Gay Love and Other Fairy Tales Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Gay Love and Other Fairy Tales

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  About Dylan James

  Acknowledgements

  Coming Soon from Deep Hearts YA

  Deep Hearts YA

  Gay Love and Other Fairy Tales

  Dylan James

  Copyright © 2018 by Dylan James

  Cover design copyright © 2018 by Story Perfect Dreamscape

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Published September 2018 by Deep Hearts YA, an imprint of Deep Desires Press and Story Perfect Inc.

  Deep Hearts YA

  PO Box 51053 Tyndall Park

  Winnipeg, Manitoba R2X 3B0

  Canada

  Visit http://dhya.deepdesirespress.com for more great reads.

  Chapter One

  Jordan

  It started with my family. The day before school started. Over dinner. At TGI Fridays.

  I don’t know why I chose to do it so publicly — but I don’t know if I really had a solid plan in mind. I wonder how many people actually have a step-by-step plan and follow it. If someone is like me, it just … happens.

  We had finished our dinner, the waitress had taken our dirty plates away, and we all sat back in our seats, sighing from being so full and still contemplating the dessert menu. There’s always room for dessert. And, apparently, there’s never a wrong time to come out as gay.

  “Guys,” I said, my mouth leading the way before my brain could fully catch up. Mom and dad and Bella, my sister, all looked at me. Maybe it was the weight in that word, how I said it so seriously, but it seemed they knew I had something important to say.

  “I’m … I’m gay.”

  Around us, the noise of other diners seemed to hush and there was a clatter of dishes—almost like this was a conversation for the whole restaurant and everyone was scandalized. My palms went sweaty and my heart thudded irregularly.

  Mom’s eyes widened — I doubt it was surprise, but I guess it could have been. Dad looked like he was about to say something. Bella giggled into her hand — at eight years old, I’m sure any mention of the word “gay” is giggle-inducing.

  “So, did you decide on dessert?” the waitress said as she came up to our table again.

  Mom, dad, and Bella were all staring at me and I was staring back at them. No one said anything, no one acknowledged the waitress. The longer the silence went on, the more terrified I became. No one chose a dessert.

  I felt my cheeks burning with shame. My eyes started to water. Don’t cry, I told myself. If the silence went on even a second longer, I knew I couldn’t hold anything back.

  Just as the waitress was about to give up and walk away, mom said, “Can we get something big and sweet? We need to celebrate.” A smile immediately spread across her face — a warm, genuine, loving smile. Relief flooded through me.

  But there was still dad. I looked at him and he looked like he was still thinking, trying to process what I’d said. I mean, it couldn’t have been a surprise, right? Every time he tried to engage me in sports or other masculine things, I always made lame excuses. I wasn’t the boy he thought I’d grow up to be, I knew, but surely he still loved me. Right?

  “Thank you,” dad said, finally. “Thank you for sharing.”

  More relief flooded into my chest. I was at risk of crying still, but for a very different reason. Beside me, Bella still giggled.

  Maybe it’s because mom is a doctor and dad is a teacher — they both deal with all sorts of people and they know that being gay is normal. Maybe they’re just nice people. Maybe they just love me so much that if I’d come out as sexually attracted to dinosaurs, they’d accept it.

  I didn’t think too much on it, I still don’t, because it doesn’t matter.

  What does matter is that I got to start senior year of high school without hiding who I am. It wasn’t like I rushed into having a boyfriend — there really weren’t any gay guys at school I was interested in anyway — but it at least opened the door to the possibility.

  Anything could happen, right?

  Anyway, after dinner, I sent out a snap declaring my homo status and posted a similar thing on Tumblr. I got a few anonymous hates on Tumblr, but mostly I got love. Overwhelming love. Even though this is the twenty-first century, I was still surprised at how positive it all was.

  • • •

  Now, at late September, after about a month of being out — of being free — I was still the same old Jordan Ortiz. Nothing about me was different, except the façade of liking girls, of course.

  My friends were still my friends, my nemeses were still my nemeses, and those I didn’t interact with just didn’t care. I sometimes got called “fag”, but I got called that before coming out. Like I said, same old Jordan Ortiz.

  Well, I guess there’s one change. I’m now co-captain of the cheer team. The other co-captain is a high-maintenance, self-obsessed girl by the name of Nikki Simms.

  Nikki is the kind of person that lives for Snapchat and Instagram fame. It’s like her life goal to get sponsorship deals or something. She’s forever taking selfies, especially when she’s got a Starbucks cup in her hand, and posting them. If she doesn’t get enough likes, she deletes a photo and throws a fit. I’m pretty sure she wants to be the next Kim Kardashian. Really. It’s exhausting working with her.

  Or should I say working for her.

  We’re co-captains, but it’s clear she thinks she’s more captain than me.

  I really don’t care. I just like the cheer team. I love performing and launching people into the air. Plus, all the eye candy when we perform at football games is a nice added benefit. All those tight ends and whatnot.

  I steal one more glance over my shoulder at the football team running a scrimmage behind us — I couldn’t help indulging myself in that brief moment of unobtainable eye candy and very quickly found my gaze following Benjamin as he charged across the field, looking powerful as hell — and then turned back to the task at hand. Cheer practice.

  Nikki takes charge again and orders us to run through our routine one more time. We’re supposed to have a teacher supervisor coach us, but even she can’t stand Nikki and has basically walked away. We’re all at Nikki’s mercy. But she does lead us into phenomenal routines.

  I take my spot next to Alex, with my BFF Hannah in front of us. A moment later, music thuds from the portable stereo Nikki had brought along. I plaster a smile on my face and join hands with Alex to catch Hannah as she leans back, falling into our embrace. We lift and spin her once. She lands in our arms again and we help her stand, then a second later her left foot is in my hands and her right in Alex’s — we lift her up, and, well, you’ve seen cheer teams before. We throw her in the air, spin her around, and have her soaring in every direction.

  To my left are two more trios like us, performing similar routines. The one furthest from us is doing an identical routine. Between us is the trio featuring Nikki — with her naturally being the c
hick in the air — and her trio is doing the more complicated stunts.

  Nikki, of course, is hoping that someone snaps or instas the whole thing and some cheer scout from college sees her. Or maybe she’s hoping a hunky NFL player spots her and gets her to join his team’s cheer squad. Or maybe she just wants a million likes.

  If social media wasn’t around — like if it was the dark pre-history of the internet back in the nineties — then she probably wouldn’t even be on the cheer team.

  The music comes to an end and so does our routine.

  I throw my arms around Hannah and pull her into a giant hug. “You did great, babe!” I tell her.

  Nikki, though, disagrees. She stomps over to us, fury on her face — fury, I discover, aimed at me. “You guys were pitiful. Alex, that backflip was totally sloppy and was a big disaster. All three of you need more strength and height if you want to keep up — if you want to stay on the squad. Better beef up, Ortiz, or else I’ll get you off the team.” She lowers her voice and narrows her eyes. “I won’t have you make me look bad.”

  I glance at Alex and Hannah and they both look torn apart. Nikki doesn’t get to me like she gets to them. I look back at Nikki and nod, hoping she’ll just leave.

  She can’t kick me or Alex or Hannah off the team — only our supervising teacher, Ms. Hammer, can do that. Besides, how could Nikki see my performance if she was spinning through the air? She’s full of crap and she knows it and she knows I know it. But she’s just out to get me. She just doesn’t like that she’s co-captain.

  She stomps away. “The rest of you were fantastic! Don’t let Jordan hold you back.” I have to bite my tongue to refrain from spitting a swear at her. She’d use that outburst to her advantage somehow.

  She hurries off to give feedback to someone else — feedback that I can clearly overhear is much more helpful than what she gave us — and so I pull Hannah and Alex into a quick huddle. “We all know she’s full of BS,” I say, and while I know they agree, it doesn’t erase the anger and hurt on their expressions, “but if you want to get a little extra practice in, we could work on the throw. And, Alex, we could just practice backflips.”

  Alex nods and looks over his shoulder at Nikki, then back into the huddle. “I’ll just practice at home; I just need to nail my landing. Thanks, though,” he says.

  “I don’t think we need extra practice,” Hannah says with a sneer. “She probably just thinks we’re too good and stealing the spotlight.”

  Alex and I laugh, then Nikki’s shouted voice cuts through everything, “Everyone, go home and rest. Homecoming is Friday!”

  The cheer team claps for ourselves and then packs up their stuff to head to the showers and head on home. I pat Alex on the back as he heads away with the rest of them. I walk over to the bench at the side of the field and pick up the water bottle from my backpack, then sit on the bench and gulp it down like I’d just walked through Death Valley or something.

  A moment later, Hannah plunks down beside me, similarly gulping her water.

  “I don’t know how you put up with that,” she says, throwing a sneer toward Nikki’s retreating backside. “I almost threw a punch at her.”

  “Meh,” I say. “I don’t let it bother me. My love of cheer team obliterates her bitchiness. Besides, you and Alex were awesome — she’s just jealous.” I gulp some more water. “I just feel sorry for whatever poor guy she ends up with. She’ll have his balls in her fist and never let go.” I chuckle when I picture the football captain, Benjamin, at her mercy. In a lot of the highly-staged photos Nikki posts, Benjamin looks a little … trapped.

  Hannah laughs and then closes her water bottle, throwing it into her backpack and standing up. “You gonna change?”

  I glance behind her to the football players. They’re just finishing their practice and on their way to the change room. “Nah. I’ll wait.”

  Hannah looks behind her and instantly understands. She blows me a kiss and then heads off, leaving me as the only cheer team person still out on the field.

  I watch all the buff, muscular teens head toward the school and the change room in there. Even before I came out, I avoided changing when the footballers were in there. Being the wimpy and effeminate kid made me a target of bullying and teasing. I’d had more than my share of gut punches, locker slams, and backpacks thrown into the showers.

  But to now be the wimpy, effeminate, and gay kid in a change room full of buff, macho, straight football players? That could only lead to a black eye. Part of my survival as a gay is to avoid putting myself in places where I’m in danger.

  I pull my phone out of my backpack and check my social feeds. Of course, Nikki is sharing post-practice selfies that make her seem glowy rather than sweaty (like, seriously, how does she do it?) and scrolling a little further shows me that someone had captured the rehearsal for her on her phone. Of course, it focused entirely on Nikki flying through the air.

  I just roll my eyes. I can only take so much Nikki in one day. I bring up Spotify, put on some hipster playlist that I don’t like people knowing I like, and put it on the bench beside me. As the music blares, I lay back and stare up at the darkening sky. A few stars are starting to poke through the deep, dark blue.

  As much as I love high school (despite Nikki), I’m eager for college next year. With more people, maybe there’ll be more gays.

  Maybe in college I’ll get a kiss.

  Maybe I’ll even get a boyfriend.

  But until then, I’m happy just being Hannah’s gay BFF. It’s not the same as having a boyfriend, but it’ll do until then. I mean, it’ll have to.

  • • •

  After I decide enough time has passed and that the change room has to be empty, I turn off the music, throw the phone in my backpack, and head into the school and to the change room.

  Sure enough, the place is empty. Nothing to worry about.

  I head to my locker, trying to avoid stepping in all of the puddles of water from guys’ showers and all of the puddles that look like spit (seriously, straight guys are so disgusting). I open my locker, strip, grab my towel, and head around the bend to the showers.

  And that’s when I find out I’m not alone.

  Fuck.

  There’s a guy in the showers. I freeze mid-step, trying to decide if I should wander in like I don’t care or if I should turn and run and just shower at home. But by the time I get changed and get my shoes back on, whoever’s in the shower will come out and it’ll be just as bad as if I walked into the shower.

  Before I can make up my mind, the shower shuts off. A few moments later, I hear the slap of wet footsteps. I’m still frozen in place, my heart thundering hard against my ribs, cold sweat breaking out all over. I worked so hard to avoid this very thing.

  “Jordan?” came the voice. A friendly voice. Benjamin.

  I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Hey,” I say, finally forcing myself to look at him. He’s muscular, buff, toned, and sopping wet with water rolling down his warm, brown skin and just a towel wrapped around his waist. I try not to make it obvious I’m checking out his biceps.

  Okay, this isn’t a disaster, I tell myself. Benjamin is the only guy on the football team I don’t hate. He’s captain of the football team — a fact that Nikki keeps swooning over — but more importantly, he’s been my next-door neighbor our whole lives and we were friends until a few years back. Nothing really ended our friendship, we just drifted in different directions. Him towards sports and me towards academics and cheer.

  I haven’t heard a word from him since I came out, though.

  “You guys were looking good,” he says. I don’t know if he actually means it or if he’s just making conversation. I also don’t know if he means he thinks all of us were looking good or just Nikki.

  “Thanks,” I say, deciding to take the compliment as it was likely intended. Despite the douches on the football team, Benjamin is a pretty nice guy.

  Still, I don’t know what to say to him at this point. Though he h
as to know I’m gay — who doesn’t, after all — neither of us have actually acknowledged it. Now it’s like that’s an invisible wall between us.

  “Well…” Benjamin says, struggling for conversation as much as I am.

  “Yeah…” I say.

  After another moment of awkwardly staring at each other, he smiles and nods and steps around me to head toward his locker. With him out of sight, I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and sag against the tile wall behind me.

  That was awkward.

  But it was still better than it could have been.

  Eventually, I step into the shower area and take off my towel — but I’m carefully listening for sounds as I do so, like I’m worried there’s another football player in here, one that wants to punch a fag. But there’s no one else. I turn on the shower, rinse myself, dry myself, and return to the change area, finding that Benjamin is already gone.

  When I get home much later, I find mom has made a late dinner so I’m not forced to warm up leftovers. We sit down and have a casual dinner as a family — and I’m reminded again of how lucky I am to have this family. These are the same kind of family moments we had pre-gay.

  After dinner, I head up to my room to attempt the mountain of homework I have to do tonight. I sit at my desk by my window, turn on the lamp, and set to work. Some time later, in the depths of a pre-cal problem that seems to be getting the better of me, a light catches my eye.

  Looking out the window and across the divide between our two houses, I see Benjamin in his bedroom. He looks out his window and spots me, then looks away for a moment, seeming oddly conflicted. Then he gives me that friendly wave that you give people you used to know but don’t really talk to anymore. I give him the same wave and before I can even wonder at that conflicted look, he closes his curtain.