Small Circles

By Megan Duke

This inspiring story touches base with the struggles of defining oneself in spite of homosexuality, drug addiction, suicide, and heartbreak. Most of all it sends one message: it’s okay to be happy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: IndieReader
• Release date: Apr 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781480133211

Book preview

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PART 1 - SOPHOMORE YEAR

Foster and Allan Academy is a boarding school. It was home, at one point or another, to many of today’s wealthy business owners, entrepreneurs, and famous artists. It won’t do any good to name them because all you need to know is that they made it. That’s what they call it when you’ve done everything you can do to fulfill your dreams and everyone knows your name: making it. Larson Ashby wanted to make it. He had attended Foster and Allan practically since birth, but it wasn’t because he wanted to be a big man in a business suit or a singer, despite his active role in the upper school choir. Larson Ashby made checklists, and being a student at one of the most prestigious schools in the state of Tennessee meant another tick towards another accomplishment.

That was the thing with Larson: he didn’t think about what he wanted to do, only felt satisfied with what he’d already done.

Besides being a star soloist in the choir, Larson was deeply involved with the varsity dive team. He was the captain, of course, and had been since ninth grade. His best friend, Paxton Graham, was also part of the team, but rarely made it to practice by anyone’s schedule. The two had met in Kindergarten. Paxton had stolen Larson’s blue crayon, and Larson wasn’t the kind to take crap, especially from a six-year-old in a sweater vest. He had marched right over to Paxton and demanded he give the utensil back mid-scribble. Even at such a young age, Paxton had respected the fair-haired boy for his boldness, and from then on they were inseparable. Now, they were beginning their sophomore year at the academy. They’d made an addition to their two-some since meeting another boy, Owen Spencer, in seventh grade. It took some time allotting him the same amount of attention the two mates had given each other throughout the years, but Owen had proven his loyalty after defending Larson against a group of boys on the lacrosse team that were making fun of Larson’s sexuality. Larson hadn’t told Owen that he was gay, but even despite knowing otherwise, Owen had punched a guy named Mac in the face to make him stop calling Larson a faggot. After that, there was no question whether or not he could be trusted.

On a sticky, hot day in August, Larson was making his way across the lawn to meet Paxton in the west car lot. He was wearing sweatpants and a grey Vanderbilt Football T-shirt. His hair clung to his forehead because it was still damp from the pool. Paxton hadn’t made it to dive practice, again, but Larson had already been prepared for that before entering the White Swim Center earlier that afternoon. It didn’t used to be that bad. Paxton never cared about applying himself towards anything worth applying to, but the real lack of determination hadn’t started until after his father had committed suicide nine months prior. Lawrence Graham used to own half of the hotels in Nashville before filing for bankruptcy due to a massive drop in revenue. After losing nearly all of his wealth, being forced to sell his $500,000 home in Brentwood, and losing the respect of his son for wallowing in self-pity, Lawrence hanged himself in the top floor suite of his last property. Paxton wasn’t himself after that, and Larson knew better than to try and make him change. Even though he didn’t show up for trivial things, like class or team practice, he showed up for the things that mattered. Like standing next to his car at precisely 6:45pm like Larson had asked because Paxton had promised him he’d be there. That was the one thing that Larson had faith in: his best friend’s loyalty.

Paxton was smoking a cigarette and leaning against the grill of his Jeep Wrangler. The headlights nearly met his shoulders because of the raised suspension. Paxton wasn’t the grease monkey type, he had bought the car that way, and Larson wasn’t that fond of aggressive vehicles, but he had to admit riding the back roads in that monstrous machine had created quite a few memorable moments in their history. No hill was too high and no puddle of mud too deep for Celine - the Jeep’s name, believe it or not. Larson had asked why he’d chosen such a girly name for an obviously masculine vehicle. She likes getting roughed up every once in a while, Paxton had said. Larson never brought it up again.

When he approached the boy with closely cropped brown hair and faded jeans, Larson yanked the cigarette from his fingers and threw it to the ground, stomping out the embers.

Are you crazy? Larson hissed. Like you need another detention from Snider.

The other boy smirked, still blowing out the remains of the smoke that had filled his lungs. Like I care.

Larson rolled his eyes and threw his bag of extra clothes and swim gear into the back of the Jeep. He hoisted himself up into the passenger seat, nearly knocking himself silly on the car’s frame, and Paxton followed suit, a bit more gracefully. The two boys drove the two miles distance to the nearest Gyro joint and pulled into the closest parking spot to the door. Paxton mounted the edge of the sidewalk and smiled self-assuredly at the girls walking out of the restaurant. They were giggling and pointing, just like people always did, at Paxton’s choice of car and the two handsome teenagers inside it.

"Maybe I should start wearing a sign that says, ‘I Like Penis’," Larson said arcastically.

Oh, please. They were looking at me, Paxton acknowledged.

Are you sure? I am quite pretty.

Paxton narrowed his eyes. Yes.

The inside of the restaurant was packed with students from Foster and Allan. It was Friday evening, so residents of the school could come and go as they pleased, as long as they were back in their dorms by midnight. A lot chose to go home for the weekends, but there were almost as many that stayed behind - either because they lived out of state or they just didn’t care to see their families. Both Larson and Paxton lived only 45 minutes away from campus, but there was no point in going home when Larson had an extra-long dive practice every Saturday and Paxton had no home to go to. During the summers, Paxton would stay with his grandmother on his dad’s side. He didn’t know his mom because she was only sixteen when she’d had him and gave all rights to Paxton’s father, who was two years older. Larson didn’t completely ignore his friend’s misfortune, though. Whenever it was okay with his parents, Larson invited Paxton to stay with him and his family for extensive periods of time. He’d even extended the invitation to Owen on several occasions. The three of them would stay in the Ashby’s pool house, watching movies and playing X-box until the wee hours of the morning, and fall asleep on the pullout sofa.

As the pair chose a table, Owen walked through the entrance of the Greek restaurant, causing the bell above the door to ding. He joined his friends in the circular booth they’d taken claim over.

I’m fucking starving, Owen announced.

Why Owen, young chap, it’s lovely to see you as well. Do tell us more about your need for sustenance. Larson was speaking in an over-the-top British accent. Owen ignored him.

Who’d you hitch a ride with? Paxton asked the boy.

Owen gestured behind him to acknowledge the group of lacrosse players that were now filing through the door. Practice ended early, so I figured I’d join you for dinner. I texted you.

I got it, Paxton confirmed.

For someone who’d just finished running around a field and catching balls in funny nets for hours, Owen looked unfazed. It was as if he’d sat around reading historic biographies all day instead of sweating and burning calories. Owen didn’t have much hair to work with, but Larson could tell it was clean. He smelled of Old Spice body wash and cigarettes. Larson was the only one of his friends that didn’t smoke.

I had to take like a five second shower or else they would have left me, Owen told his friends.

Larson continued with his usual mockery, minus the accent. Well, thank God for that.

Owen yanked off the hoodie he’d been wearing and tossed it into the empty seat beside him. Larson viewed Owen as a manly sort of guy, but in a well kept sort of way. Unlike Paxton, Owen valued clothing with a name brand and always made sure to give off the impression that he was prepared for any situation. Paxton valued his two favorite beanies and usually wore the same pair of jeans for weeks at a time. Larson never made note of it aloud, but he always considered Owen the more attractive of the two.

A young, Hispanic girl with big brown eyes soon walked over to their table and asked if they were ready to order. They took turns telling her what they wanted, and after she walked away, Paxton made a moaning sound in the back of his throat. Damn. Where does she go?

Obviously not the academy. We would have seen her, Owen stated.

Larson was twirling the specials sign in a small circle on the table in front of him. Maybe you should have said something to her in Spanish, he suggested towards Owen. She would have liked that.

I don’t speak Spanish.

No? What do they speak in Cuba?

Just because my step-mom speaks Spanish does not mean I’ve picked up on anything.

Larson stared incredulously. Well, that’s boring.

After the boys had their meals, they sat for a while talking about the year in front of them. Owen was planning to drop Student Council from his list of extracurriculars. He had come to realize that while it was fun before, now the only people involved were those that seriously planned to run for president one day. Being president was not a part of Owen’s to-do list, and the other members knew that, so he figured he wouldn’t be missed. Larson had a novel’s worth of exciting things to look forward to in his sophomore year. The drama club was putting on their own version of Wicked, and Larson had his eyes set on playing the wizard. Both the upper school choir and the dive team had hopes of making it to state championships, and it was his leadership that was going to get them there.

While Larson and Owen shared stories, Paxton sat quietly while scraping glue from between the tiles on the surface of the table with his fork. Owen noticed Paxton’s distance from the conversation and asked him a question. What about you, Pax? Plan on doing anything this year?

Paxton darted his eyes up at Owen and flexed an eyebrow. What’s that supposed to mean?

That you normally don’t do anything, and this year you should. Owen’s deliverance was blunt.

Paxton didn’t want to give them any more reason to scold him on his lack of involvement, so he deflected. I was actually wondering when you were planning to join the dive team?

Owen’s watchful eyes relaxed slightly. You know I can’t because of lacrosse. Conflicting schedules. He suddenly became doubtful. Why are you so concerned? You’re never there.

Because it’s stupid, Paxton automatically spat.

Larson’s head whipped around to acknowledge his accusation. Why is it stupid? You used to like it.

Yeah, before you became captain and your word was law.

The muscles in Larson’s jaw flinched. I’m not like that.

Yes you are, Paxton restated, but it’s okay. I accept you and your flaws. He rested a hand on Larson’s shoulder. That’s why I want Owen to join. I’ll have someone else with me to help tolerate your rule.

The three boys shared expressions of equal understanding and stopped the conversation before it went too far. The other two both knew that Paxton was on a slippery slope, and if pushed hard enough, would say or do anything he normally wouldn’t to get a rise out of the situation. They hoped it would pass, but it was becoming hard to tell if Paxton would ever be the same again.

The first day of classes began with a bang. Before sitting down at a desk in the very back of his Geometry class, Paxton had overheard three different stories from classmates in the halls. Apparently, a girl named Josie was caught having oral sex in the west car lot with some guy (not her boyfriend) named Lance; the World History teacher was suspended for sending dirty pictures to his wife during school hours, and there was a really hot new girl at Foster and Allan that had just moved in the night before. Paxton didn’t know which of these stories were true, if any, but he didn’t care to know either. The only thing that mattered to him was getting a desk where the teacher couldn’t see him so he could copy the last ten questions of their summer reading quiz that was due next block. He’d traded a kid some Linkin Park CDs for the answers. As he was scrawling as neatly and quickly as possible, Larson entered the classroom and took the seat next to his friend.

Did you hear about -?

Yeah, Paxton interrupted without looking away from his work.

How do you know what I’m gonna say? Larson asked sounding a bit disappointed.

I’ve heard everything this morning from the drama circle up there. Paxton nodded towards the front of the class where a group of very talkative blondes huddled together sharing nail polish. When Larson’s lost appearance didn’t diminish, Paxton asked anyways. Which story is it?

Larson’s mouth contracted to a smile. Oh, just some girl. Her name is Jade. Everyone’s saying she transferred here from Paris where she used to model. I don’t think I believe it. Paxton shifted his paper as Larson spoke, trying to fit more words on the last line of the page. Did you not do your summer work again?

Paxton looked away from where his pencil met paper and met Larson’s anxious gaze. No, he answered. Then he added, And that’s bullshit.

What’s bullshit?

The whole Paris thing.

Right, Larson agreed. No French model would move to Tennessee. Too many horses.

Too many country singers, Paxton added.

And grass.

Grass?

Sure, why not? We were on a roll.

Or a hay bale.

Larson let out a snort, which was his way of laughing without fair warning, and caught the attention of the girls that had been congregating. Paxton winked and sent a kiss through the air in their direction. Some of the girls giggled, but the others simply scowled.

Can’t please them all, Larson said.

Owen was running late for first block Geometry and, to make matters worse, on the first day of classes. He’d overslept by fifteen minutes, and because he always set his alarm for ten minutes before class, this meant it had already started. The math building was just across the lawn from his dorm building, so if he ran fast enough he could make it before the teacher called for roll. He was only five feet away from his destination when something tall, dark, and stunning caught his eye. A girl with dark brown hair, wearing a navy blue T-shirt and denim shorts that exposed the longest legs Owen had ever seen, was walking towards him down the hall. They met at the same door and the girl smiled, exposing a dimple on the left side of her face.

Is this Geometry? she asked in a strong accent, most likely northern.

Yeah, he said. Guess we’re both late.

The girl’s smile transformed from friendly to embarrassed. I couldn’t find the building. I just moved in last night. She glanced down at the floor. I feel like it’s so obvious that I don’t go here.

Owen shrugged. Not to make you feel worse or anything, but it probably is. Obvious, I mean. It’s a small school so most people notice when someone different shows up.

She sighed in response and gestured at the door. Guess we better go in.

Owen reached for the handle at the same moment she did and his fingers met the top of her hand. They both laughed nervously and Owen pulled the door open for the both of them.

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