by James Klise
“A college fund comes first,” my mother said.
I nodded. “And I have an idea, too.”
Several days later, a perky realtor in a too-tight, too-short skirt unlocked the front door of the Bound & Ground and ushered us in. She switched on all the lights, chattering about the “huge potential” of the space. The café had been empty for over a month, chairs stacked on tabletops, but the place looked and smelled remarkably clean. The chrome shelves behind the counter still held rows of gleaming ceramic mugs. I listened for the ghost of Rita and her bracelets.
“It’s cute,” my mother said. She approached the sleek bar area with its black countertops and industrial lighting. Then she turned and faced the bookcases lining the wall. “It looks like something Julia Roberts would own in a movie.”
I almost laughed. “It was a good business. I was in here dozens of times. Every neighborhood needs a place like this.”
“But the name … Bound & Ground?” my dad said. “Kind of a downer, right?”
As soon as we bought it, we rechristened it the Island Café. We painted the walls with bright blue skies and palm trees, fixed the wobbliest tables, and added more food to the menu. Comfort foods like meatloaf and pulled pork sandwiches and veggie chili. The day we reopened, a line formed all the way out the door.
In the weeks after the fire, my body returned to normal. I started sleeping again, for one thing, and dreaming. My eyesight improved. Maybe it was being off the drug, or maybe it was just springtime, but I had forgotten how colorful the city can be. Color is everywhere—in the city parks, alley murals, neon signs, even on passing cars. It took some time, but I started noticing boys again, too. Now that the days are warm, I’ll be in the café, pouring coffee or clearing dishes, and I’ll see the most handsome boys walking by the big window. Guys my age, hanging in groups, or college dudes walking alone, listening to music in their own little world. It makes me smile. It’s the most common and ordinary thing, but seeing them makes me feel alive inside.
I had forgotten.
No, I don’t have a boyfriend—I don’t even want one. Give me a break, I’m only fifteen. I can’t even drive. “A teenage boy without a crush isn’t a teenage boy,” my grandfather still says to encourage me. Well, maybe I do have a crush or two, but I keep them to myself. I don’t want to talk about my love life—real or imagined—with my family. Isn’t that normal?
Wesley’s back on his Ritalin, a lower dosage than before. Even he agrees he’s better on it than off. After my story made the newspapers, Wesley came right over and said he wanted to hear the whole sordid saga from my own mouth. We sat in my backyard, leaning against the brick wall of the garage to hide from reporters, and I told him everything. I was finally ready.
“Okay then,” he said when I finished. “Cool.”
“Cool?”
“Yeah, more chickies for me.” Turns out Wesley was waiting on the island too, right next to my parents. Now he and I split afternoon shifts at the café, better friends than ever. Wes is saving money to go to college and study medicine. He says he wants to develop better drugs for kids with ADHD. He was the first one who showed me the newspaper article on the FDA’s unprecedented decision to preemptively deny approval of Rehomoline for Dr. Gamez’s intended purposes, which is awesome. Not so awesome is the fact that Dr. Gamez can still apply to the FDA for approval of Rehomoline if he can show the drug has other benefits—a shady way for the FDA to cover its ass. No doubt, those pills will be available someday for people who want them. But that won’t be me.
During the trial, a letter came for me in the mail. Maxwell Tech stationery, with Mr. Covici’s name printed above the return address. I opened it eagerly, hoping it might contain some piece of big-picture wisdom like something he’d paint on the wall of the library, but intended especially for me. But it only said,
Dear Jamie,
Using the club money, we have acquired a beautiful new screen for the auditorium. You must come help us plan the film series. Some suggestions for Halloween, please? We are pleased that you are safe, and we look forward to your return to school.
Covici’s message cheered me, but to be honest, I’ve had enough of horror movies for now. My old copies can gather dust in my bedroom. If I go back to Maxwell and work on the film series, I want to show something else. Anything else.
Love stories, maybe.
I miss Celia. I miss exploring the city with her. Even though the café is only a few blocks from her house, I never see her. Maybe they moved away or went to Mexico for the summer. I don’t expect to hear from her. She has more than enough reasons to be angry with me for a long time.
But a funny thing happened the other day.
It was a crazy-hot summer afternoon. Ivan and Anella were hanging out at the café, playing cards. They come in a lot when they’re not out sailing on Lake Michigan. Tan, their hair the color of the beach under the sun, they both get free drinks from me—for different reasons. The weirdest part? Now that they know I’m gay, it’s actually easy for us all to be friends. The old unspoken tensions are gone. We can flirt and tease one another and there’s no risk. No expectation. We feel comfortable with each other.
I even taught them to play “Sex or No Sex?” We’ll sit at a table near the window like a panel of judges on reality TV, and we speculate about random people walking by. Odds are, we’re correct at least fifty percent of the time. We all like playing games we can win.
Anyway, the other day a stranger with a familiar face entered the café. She was dressed professionally in a dark suit, not like a college student anymore. But her mousy hair, nervous mouth, and John Lennon–style eyeglasses were unmistakable.
Anella lowered the cards to her lap and whispered, “No sex.”
“You’d be surprised,” I said.
I jumped up and went to the register.
The woman gave her order for coffee and I took her money. “Can I ask you something? Is your name … Amanda Lynn?”
She smiled uncertainly. “Do we know each other?”
No joke, it felt almost like meeting a celebrity. “Well,” I said, “you may recall that you lost a wallet and a silver bracelet a while back, correct? If you’re interested, I know who has them.”
“Wait a minute—those things were stolen from me.”
This was a first: accused of taking something I hadn’t actually taken.
“No, my friend just found them … on the ground.” I hesitated, wondering how specific I should be. Was she telling the truth? Maybe she was embarrassed. “She found them on the sidewalk and didn’t know how to contact you.” I scribbled Celia’s name and cell phone number on the back of an old receipt. “She’ll be glad to hear from you.”
Reading the information, she still seemed suspicious. “Thanks.” She moved down the counter, took her coffee, and turned to leave.
“Hey,” I called. “If you wouldn’t mind, tell her Jamie says hi. Hi and sorry. Would you remember to do that?”
She nodded and left in a hurry.
It makes me smile to think of Celia getting that phone call.
Maybe, if we both return to Maxwell in September, I’ll give her one more flower. But what would I write on the message?
Regrets—This boy regrets not being honest with you from the beginning.
Secrets and schemes—This boy has had enough of them.
Sex—Nope, not yet. How about you?
In retrospect, the whole thing feels like a mixed-up movie—part romantic comedy, part horror flick—instead of what it was, just weird and confusing normal life.
My life. Maybe it’s time to start falling in love with that.
Hey Jamie, you rock!
Love,
Yourself
Author’s Note
As far as I know, no drug exists that could change a person’s sexual orientation. I made this story up. Never consulted with doctors, never cruised the Internet for information about cutting-edge pharmaceutical news. I just sat down and wrote the stor
y using my imagination.
Moreover, I hope a drug like this never exists. I’m gay and—not to brag or tempt fate or anything—my life is pretty dang wonderful just the way it is. My whole perspective would change if I were straight. So would my tastes and my sense of humor, and who knows if I’d even be a writer? More than anything, I love my partner, Mike, and the life we share together.
But here’s something I’m not proud of. When I was young, I might have taken a drug like the one in this book. I definitely prayed for the same miracle Jamie prays for. I did not want to be gay. I wanted to be like everyone else. The notion of being gay filled me with a secret terror—a real dread of my future. And I think many gay teenagers feel that way too. That’s why I wrote this book. It’s normal to want to “feel normal,” whatever normal means. Especially in high school.
Over time, I grew up and stopped being afraid. Once the fear was gone, everything in my life changed for the better. It was a miracle. No drug required.
Acknowledgments
The author wishes to thank his family, as well as the following people for their generous contributions to this novel: Brian Farrey and Sandy Sullivan and everyone at Flux, Kate Klise, Mike Kuras, Kristine Huntley, John Carpenter, Sheila Kohler, Jonathan Demme, Anne Brashler, Alfred Hitchcock, Colleen Collins Greene, Mia Farrow, Erin O’Brien, Brian Alesia, Mary Shelley, and students at CICS Northtown Academy in Chicago, who unanimously voted for the best title.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title_Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Author's_Note
Acknowledgments