One True Way

by Shannon Hitchcock

  I pushed and shoved my way through the crowd. “Sam, Sam,” I called.

  She couldn’t hear me over the music and the noise.

  Dwayne tried to talk to me, but I didn’t stop moving. “Not now, Big D.”

  Reverend Walker waved me over, but I only waved back and kept pushing.

  When I finally got to where Sam had been, she was gone. My heart fell flat, like a cherry coke with no fizz, but only for a second. I would find Sam if it took all night. I had to!

  I ran outside, but Sam had disappeared. There were a few people leaning against cars in the parking lot, but not Sam. My heart raced. Jonathan! Or Melissa! Maybe one of them knew where Sam had gone.

  I hurried back inside. Melissa was square dancing, so I knelt down to talk with Jonathan. “Sam went to check on Penny, but she’ll be right back.”

  Penny! I should have thought of that. Sam and Penny had a barrel racing competition the next morning.

  Lifting my long skirt, I rushed back outside. The lantern lights kept me from tripping, or stepping in horse manure.

  When I got close enough to see her, Sam was hugging Penny. She spoke to her in such a low voice that I couldn’t make out the words.

  I waited until Sam finished talking. “It’s me.”

  Sam gasped and her eyes widened. “What are you doing here?” Her voice cracked.

  “I had to tell you I’m sorry.”

  “You already said that.”

  “And … and I wanted to ask you if we could back up. If we could go back to that day in your barn when I gave you the friendship bracelet and you said you didn’t like anybody else as much as me.”

  “A lot has happened since then.”

  I thought about how scared I had been the night she ran away. How my heart had broken when Mom didn’t understand, the hopeless feelings when Sam had quit the basketball team. I thought about Coach Murphy and Miss Holt, and how I was still scared about the future. But mostly I remembered my last session with Dr. Nichols. “My counselor said I could pretend my feelings for you don’t exist, but then I’d never be as happy as I could have been. I don’t want to be like that.”

  “Me either, but it’s complicated.”

  I always hated when adults said that, but it turned out to be true. Liking Sam was messy and complicated.

  “Aren’t you worried about hurting your mom?”

  “Mom is coming around.” Sam’s parents probably never would, but I didn’t say that out loud.

  “Are you sure about this?” Sam asked. “What about Coach and Miss Holt? Being gay is hard.”

  “I know.” I took a deep breath. The answer was deep inside, just like Reverend Walker had said it would be. “But not being myself is even harder. Mom and Dad will help me. I know they will.”

  Sam smiled in the lantern light. “Then maybe we need to start over.”

  “You mean back to the very beginning?”

  “Yeah.” She stuck her hand out like a politician. “Just call me Sam,” she said. “I know all the kids at DB, so you must be new.”

  I shook her hand. “Allison Drake.” My voice came out all scratchy like I had a frog in my throat.

  “Ribbit, ribbit,” Sam said.

  “Ribbit, ribbit,” I answered. I was usually shy around people I didn’t know, but something about Sam felt different, right from the start.

  We are all living through history, but we may not realize the significance until years later. I was a teenager in the 1970s and remember watching Anita Bryant’s commercials for the Florida Citrus Commission. She sang, “Come to the Florida Sunshine Tree.” You can still watch these commercials on YouTube.

  It wasn’t until writing this book that I realized Anita Bryant had also played a role in denying equal rights to homosexuals. She became a spokesperson against a local ordinance in Dade County, Florida, that prohibited discrimination based on sexual orientation. Bryant’s Save Our Children campaign led to a repeal of the ordinance, and in 1977, Florida legislators passed a bill that prohibited gay adoption. That law remained on the books until 2015.

  Bryant went on to lead campaigns around the country that denied equal rights to homosexuals, but her actions negatively impacted her career. Many people boycotted products for which she was a spokesperson.

  On her website, Anita Bryant Ministries International, it states, “I made a stand not against homosexuals as persons, but against legislation that would tend to ‘normalize’ and abet their lifestyle, and would especially afford them influence over our children who attended private religious school.”

  Due to the actions of Anita Bryant and other like-minded people, the 1970s were a time when gay and lesbian teachers could lose their jobs and when kids who liked each other the way Sam and Allie did kept it a secret or were shunned.

  I have a special connection to this story. When I was in my early twenties, my best friend told me she was gay. I had never been more stunned in my life. My reaction was much like Sam’s sister, Melissa’s. I struggled to understand how someone I was so close to had kept that big a secret. I wondered if I knew her at all. But I came to understand the courage it took to tell the truth, and that my reaction was the problem. My friend was the same person she had always been. I was the one who needed to change.

  I wrote One True Way to make sense of that period in my life. My hope is it helps young readers navigate a difficult topic, whether they are gay themselves or have friends who are.

  It would be impossible for a book to mirror the experiences of every gay person, but I hope I’ve done this topic justice. Prior to publication, a minister, a lesbian, a gay man, and the mother of a gay son reviewed One True Way. All of these people helped shape Sam and Allie’s story.

  The following books were invaluable to me: Defrocked: How a Father’s Act of Love Shook the United Methodist Church by Franklyn Schaefer, Crooked Letter i: Coming Out in the South by Connie Griffin, and When Christians Get It Wrong by Adam Hamilton.

  Speakforthem.org states that “suicide is the leading cause of death among Gay and Lesbian youth nationally.” These teens need to see themselves in books. They need to know they’re not alone.

  It truly takes a village to turn a story idea into a published book. The 2014 National Council of Teachers of English (NCTE) Convention provided the spark that became One True Way. I got up early to hear my editor, Andrea Pinkney, speak on a panel. During the session, the moderator talked about the lack of middle grade books dealing with homosexuality. I knew immediately that I wanted to write such a novel. I owe a round of applause to NCTE!

  Lots of people offered input. I’d especially like to acknowledge Rob Sanders for suggesting the Anita Bryant connection; Nancy Stewart for her prompt feedback; Kendra Gayle Lee for sharing painful episodes from her growing-up years; Lorin Oberweger, who pointed out that Allie would make a more compelling character if she had a goal; and the Reverend Vicki Walker, who talked theology with me and pulled a copy of Defrocked: How a Father’s Act of Love Shook the United Methodist Church from her personal bookshelf.

  One True Way couldn’t have found a better home than Scholastic. A giant hug to Andrea and her whole team! And as always, I’m grateful for the contract expertise of my agent, Deborah Warren.

  And finally, my deepest gratitude to all the students, teachers, and librarians who have read my novels. I get the chance to live my dream because of you.

  Shannon Hitchcock is the author of the critically acclaimed Ruby Lee & Me, a nominee for the 2017–2018 Nebraska Chapter Book Golden Sower Award, and the Crystal Kite Award–winning The Ballad of Jesse Pearl, both hailed for their immediacy and cadenced voice. Shannon’s picture book biography, Overgrown Jack, was nominated for the Sue Alexander Most Promising New Work Award. Her writing has been published in Cricket, Highlights for Children, and Children’s Writer magazines. She divides her time between Tampa, Florida, and Hendersonville, North Carolina.

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at Shannon Hitchcok’s critically acclaimed novel Ruby Lee and
Me

  It was a perfectly ordinary day, until it wasn’t.

  Robin played in the sandbox while I read underneath the mimosa tree. I was spending the first day of summer vacation babysitting my sister, or at least I was supposed to be. Before long my mind had drifted clear out of North Carolina, and I was swimming with a dolphin off the English coast.

  A loud screech jolted me out of the story. A car, a black car, had hit someone! Bad things never happened in our neighborhood. I hid my face in my hands. It couldn’t be real.

  When I got the courage to look, people were spilling from cars and homes into the street. I dropped my book and ran toward them.

  A man I didn’t know took charge. “Call an ambulance,” he shouted. “Somebody call an ambulance!”

  I saw Robin’s red tennis shoe abandoned in the street. I yelled. I cried and wailed. She lay on the ground, small and still. When I screamed her name, she tried to get up. Her legs crumpled beneath her.

  I got all cold and numb, like I’d been put in the meat locker at Gentry’s Grocery. A faraway ambulance siren rang in my ears.

  Mama gave me a hard shake. “Sarah, listen to me.”

  I tried to focus on her face, but it was a blur. Instead I stared at Mama’s hands. They were still dirty from working in the vegetable garden.

  “I have to go with Robin in the ambulance,” Mama said. “Stay with Cathy until I get back.”

  I was terrified for the ambulance to take Robin away. I might never see her again.

  I pulled from Mama’s grasp and hurried to where the paramedics were loading Robin onto a stretcher. With her eyes closed, she didn’t look six years old. She looked like a baby.

  I fell to my knees. Why did this have to happen? Why?

  The ambulance sped away, and our neighbor Cathy helped me to my feet. “You’re trembling,” she said. “I’m gonna wrap you in a warm quilt and make you a cup of tea.”

  A quilt and tea? That wouldn’t fix things. Nothing could.

  I took a last look at the scene of the accident. A policeman was questioning the driver whose car had hit Robin. He looked about eighteen, Cathy’s age, and kept tugging at his shirt collar. A red-hot hatred ran through me. I wished I could kick him, scratch him, bite him. I would never forgive him for hurting my sister, not in a million, billion years.

  Cathy put her arm around me and led me from the street to her house. Though she piled quilts on me, I was freezing from the inside out. My teeth chattered. Her dog, Scruffy, burrowed under the covers and cuddled up with me.

  The phone rang, and Cathy ran to answer it. “Yes, yes, sir,” she said. “Don’t worry. I know I sound young, but I used to babysit Sarah. Yeah, I think she’s doing okay. She’s wrapped in a quilt and sipping some tea.”

  Cathy stayed on the phone a long time and then hung up the receiver. “That was your grandpa. He’s coming to get you.”

  “Why?”

  She picked at her fingernails and didn’t look at me directly. “Because your parents are spending the night at the hospital. Your grandparents want you to stay with them until Robin’s better.”

  I hid my face in Scruffy’s fur. Ever since Grandpa called, Cathy’s eyes were swimming in tears. I was scared to ask why.

  At five thirty, Cathy’s mama got home from working in the hosiery mill. She fussed over me and made a meat loaf, but my stomach churned. I pretended to be asleep, so I wouldn’t have to eat it.

  Just after supper, Grandpa shuffled in, wearing his Old Hickory overalls. I flung the quilts aside and barreled into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. He patted my hair. “How’s my girl?”

  “I’m afraid, Grandpa.”

  “Me too,” he whispered. He thanked Cathy and her mama for taking care of me. “We surely appreciate it.” He promised to call whenever he had more news. Then Grandpa turned to me. “We need to get you packed up,” he said.

  Our house was quiet, except for a running toilet. I wiggled the handle until it stopped, and then hurried down the hall to my bedroom. I called it the lavender library, because the walls were purple, and it was full of books. I packed my clothes, then stuffed sandals and a pair of Keds underneath them. There was only room left for my journal and a few novels. I stood in front of my bookshelf, thinking about which ones I might need. Finally I chose Little House on the Prairie, Heidi Grows Up, and The Wizard of Oz.

  I lugged the heavy suitcase to Robin’s room. It was decorated with Western stuff, because she wanted to be a cowgirl when she grew up. I took a picture of Robin wearing a cowboy hat off her dresser. I wrapped it in a towel and placed it in my suitcase.

  Grandpa’s dog, Rowdy, was waiting in the back of the truck. He barked and wagged his tail. I was glad to see him.

  “You don’t mind if I put your suitcase in the back with Rowdy, do you?”

  “Course not. He can’t hurt that old suitcase.”

  “I’ll get your bike,” Grandpa said. “You might be staying with us for a while.”

  A while sounded like a long time. I wanted the doctors to make Robin better and send her home tomorrow or, better yet, right now.

  Night settled in, and the sky would be black as pitch before we reached the farm. Grandpa rolled his window down, and a warm breeze blew in. We left the small town of Tucker behind and traveled down a country road with no streetlights. Grandpa sang “In the Sweet By-and-By.” He had a wonderful, deep voice. Listening to him soothed me like a lullaby. I could almost pretend the accident hadn’t happened.

  When he finished the song, Grandpa said, “Sweet pea, what happened today?”

  I didn’t know how to answer him. I saw the accident, but my memories were jumbled. At first I didn’t know Robin was hurt. I just thought she had wandered off. And then when I saw her lying on the ground, it felt the way Reverend Reece describes hell when he’s all wound up.

  “Sarah?”

  Grandpa was waiting for me to explain, but I didn’t know how to own up to a mistake that big. Finally, I took the easy way out. “Robin ran and I couldn’t catch her in time.”

  “Where was she going?” Grandpa asked.

  “I don’t know. Could we not talk about it? Please.”

  Grandpa reached into his pocket and handed me a handkerchief. “Maybe you’ll feel more like talking tomorrow.”

  I didn’t think so.

  It grew even darker on Shady Creek Road. The pavement ended, and Grandpa’s red truck bumped along on the gravel. There were no signs and no streetlights. We passed the shadows of cow pastures, tobacco barns, and cornfields.

  “Dang it,” Grandpa said. “Now I can’t see at all. Can you drive from here?” Grandpa needed an operation for cataracts, but so far he’d been too stubborn to get one.

  Grandpa pulled over, and I changed seats with him. Though I was only twelve, that didn’t matter on a farm. I had been driving ever since my feet could reach the pedals. A few minutes later, I turned into the farmhouse driveway and shifted into park.

  “Mighty fine driving job,” Grandpa said. “It’s good to be home.”

  It surely was. Though I didn’t live there, the farm felt like a second home to me. Granny had left the front-porch light on for us, but only the moon shone on the barn and outbuildings. I usually visited the farm with Robin. I had a baseball-size lump in my throat.

  Granny was waiting in the kitchen. She smelled like fresh-baked biscuits, and when she hugged me, her faded housedress felt soft against my cheek. “I bet you haven’t had anything to eat,” she said. My granny thought a hot meal would help almost any problem.

  I told Granny I wasn’t hungry, but she didn’t let that stop her. “A little bit of chicken soup will make you feel better. It’ll warm you up and calm your stomach.” Granny ladled soup into a bowl and crumbled saltine crackers on top. “Now eat it real slow.”

  It was easier to do it Granny’s way than to argue. When I finished, she led me to the bathroom and drew a tubful of warm water. “Climb in and take a nice, long soak,” she said. “I’ll be back d
irectly to check on you.”

  My arms and legs relaxed in the warm water. I closed my eyes and wished it could wash away the accident, suck it right down the drain like it had never happened.

  Sometime much later, Granny knocked on the door. “Can I come in?”

  My skin had shriveled like a dried apple. “Yeah, I need to dry off.” Granny handed me a fluffy towel, and I burrowed into its softness. I perched on the commode while Granny worked a comb through my tangled hair.

  “You forgot to pack a nightgown, so you’ll have to sleep in one of mine.”

  It had been a long time since I had let anybody take care of me like that. I followed Granny to the big bed, climbed in, and pulled the quilt up to my chin. “Dear Lord,” Granny prayed. “Thank you for both of my granddaughters. Please watch over them tonight. I don’t understand why this terrible thing has happened, but I’m trusting you to get us through it. Amen.” She bent down and gave me a goodnight kiss.

  All alone, I couldn’t sleep in the big bed. I thought about Granny’s prayer. Her faith was strong, but I had trouble believing in things I couldn’t see.

  My arms felt empty, and I wanted to hug Robin so much it hurt. I climbed out of bed and took her picture from my suitcase. Clutching the frame to my chest, I knelt by the window.

  The farmyard was covered by moonlight. When I was little, I used to wish upon a star. I closed my eyes and wished for two things. The first was for Robin to be good as new. And though my second wish was impossible, I wished it with all my heart. Somehow, I wished the accident hadn’t been my fault.

  Copyright © 2018 by Shannon Hitchcock

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