Lucky

By Evan T. Apollo

Travis MacArthur, who recently started his senior year in high school, was comfortably settling into his seemingly ordinary life, living with his busy, mostly absent, divorced father in the New Jersey suburbs. Patrick and Kate are his witty and sarcastic best friends and happen to be the only people in the whole world that know Travis is gay.

While life isn’t perfect (whose is?), things had been running pretty smoothly up until the day his feline companion unexpectedly dies. From that moment on, many complications begin to manifest in every aspect of Travis’ life. His father’s work schedule increasingly leaves Travis alone much of the time, his mother’s new live-in boyfriend is obnoxious and the last person he wants as a stepfather, and a series of bad decisions lands Travis in the hospital and at the mercy of his school’s rumor mill.

To further complicate matters, in the midst of all his troubles, Travis falls madly for Ryan, a kind, charming, and insanely handsome guy he meets in the last place he would ever expect to find a love interest. While he is equally smitten with Travis, it is Ryan’s first same-sex relationship, and in his apprehension, pulls away, adding to Travis’ mounting problems.

Travis copes the best way he knows how - by trying to find the humor in life with his best friends at his side. But what happens when those things aren’t enough to pull him out of despair? And will he really have to give up his first true love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evan T. Apollo
• Release date: Feb 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310556586

Evan T. Apollo

I am a newly published author with Lucky being my first novel. Writing fiction for teens and young adults has been a lifelong goal that I'm proud to say has finally come to fruition. Lucky is a labor of love that has taken eleven long years to complete, as I've simultaneously been working other jobs and attending college.

Book preview

Lucky

By Evan T. Apollo

Published by Evan T. Apollo at Smashwords

Copyright 2015 Evan T. Apollo

Cover art by Taryn Carlino

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

About the author

One

Jiggle. Turn. Push. Yank. Shove. Body slam.

This was the process required to unlock and open the back door to my house. At first glance it appears to be falling off its hinges, but it’s actually quite stubborn when it comes to letting someone in. The upside was that it pretty much guaranteed no one could ever sneak in through the back door. After seventeen years I had the door opening process down to a science - albeit a science that appeared somewhat convoluted to the casual observer.

Once in, I quickly closed the door behind me and let my back pack clumsily drop to the floor.

The warmth of the house was inviting, consuming the chilly autumn air that had seemingly engulfed the Jersey suburbs overnight. I placed my car keys on the rightmost hook on the kitchen wall and felt grateful to finally have parking privileges at school, which were reserved for seniors only. I definitely did not miss the two mile walk to and from school that I had been required to make the three previous years.

The house felt unusually quiet that afternoon and I sensed something was a little bit off. Something was missing. After looking around the kitchen I soon realized there was no orange tabby cat at my feet – a cat that would normally be tripping me the moment I walked in the door. It was a daily routine I had grown accustomed to when I would come home and she would pretend as though she hadn’t eaten in months.

Her absence now made me worry because in addition to her ceremoniously greeting me for as long as I could remember, she had been acting peculiar since the week before. One year ago, she had been diagnosed with feline leukemia, but up until recently she appeared to be in good health. I’d kept putting off making follow up appointments with the vet both out of laziness and because of the bickering that would ensue with my dad as he felt things like pets were expendable and just added clutter to your life. My father wasn’t stingy, but to him, a cat wasn’t worth the cost of a vet bill.

I cautiously wandered from the kitchen through the dining room and then into the living room, making the noise that everyone makes when they are calling a cat. She unfortunately did not come running no matter how much I pss-pss-pss’d.

I reached the front of the house and there was Lucky at the foot of the staircase. Dead.

I’m not sure what to do. I mean, this never happened to me before, I explained on the phone to Kate, one of my two BFFs.

Are you sad? she asked.

Well, yeah. And it’s just – kind of icky. The cat simply looked like she was sleeping at the bottom of the steps. To the touch, she felt more like a cold, furry, dried up pot roast someone had forgotten in the back of the fridge.

Look, Trav, I really am sorry, Kate sympathized. But I promised mom I’d wait at the bus stop for Brandon. I’ll call you later, okay?

Brandon was her eight year old smart ass brother whom I didn’t particularly care for. Kids in general just weren’t my thing. I loathed being around people with babies because they always wanted me to hold them. Why? Not everyone finds joy in cradling your little bundle of slobber and poop. Trust me.

Alright. Bye, I said, hanging up without waiting for Kate’s part of the goodbye exchange.

I wandered out to the front porch, walking around in no particular configuration. I took some deep breaths and tried to clear my head and then called Patrick. He was my other BFF, but he wasn’t particularly keen on my referring to him as such.

Hello, caller. You’re on with Patrick, was what he said upon answering.

Hey, Patrick, I said.

What’s going on?

I need you to come over. And bring a shovel.

After a moment of silence, he said, Nothing good ever comes out of someone telling you to come to their house and bring a shovel. Unless you mean, like, a snow shovel. But it’d be pretty weird if it was snowing there considering that it’s 55 degrees and mostly sunny. This was the typical sort of response you were likely to get out of Patrick. It was often entertaining, but at times like this I just wanted to reach through the cellular airwaves and put my hand over his mouth. I feel I should also point out that it’s too late in the year to start gardening.

Not a garden shovel, I said, interrupting his babbling. Not a snow shovel. A dead cat shovel.

I was trying to keep myself together by somewhat making light of the situation, but in reality, I knew the tears would be catching up to me at any moment.

After another short silence Patrick finally said, Oh, hell.

While waiting for Patrick to show up, I considered finding a towel or box or something I could bury Lucky in. I headed back into the kitchen toward the basement when I spotted a note on the refrigerator that stopped me in my tracks.

Travis:

One of our partner firms is undergoing major restructuring. I have to go to Chicago right away to help get things organized over there. I may be gone for a couple of weeks. I left some cash and a credit card for you in the top desk drawer. I’ll call you later.

Dad.

PS: Please get rid of your dead cat.

I stared at the note for a moment, absorbing the information and could feel the rising anger in the pit of my stomach. I was used to my dad being consumed with his work, but this was a new low, even for him, to write a message telling me he was going to be gone for weeks. He couldn’t even wait to say goodbye in person. And, apparently, he hadn’t considered the fact that I might be a little upset about my dead cat. A cat who, I might add, had logged in more hours with me than some fathers I could mention. Get rid of your dead cat. The words somehow stuck beneath my eyelids.

What a jerk, I said, out loud to the fridge.

What a jerk, Patrick said to me, after reading my dad’s note.

I crumpled it up and tossed it into the garbage.

Maybe you should call the vet or something, Patrick said.

What for? I asked.

Patrick shrugged. Autopsy?

I know why she died, I said.

You don’t know for sure. Could be foul play, Patrick mused.

Oh, right, I said, in a mocking tone. Maybe Mrs. Diadoro’s asshole Chihuahua broke in while we were out and laced Lucky’s kitty treats with arsenic.

Hmm. So now what? Patrick asked, looking at me.

I don’t know. I guess we should go dig a hole.

I never had any pets that I couldn’t flush, Patrick said, flatly. We probably only have an hour of daylight left. It’s maybe a good idea to get started now.

I closed my eyes and sighed. Sadness was coming and going in waves. I took a deep breath and then walked out through the kitchen and into the back yard with Patrick trailing behind me.

Both of us shoveled dirt until we were sweaty and tired. I could feel the muscles in my arms growing weak as we pushed our way into the hard earth. When I decided that the hole was of an acceptable size I stopped Patrick from digging any farther. I brought Lucky out, stiff and cold, and placed her in the hole without a blanket or anything else to cover her. Patrick graciously offered up a used Amazon box that was in his trunk and I declined. It wasn’t as if it would save her from anything and I’m pretty sure they didn’t offer two day shipping to kitty heaven.

We tossed the loose dirt on top of her and stared at the mound briefly once we were finished.

Patrick broke the silence. Well, there goes the only pussy you’ve ever touched, he said, with a cautious smirk.

You’re not going to make me laugh, I said, fighting a smile.

If it’s alright with you, I’m gonna take off. Dad’s cooking tonight.

Okay. Well, listen – thanks for doing this, I said, grateful I didn’t have to bury my cat alone.

It’s cool, Patrick replied, and put his hand on my shoulder. I’m real sorry about your cat, dude.

Thanks. My eyes drifted to where his hand was. You’re kind of getting my shirt dirty.

After seeing Patrick to the front door, I watched him get into his little blue car and drive away.

Until a few years ago, Patrick lived across the street (and a few houses to the left). We’ve known each other for as long as I could remember. Our families used to get together sometimes. Our moms would always visit with each other, shop together, and even joined a bowling league briefly. Sometimes in the summer his dad would barbecue and they would invite us over for hamburgers and hot dogs.

Then, in a short period of time, a lot began to change. Patrick’s mother disappeared. She didn’t vanish, but she left in a Lifetime movie-esque I can’t stand my husband anymore way. Not more than a year later my own parents split up and my mom moved back to upstate New York, where most of her family lived, while I stayed in Jersey with dad.

Patrick’s father decided to move across town to be closer to the firehouse (a matter of convenience since he was the fire chief) and I had panic attacks for a week thinking I’d never see Patrick again. Of course, I saw Patrick every day at school and we continued to hang out all the time, so my anxiety ended up being a huge waste of paranoia. But I was good at that sort of thing.

Patrick and I have always been best friends, even after I came out to him two years ago. Which brings me to another thing you ought to know: I’m gay. You might have picked up on that a little while ago when in the midst of a personal crisis I had worried about my shirt getting soiled. But seriously, it’s a designer shirt. Where was I going with this? Oh, right. Basically, Patrick and I grew up together. Best friends, blah blah blah, you get the picture.

I was still staring out the window long after Patrick had driven away and there was nothing to see but an empty road and the autumn leaves pirouetting across the pavement. I watched Mr. Henderson pull into his driveway across the street and walk into his house with some groceries. Dinner for me was out of the question since my appetite had left me a couple hours earlier so I decided to shower and get started on my homework. Nothing like trigonometric equations to help forget your troubles. So after I stared at Lucky’s kitty bed and cried, sat on the couch and cried, sat in the kitchen and cried, drank a bottle of water, and sat on the steps and cried, I haphazardly did my homework.

I had just finished conjugating the last verb in my Spanish workbook when the house phone rang. I knew it was dad calling before I even looked at the caller ID and I was less than enthusiastic to speak with him.

You know these things happen from time to time, he said, defending his spur of the moment trip to Illinois.

I was silent because I was angry. Not because he was away, but because of how it happened. The fact that my cat had died earlier, as well as his indifferent attitude toward it, wasn’t helping my emotional state.

You like having the house to yourself, he said, trying to cheer me up.

What about Thanksgiving, Dad? You were supposed to drive me up to mom’s Wednesday after school. You know my car can’t make that trip.

Hey, I’m sorry about that. Listen, maybe one of your friends can drive you.

Yeah, right. I’m sure they’ll be lining up to drive my ass three hours each way to drop me off and then again to pick me up.

He said nothing.

I’ll take the bus. Again.

"Well, use the credit card