The Cooper Boy

By Karen Topham

Jonathan Cooper always knew that, if he ever managed to come out as transgender in his small New Hampshire hometown, there would be trouble. But he never imagined being made the poster child for a national anti-trans campaign by a presidential candidate.

 

Partly a coming-out story, this book never loses track of the outsized and often cynical roles that politics and religion play in our lives. It is also partly a story about the importance of family and friends (and a sense of humor) when your whole world is imploding, partly a journey through the often bizarre and insular world of small towns and high school, and much more.

Can the famous transgender teen make it through the outcry and violence that follow his public announcement? Is it even possible, especially in such a spotlight, to lead a normal life?

 

This wonderful and uplifting story can be enjoyed by the whole family. While it doesn't pull punches about the ugliness that can often attach itself to LGBT issues, its main focus is on the myriad ways that humanity and decency can overpower it.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sunspark Press
• Release date: Nov 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215016503

Karen Topham

A teacher of high school English and theatre for nearly four decades, Karen became the first American educator to transition on the job in 1998 in the conservative town of Lake Forest, IL. These days, she is a theatre critic and an LGBTQ advocate as well as writing novels, poems, and short stories. She is also the proud mom of a trans man who came out in 2001 as well as two adult daughters.

Book preview

SPRING (2007)

1. flashlight symphony

Anna Walters smiled as she looked down into her backyard from her bedroom window into the trees behind the house. Just behind the first rows of the pine forest, two strong light beams danced with each other, looking for all the world as if the woods had been invaded by aliens. She stood and watched, as she always did, as the beams curled through the trees in arcs, gliding playfully here and there, crossing each other, slipping silently through the darkness.

The weather had been lovely for early spring. The days had grown so warm that it almost seemed that terrible chill of February that brought snow to the woods and ice to the creek below the Leap never existed. But in March, that all melted so swiftly that it was almost as if it had been a bad dream, and now, as April itself was melting away, she could hear the creek’s distant babbling and the occasional call of a night bird. She just loved to hear them; they soothed her.

As the lights tangoed toward her open window, she closed the curtain–their usual signal–and began the next part of her ritual. She grabbed her own flashlight, slipped outside of her bedroom, crept slowly down the hall past her parents’ closed door and down the carpeted stairway. No matter how warm the spring might be, the evenings were still chilly, so she wrapped a light coat around herself before leaving through the side door of the garage as always, closing it as gently as possible. Anna was fairly sure her mother knew of these late-night rendezvous, but she didn’t want any confrontations with her father. And certainly not with Jared.

Jonathan wasn’t in her yard, of course; he never was. He was waiting for her, as always, at the big rock down the path to Gilmer’s Creek. She found him sitting on the huge boulder, his two flashlights pointed at the ground in the little clearing, spinning ovals of light slowly on the forest floor. When she saw them, she stopped to add her own to the whirling white spots, and the three flashlights harmonized as they danced over matted leaves. It always made them both laugh, this wordless greeting they repeated every time they met out in the woods, this bit of silliness like a secret handshake or a code of some kind leftover from childhood games.

Hi, she said, climbing the face of the rock, her hands and feet instinctively knowing where to find the holds in the dark.

Hi, he answered. It took you longer to wake up tonight.

No, I wasn’t asleep. I was just reading and I wanted to finish a chapter.

She could see his face now, disappointment creeping into his eyes.

Must’ve been a good book.

Oh, don’t be silly, Jonathan, she said. I came out, didn’t I?

He watched her as she finally crested the top of the boulder, and she studied his features. He could be so moody. For a moment, he didn’t respond at all, but then he relaxed and smiled gently.

I know. I’m sorry. I just missed you today is all.

You know I had that SAT class after the soccer game, she said, settling in next to him on the rock’s summit. He shined one of his lights on her face and she saw him looking deeply into her eyes. He liked doing that; he always said they sparkled in the flashlight beam. She brushed her hair away from her face and watched him watching her. His gaze is different tonight, she thought. She’d seen that gaze many times before, that lost, puzzled look, so strange in its complexity. Most of the time it came when he thought she wasn’t looking. She’d be walking along with him or sitting somewhere and catch him in a sideways glance, and there it would be: as if he were not so much looking at her as into her, seeking something there, though she had no clue what he might be looking for. Maybe he didn’t either. Anna had spent many nights trying to figure out that look, and now, in the silence of the middle of the night, something about it seemed very sad.

Are you all right, Jonathan? she asked.

Yeah, fine, he said, and immediately the sad look changed back to a smile. Just thinking is all.

About what?

Mostly about school.

There it was, suddenly, that distant look again, but it wasn’t addressed to her this time; this time he seemed almost to be looking deep within himself.

School? she echoed, a little too late to be conversational, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Oh. Yeah. I don’t know how I’m going to pass that history final. I missed a whole week when I was sick.

She reached out and touched his arm. You’ll be fine. And you know I’ll help any way I can. You’ve always been good at history, and anyway you’ve been back almost a month. You must be caught up by now.

An owl called out softly into the night. Jonathan’s face grew brighter and Anna could see that whatever had been troubling him had left his mind.

Yeah, I guess it’ll be OK. Helloway has just been on my case a bit.

His laugh was almost a sneer. As if it was my fault I had mono.

Anna’s hand willed itself into his and her head dropped into the crease of his shoulder, contrite, embarrassed. Quietly, almost in a whisper, she said, No, it was mine.

Stop that, he said, his voice pointed but gentle. I’m tired of hearing that. You didn’t even know you had it that night at the dance. It’s not your fault.

His fingers found her lips and she couldn’t argue. No more, OK?

She nodded.

Gently, he cupped her chin with his hand to bring her lips toward his. Eyes locking, breathing synchronizing, they could see the condensation as they exhaled, the cool air mingling, joining, melding, not like the light of the flashlight greeting, joined but still distinct, but something deeper, as if the simple act of breathing were something sensuous and powerful that bonded them in the night.

For a moment they stayed there, inches apart, motionless, and Anna waited, waited for whatever was going to happen next, knowing that there was nothing she would not do for this boy. In his eyes, just for a moment, she could read a mixture of passion and confusion, as if he were telling himself what he ought to do. Then he pulled her lips toward his and they touched gingerly, as if he were afraid that she was fragile. Or maybe, she suddenly thought, as if he is.

2. library rendezvous

Sometimes, in better days, Jonathan took long walks in the gardens he now sat staring at unable to move, unable even to open his car door. He loved the flowers, now fully in bloom, their mixed fragrances redolent even from here as he breathed in their perfume through his open window. There was something new in them, something that said that the winter was definitely over and the summer was coming. Some New Hampshire kids were torn about which seasons they liked best. Not so for Jonathan: he was a summer child. If he could have it 365 days a year, he would. Today he had to settle for the lesser warmth of spring, but that was fine. It was not cooler air that pinned him in his car. It was something else.

He allowed his eyes to move beyond the gardens to the worn stone edifice of the Park Forest Public Library. It was the one amenity of this ridiculous little town–the Morrow Library Gardens, donated eons ago by a wealthy benefactor and kept up by a trust of some kind–and he took full advantage of it. He had to: it was the closest thing that existed to a park in Park Forest, the most ineptly named town on the planet. But they were lovely, and they were actually quite large for such a small town. Not Versailles, to be sure, but still.

The building itself was one of the oldest structures standing in the town. There was an old one-room schoolhouse that had been converted into the imaginatively named restaurant called The Schoolhouse many years ago, and the train station, which had once been a buggy stop on an old coach road, but nothing much else came close to the library for longevity. Mr. Pirelli liked to say that it showed how much Park Forest valued books and reading. Jonathan thought it more likely that it showed how poorly the rest of the old central village had been constructed; honestly, it wasn’t that old that only one major building should’ve survived. Then again, maybe he just thought that way because he was the son of an architect. Either way, it was a nice library: not spectacular enough to warrant such grandiose gardens, but pleasant enough. And he did love spending time there, both in the old building itself and among those intoxicating trees and flowers. Aside from the Deer Leap and his own house, this was probably his favorite place. And it attracted visitors to the town, making a great backdrop for the politicians who invaded New Hampshire like clockwork every four years. He didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse.

Still, he stayed in the car. It had been Randi’s idea to meet in a public place. She said it would be easier the first time, and that made sense. How could Jonathan have just invited a strange woman to his house, after all? But why hadn’t he thought to meet her out of town? Why here, in the middle of everything he knew? Where people knew him? Didn’t everyone already think he was weird enough? What if they knew? Well, they’ll know soon enough anyway...

He had his eyes closed, he realized, and now opened them. Looking over to the building, he let out a sigh. Now or never. Unbuckling his belt, he reached for the door handle and slid from the car. Crossing through Morrow Gardens was always such a treat, but this time he hardly realized he was doing it; his focus was intent on the library doors, as if they would vanish if he didn’t just get there. As he mounted the stairs, some urge within him made him suddenly turn and look back. There they were: the gardens, laid out in greens and reds and oranges and yellows, joyfully proclaiming the arrival of spring. The season of rebirth. How appropriate. Everywhere he looked were flowers or trees in bloom and blossom. They called to him to come back, to forget the absurdity of his mission and enjoy the majesty of the spring day. And his left leg listened; it began to move back down the steps.

In sudden recognition of his own movement, Jonathan pulled it back as violently as he had on the Leap back in February. No, he thought. No. He turned his back to the gardens that had already sloughed off their winter doldrums to present their most vibrant selves to the world and walked through the library doors.

Inside, he headed to the south reading room, where he’d told Randi he would meet her. Before he was halfway there, he could see that the room was occupied by a single person: a thirty-something woman, blonde hair, tall, not unattractive, standing and looking out the window at the gardens. They mesmerize everyone, he thought. The woman turned as Jonathan entered the room, closing the door behind him. It was Randi; Jonathan knew that face from her internet profile. And just like the profile pictures, he thought, you’d never know.

Are you–? the woman asked in a slightly dark voice, and Jonathan smiled softly and nodded his head.

Randi?

The woman smiled and moved toward him. He started to extend a hand, but Randi startled him by instead embracing him in a warm hug. I’m so glad to meet you at last, she said.

A little flustered by the show of emotion from someone he’d only met online, Jonathan slipped away and sat down.

Oh, don’t be embarrassed, Sweetie, the woman said with a laugh. That’s just a thing girls do. You’ll get used to it.

A deep blush crimsoned Jonathan’s cheeks.

Oh my! Randi said. "You are embarrassed."

Sorry, Jonathan said.

Randi shook her head. Nothing to apologize for, Honey. It’s perfectly normal. What can I say? I’m a hugger! Not everyone comes on as strong as I do. Now when did you say this was going down?

Jonathan smiled shyly.

Just a few weeks. Final exams.

Randi nodded. Then we’d better get to work.

Work?

You invited me here to help you out, right? To get you ready?

Yeah. I mean, sometimes I worry I...can’t...I mean I just don’t think it will...

That blush returned, even redder than before, and Jonathan pushed a few strands of blonde hair back from his face and tucked them behind his ears. Randi pushed herself back from the table to get a better look at the teenager who sat across from her, blue eyes catching the early May light through the window.

I understand, Honey, but just looking at you, it’s probably going to be a lot easier than you think. At least the parts you can help.

3. ice cream and mayflies

I don’t care what you say, he said. She’s a perfectly good car.

Anna shook her head, allowing her arm to dangle out the open window into the May warmth. There was really no point arguing. She had lost track of how many times in the last several months she had tried to get Jonathan to see that it might be more cost-effective to get a new car instead of spending hundreds of dollars at a throw fixing this one. It wasn’t a bad car; it was just old. Even the ads only promised 200,000 miles, for crying out loud. This one was going on 300.

Mark at the garage says she shouldn’t need anything else for awhile.

She turned. That’s what he said when the alternator went out.

Jonathan shrugged his shoulder. "Well, that was two months ago. So he was sort of right."

Seeing she was going to jump in, he cut her off. "Look, Anna, I know how you feel about Juliet—don’t say it; I know you don’t like it that I named her—but she’s my first car, you know? She’s special."

Something grinded in the engine, and Jonathan found himself frantically fiddling with the gears, trying to set it right. When he finally had it, Anna just smiled. "Even special cars end their useful lives. You’ve spent $700 keeping a car on the road that only cost you $300 to begin with. I thought you were good at math."

He sighed. "I know, I know. Good money after bad blah blah blah. Please stop. You’re hurting her feelings."

Anna sighed and turned back toward the window. It was a pointless argument anyway. The car would never last beyond the summer, one way or the other, so sometime soon there would be a new Jonnymobile, whether he liked it or not. She smiled. Might as well play along.

Maybe if you can get it to 300 you can get Toyota to pay you something, she said.

His whole attitude shifted in an instant. See, that’s what I’ve been saying! Juliet can do it too. I know she can. She’s already at 283. And she’s not half bad to look at.

Well, he was right about that at least. The tiny car rode like a tank and you never knew for certain if it would actually get you where you were going, but its litany of owners had certainly taken good care of its appearance. It bore scratches on its surface, of course, and there were a couple of minor bumps and dents, but overall it sure didn’t look like a car that had been on the road nearly twenty years. And the previous owner had given it a new paint job, a dull red that worked pretty well on its boxy shape and hadn’t yet lost any of its shine. Overall, for an old fogey, Juliet certainly looked spry enough. Get her out on the dance floor, though, and you discovered that looks can be deceiving.

Still, she thought, not worth the bother. She could handle another few months of geriatric Juliet as long as the car came with Jonathan in the driver’s seat. And today, for the first time in what seemed like weeks, he was actually in a good mood. What had been on his mind lately? she wondered. Can’t just have been school; he’s all caught up there. But if not school, then...what? Is it me? It was a stray thought, but once she had conceived it she found she couldn’t let it go. What if he was getting tired of her? What if he had realized that he didn’t want to be with her anymore but couldn’t find a way to tell her?

Oh God...

But tonight...tonight he was in a good mood. And he was with her. So maybe everything was all right. Maybe everything was completely fine.

No, though. No, it’s not. She knew it was not. He hadn’t been himself in months. He’d been...brooding. Sometimes, when they met at the rock in the woods, she’d study him as she walked up, and the thought would come, unbidden, that he looked as if he wasn’t there at all. As if, although his body was sitting on that boulder, his mind was journeying a million miles away. And she knew, those times, that no matter what they talked about or what they did, he wouldn’t really be with her talking or doing it. And he never was.

So I know it isn’t fine.

You’re awful quiet all of a sudden.

His voice pierced the quiet in the car and she realized for the first time that the quiet had even been there. How long had they not been talking? A minute? Five?

Sorry. Lost in some thoughts. I think I’m worried about that test in chem tomorrow.

Give me a break, he said. "As if you ever have to worry about chem."

She laughed. "Well there’s always a first time. And I have a reputation to uphold."

Goof, he said, echoing her laugh.

Hey, I know what let’s do! she blurted out.

What?

Let’s head over to Dino’s. I drove by last weekend and they’re open!

Really?

He turned to see her nodding vigorously.

Then what are we just driving randomly for?

She smiled at him. Jonathan looked a bit pensive for a moment and then added, Would you mind if I call Riley and invite him? He loves Dino’s and it’s almost his graduation.

Anna kept her smile on her face, trying not to look at all disappointed at not having him to herself. No, she said, that would be great. Call him and tell him we’ll be there in five minutes. And I’ll call Kristen too; she’s graduating too, and she won’t want to miss the first Dino’s of the year.

Perfect! he said, swinging the car around toward home.

As the red Toyota pulled into the cracked asphalt drive of the Gelinas driveway, the bright blue front door swung wide open and Kristen bounced into view, followed immediately by her omnipresent best friend, Taryn Addison. Their conversation grew clearer as they got closer to the car.

—don’t care what you think, Taryn. The Jonas Brothers are just better. There is no objective way to say they are not.

"‘Better’ isn’t even an objective thing! And anyway it takes three of them to do what Justin does all by himself."

Opening the door, Kristen slid into the back seat. That isn’t a reason—hi, guys! thanks for calling! I hope it’s OK to bring Taryn, too—to like him better, Taryn. Three of them lets them harmonize; let’s see the Biebs do that!

Anna smiled. As Taryn shut the door behind her and Jonathan swung the car into gear, again grinding the engine loudly, Anna turned and addressed her cousin.

Are you guys actually having a ‘who’s better?’ argument between the Jonas Brothers and Justin Bieber?

Yes, both girls answered.

Oh my God! said Anna, turning around once again.

Why? What’s wrong? Kristen asked.

In the seat next to Kristen, Riley Cooper laughed. "What’s wrong? This is Justin Bieber you’re talking about. I mean the dude can’t even take himself seriously."

Taryn leaned over Kristen and playfully smacked him. Watch what you say about him. I still think he’s the shit.

"Well, you’re part right, Riley said, and Taryn hit him again, a little harder this time, causing Kristen to restrain her. OK, enough now. Save it until later, OK? I’m actually here, you know. In the middle? Anna, what were you talking about?"

In the front, Anna knew she had her: Kristen hated it when she thought Anna disapproved of her.

Nonchalant here, Anna thought. "Oh, nothing. Just that I thought you guys would be into some real music by now. Not just boy singers. My mistake."

Hey, said Kristen. I Like girl singers too! I mean I love Taylor Swift and P!nk, for instance.

No shit, Taryn couldn’t help herself from interjecting.

Yeah, well...I do listen to other stuff. You know I do, Taryn!. We listen to Mom and Dad’s old records together! The Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, the Who. That kind of stuff.

Riley chimed in. Wow, Kristen, I’m impressed. I never knew you actually had depth.

This time it was Kristen’s arm reaching across and smacking him.

OK, OK. I surrender! When did you two get so violent?

Jonathan joined the conversation from the driver’s seat. What about the less well known old bands? Like the Turtles? Herman’s Hermits? The Flying Burrito Brothers?

He’d included that one just for fun, and the mention of it sent Taryn into a fit of hysterical giggles. Are you serious? she said between laughs. That sounds like a Taco Bell commercial.

Totally serious, he said. And they even made some good music. My folks have a record collection too. I like the showtunes best, though.

No kidding, said Riley. "I swear if I hear you singing that Into the Woods stuff again I’m moving out. Can’t you sing something good, like Metallica?"

Don’t listen to him, Jonathan, Kristen said. You have a good voice.

When have you heard me sing?

"Oh, sometimes when you’re walking in the Morrow Gardens and I happen to be there. I like it when you sing ‘Reflection’ from Mulan."

Taryn finally got her giggle fit under control. She turned to Kristen. "Stalker. Anyway, I don’t care how many flying burritos or Mulans or Metallicas you’ve got in that collection. Nothing beats Justin."

Aaarrrrgh! Kristen cried out, in pretend dismay.

We’re here! called Anna from the front.

Dino’s! everyone said together.

Dino’s was the only place in Park Forest other than the library gardens that could actually make it on a Best of New Hampshire list. In fact, it had: Best Ice Cream in Southern New Hampshire. And absolutely no one who had ever had it would argue. Anna never missed a chance to bring an out of town guest there. Dino opened when the snow melted and closed at the first frost, and in between he made the most unbelievable ice cream imaginable. Every morning he would arrive early, no later than 8 AM, and start his huge, old-fashioned, wooden machines churning in his windows. Each day he made three batches in each machine before opening, moved the fresh ice cream to the display freezer, then cleaned the machines. When all was ready–usually around noon–he would open, and he would remain open until nothing was left. Dino never made an additional batch.

Every day at Dino’s there would be exactly three flavors of sheer heaven: vanilla, chocolate, and whatever Dino decided to make that day. Most days it would be something expected, like strawberry or cookie dough or maybe mint chocolate chip. Other days he might get more adventurous and end up with flavors he’d call Peanut Butter Cappuccino Chip, Pineapple Thunder, or even, two or three unannounced but widely anticipated days each summer, The Kitchen Sink. Easily Dino’s most popular Flavor of the Day, The Kitchen Sink, with its rich cake batter flavored base into which was mixed just about everything imaginable, from chocolate chips to crunchy toffee bits to gummy bears to berries to marshmallow to cookie chunks to bits of frosted cereal to whatever Dino happened to have around, was always sold out by two or three o’clock. The very first to arrive would see it there and phones would light up with text messages all over Park Forest. Within half an hour the line would be a block long. Way too soon those in line would be choosing between vanilla and chocolate: both delicious options, but still...

Anna had once asked Dino why he didn’t make that flavor more often.

You’d be rich! she said.

Not so much, he told her. Now, is something special. All the time, you stop caring.

And she’d realized what a smart businessman the immigrant ice cream shop owner really was. She even wrote an essay on him in her Economics class. It got an A.

At this moment, as the sun was falling and the bug zapper above Dino’s ORDER HERE window was buzzing sharply once or twice every minute as one of the giant, lacy mayflies found itself entangled in the electric currents, there was no line. Everyone climbed out of the old Toyota and scrambled toward the window to check the daily special.

Oreo Supreme, called Kristen, the first one close enough to see. My favorite! A smile exploded onto her face.

I know, Anna responded. You go first.

Thanks, Cuz! Kristen said, heading for the open window.

The blue bug zapper crackled over their heads as its humming light attracted more of  the mayflies that otherwise would become unwelcome toppings on the sundaes the five of them were trying their best to finish.

Did you know that mayflies only live a single day? asked Jonathan, spooning some hot fudge into his mouth. He ate carefully, meticulously, as he always did, Anna realized: never rushing, attentive to each bite, as if he needed to savor every pleasure that came his way because he was never certain when the next might arrive.

Really? Anna asked. Like fruit flies?

He nodded.

But they’re so big, she said. It doesn’t seem possible.

Jonathan watched the zapper do its thing and continued taking small, measured bites of his sundae. They’re big, but fragile. Look at them: you can see right through them.

They all watched the mayflies swarming, swirling beneath the street light, their lacy wings glowing almost supernaturally as they whisked in and out of the brightness.

At the other end of the table, Kristen, who was nearly finished with her sundae, seemed lost in the kaleidoscopic vision. "They seem sort of clumsy to me, but they do have a kind of beauty with those huge wings."

Taryn poked her, clearly trying to get her attention. Anna looked away.

What? Kristen asked.

What do you think? Taryn said very quietly, hoping the others, enjoying their ice cream, would not hear. "I know you. You’re thinking about yourself again. I can see it."

I am not.

Out of the corner of her eye, Anna saw Kristen’s face, usually very pale, begin to close in on the shade of her red hair.

Uh huh, said Taryn. Want a mirror?

Kristen rolled her eyes. OK, fine. I was. But look at them. They are just as ridiculous and gangly as I am, but they can fly and manage to be beautiful.

"I am so not getting into this argument again."

What are you guys on about? Riley asked.

Taryn looked up. Nothing. Just plans for after graduation. You have any? Are you doing anything this summer or just hanging out and waiting for high school?

Riley smiled. We might go out of town for a week, but nothing much. Should be a boring summer, really. You guys got a party going for graduation?

Kristen answered, and Anna could see that her momentary angst had been broken. My mother was thinking of doing something. If you want to come she can invite you.

Cool! he said, and went back to his sundae.

You know what the most interesting thing about mayflies is? asked Jonathan, sitting with Anna at the end of the table. They just have a brief life. They need to make the most of it while they’re here.

He looked over at Kristen, a sly smile on his face. Do you know what they do with their short time on earth? he asked.

She shook her head.

They enjoy life’s pleasures. They don’t waste time doing what we do for twenty years, trying to figure ourselves out. They don’t have twenty years—they have a day. They spend it mating.

He watched her, looking for a reaction, and then he smiled, tossed his empty sundae cup into the trash, took Anna’s hand, and led them all back to the car.

4. fine young men

Jared Walters pumped his arm twice before releasing the ball, its arcing flight almost perfect as it fell into Bill Harlow’s hands thirty yards down the field, deep in the end zone.

Yes! Jared hollered. "I should be playing quarterback!

Bill fired it back almost effortlessly, a long line drive that reached Jared almost before he could react.

I don’t think so, he snickered, following his pass toward his friend. That’s my job, Dude. Stick to D. You’ll be All-State again, maybe even All-American right where you are.

Suddenly, Jared cut left and then sharply right, dodging imaginary defenders and shielding the ball with one hand as he drove down the field, his other arm straight ahead like a fullback in a cartoon bowling over his opponents. Bill stepped aside, laughing, as Jared charged past him.

Yep, he said. Defense.

Jared crossed the goal line, raised his hands into the air in fantasy celebration, and did a kind of shuffling victory dance that ended with a sharp spiking of the ball. He turned to face Bill.

Definitely, Bill said.

Oh, shut up, Jared laughed back. I’ve seen worse celebrations.  He shoved Bill playfully.

Maybe, Bill retorted. But you’ve never seen worse running. 

Before Jared could react, Bill took off for the other end of the field, daring Jared to catch him. Jared raced after him, finally catching him around the forty yard line and dragging him down. Both boys fell to the ground, their breath heaving, their laughter exploding in the still early June air.

You guys shouldn’t be out here, a loud, throaty voice called from the sidelines.

Sorry, Coach, Jared yelled, picking himself up. We were just goofing around.

Steve Edmunds was the kind of teacher who was simply known as Coach to anyone who had ever had him on a team or even taken his phys-ed class. In class or on the field, he was a strong motivator and leader. He possessed both an innate understanding of teenage behavior and a clear sense of how to moderate it. No one in his classes ever failed to pay attention to Coach if they wanted to do well. And even if they didn’t care, they still didn’t cross him. He could be harsh when he needed to be, and his legendary sideline anger had almost gotten him fired a couple of times, but his job was safe in Park Forest as long as his teams stayed competitive, and they had only had one down year in the last nine. In fact, last year’s team had won the state title in a rout over Timberlake, which had come into the game undefeated, giving PFHS its first ever football championship. And that was with a team of mostly juniors. He had only three starters graduating this month, and every reason to think they could repeat in the fall.

Watching as his starting quarterback and All-State linebacker jogged off the field together, he found it difficult to decide whether to reprimand them for the kind of rough off-season play that could end up hurting one of them or commend them on their positive attitudes and their obvious enthusiasm for the sport. Both of them were personal projects of his. When they had come to him in the fall of their sophomore years, they had been full of such ego that he thought they’d never be able to become team players. Too much success too early. Both were junior high stars who came into the high school highly touted and lived up to their billings, leading the freshman team to its best season in years. But the success and adulation their status created among their peers made both boys cocky, and both boys fully expected to walk onto the varsity team in starting roles in the fall.

That August, as the two-a-days started, he watched his hotshot sophomores as they interacted with the upperclassmen. It did not take long for the coach to know that he had a problem on his hands. The seniors especially resented Bill and Jared, and it did not help that the younger boys not only believed themselves to be better than anyone else, but actually were. Jared was already bigger and stronger than most of the senior boys, and Steve could not even remember when he had last seen a quarterback who could throw with the kind of accuracy Bill Harlow possessed. Still, he knew he needed to take them down a notch or two in order to help them fulfill their potential on varsity. If he didn’t, they’d implode the team instead of leading it to victory.

A discussion with his co-captains made him more certain of the problem.

It’s a tough call, Coach, said Armand Boucher, the senior wide receiver and offensive captain. Harlow’s got the arm, but Dickinson has been on the team two years and worked hard. And the way Harlow and Walters strut around like they own the place hasn’t won them any points.

Steve turned to his defensive captain. What do you think, Mike?  Would Walters help us or hurt us?

Mike Darius, second year starting tackle and one of the top ten students in the school, contemplated his answer. He looked at the furrowed brow of his coach, a man he had seen in more tight situations than he could even count, a man he respected more than his own father, an attorney in Concord who spent far too much time in the courts and not enough with the family. He knew Coach’s mind as well as anyone could, and he knew what thought was traveling across it.

Coach, Jared is a great player. So is Bill. And they may lead this team to a serious shot to be state champs. 

Mike noted the way that Armand was holding his breath, waiting for him to finish, but ready to pounce. Coach looked placid, but Mike knew better.

But not this year, he said, and his co-captain relaxed and breathed more easily. If they play varsity, they have to start, and if they start, it would tear us apart.

Armand sensed an opening and joined in. Besides, Coach, they should be with the other sophomores. Think of how good that team could be in a couple of years.

Steve looked at his team leaders. You know that they are probably better than Dickinson and Martino.  The boys nodded. And you might go further this season if you have them on board.

Mike’s face was firm. I know, Coach. But we’re a good team. We were last year and we will be again. Maybe not state quality, but we could win conference. I’ve been listening to the guys, and I really think we’ll have a mutiny if the sophomores start.

Steve’s facial expression never changed. Thanks, guys, he said. That’s pretty much what my own observations told me. I just wanted to hear it from you.

When the team rosters were announced, the names of Bill Harlow and Jared Walters were indeed listed as starters, but for the junior varsity. They were on the call-up list as back-ups for varsity, which meant they’d see a lot of lower level action but practice as much as possible with the older boys. Steve watched as the seniors read the notice and patted each other on the back. He also saw the sideways glances at the sophomore duo who sat, together but apart from everyone else, their heads hanging so low that they did not even see him approach.

You want to know why, right? he asked quietly.

Jared Walters looked up, wiping his damp eyes with the side of his hand. Yes, he said, his voice quivering.

Steve felt sorry for the boy, and for his friend. They were the best; he was sure of that. But sometimes that was not enough. You boys are both going to be great one day. Maybe next year. Maybe even later this year. You have the physical stuff that great players are made of.

The two boys listened, intently, not even trying to interject a word.

What you don’t have is the mental maturity to go along with your physical maturity. It’s not really your fault, he continued, anticipating an interruption. You’re young. I don’t really expect that of sophomores. But I don’t usually play them on varsity either. You know that if I play you varsity, I pretty much have to start you. What would be the point in having two players with your potential and ability sitting and watching? Better for you to play. But I’ve been watching both of you, and this is what I’ve seen for two weeks: you are very strong players, but you are far too arrogant. You don’t work with the team; you work for yourselves. And I can’t have that. A quarterback and a linebacker have to be team leaders. You may be talented, but you aren’t ready to lead. Not on varsity.

Neither of the boys bothered to hide the fact that he was crying.

Play with the kids your age, boys, the kids you’ll be working with for the next three years. Learn to lead. Learn that talent gets you on the field, but leadership gets you respect.  He paused. OK?

Jared and Bill stood up and looked at Steve. For a moment, he was afraid that he had misjudged them, that this would break their spirit. He was afraid they might quit. But the two just stood there, looking at him. And finally it was Bill who spoke.

I’ll make you proud of me, Coach.

Jared nodded his head in agreement.

Steve breathed a sigh of relief. Another bullet dodged. He smiled. Good for you. And I want you practicing with varsity once your own practice ends for the day. Got it?

That was almost two years ago, and Steve had since watched as Bill and Jared not only had matured but had blossomed. Both had seen varsity action late in their sophomore years, filling in for injured players on a team that lost the conference championship in the last game of the season. But then, as juniors, on a team with only three senior starters, everything had come together for them. After an early season loss, they never trailed again, scoring first in every game and winning five of their last six by over two touchdowns. The much-anticipated championship game against Timberlake had been over by half-time. Park Forest had won 44-7. And Coach Edmunds finally had that giant state championship trophy for his trophy case.

As Jared and Bill passed him, coming off of the field, Coach just smiled, slapped Bill on the back and said, They have to work on the grass this summer. You guys can’t be out here until practice starts in August.

Bill turned his head without slowing his stride. No problem, Coach. 

Steve Edmunds watched with a satisfied smile as they turned the corner out of his sight. Even if the Harlow boy’s parents and their hyper-evangelism sometimes proved a bit difficult to take—the prayer dinner they insisted on having for the entire team the night before the Timberlake game came to mind, a potential legal mine field that Coach had only navigated successfully with the help of the school administration—these boys had been worth the trouble. As he turned away, Steve Edmunds congratulated himself on having helped to mold such fine, upstanding young men.

5. fat raindrops

You’ll never guess what I saw today downtown, before the rain started.

Taryn’s brown eyes were practically glowing, but she was trying to act as if she were talking only about the weather instead of some kind of hot news. She never even stopped looking at the TV, which was playing some random episode from a DVD of One Tree Hill, which she probably had memorized.

Kristen waited for her to continue, but it was clear she was waiting for something.

OK, Taryn, I’ll bite. What did you see?

She still looked at the TV. Not so much ‘what’ as ‘who,’ she answered so softly that the pounding rain outside nearly drowned her out.

Who?

Even Taryn couldn’t maintain her stoic expression this long, and she fought to hold back a smile.

Who? Kristen asked again, louder, more insistent. Taryn always played these games; it drove her crazy. Come on, Taryn!  Who did you see?

Her friend let the smile go. I saw Brian with Kerry Richards.

Kerry Richards!  What were they doing?  Kristen’s brother had not shown any interest in any girl since Mary Martha Connelly had dumped him at a graduation party from Carter Middle School. He had managed to go all the way through high school without a single Significant Other. And Kerry was one of the most popular girls in this year’s senior class, as far as Kristen could tell.

Walking toward the park, holding hands, Taryn giggled, turning back to the television. Kristen could see the tease starting again and didn’t want to deal with it, so she reached over and exploited Taryn’s major weakness: the girl was about the most ticklish person she’d ever seen. If anyone so much as aimed a curled finger in her direction, she’d start burbling. So getting her to tell you something was actually pretty easy.

OK, OK, she stammered between fits of uncontrolled laughter. Stop!

Only if you stop playing games and tell me what you want to tell me, Kristen said. When her friend nodded agreement, she stopped the attack. Now talk, Taryn, or the tickle monster returns.

Taryn held a hand out, fending off an imagined attack as she caught her breath. I saw them walking down the street in front of Barfey’s, she said. I followed them to the park but I don’t think they ever saw me. They were too busy looking at each other.

You’re not just messing around here? 

Honest to God!  Anyway, when the rain started, that sudden enormous downpour, they ducked into the old gazebo. I was near the ladies’ room and I stayed under the eaves.

This was getting very interesting; Kristen could sense potential blackmail material coming from Taryn’s story.

Did you see anything else?  she asked.

Taryn smiled that same smile. You mean besides the kissing?

They didn’t!

Yes, they did. I mean I couldn’t see if there were tongues involved or anything—

Gross!  I swear, thought Kristen, sometimes I really could still be a fourth grader. The two girls were laughing and talking over each other without even listening, having a great time (and leaving Lucas and Nathan and the rest of the Tree Hill gang to their own devices) when the door opened and in walked a thoroughly drenched Brian. He stood there, framed against the dark afternoon skies, water running off of him from everywhere.

Hi, Squirt, he said, peeling off his soaked t-shirt. Hi, Taryn.

You don’t need to impress us with your hot bod, Bri, Kristen said with a smirk. Taryn almost soundlessly added, We’re not Kerry, and they both cracked up. Brian, who had not heard her, looked at them if they were aliens.

I’m never going to understand girls, he said. Tell mom I’m in the shower, he added, heading up the stairs.

When he was gone, the girls started plotting ways to use their new intelligence, but they had not gotten very far when the phone rang. It was Anna. She was upset about something.

Have you seen Jonathan? she asked.

Not today, Kristen said. Is something wrong?

There was a pause. No. I don’t think so. I mean, we kind of had a fight about... something...and he ran out into the rain and drove away.

Jonathan hated getting caught in the rain. Once, when all of them were out walking, he had made the girls huddle under a stand of pines for over an hour until the downpour had stopped. And if there was anything he hated worse than being rained on it was driving on a day like this. He had a recurring nightmare about an accident on a rain-soaked road. He must have been very upset if he had gone out into the storm instead of sticking around until it ended.

Did you try his house? Kristen asked. Cupping her hand over the phone, she whispered to Taryn, It’s Anna; she’s looking for Jonathan.

It was the first place I called, Anna answered. His mom answered and said he hasn’t been home all day. I thought he might have come to you.

Why me, Anna? Have you tried any of your other friends?

The phone went silent for a moment. "He...has no real connection to them, Kris. I don’t think he trusts them much."

"And he trusts me?

Yes.

The answer was swift and absolute, and it surprised Kristen, who honestly didn’t even know he thought about her that much at all.

Anyway, I haven’t seen him, Anna. What did you—

Taryn’s voice interrupted her. Kristen, there’s a car. I think it’s him!  She ran to the window and stared out, trying to see through the curtain of rain. He’s getting out. It is him!

Anna was almost frantic on the phone. It’s him?  Is it?

Taryn says it is.

Kristen could almost see her relief through the phone. Kris, could you just talk to him?  He’s so...I think he’s very confused.

About what? she asked.

Himself. Me. Everything. Talk with him.

There was a knock on the door. OK, Anna. OK. I’ll call later. Kristen put the phone down as Taryn opened the door, revealing Jonathan, his long hair flattened against his face, his clothing as wet as Brian’s had been. Even through the maze of his matted hair, she could see that his beautiful eyes were sad, and she knew that rain was not the only thing dampening his face.

Hi, Jonathan, she said, and Taryn echoed her.

Hi, he said. I’ve, uh, been driving and, um, I just thought I’d stop in. Are you guys here alone?

Bri’s upstairs. Mom is with Rachel at her dance lesson, and Dad isn’t home yet.

He nodded. Is that One Tree Hill? he asked, distractedly.

She switched the TV off. Yes, but it’s almost over. We weren’t really watching anyway.  A puddle was forming beneath Jonathan’s feet. Let me get you a towel, she said.

Taryn almost leapt toward the stairway. No, I’ll get it. Just a sec!

No, he said, stopping her in her tracks. No, I...I really can’t stay. I have to get home.

But he didn’t move. Instead, he stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, staring at the now-dark plasma screen.

Jonathan? Taryn asked.

He looked up. I used to love that show, he said, and then without another word he opened the door and walked off into the pounding, egg-shaped raindrops that exploded around him on the sidewalk. Kristen called after him, but he didn’t respond. Maybe he didn’t even hear her, she thought. But she knew he saw her as he backed out of the driveway without so much as a gesture. When his car had turned the corner, she closed the door and went back inside. Brian was at the top of the stairs.

Who was that? he asked.

Jonathan, she said quietly. He just...stopped by.

Brian sort of snorted. That kid is just weird, he said, and went into his room before she could reply. Taryn touched her gently on the arm.

Are you OK? she asked. You look strange.

I turned to see her look of concern. "What was that all about, Taryn? Anna says something is wrong with her and Jonathan, and then he shows up here like that because he trusts me or something. I’ve never understood why Brian doesn’t like him, but that really was weird."

Taryn ran her fingers through her friend’s hair, looking into her eyes. "He had a fight with Anna? And he trusts you?" She turned and walked slowly into the living room. Pulling back the curtain, she stared silently out into the deep