by Jo Ramsey
Readers love the
Deep Secrets and Hope series
by JO RAMSEY
Book One
“…a wonderful story…. I recommend this to those who love young adult stories… filled with pain and suffering… a young man who stands up for himself… and a young man who sees a glimmer of hope in the future.”
—MM Good Book Reviews
“I recommend these titles to anyone with a child in the appropriate age range, LGBT or not. The message is too important.”
—Prism Book Alliance
Readers love the
Deep Secrets and Hope series
by JO RAMSEY
Book Two
“It was inspiring how the boys and their friends banded together to support each other.”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
“This book follows the two boys through the changes, struggles and passion of being two teenage boys in high school. I LOVED IT!”
—Top 2 Bottom Reviews
By JO RAMSEY
First Time for Everything (Harmony Ink Anthology)
DEEP SECRETS AND HOPE
Nail Polish and Feathers
Shoulder Pads and Flannel
High Heels and Lipstick
Blue Jeans and Sweatshirts
Published by HARMONY INK PRESS
http://www.harmonyinkpress.com
Copyright
Published by
HARMONY INK PRESS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
[email protected] • http://harmonyinkpress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Blue Jeans and Sweatshirts
© 2015 Jo Ramsey.
Cover Art
© 2015 Catt Ford.
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Harmony Ink Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or [email protected].
ISBN: 978-1-63476-240-3
Digital ISBN: 978-1-63476-242-7
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015904665
First Edition June 2015
Printed in the United States of America
This paper meets the requirements of
ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (Permanence of Paper).
Chapter 1
BENT OVER with my elbows resting on the kitchen counter, I frowned at the letter in front of me. I’d been frowning at it for about an hour now, and the words hadn’t changed, much to my frustration.
Dear Holly,
While we appreciate your concern for those who have been assaulted, we have come to the conclusion that the group you’ve suggested would not be appropriate for our school. People who have been through those types of experiences benefit from professional counseling, and a support group would be best run by a mental health worker, not by high school students or even high school staff. Therefore, we are rejecting your application to start an after-school support group.
Sincerely,
Sheryl Rondeau, Principal
I’d found the letter after final bell, in an envelope stuck in the grate of my locker. The powers-that-pretended-to-be at my high school hadn’t even had the guts to meet with me face-to-face or even hand me their response in person.
And they were too gutless to even mention the purpose of the group. “Assault” and “type of experience” were completely lame ways of wording “rape” and “molestation.” Things way more kids at my high school had been through than anyone realized.
“What are you reading?” Mom asked from behind me.
I quickly flipped over the letter. I hadn’t told Mom anything about my proposal. My parents were pretty decent, but they tried to avoid anything unpleasant. They probably wouldn’t have been able to handle knowing people my age had gone through sexual assault.
At least it had never happened to me. I was thankful for that, but I also felt guilty, even though I knew it didn’t make sense. It didn’t make sense for me to have escaped anything bad being done to me when it seemed like half the people I knew had gone through something awful.
I’d seen what my girlfriend Chastaine went through after reporting a guy in our grade for raping her the previous summer. What he’d done to her had been easier for her to cope with in some ways than the harassment and threats she’d gotten from people we’d gone to school with for years.
And everyone had heard about Maryellen, the fourteen-year-old girl who’d had the same thing done to her by the same guy. She’d tried to kill herself after he pled guilty. She didn’t go to our school anymore. I wasn’t sure what had happened to her.
I would never have been as strong as Chastaine. I probably would have ended up like Maryellen. Maybe even worse. That was why I’d brought up the idea of a support group. Maryellen hadn’t talked about what happened to her until she heard about Chastaine. Another girl at school had come to me and told me someone had tried to assault her, and she’d believed she was the only one until she found out Chastaine had reported Jim.
Too many people who went through that kind of thing kept quiet about it because they assumed they were the only one, or because they were embarrassed or ashamed. They blamed themselves. I wanted to change that. To help the people I knew and the ones I didn’t know about yet. A support group had seemed like the perfect way to show them they weren’t alone.
But of course the school didn’t see it that way.
“Holly?”
Mom’s tone warned me I’d better give her some kind of answer. “Um, a note from Ms. Rondeau,” I said, trying to sound casual, as if it wasn’t unusual for me to get a letter from the principal. “I proposed a club at school, and they turned it down.”
“That’s too bad.” Mom opened the cupboard beside her. “Spaghetti for supper? I’m too exhausted to cook much else, and I’d rather not order out.”
“Um.” I didn’t want spaghetti. Pasta had carbs. I tried to avoid those, but Mom wouldn’t have understood why if I’d told her. As far as she was concerned, there wasn’t anything wrong with me weighing a whole bunch of pounds more than I should.
“Um?” Mom looked at me, her eyebrows raised. “You love spaghetti.”
“I’m trying to be healthier,” I said slowly, trying to explain without setting Mom off. “You know. More protein and veggies, less fattening stuff.”
She sighed. “Holly, didn’t we go through this last year? Yes, you’re a little heavy, but you aren’t fat. You’re just fine. No one complains about your appearance other than you. Your boyfriend certainly doesn’t seem to mind the way you look. I’m all for you eating what’s good for you, but spaghetti isn’t evil.”
“Nathan doesn’t mind, but I do.” My so-called boyfriend Nathan didn’t care what I looked like. He probably didn’t even notice. He wasn’t interested in girls, any more than I was interested in boys. We covered for each
other because neither of us was ready to deal with all the crap we would get if people found out we weren’t straight.
Of course, that was yet another thing I hadn’t told my parents, and I wasn’t about to bring it up now. Mom and Dad wanted to believe they had a completely normal daughter. It wasn’t up to me to disillusion them.
“If you’re not having spaghetti, you’re on your own.” Mom slammed the cupboard. “I’m not in the mood to be complicated tonight. I’m cooking something quick and easy, and you either eat it or you make your own.”
“That’s fine.” I picked up my letter and moved away from the counter to get out of Mom’s line of fire. “I’m going to go start my homework. Let me know when you’re ready to eat. I’d like to eat with you and Dad, even if I’m not having the same thing.”
She sighed. “Don’t get nuts about this. I guess losing a few pounds wouldn’t hurt you, if that’s what you want to do, but don’t go overboard. You’re fine.” She opened the cupboard again and took out a box of spaghetti. “I’m starting this now. Your dad’s on his way home, so don’t get too involved in anything.”
“Okay.”
I escaped from the kitchen before she said anything else and shut myself in my bedroom. The mirror above my bureau caught my attention, but I turned away after a quick glance.
Mom was blind if she didn’t believe I should lose weight. I was only five-two, but until a month or so earlier, I weighed over a hundred and forty pounds. Way more than I should. I tried to camouflage it with baggy clothes, which only made me look fatter because it was obvious I wore them to hide something.
Chastaine never had to worry about her weight. She was skinny and sexy, and pretty much all the straight guys at school wanted her. Or at least they had until she turned in Jim Frankel for raping her.
I took a deep breath and sat on my bed, propped against my pillows with my legs straight out. I had to call Chastaine. It wouldn’t be a fun conversation. I could already imagine how upset she would be. I’d submitted the proposal for the support group, but she’d helped me come up with the idea.
She answered her phone right away. “Did you hear from them yet?”
Usually I would have teased her for not saying “hello” first, but this time, it didn’t seem worth it. “Yeah.”
“You don’t sound happy.” She paused. “They said no, didn’t they?”
“Yeah,” I said again. “They said it would be more appropriate for a mental health professional to run.”
“There are groups like that, but a lot of times you don’t know the other people, or at least not all of them. I tried one. It sucked.” She sighed. “Great. Back where we started.”
“Yeah.” I didn’t know what else to say. My heart sank. I’d let Chastaine down, and I couldn’t do anything about it.
“Don’t get down on yourself,” she said. “This isn’t your fault. You submitted the proposal, and the administrators were idiots. We’ll deal with it. There has to be something else we can do.”
“I don’t know. If they won’t let us do the group at school….” Something popped into my head. I didn’t know whether it would work, and Chastaine would probably think I was crazy, but it was worth suggesting. “We wouldn’t have to do it at school, though, would we? And it would help to have an adult involved, but—”
“But we don’t need one.” She sounded excited. “Hell, I’ve been in enough counseling sessions, I could probably run one. I don’t mean professional counseling, but I know how to listen so someone feels like they’re being heard, and coping strategies, and things like that. I can ask my counselor for some ideas.”
“She’d probably say not to do it because we aren’t qualified.”
“Maybe. It’s still worth a try. She isn’t a jerk like some people.” Chastaine chuckled. “There are definitely a lot of jerks out there.”
“Definitely,” I said.
“Anyway, thanks for letting me know what they said.” She paused. “I have to go. I’m supposed to be helping Mom make lasagna. Which is going to be an adventure, but she says it’s time for me to learn how to cook.”
“At least she’ll be happy you’re eating.” For a few months after reporting Jim, Chastaine hadn’t eaten much of anything. She’d been constantly anxious and afraid, and half the time when she tried to eat, she’d ended up sick. She’d gotten even skinnier, which had given me the idea of cutting down my meal sizes.
“My stomach doesn’t bother me so much now that Jim’s doing time for what he did to Maryellen and me,” she said. “I don’t have to go through court crap anymore, and people at school have mostly backed off. It sucks that he only got locked up for a month, though. My dad talked to some lawyer or something who told him that since Jim was dating me and Maryellen when he raped us, and since neither of us actually said no, the only reason he’s doing any time at all is because he said he was guilty. The judge had to give him something. Only one month locked up is stupid. But at least after that, he’ll be leaving Massachusetts forever, and he’ll be on probation for a whole lot longer, so if he screws up again, he’ll go right back to jail.”
“Yeah. Evan has a countdown going on his calendar. He says the only thing that would make him any happier than Frankel leaving would be if Ferreira got kicked out too.” The two guys had beaten the crap out of my cousin Evan back in October, for no reason except they didn’t like him and Evan had called Frankel a queer or something. Evan had ended up in the emergency room. The guys had been arrested, but since it was their first offense, they’d only gotten probation and community service.
“Evan should be able to walk around in frigging dresses if he wants to and not worry about people hurting him.” Chastaine sounded pissed. She’d become very protective of Evan over the past couple of months. “And he doesn’t even wear dresses. There are other guys at school who wear black nail polish and even eyeliner because they’re all Goth or something. Why shouldn’t Evan be able to wear whatever color nail polish he wants?”
She was about to go off on one heck of a rant. I’d heard it before. Sometimes hearing her get angry about how Evan was treated pissed me off. During middle school and part of high school, she’d been one of the ones making fun of him. Then for a while she’d ignored him. She hadn’t become friends with him until after he showed up at the Homecoming dance in full drag.
That had happened right after Frankel and Ferreira beat Evan up. The fight was the real reason Chastaine had become Evan’s friend. They had something in common. Frankel had hurt both of them.
“I thought you’re supposed to be helping your mom,” I said to cut her off before she really got started.
“Yeah. And she just yelled for me.” She sighed. “I guess learning to cook won’t be a bad thing, but it’s vacation. I should be able to relax.”
“It’s school vacation, not life vacation. And why do they even have a vacation in February? It’s winter. It’s too cold to do anything.” That was one of my usual complaints. Some people were lucky enough to be able to go to warmer places during February break, but most of us were stuck.
“At least we don’t have to go outside in the cold,” Chastaine said. “Anyway, so I do have to go, but do you want to hang out tomorrow? Maybe we can hit the mall or something.”
“Sure.” I wouldn’t be going to the mall. I didn’t have any money to spend, and the clothes I liked depressed me because they were made for skinny girls.
“Okay. So come over around nine and we’ll figure it out from there. I’m coming, Mom! Hold your noodles! Holly, talk to you later.” She hung up.
“Holly, supper,” Mom called from the kitchen.
I rolled my eyes and left the room to go pretend to eat.
I WOKE up the next morning before sunrise, because weekdays screwed with me like that. On school days I had to be up by six so I’d have time to get ready without interfering with my parents getting ready for work. On weekends and vacations, I still woke up around six, because my internal clock didn’t grasp the c
oncept of no school.
I didn’t bother trying to go back to sleep. During the night I’d had a bunch of dreams about the group the school had turned down. Besides Chastaine, I knew at least half a dozen people at school who could use support. Some of them had been in counseling. Some hadn’t. All of them could use someone to talk to who wouldn’t treat them like they were broken and wouldn’t give them clichés and stuff.
Between my dreams and what Chastaine had said, I’d come up with some ideas about how to set up the group without having to deal with the school. I wanted to write them down before I forgot so I could talk to Chastaine about them when we got together.
Seeing her was the other reason I wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep again. She and I hadn’t even been friendly to each other until she reported Jim. We hadn’t been mean either; we’d just ignored each other. But all of her popular crowd friends had turned on her, and she’d needed someone. When I’d seen her fall from being one of the most popular girls at school to being bullied and ignored over something that wasn’t her fault, I hadn’t been able to simply watch her try to cope. So I reached out, and we became friends.
And then we became more. I still wasn’t 100 percent sure what that “more” was, though. I only knew every time we made plans to see each other, my gut fluttered like a zillion butterflies. I probably wouldn’t ever tell her, but I loved her. We were definitely dating. We’d agreed to that. But since I was still officially seeing Nathan, and Chastaine wasn’t willing to give up the possibility of going out with guys, it was hard to tell where we really stood.
I leaned over to pull one of my spiral notebooks, with a pen stuck in the spirals, out of my backpack. Writing down my plans to get the support group going would distract me from thinking about the fact that in a few hours, I would be at Chastaine’s house. Maybe alone, depending on what her parents and brothers were doing. Maybe we’d be kissing. Or doing other things.
