamed immediately, wildly waving my arm in the air. It was Jason! I started to run toward him, but remembered my dad had wanted me to wait, and with the mood he was in, I wasn’t about to push my limits. I gave Jason another big wave, and he waved back as he began making his way toward us.
My family finally headed that way and we reached him in about a minute. He and my parents exchanged quick pleasantries, then he excitedly grabbed my arm. “They rented a bounce house! Come on!”
I looked at my parents, knowing my dad would want to appear as the good-natured dad, and waited until he nodded his permission, so Jason and I took off as fast as we could toward the large inflatable house in the side yard. It was awesome. Bright stripes of blue, green, and red puffed out around the mesh windows and I couldn’t wait to get inside.
Jason grinned and grabbed my arm again, pulling me to the entrance. We were the only ones there, so we toed off our shoes, climbed in, and immediately started jumping and goofing around. It was as if we had never been apart. We rolled around. We summersaulted. We basically acted like five-year-olds on a sugar-high, laughing ourselves silly until we both collapsed. Suddenly, with both of our weights on one side, we started rolling into the crevice between the blown-up floor and the mesh wall until we were wedged in pretty tight, with my body under his.
I was about to shove him off when he smiled shyly at me, his cheeks pinking. I froze. My skin tingled and I couldn’t help but notic
e his full pink lips only a few inches away. I instinctively licked my lips as I heard laughter outside the bounce house. Jason just stared at me with his big brown eyes, and it was as if a lightbulb literally flicked on in my brain, shining into the darkness, illuminating all those secret questions I held inside. It was all so clear to me. I suddenly knew why I didn’t like girls. I mean, how could I when boys were so much cuter?
Jason leaned in and timidly brushed his lips against mine. Oh. My. God! Electricity jolted through me and my body came to life as never before. It had been only a soft, gentle, barely-there kind of kiss, but it was enough to change my life. (“Clue #2” completes the puzzle for me.)
Jason pulled back, looking a little flushed. Neither of us moved for a moment, our eyes unable to look away.
At least until I heard my sister calling my name.
“Uh…” I tried to speak. Wow, l was so eloquent at that point in my life.
He nodded. “Yeah, umm, okay.”
We pulled ourselves out of the tight spot and headed out to find our families.
The rest of the day was a blur, but somehow I knew why I’d always felt different. It was as if a curtain had lifted and I could finally see myself for the first time. The revelation brought both joy and fear, and I spent the rest of the day in a fog. I knew if my dad found out, he would kill me. Literally. He hated “fags,” as he called them.
That day changed my life. My pseudo-cousin and I never spoke about it, but we also hadn’t seen each other since the family reunion. I often wondered if he had the same reaction I did.
Life went on, though, and the following week I started seventh grade. I didn’t dare share my new discovery with anyone. I was still letting this information settle inside and I wasn’t sure of the protocol. Keeping it a secret was necessary, though, for several reasons. My dad’s anger was at the top of that list. Also, I wasn’t sure who to trust. I mean, what would my friends think?
Although, that year I had been placed in what they called the “gifted program,” which meant I barely saw any of my old friends. I was pretty bummed about it until the second week of classes, when Jeff walked into my first period. I had been fiddling with my backpack, not really paying attention to the rest of the students shuffling in, when I heard someone clear their throat.
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