HOME | DD

Description
My untied shoes flapped across the floor as I ran out of my room and down the hallway. I stopped by the coat rack next to the front door and dug around in the pocket of my windbreaker for the keys to my mom's car.

"Daniel James Conlin!" a sharp voice reproached me loudly. I turned to see my mother stalking over to me from the living room. "Where do you think you are going at 9:00 at night?"

"It's an emergency, Mom," I said breathlessly, my hand on the doorknob. "For, uh, science fair, I gotta get that, um, paper thing from my partner. It's due tomorrow, and if I don't have it, I'll get a zero, and, um…" I stopped the stream of mumbled lying and looked at her hopefully.

She let out a slow, long-suffering sigh. "Fine, fine," she said, throwing up her hands and turning back towards the living room. "But, be back before 10:00!"

I threw open the door and ran outside, jumping into the car and pulling out of the driveway. Normally, I get panicky and nervous behind the wheel, despite being the first kid in my class to get a license, but that night I had too much on my mind to worry about my driving.

I had been just about to go to bed, when my cell phone started ringing in my pocket. I picked it up and heard a small voice on the other end of the line. "Danny, it's Lane. I need some help."

"What's wrong?" I asked seriously, sensing the slight quiver in my boyfriend's voice.

"I got jumped. These four guys– I'm in the park by the pay phone off Marianne Street. Can you please come get me?"

I jumped up to my feet. "Oh, God. Sure, Lane," I told him, hurriedly putting on my shoes. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," he assured me shakily, "I just wanna get home."

"Alright. "I'm on my way now. Just stay right, there, okay, Honey?"

"Okay."

"I'll be there in five minutes. Bye."

I thought about Lane's call as I hurried to the park. He had sounded miserable and afraid. completely unlike his usual cheerful, goofy self. It made me boil with anger that someone would beat up Lane, my Lane, probably the sweetest, most good-natured kid in our whole school. Lane had never hurt anyone in his life.

After what felt like hours, I finally turned onto Marianne Street. There was a small pay phone at the corner of the of the park and Lane was sitting on a patch of grass a little way behind it. He stood up and waved slightly as he saw my car. I parked the car and ran over to his side.

It was pretty clear that he had been roughed up . His clothes were dirty and disheveled, his palms and cheeks were scratched and bloody from impacting the pavement, and his lip was split, looking like it was about to start bleeding any second. He was smiling wanly, but I could see in his large, shining eyes how shaken he was. "Danny!" he exclaimed, voice flooded with relief.

I pulled him into a tight hug. "I got here as quickly as I could," I said, rubbing his back. I kissed him on his uninjured cheek and and held him by the shoulders. "What happened?"

"I – I dunno," Lane stammered. "I was just walking home from Wendy's house. There were these five guys – about our age – following me. They stopped me, then they pulled me behind that tree and started hitting me. They took my backpack and ran off. I found it in a trash can at the other end of the park." He gestured at the backpack lying in the grass beside him.

"Jesus, Lane. Did you know any of them?"

He frowned. "I don't think so, not that I can remember. I think they might have
been from Redwood; one of them had a Gryphons sweatshirt."

My stomach twisted, and I became that much angrier. Redwood High School is the mainly upper-middle-class counterpart to our mainly lower-middle-class Hiram Johnson High School. Thus, to those of us at HJHS, they're the snooty rich kids, a reputation that they live up to an annoyingly large percentage of the time. Redwood is also known for being significantly more right of center than HJHS.

"We should get you home," I said earnestly.

He nodded tiredly. I wrapped my arm around his waist and guided him over to the car. I turned it on and started heading towards Lane's house, while he slumped in the passenger's seat, looking exhausted. It was bothering me why a bunch of dumb, loud-mouthed kids from Redwood would want to beat up Lane, when he was just walking home, not even anywhere near either school. There didn't seem to be any real reason. I wondered if it could have anything to do with the upcoming championship soccer game between Redwood and HJHS. Lane and I are both on the team, and I thought this might have been an attempt to handicap us. That seemed extreme though, no matter how competitive our schools could get.

In any case, the attack still had Lane pretty shook up. He had his bare arms crossed tightly across his chest and he was looking down at his shoes, his expression inscrutable. Something told me that there was more than just the physical attack weighing on his mind. I noticed he was shivering slightly. "Are you cold?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light.

"A little," he said quietly.

I turned on the heater and gave him a comforting smile that he returned wanly.

"I'm sorry you had to drive out here in the middle of the night," he continued in the same subdued voice.

I shrugged. "Forget it. No trouble." I turned onto Lane's court and parked by the curb in front of his house. I turned to him and caressed his cheek. "You'd do the same for me."

Lane was still looking dejected. "It's all my fault. They were calling me all sorts of names, and I shouldn't have stopped, I should've just ignored them. But, I was just so mad, and I…"

His knuckles were white and he was grinding his fist into his leg. Gently, I reached over and took his hand into mine. His fingers uncurled and he looked over at me, eyes shining.

"They called me a fag," he murmured, voice harsh as he said the last word. That word.

My stomach twisted and I tightened my grip on Lane's hand. Now, I knew why he had been targeted, though, in comparison, I sincerely wished that it had been something to do with soccer or school rivalry. One of the kids who jumped him must have known someone from HJHS. Everyone at school had known that Lane was gay for nearly a year now, but he had never been attacked like this before. The idea that anyone would hate Lane – and me by extension – that much, just for being gay, made me sick to my stomach. From the look on his face, I could see that Lane felt the same way.

"Hey," I said in the most comforting voice I could. I reached out and held Lane's other hand, looking intently into his wide, dark eyes. "It's not your fault, okay. Anyone would have gotten mad."

He shook his head. "People have always called me that, and I always used to ignore it. But, today, when they were following me and calling me that word, I started thinking of you, how you came out to your brother and how hard that was for you, I felt like I had to do something." He looked back down again and mumbled, "They just laughed and kept calling me it. Then they knocked me down and started kicking me."

Wordlessly, I pulled Lane into a hug across the center console. At first, he was tense in my arms, then he relaxed and hugged me back, holding tightly to the fabric of my jacket.

"Sometimes, you just really hate people, y'know?" he murmured.

"Yeah, I know," I muttered sympathetically, rubbing his thin back. Lane buried his face in the crook of my neck; his skin was awfully cold. For a few long moments, we stayed like that in the small car. Then, he sighed and let go of me before unbuckling his seat belt. "I gotta get going. Mom and Dad are probably freaking out by now."

I nodded, and followed him in unbuckling my seatbelt and getting out of the car. We walked over to the driveway, before Lane turned and said hesitantly, "Don't mention this to anyone at school, okay? I'm just going to tell my parents that someone knocked me over, not all that other stuff. I don't want them to worry."

I nodded. "Okay." He started to head into the house. "Hey, wait." He stopped and looked at me questioningly. I took off my jacket and put it around his shoulders. "Take this."

He shook his head. "No. I told you, I'm fine. I don't need–"

"Please," I said, smiling slightly. "You're making me cold." I pulled the jacket closed across his chest and moved closer.

Lane smiled. "Alright." He closed the few inches between us and kissed me on the mouth. I wrapped my arms around him and pressed him tightly to my chest, rocking him gently back and forth. I wanted nothing more than to keep holding him, to protect him from– what? All of the evil in the entire world? That was certainly what it felt like.

Eventually, I remembered that we both had parents to get back to, and drew back from the kiss. We stayed there holding each other, afraid to let the other go. His lip was bleeding again, a thin, red trickle starting to roll down his chin. I reached out and brushed away the blood with my thumb.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" I said softly.

He shook his head. "Naw. You head home."

I smiled and kissed him on the forehead. "I love you."

He smiled back, looking happier than I had seen him all night, and nuzzled his forehead against mine. "I love you too, Danny. Really, I don't know what I would have done if I couldn't have called you tonight." He kissed me lightly on the lips. "G'night."

He turned and headed up the driveway. I waited a moment, then headed back to the car and got in. When I looked back, he had put on the jacket and was walking to his door. Regretfully, I turned the car back on and started towards my house. In the rear window, I could see him opening the door and walking inside. As much as I wanted to do more to help him, I realized that he probably needed his parents most right now.

I felt extremely tired from going through these emotional twists and turns. Anger was still burning in the back of my mind, like a slowly brewing headache. Lane was so beautiful, so wonderful, and hurting him seemed like the ugliest thing in the world.

Fag.

The word was festering in my brain, and stabbing at me painfully. You don't often come across genuine, full-on hatred, and having it forced into my and Lane's lives, was frightening. We had no power to stop that force of hatred.

My one consolation as I drove home was that in one week, we would be playing Redwood, whom I had decided I was going to blame in its entirety, logic be damned, in the championships. And, even though I knew that it was wrong, and Lane would be very disappointed with me for thinking it, we were going to murder them.

Maybe I'm a bad person, but that made me feel good.

Description
My untied shoes flapped across the floor as I ran out of my room and down the hallway. I stopped by the coat rack next to the front door and dug around in the pocket of my windbreaker for the keys to my mom's car.

"Daniel James Conlin!" a sharp voice reproached me loudly. I turned to see my mother stalking over to me from the living room. "Where do you think you are going at 9:00 at night?"

"It's an emergency, Mom," I said breathlessly, my hand on the doorknob. "For, uh, science fair, I gotta get that, um, paper thing from my partner. It's due tomorrow, and if I don't have it, I'll get a zero, and, um…" I stopped the stream of mumbled lying and looked at her hopefully.

She let out a slow, long-suffering sigh. "Fine, fine," she said, throwing up her hands and turning back towards the living room. "But, be back before 10:00!"

I threw open the door and ran outside, jumping into the car and pulling out of the driveway. Normally, I get panicky and nervous behind the wheel, despite being the first kid in my class to get a license, but that night I had too much on my mind to worry about my driving.

I had been just about to go to bed, when my cell phone started ringing in my pocket. I picked it up and heard a small voice on the other end of the line. "Danny, it's Lane. I need some help."

"What's wrong?" I asked seriously, sensing the slight quiver in my boyfriend's voice.

"I got jumped. These four guys– I'm in the park by the pay phone off Marianne Street. Can you please come get me?"

I jumped up to my feet. "Oh, God. Sure, Lane," I told him, hurriedly putting on my shoes. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," he assured me shakily, "I just wanna get home."

"Alright. "I'm on my way now. Just stay right, there, okay, Honey?"

"Okay."

"I'll be there in five minutes. Bye."

I thought about Lane's call as I hurried to the park. He had sounded miserable and afraid. completely unlike his usual cheerful, goofy self. It made me boil with anger that someone would beat up Lane, my Lane, probably the sweetest, most good-natured kid in our whole school. Lane had never hurt anyone in his life.

After what felt like hours, I finally turned onto Marianne Street. There was a small pay phone at the corner of the of the park and Lane was sitting on a patch of grass a little way behind it. He stood up and waved slightly as he saw my car. I parked the car and ran over to his side.

It was pretty clear that he had been roughed up . His clothes were dirty and disheveled, his palms and cheeks were scratched and bloody from impacting the pavement, and his lip was split, looking like it was about to start bleeding any second. He was smiling wanly, but I could see in his large, shining eyes how shaken he was. "Danny!" he exclaimed, voice flooded with relief.

I pulled him into a tight hug. "I got here as quickly as I could," I said, rubbing his back. I kissed him on his uninjured cheek and and held him by the shoulders. "What happened?"

"I – I dunno," Lane stammered. "I was just walking home from Wendy's house. There were these five guys – about our age – following me. They stopped me, then they pulled me behind that tree and started hitting me. They took my backpack and ran off. I found it in a trash can at the other end of the park." He gestured at the backpack lying in the grass beside him.

"Jesus, Lane. Did you know any of them?"

He frowned. "I don't think so, not that I can remember. I think they might have
been from Redwood; one of them had a Gryphons sweatshirt."

My stomach twisted, and I became that much angrier. Redwood High School is the mainly upper-middle-class counterpart to our mainly lower-middle-class Hiram Johnson High School. Thus, to those of us at HJHS, they're the snooty rich kids, a reputation that they live up to an annoyingly large percentage of the time. Redwood is also known for being significantly more right of center than HJHS.

"We should get you home," I said earnestly.

He nodded tiredly. I wrapped my arm around his waist and guided him over to the car. I turned it on and started heading towards Lane's house, while he slumped in the passenger's seat, looking exhausted. It was bothering me why a bunch of dumb, loud-mouthed kids from Redwood would want to beat up Lane, when he was just walking home, not even anywhere near either school. There didn't seem to be any real reason. I wondered if it could have anything to do with the upcoming championship soccer game between Redwood and HJHS. Lane and I are both on the team, and I thought this might have been an attempt to handicap us. That seemed extreme though, no matter how competitive our schools could get.

In any case, the attack still had Lane pretty shook up. He had his bare arms crossed tightly across his chest and he was looking down at his shoes, his expression inscrutable. Something told me that there was more than just the physical attack weighing on his mind. I noticed he was shivering slightly. "Are you cold?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light.

"A little," he said quietly.

I turned on the heater and gave him a comforting smile that he returned wanly.

"I'm sorry you had to drive out here in the middle of the night," he continued in the same subdued voice.

I shrugged. "Forget it. No trouble." I turned onto Lane's court and parked by the curb in front of his house. I turned to him and caressed his cheek. "You'd do the same for me."

Lane was still looking dejected. "It's all my fault. They were calling me all sorts of names, and I shouldn't have stopped, I should've just ignored them. But, I was just so mad, and I…"

His knuckles were white and he was grinding his fist into his leg. Gently, I reached over and took his hand into mine. His fingers uncurled and he looked over at me, eyes shining.

"They called me a fag," he murmured, voice harsh as he said the last word. That word.

My stomach twisted and I tightened my grip on Lane's hand. Now, I knew why he had been targeted, though, in comparison, I sincerely wished that it had been something to do with soccer or school rivalry. One of the kids who jumped him must have known someone from HJHS. Everyone at school had known that Lane was gay for nearly a year now, but he had never been attacked like this before. The idea that anyone would hate Lane – and me by extension – that much, just for being gay, made me sick to my stomach. From the look on his face, I could see that Lane felt the same way.

"Hey," I said in the most comforting voice I could. I reached out and held Lane's other hand, looking intently into his wide, dark eyes. "It's not your fault, okay. Anyone would have gotten mad."

He shook his head. "People have always called me that, and I always used to ignore it. But, today, when they were following me and calling me that word, I started thinking of you, how you came out to your brother and how hard that was for you, I felt like I had to do something." He looked back down again and mumbled, "They just laughed and kept calling me it. Then they knocked me down and started kicking me."

Wordlessly, I pulled Lane into a hug across the center console. At first, he was tense in my arms, then he relaxed and hugged me back, holding tightly to the fabric of my jacket.

"Sometimes, you just really hate people, y'know?" he murmured.

"Yeah, I know," I muttered sympathetically, rubbing his thin back. Lane buried his face in the crook of my neck; his skin was awfully cold. For a few long moments, we stayed like that in the small car. Then, he sighed and let go of me before unbuckling his seat belt. "I gotta get going. Mom and Dad are probably freaking out by now."

I nodded, and followed him in unbuckling my seatbelt and getting out of the car. We walked over to the driveway, before Lane turned and said hesitantly, "Don't mention this to anyone at school, okay? I'm just going to tell my parents that someone knocked me over, not all that other stuff. I don't want them to worry."

I nodded. "Okay." He started to head into the house. "Hey, wait." He stopped and looked at me questioningly. I took off my jacket and put it around his shoulders. "Take this."

He shook his head. "No. I told you, I'm fine. I don't need–"

"Please," I said, smiling slightly. "You're making me cold." I pulled the jacket closed across his chest and moved closer.

Lane smiled. "Alright." He closed the few inches between us and kissed me on the mouth. I wrapped my arms around him and pressed him tightly to my chest, rocking him gently back and forth. I wanted nothing more than to keep holding him, to protect him from– what? All of the evil in the entire world? That was certainly what it felt like.

Eventually, I remembered that we both had parents to get back to, and drew back from the kiss. We stayed there holding each other, afraid to let the other go. His lip was bleeding again, a thin, red trickle starting to roll down his chin. I reached out and brushed away the blood with my thumb.

"Do you want me to come in with you?" I said softly.

He shook his head. "Naw. You head home."

I smiled and kissed him on the forehead. "I love you."

He smiled back, looking happier than I had seen him all night, and nuzzled his forehead against mine. "I love you too, Danny. Really, I don't know what I would have done if I couldn't have called you tonight." He kissed me lightly on the lips. "G'night."

He turned and headed up the driveway. I waited a moment, then headed back to the car and got in. When I looked back, he had put on the jacket and was walking to his door. Regretfully, I turned the car back on and started towards my house. In the rear window, I could see him opening the door and walking inside. As much as I wanted to do more to help him, I realized that he probably needed his parents most right now.

I felt extremely tired from going through these emotional twists and turns. Anger was still burning in the back of my mind, like a slowly brewing headache. Lane was so beautiful, so wonderful, and hurting him seemed like the ugliest thing in the world.

Fag.

The word was festering in my brain, and stabbing at me painfully. You don't often come across genuine, full-on hatred, and having it forced into my and Lane's lives, was frightening. We had no power to stop that force of hatred.

My one consolation as I drove home was that in one week, we would be playing Redwood, whom I had decided I was going to blame in its entirety, logic be damned, in the championships. And, even though I knew that it was wrong, and Lane would be very disappointed with me for thinking it, we were going to murder them.

Maybe I'm a bad person, but that made me feel good.