Defining

Moments

A Love Wins Short Story

By

Savannah Brooks

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

Defining Moments

Copyright © 2016 by Savannah Brooks

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

Books and Stories by Savannah

Short Stories & Novellas

• Falling for his Best Friend • Letting Him In • Never in a Million • Just One Kiss • Cross My Heart • Before You Leave Again • Finding His Forever Guy • Snowed In • Our Family Secret • Whole Again • Moving Forward • Just Maybe • Snowed In Again • Wild Fate • First Times in Old Pickups •

Troubled Hearts Series

• Stay •

• Broken •

One moment. That’s all it takes to change a life, or define one. Our lives are made up of a lot of those types of moments, mine included. The first defining moment of my life happened when I was in sixth grade. I remember it like it was yesterday and how it led me to everything I have and hold dear today…

I sat in my designated, third-row position with my violin half-cradled in my arm, flipping through the sheets of music Ms. Gretsky, our orchestra teacher, had given us last week, wondering which piece she’d planned on us practicing today. Next to me, David slouched in his metal, folding chair, staring at his florescent yellow and black Nikes like he pretty much did every day. To my other side, Jasmine and Latasha couldn’t seem to shut up about some girl Leah’s birthday party and trip to the mall that had taken place the previous weekend.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Ms. Gretsky rise from her desk chair and move toward her music stand. As I looked up, I happened to glance to my right and caught Michael, the boy sitting one row forward and three chairs down, staring at me over his shoulder. In the span of a heartbeat, I went from wondering why another boy was looking at me to thinking, man, he’s cute, to thinking, I did not just think that. In the moment it took my brain to process all that, Michael’s gaze flickered to the jabbering girls next to me, and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head, then smiled at me before turning around in his seat.

I quietly let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d held and looked down at my music, trying to forget the past ten seconds, but all I could think of was that a boy I suddenly thought of as cute had been looking at me—had even smiled at me—for whatever reason, and I liked it. I couldn’t explain it, but I really liked it.

I did my best to avoid Michael as much as possible after that, which turned out to be pretty easy. We hung out with different groups of friends, and we only shared the one class. For that, I was grateful. Sixth grade was already hard enough with having to adjust from elementary school to middle school and boys picking on other boys for liking girls. The last thing I needed was someone thinking I liked boys when I didn’t. I was sure I didn’t. I just… kinda, sorta, maybe liked one boy, but even that, if anyone ever found out, was sure to earn me humiliating nicknames and teasing I didn’t want. Besides, I was having ample trouble on my own trying to deal with all the weird sensations I now felt every time I saw Michael. Boys weren’t supposed to like boys. I mean, I knew it happened, but why did it have to happen to me? My first crush was supposed to be a girl, not a boy.

So, even though I avoided any sort of contact with him, I spent the better part of first semester trying to work up the nerve just to talk to him. Being naturally shy hindered my efforts, of course. I’d always had a tough time making new friends. But the mere fact that my heart would start racing any time he so much as glanced in my direction made any initial conversation that much more difficult. Our first day back after winter break, I was determined to at least say hi.

As I scrambled to my seat along with the rest of my class, Ms. Gretsky tapped her music stand with her wand to call our attention. “Alright everyone, welcome back. Hope you had a nice couple of weeks off, but it’s time to get to work. Today, we’re going to tune in groups, but before we start, I have a few seat assignment changes.”

Ms. Gretsky read through a handful of names, indicating who needed to move and to where while most of us sat there waiting to hear our own name. Throughout the year, I’d been moved a little, but always stayed somewhere in the third row, so when I heard my name, I wasn’t the least bit surprised.

“Evan. Second row, second chair, next to Michael.”

My heart rate jumped, and I started shaking. Closing my music binder, I cast a glance toward Michael. He didn’t seem to be paying any attention to me. Inhaling slow, deep breaths, I willed myself to calm down. Michael wasn’t looking at me at all which meant he probably didn’t really even care that it was me about to take the seat beside him. That took the pressure off a little, but it also caused an ache of disappointment in my heart.

My first crush didn’t like me back.

I couldn’t blame him though, and I should have known or expected it. Boys weren’t supposed to like boys, after all.

My stomach in knots, I quickly gathered my binder and violin and made my way to the seat next to Michael.

“Hi,” I said, thankful my voice didn’t squeak. I was so nervous, my palms were sweating, but I was proud of myself too. I had actually managed to say hi to him.

Michael looked up at me and smiled. “Hey.”

Oh my God, he smiled at me. My legs weakened beneath me. I could feel my cheeks warming. I was blushing. Actually blushing. What the hell?

I took my seat quickly, trying to ignore the crazy frenzy of butterflies in my stomach, and stared toward the front of the class. I was so embarrassed, I didn’t want to chance the slightest glance in his direction.

“You must be getting better,” Michael said.

I blinked and looked at him anyway. Right into his dark blue eyes. “What?”

“I said, you must be getting better.”

I knit my brow.

“You know? Because you moved up to the second row?” he added.

“Oh, um, yeah. I guess.” Oh my God, I’m such a dork.

Michael just smiled again, making my heart beat even harder.

I spent the rest of the school year seated right next to Michael in orchestra. Michael was a talker. Me, not so much. It took me some time, but eventually I got past my nervousness and we became friends. By the time school let out for the summer, we both had each other’s cell numbers and had even texted on occasion.

The first couple weeks of summer break we talked almost every day, but then, one day, he didn’t text me asking if he could call like he usually did. He didn’t text me at all, actually. I sent him a few messages, but never heard back. It didn’t make any sense. I kept calling and texting over the course of the next few weeks, but he never answered. I didn’t hear from him the rest of the summer, and Michael lived in another part of the city, so I didn’t see him at all either. I thought maybe I’d done or said something wrong or that maybe he just didn’t like me anymore, not even as a friend. Then I started worrying that maybe something had happened to him, and I worried myself sick every day until I saw him from across the quad on the first day of seventh grade.

I was glad to see him, but then I didn’t know what to do. I was too scared to approach him and ask what had happened or why he’d stopped talking to me. I figured if he wanted to, he’d come to me, but he didn’t.

We didn’t have any classes together at all. Michael had dropped orchestra and joined the soccer team. I don’t think we said a single word to each other the entire school year. I’d pass him in the hall or during lunch on occasion. Usually he would acknowledge me with a confused glare—like he was mad about a problem he couldn’t solve and I was the problem—and I’d give him a barely visible wave or half-hearted smile which he never returned. That was the extent of our communication, and honestly, it really hurt, mostly because I still liked him. Come the fourth quarter, any time I made eye contact with him, he just turned away. Michael had made it pretty obvious we weren’t friends anymore. As for me. I was heartbroken.

With eighth grade came a whole new level of awkwardness for me. A lot of my guy friends had a lot more interest in girls. A couple even had girlfriends. They talked about which girls were cutest and which ones were ugliest. One of them even bragged about making out with one girl at the park after school. Me, I still had no interest in girls, and I especially didn’t want to kiss any of them. I wanted to kiss boys, but there was no way in hell I was going to let that secret out, so I did my best to fake an interest in the girls they talked about. It wasn’t easy, but it seemed to work.

I busted my ass that year in orchestra and worked my way up to concert master by December, just in time for the holiday concert. I even had a solo piece! The night of the concert, I played the best I ever had. When we all stood and bowed at the end, I saw my mom and dad giving their all in a standing ovation. They had always been super supportive and proud of me, no matter what, and they’d proven that to me the weekend before last.

During the commercials of the football game, my dad had asked me if there were any girls at school I liked, and instead of playing it cool and brushing off his question as no big deal with a “nah, not really,” I had just stared at him with my heart lodged in my throat…

“Evan?” my dad asked. “You okay?”

I shook my head. “Um, no. I just, uh, remembered I have homework due tomorrow.” I jumped up and practically sprinted to my bedroom. After shutting the door behind me, I flopped back on my bed. A few minutes later, my mom knocked on the door, then cracked it open and peeked in.

“Evan, honey, can I come in?”

“Yeah.” I grabbed my pillow and threw it over my face. The bed dipped beside me as my mom patted my knee.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing,” I said, my voice muffled by my pillow.

“Nice try, but I know you’re lying.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Mom.”

“Honey, your dad asked you a question and you just claimed you had homework due tomorrow then scrambled away to your room as fast as you could. And tomorrow’s Sunday, so try again. Is this about a girl?”

“No.”

“Is something wrong at school?”

“No.”

“Friends?”

“No.”

“Is someone picking on you?”

“No!” I lifted the pillow. “I told you, nothing’s wrong.” I covered my face again.

“You sure this isn’t about a girl?”

I barely pushed the pillow up so she could hear me clearly, but where I still couldn’t see her. “For the last time, no! Why would any of this be about a girl?”

I let the pillow fall over my face again. That was probably the wrong thing to blurt out, because a good half a minute of silence followed, and then my mom asked, “Is this about a boy?”

My entire body froze, but I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I felt sick, like I was going to hurl.

I hated that I liked boys. I hated that I couldn’t tell anyone because it meant there was something wrong with me or that others would hate me, all for something I couldn’t seem to control. I hated that I couldn’t talk about the boy I liked so much that I thought of him every single day even though I was sure I no longer existed to him. I hated that I would never be able to brag to my friends about making out with someone cute because that cute someone would be a guy and not a girl. I hated it. All of it.

“Honey,” my mom said, squeezing my leg just above my knee. “It’s okay if you like boys instead of girls. You know that, right?”

My cheeks heated, but I didn’t answer and kept myself hidden beneath the pillow.

“I know it’s difficult to admit, but I want you to know that your dad and I don’t care either way, as long as the person you like is the one who makes you happy.”

I pushed the pillow up off my face and looked up at her. “Really?” I asked, my voice a squeaky whisper.

“Of course, honey.”

“Dad, too?”

“Yes, Dad too,” my dad said from where he leaned against the door jamb. I hadn’t even noticed him standing there. He crossed the room and stood beside my mom, rubbing her shoulder. “I don’t get the appeal myself, but if being around another boy makes you feel the way I do when I’m around your mom, then I say go for it. But, you do know what this means now, right?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head nervously.

“No more boys in your room with the door closed from now on.”

After that, I knew things between my parents and me were good. They didn’t give me any more parental advice that day or anything, thank God, because I so did not want to talk about any of it then. But it did feel really good to let the cat out of the bag to someone and since that day, a great weight had been lifted off me simply knowing my parents supported me.

The room quickly emptied as I packed up my violin backstage. With my music folder tucked under the same arm carrying my instrument, I pulled the door open and stepped into the short hallway leading to the still dimly lit cafeteria that doubled as the school’s auditorium. Much of the noise had already died down, but a few voices still echoed nearby.

As I closed the door behind me, a guy leaning against the wall about ten feet away pushed off the painted cinderblock, checked his surroundings, and then walked toward me. I didn’t know who it was at first, so I planned to ignore him and head out to find my parents when I heard my name.

“Hi, Evan.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. I knew that voice. It was Michael. My heart went crazy as he moved closer to me, his face coming into the light. I tried not to let my nervousness show as he stopped not more than a foot in front of me. I wanted to be mad at him, but there was something about the way he looked at me that melted away all my anger. It also didn’t help that I still had a stupid crush on the guy. Geez, two freaking years, and I still hadn’t been able to let him go. Our friendship had fallen apart completely but that never stopped me from thinking of him every single damn day.

“Um, hi.” Pause. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to watch you play.”

“You did?”

“I always do.”

What? He always does? What the hell? My brows pinched together, I stared at him, then shook my head. “What do you mean, you always do?”

Michael ignored my question and glanced around again as if making sure no one was paying any attention to us. Still partially hidden in the hall, it seemed no one even knew we were there. “I have something for you.” He reached inside his hoodie and pulled out a single red rose wrapped in plastic, and my breath caught in my lungs. Looking at the petals, Michael said, “For your performance tonight. You were awesome.”

“Michael.” I sucked in a sharp breath. Just saying his name aloud had my nerves jittery. I accepted the rose and slid it into my binder, not wanting anyone who might see us to think he’d given it to me. Still not comprehending why he was even here, I continued staring at him for what felt like an eternity.

“Remember when we were in orchestra together and Ms. Gretsky moved you up to sit next to me?” Michael said, saving me from the awkward silence.

How could I forget? “Yeah.”

“I think that was one of the happiest days of my life.”

What? My eyes started to blur. No, I’m not going to cry. Guys don’t cry. “What do you mean?”

“Things haven’t been the same for me since then.” He paused, taking a breath. “I, uh… I liked you. Like, really liked you. But I couldn’t tell if you liked me the way I liked you. I didn’t know if you only wanted to be friends or if you wanted, you know, more. I wanted so badly just to hold your hand, but I was always too afraid.

“That summer after sixth grade, I said something to my mom about liking a boy at school, and my dad overheard.”

Michael paused again, biting his lower lip, and sniffled. I had no idea where he was going with this, but I had a feeling it wasn’t good.

“He beat me up pretty bad that day, Evan. So bad, I ended up in the hospital with a concussion, two bruised ribs, and a lighter burn on my, um… well, my you know… down there. My dad said it was to remind me where it didn’t belong.”

My stomach dropped. With every whispered word, the heartache and anger grew inside me. Michael, however, seemed resigned and withdrawn, and I didn’t know whether I should start cursing and yelling for the things his father did to him or wrap him in a hug and wish it all away.

“Anyway, he’s in prison now. My mom divorced him too. But the fact that my own dad could do that to me because I was…” His voice drops to a barely audible whisper. “Gay… scared me. I was afraid if anyone else found out, they’d beat me up too.”

My eyes watered. I felt helpless in that moment. Like there was nothing I could ever do to take away the pain I could see clearly in his somber eyes. “You were twelve,” I whispered hoarsely.

Michael’s shoulders sagged. “And now I’m fourteen. What difference does it make?”

I clenched my teeth at the solemn resignation in his tone. Fire ignited under my skin. I was pissed. “What difference does it make?” I growled quietly, not wanting anyone to overhear our conversation. “You could have fucking died!”

Michael could have died. That thought ripped through me like nothing ever had before. If he’d died, I didn’t know what I would have done. Just imagining him gone tears me apart, as if a part of me would have died with him, and just like that, my anger morphed into heartache, and my voice softened again. “You can’t ever die on me,” I whispered, my voice catching a little in my throat. “You got that?”

Something shifted in his expression. I couldn’t place it, but it’s as if he’s in awe of something.

“Why are you telling me all this now?” I asked.

“Because, even after all this time and everything I went through, I still like you. I think about you every day, and… I can’t stop. I’m miserable. I’ve tried everything I can to make myself like girls—to make myself not like you—but I can’t. I’ve come to every single one of your performances just to see you and watch you play.”

“You have?”

“Yeah,” Michael whispered.

I glanced around. The crowd of kids and parents had definitely thinned, and my parents were nowhere to be seen. I shifted my gaze back to Michael. “I thought you hated me.”

“I did, sort of. I blamed you for what I was going through. I don’t anymore.”

I pressed my lips tightly together, not really sure what to say to that.

“Does it bother you that I like you?” Michael asked, breaking the long silence.

I shook my head, swallowing past the strain in my throat.

Michael took one step closer and reached for my free hand, linking his fingers with mine. My heart jumped into my throat as his touch sent a rush of goosebumps rippling over my skin.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Michael said softly. He held my gaze, and as the seconds passed with my hand in his, a small, hopeful smile lit his face.

“I’ll check to see if he’s still in the back room,” I heard my dad say from around the corner, his footsteps coming closer.

Michael’s eyes widened, and he yanked his hand away, stepping back a couple feet, just as my dad rounded the corner.

“Found ’im,” he called back over his shoulder. “Hey, bud. Where ya been?” my dad said.

I glanced at Michael, catching the all-out panic in his eyes. “Hey. I was just talking to Michael.”

“Oh, well, they’re trying to lock up. You ready to go?”

“Uh, yeah.” I looked at Michael and jerked my head toward the door. “Comin’?”

Michael shoved his hands in his pockets and fell in step beside me, keeping a friendly distance between us. We walked in silence to my parents’ Explorer. He stood by as I put my violin and binder in the back, keeping the rose with me, and closed the lift gate while my mom and dad climbed in. I went to the back passenger door and, grabbing the handle, turned to face Michael.

“How’d you get here?”

Michael shrugged. “Bus to Safeway.”

“You took the bus then walked from Safeway?” That was at least a mile walk.

“Yeah,” he snorted, as if it was no big deal.

I couldn’t believe he’d done that. I looked down at the rose in my hand, thinking back to everything Michael had told me a few minutes ago. The way he’d held my hand, and the smile that had touched his eyes when I didn’t pull away.

I lifted my gaze to see him. “Do you want to come over for a while?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Why not? We can hang out, watch a movie, play video games. Whatever you want.”

“Your parents won’t mind?”

“Nah. C’mon.” I opened the door and stepped in. “Is it okay if Michael comes over for a few hours?” I asked as I slid across to make room for him.

“Does he have a ride home?” my dad asked.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“That’s fine, honey,” my mom said.

I waved him inside, and Michael climbed in and shut the door, not saying a word. He glanced over at me like he had no clue what to do next.

“Seatbelts, boys,” my dad said as he backed the car out of the parking space.

We buckled up and proceeded to sit in the darkened silence of the backseat as my dad drove us home. My parents chatted quietly about errands they needed to run this weekend and pretty much ignored us. They didn’t try to talk to Michael or me, or make weird small talk like some kids’ parents did. They just let us be, which I was really thankful for, and I could tell Michael was too.

Ten minutes later, we pulled into the garage. We hopped out, and, without a word, Michael grabbed my violin and carried it into the house for me.

“We’re having homemade tacos for dinner tonight,” my mom said as we all entered through the kitchen. She set her green camo-print purse on the island. “Michael, I hope that’s okay with you since it seems you’ll be joining us for dinner.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Michael answered. “Thanks for letting me come over.”

“You’re more than welcome, sweetie.” Mom smiled at him, then glanced at me. Her gaze drifted down to the rose clutched in my hand, and her grin widened.

I blushed and turned away. “C’mon, Michael. I’ll show you my room.”

“Remember the rules, Evan,” my dad hollered.

“I know, Dad,” I yelled back, rolling my eyes.

Michael followed me down the hall to my bedroom.

“Wow,” Michael said, pausing in the doorway. “You must really like movies.”

I chuckled, looking around at all the movie posters covering the walls. “Nope. Not at all. I’m just going for a new wallpaper look,” I joked.

That earned me a big smile and a laugh—a sound I hadn’t heard in so long, I’d almost forgotten how much I missed it.

“So, I’m gonna change real quick and get out of these dress clothes.” I grabbed the jeans and T-shirt I’d left on my bed earlier in the day and headed for the bathroom. “Think of what you want to do. I’ll be right back.”

I disappeared across the hall and into the bathroom before Michael could answer. My heart danced. I was practically jumping out of my skin. Michael was here. In my house. In my room! I almost couldn’t believe this was real. I changed my clothes as fast as I could, anxious to get back to him, hoping he’d want to do something like watch a movie or just hang out and talk. Anything that didn’t require both hands because I really wanted him to hold my hand again.

After tossing my dress shirt and slacks in the hamper, I rushed back to my room, forcing myself to calm down before entering. I walked in to find Michael staring at an old photo of me and my dad, and my excitement turned to heartache as I recalled the painful events of the past couple years of his life that Michael never should have experienced.

Pressing my lips together, I crossed the room and came up beside him. Taking a chance, I held my breath and threaded my fingers with his, holding his hand the way he’d held mine earlier, wishing I could do more. After a long minute, Michael finally tore his gaze away from the picture and looked at me. A soul-deep pain hid behind his watery eyes. A pain no fourteen-year-old should ever know. I gave him a heartfelt smile. I couldn’t imagine what he’d gone through to be here tonight, and it was in that moment I realized how much I hated his dad.

What do you say to a guy who’s been through the shit Michael’s been through? I had no freakin’ clue. I was only fourteen too. I didn’t have any words of wisdom to impart on him or years of experience to draw from. I’d only come out to my mom and dad recently by pure accident, and I considered myself lucky that it was no big deal to them. I’d only, since that moment, started to not hate being gay. But right now, standing here with him, looking into the depths of Michael’s stormy blue eyes, I found myself appreciating the fact that I was gay, because it meant I could hold his hand and maybe show him that not everyone was like his dad.

“Hey, c’mon,” I whispered. “Let’s go find a movie or something to watch.”

I tugged his hand, hoping he’d follow. He did, and I led him out to the family room. The moment we entered the open space connected with the kitchen and dining room, Michael tried to pull his hand from my grip, but I squeezed and held on tighter.

“What if your parents see us?” Michael whispered, his eyes wide as his gaze darted toward the kitchen.

“Michael, my parents already know.”

He gulped. “They do?”

“Yeah.” I could feel his hand dampening with sweat. “Dude, it’s fine. They’re cool with it. Unless you really don’t want me to.” I loosened my grip, offering him the freedom to pull his hand from mine, but as I did, Michael tightened his.

“Don’t,” he said softly. “I like holding your hand. It feels good.”

I couldn’t help my smile. “Yeah, it does.”

When I dropped down next to him on the couch, so close that our thighs touched, Michael didn’t flinch or pull away. Instead, he just reached for my hand again. By the end of the movie, I had my head on his shoulder, our hands still linked… my heart more content than it had ever been, hoping Michael felt the same.

After that night, Michael and I spent a lot more time together. In public, we were friends, but in private, we were more. Michael warmed up to my parents quickly, and my mom and dad took to him as if he was part of the family. He smiled and laughed a lot more, and we shared our first kiss the day we graduated eighth grade. It was wonderful. Now I knew why everyone talked about it.

Going into high school, our academic paths couldn’t have been more different. Michael was into sports, big time. He made the JV soccer team his freshman year, and by the next, he was on Varsity. He was good—one of the best in my opinion. I loved going to his games and watching him play. Me, on the other hand, I stuck with the violin, learned to play the guitar, and even started writing my own music. And Michael. Well, he attended every single one of my performances.

It wasn’t until our junior year that we came out as a couple at school and in public. Not everyone was happy about it, but we’d been hiding for long enough. Most people didn’t care, probably because Michael had become a pretty popular guy. Handsome too, with a lean muscular build and the perfect amount of scruff on his face—the kind of look that made the girls swoon. He liked making them huff and pout too by running to the sidelines after a game, wrapping his arms around me, picking me up, and swinging me around, then he’d set me down and plant a firm kiss right on my lips, like he was proud to show the world I was his.

I was in love and happier than I’d ever been. Michael’s devotion to me never faltered, and my love for him only grew over the years. He told me time and time again that I saved him way back in middle school. I only told him my heart wouldn’t allow me to let go.

It’s funny. Whenever someone asks how long Michael and I have been together, they almost can’t believe it. Most people end up dating and dealing with multiple relationships before they ever find a person worth spending the rest of their lives with. Me? I found that person one unexpected moment in sixth grade… when the boy sitting one row forward and three chairs down smiled at me.

Thank you for reading!

I hope you enjoyed Michael and Evan’s story.

About the Author

Savannah Brooks spends her days as a reporting analyst, which is extremely difficult when her imaginary friends are constantly pestering her to come out and play. One of these days, she plans to leave the world of numbers and spreadsheets behind in order to write full-time but for now, late evenings and weekends with the voices in her head will have to do. Even then, her attempts to play in her fictional worlds are often thwarted by her husband, son, or daughter dragging her back to reality.

Aside from reading and writing, Savannah loves video games, football, superhero movies, dragons, coffee, dark chocolate, and all things Disney. She dreams of having a castle on the water, be it ocean cliffs or a mountain lake, and traveling to historic places around the world.

Savannah currently lives in Arizona with her very supportive husband, two children, and ghost dog (the family beagle who passed away a couple years ago, but whose spirit is kept very much alive by her son and daughter).

Connect with Savannah:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/savannahbrooksauthor

Twitter: @SavBrooksBooks

Website/Blog: http://savannahbrooks.blogspot.com