HIDING - every scar has a story

1. Just one person.

{Jon}

Jon stepped into the drafting classroom, bracing himself with a deep breath of fresh pine smell from the woodworking shop next door. Today was the day he needed to find a partner for their midterm project. Since there was only one other kid with a drafting table to himself, today was the day he needed to speak to Ciaran Douglas.

Jon froze a second, his hands sweating on his books. Ciaran was in his seat already, his dark head bent and his arm curved around his sketchbook. He had the sleeves of his army jacket pushed up and he was drawing with fierce intensity. Ciaran's hard face and bulky jacket made him look like the kind of kid who knew how to hurt you in secret, terrible ways.

Jon swallowed, hunching his shoulders. Keer-an, Jon rehearsed his name silently. He couldn't mess that up if he wanted Ciaran to say yes. He went down the aisle and dropped his books on the table next to Ciaran.

The 'bang' made the other boy jump, then flash Jon a glare. "Sorry," Jon said hastily. He put on a smile and stuck out his hand. "Hi, Ciaran right? I don't have a table partner so... I'm Jon."

Ciaran's dark eyebrows lifted, looking at Jon's outstretched hand. He didn't move to take it and their teacher, Mr. Ryers, called for attention at the front of the room. Jon dropped into his chair, sliding down low. He'd been friends with everyone at his old school—it would have been unimaginable to not have a single friend in a class. New school—new reality. He closed his eyes briefly. Would it be so hard to find just one person who cares I exist?

Are you even listening to me?

He was starting to wonder why he still prayed, when God was obviously so far from answering him.

They were supposed to be working on the problem outlined on the board. Jon snuck a look at the sketchbook open on Ciaran's side of the table. It was a blueprint, neatly done and almost complete. In the bottom corner, pressed so firmly the ball-point pen had left ridges on the page, was a boy in a box, his head ducked between his knees, his elbows and knees jutting out of the confines of the square at awkward angles.

"That's really good," Jon blurted.

Ciaran spread his hand over the deep blue lines of the sketch, frowning at him like he'd forgotten he was sitting there. With the cuff of his jacket pushed back, Jon could see a thick, pink scar running over the bone of his wrist. "I mean your drawing," Jon said, flushing.

Ciaran dropped his eyes to the page. He flipped the cuff of his jacket down quick and crossed his arms. The scar was gone.

Jon was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with him, if he was deaf or couldn't speak. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Nobody calls me that," Ciaran said in a flat voice.

"Calls you what?" Jon's voice squeaked with surprise.

"Ciaran," Ciaran said. "It's Cary."

"Cary," Jon repeated. "Oh. I'm... I'm still Jon." Then he could have bitten his tongue off for sounding so stupidly uncool.

Cary shot him a look under the straight line of his lowered brows. "What do you want?"

Sweat was running down Jon's ribs like someone turned on the taps under his arms. He took a breath. "I was just wondering if you had a partner for the midterm project."

Cary blinked. "What midterm project."

"The one we got last class. Maybe you weren't here that day." Jon dug through his backpack and pulled out the handout.

Cary read it slowly, then pushed the handout back to Jon's side of the table. "Why?"

Jon had not prepared for this question. "Um, because you're good at this class. And I really don't..." He caught himself. He'd been about to say it out loud: I really don't have any friends. "I really don't know anyone else."

Cary wasn't even making eye contact. He hurried on. "And we're kind of out of time this week to write up our idea and hand it in."

Cary swore under his breath, sitting back in his chair.

"I was thinking we could do Frank Lloyd Wright, his four-square house," Jon said. "We could be done in, like one afternoon." Please God.

"Fine," Cary said. He put out his hand to shake and Jon took it. Cary's grip was hard and the skin on his palm felt rough. "Don't fuck this up for me." His soft, even tone made Jon want to run back to his previous seat.

Instead he put on his most winning smile. "I won't. Thanks." He scribbled his phone number and address onto the handout. "Tomorrow and Wednesday work for me, if you want to come over to my place. My mom will do snacks for us."

Cary's eyebrows crept up again, like Jon had started speaking in Greek instead of plain English. "I'll see," he said.

"Great," Jon said.

When the end of class bell rang Jon was on his feet and out the door, a surge of relief carrying him down the hall. Another crappy day, over.

He just had a second to register the yellow and purple football jacket in the corner of his eye before the guy checked him hard into the lockers. An oncoming freshman collided with Jon, dropping her books and notes everywhere. Raucous laughter and "Faggot!" floated over the hallway.

Jon was breathless from the hit as he said, "Sorry, I'm really sorry," and bent to help the other kid pick up her stuff. She shot him a glare, grabbed up her books and fled up the hall.

Jon kept his back against the lockers as he picked up his own books, but the pack of footballers had already gone. Hit and run.

Jon made it to his locker, grabbed his coat and got out of the school. He'd never thought about what an easy target new kids were until he become one himself: he didn't have a group of friends around him to create a buffer zone of protection. His first three months here had been a hell of picking spit wads out of his hair and getting shoved into lockers.

While he was standing on the sidewalk waiting for his mom's van to pull into the parking lot, he saw Cary come out the school doors. Cary didn't need a group, kids just got out of the way. Jon watched him duck into the back of a shiny BMW sedan and wished to God that was him.

*Welcome to the world of Cary Douglas and Jon White, lovelies! I wrote this novel the year I was home with my baby son and you'll definitely feel my love for boys in this project. My boy is 14 now and heading to high school in the fall--what a journey! 

The highlight of my COVID year 2020 was my daughter dragging me onto Wattpad, where I've found a community of readers and writers that I just love. I released all three of my published books here over the course of Fall 2020 and try to interact with every one of my readers. Thanks for the reads, votes and comments! Read on to find out what two very different people like Jon and Cary might have in common...*

1234 words.