Bobby Fowler is the first and only out gay kid at Dunston High School. Unathletic and small for his age, Bobby was orphaned soon after moving from New England to Dunston, a ranching town in central Texas, just before freshman year. Deeply scarred from a near-fatal beating during sophomore year, Bobby finds solace in his drums, composing music, and his two closest friends. Only two types of students go to Dunston High School, according to his soul mate, Chloe: football players, and those who adore them. And Bobby, along with every girl in school and every woman in town, for that matter, adores one football player in particular. Kyle Faulkner, the star quarterback, has it all, and not just because his heroics brought home a state championship to his football-crazed town. With stunning good looks, a muscular physique, a dazzling Hollywood smile and a winning personality, it's no surprise that Kyle is a god in school. Kyle, along with everyone else, thinks of himself as the ultimate straight boy, the guy every girl wants to date. But Kyle has secret that he can't even admit to himself. He never asks himself why he sneaks peeks at the Gay Kid or why he dreams of wrapping his arms around him. But just a few weeks before graduation, Kyle finds out why during an unexpected and violent encounter with Bobby. It is an encounter which causes Kyle to admit the unthinkable. And unless Bobby can convince him there is a way out of the trap he thinks he's in, their encounter will lead to a terrifying climax that could cost both boys their lives.

And It Was Full of Light!

Finding the courage to overcome homophobic bullying and hateBy Robert W. Littlefield

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 Robert W. Littlefield
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4520-5492-6

Chapter One

Three years earlier

The mall food court is jam-packed and loudly buzzing with the usual Saturday afternoon swarm of shoppers. I can't even begin to steady my nerves as I hastily scan the tables for Danny and Chloe. I'm so nervous my tummy's doing flip-flops. That's when I get a whiff of the familiar, irresistible aromas coming from Peruvian Chicken, all the excuse I need for a food detour.

Just at that moment, a somewhat plump, dark-skinned girl with a bright red headband accenting a gigantic mop of frizzy black hair bounces up in the far corner, waving wildly and shouting my name. Of course it's Chloe, who else? Oh, and there's Danny slouched in his seat, hand over his eyes, trying to be inconspicuous as Chloe carries on with one of her milder public spectacles.

I laugh, but it's a half-hearted attempt to appear calm as I squeeze past crowded tables to reach them.

Wrappers and half-empty cups of soda litter the table.

"Gee, thanks so much for waiting," I tell my friends.

"Sorry, we were starving," Danny mumbles. "Go get something to eat, go!"

"Hey, are you okay?" Chloe asks. "You look kind of nervous."

"I'm fine." She's giving me a squinty look. "Really, I'm fine. I'll be right back."

Standing in line at Peruvian Chicken, waving with a forced smile at my friends, I admit to myself I'm not fine, I'm just plain scared. Will they make a big scene? Will they still be my friends? Please God, I pray, please let this goes okay.

Pacing near the counter and anxious for my number to be called, I don't even remember ordering. I hope it's roast chicken and fried sweet potato.

"Ciento diez, ciento diez, number one hundred ten."

This is it!

"You guys want some fried sweet potato?"

"Not me," Chloe says, finishing the last of her drink with a raspy burble through her straw. "So are you going to tell us the big mystery?"

I'm hesitating and she continues.

"When you called, you said meet us at the mall and it's important, then you wouldn't tell us why. Come on, let's hear it." That's Chloe: insistent, impatient, right to the point. She's always full of laughs and so outrageous sometimes I think that girl is demented. On the other hand, she doesn't let me get away with anything.

"Hey, I'm glad you guys made it. Did you do some shopping?" As Danny and Chloe impassively wait me out, I catch myself drumming my fingers on the tray with rapid, loud thumps. I self-consciously put my hands in my lap.

Chloe's patience runs out. "Will you please tell us what's going on? We're your friends, right?"

"Absolutely. You guys are my best friends."

Chloe studies me with a squishy-nose look. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"No, I'm not in trouble," I tell her, "I'm just a little scared right now."

"Scared? What do you mean, scared?"

"I'm scared of you. And you too, Danny."

My best friends exchange a puzzled glance.

"I don't get it. Why are we scaring you?" Danny asks.

"You're not. I'm just scared of how you'll react when I tell you something." I haven't taken one bite of my food. My mouth is dry and when I pick up my Coke, my hand is actually shaking enough to make the ice tinkle. Chloe gives me a strange look.

"Jeez, would you just relax?"

"Yeah, man, whatever it is you're trying to tell us, just spit it out," Danny says, raising his voice and throwing his hands in the air. That's typical Danny.

"Sorry, this is really hard, but I've got to tell someone. It's why I asked you guys to meet me here." My heart is thumping so hard it's scary. I swallow hard. Here goes—

"Is it a huge problem for you guys if you're eating with a gay boy?"

Nothing. No shocked looks, no big scene, no storming out of the food court, just complete silence—and Chloe's raised eyebrows. Fearing the worst, I wait them out.

"You're really gay?" she finally asks at her usual bullhorn volume.

I'm sinking lower in my seat. "Yeah, I'm really gay."

While she thinks this over, Danny, on the other hand, isn't reacting except for that easy-to-miss smirk he gets when someone says something totally stupid or really obvious.

"Excuse me, what did you just say?" It's one of three older girls at the next table. I don't know them all that well, only that they're going to be seniors.

"I said I'm gay."

"You mean, like, for real?" the one nearest me says.

"Say, aren't you Bobby Fowler?" another asks.

"Yeah, I'm gay, for real."

"This is a joke, right?"

"He said he's gay, got it?" Chloe snaps. "Now do you mind if we talk?"

"It's okay, Chloe. Look, it's not a joke. I'm gay."

Open-mouthed amazement is followed by whispering and giggling, which quickly becomes higher-pitched and more excited. My attention returns to my two friends. I still can't quite read Danny.

"Is this a total shock?" I ask him.

"Nah, I pretty much had it figured out," he replies with a smirk, "especially with some of the guys like Jason calling you a homo and stuff like that last year. I'm cool and it's no big deal, at least for me."

"It's no big deal?"

"Come on, man, just chill out," he says.

"I'm wicked surprised, but thanks." I turn my attention to Chloe. "Is this freaking you out?"

"No, not really, maybe a little surprised. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised, you know? There were times last year when I wondered about you. Like you'd see a humpy-looking boy walk by and you'd say, 'Oh, that guy is so athletic.'" She completes the imagery with a little wave of her hand, nothing more than a flick of her wrist. Chloe follows with a fit of giggling.

I giggle too, and at last take a deep breath. This time it really does ease some of the tension. I feel good. Everything is starting to feel good, like a colossal weight has been lifted off me.

"Like Danny said, it's no big deal," Chloe continues. "It will just take a little getting used to, that's all."

"Thanks, Chloe. Thanks, Danny. You guys are my very best friends, and I wanted you to be the first to know."

"You're my best friend too, and I'm glad you told us, but look," he says, nodding toward the front of the food court. "Those girls are leaving, and it's going to be all over town in the next six seconds. You're going be the first gay kid in the history of Dunston High School."

I'm twisting my paper napkin into a tight little spiral as Danny's comment sinks in. An instant stab of fear knots my stomach before I decide being gay can't be that big of a deal. Danny and Chloe were cool. And besides, it's who I am and I can't keep it inside any longer.

"I hope people leave me alone," I tell my friends. Relieved beyond words, I'm still so keyed up I can hardly eat. Ever since I was little, I've known I like boys, but spitting out "I'm gay" the first time sure was scary. "Hey, maybe I'll meet someone when I go back to school," I go on. "At least one hot boy will be gay and will ask me out. And I would just die if it's someone half as hot as Kyle Faulkner."

Chloe's head sinks into her hands. "Oh, this will take some getting used to," she moans.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to weird you out, but I don't want to go through high school and not meet someone. I want what you guys want, but for me, it has to be a guy."

"It's okay," she says, rubbing my hand. "I want you to be happy."

"Yeah, that's what I want," I say. "I want to be happy again."

Chapter Two

I'm feeling pretty satisfied. After a good ten minutes of failed attempts, a dropped stick, and some swearing here and there, I finally nailed a complex new drum riff. Oh, and there was that little matter of telling Danny and Chloe the most important thing in my entire life. And there I was so scared I almost peed my pants.

My break is interrupted by the rapid flicking on and off of the light at the foot of the stairs.

"Hi, Chloe."

The words are hardly out of my mouth when familiar, heavy footsteps clomp down the stairs, followed by the loud creak of that loose step halfway down. I tense, thinking all sorts of bad things about why she's here.

Giving me one of her biggest smiles, one that can brighten up my darkest moods, Chloe parks herself right in front of my drums. "I could hear you from outside," she says. "Have you been here long?"

"I came straight from the mall to practice and work on a new remix. Did you hear my new riff?"

"Yeah, it sounded great. Look, I stopped by to tell you something."

"Oh crap, you're not cool with my being gay?"

She hesitates and squints a bit, the way she always squints when she's serious. "Of course I'm cool with you being gay. Bobby, I was thinking about how nervous you were and what you told us, you know, that you wanted me and Danny to be the first to know. It made me feel special. I could see it was really hard to say you're gay, and it must have taken a lot of courage. I stopped over to thank you for sharing something so special in your life."

It takes a moment for all of this to sink in, as well as to start breathing again. "You know, you're the most special friend I ever had," I tell her. I hop around my drums to wrap my friend in a tight embrace. Chloe is more than a friend, she's my soul mate. "I love you, Chloe," I whisper.

"Are you okay now?" she asks. "You were so nervous you were shaking."

"I'm fine. I was shaking a little, wasn't I?" I snicker thinking about it, prompting a fit of high-pitched giggling from Chloe. "Now it feels like this huge relief, like ... oh, I don't know how to even explain it," I tell her. "Everything feels really good. The whole universe just feels right."

"Well, I'm happy that you're happy, and I'm glad this feels right." Chloe absently taps one of my cymbals with her fingernail, just enough to make it ring lightly. "What's this about a new remix? Do I get to hear it?"

"Yeah, it's just not finished."

Flipping power switches on my recording equipment and amps, I'm grinning to myself anticipating Chloe's reaction to my newest track. It's what I call Hi-NRG techno trance, because it sounds like this gay dance CD I sent away for and that's what it said in the notes.

The finished room I call my recording studio takes up almost half the cellar. Chloe and Danny, like me, think it's totally cool, the perfect place to hang out.

Amps, two synthesizers, speakers, a medium-sized subwoofer, a forty-channel mixing board, and lots of other electronic equipment are stacked on tables and shelves opposite my drum set. The first time he came down here, Danny flipped out. He said most sci-fi flicks don't have this much electronic equipment. Except for my desk chair and two purple bean bags, a ratty old couch the previous owner left behind is the only other furniture down here. We still laugh about the time Chloe was so grossed out she brought an old sheet to cover it.

"Here we go," I warn Chloe.

The room begins shaking to my latest gay dance music. I was right! Look at that girl, a silly smile mixed with this goofy wow expression as she starts to boogie. I'm cracking up, she's ignoring me, and in moments we're both dancing and gyrating in the middle of the cellar, thinking we're totally cool while the subwoofer vibrates the air so strongly it might microwave us.

"Bobby, this is awesome," she shouts as she carries on with her unique brand of high-energy dancing. I always crank up my dance music really loud because I heard that when you go to gay clubs, it's ultra loud. The first time I ever played music for Chloe at this volume, she shrieked and blocked her ears. Then I told her it's supposed to be this loud. Oh, yeah, I told her that parents hate it. That did it.

The music ends with only the bass beat thumping out of the subwoofer.

"It'll take a few more days to overlay eight tracks of percussion and melody to get this finished," I explain as I eject the CD.

"Wow, that's all I can say. I have no idea how you do it, but that was your best ever," she says. Chloe decides to play around on my drums, but after a few cymbal crashes and half-hearted taps on the snare drum, she sits there, staring once more with that tight-lipped, narrow-eyed look.

"Well what?" I finally ask.

"Why don't you make a CD of your dance music?"

"Make a CD? Girl, you can't be serious."

"You finished a whole bunch of tracks, right?"

"Yeah, at least a dozen."

"Listen, that music made me want to dance. My feet just didn't want to stay still. Bobby, my whole body wouldn't stay still. You don't know how good you are, and Danny agrees with me."

"Hmm, my own CD ... oh, I don't know about this. Who'd want to buy it?"

Chloe has to think about this for a few seconds. "I know. Maybe at first you could hand out copies at school."

"Yeah, then everyone will think I'm cool. We'll have to think up a name for my record label."

"That will be fun." Chloe bangs on the drums again and stops. Actually, it's her routine: play, talk, play, talk, the talking by far outweighing the playing.

"Thank heavens for your music," she says. "At least you've been able to use your dad's house and work on your music to help you get by."

"Yeah, but you and Danny helped more than anything."

Chloe smiles sweetly, and when she returns her attention to my drums, I think about what she just said. Dad's house. I call it my house, like anyone would, but to Danny and Chloe, it's always "your dad's house."

It's been almost six months since I was told Dad had died overseas, although they've never found his ... I still can't even think it. He moved me here from Massachusetts three months after Mom died. I live in a foster home, only a few hundred yards down Farm Road 1951, a lightly-used country road that passes through fields and grazing land five miles from the center of town.

After Dad died, I was sure this house would be sold and I'd lose my recording studio and a place to play my drums, but it's maintained because of a trust Dad set up. I'm here every day, sometimes for hours. I even have my own key.

My friends and I use the lap swimming pool and the hot tub that Dad put in last summer. Dad taught me to do laps and flip turns. Imagine that, unathletic me doing flip turns. I even bought goggles.

Chloe's right. My music—which I couldn't have done without being able to use this house— helped me get through some really dark times.

A local county judge, Judge Garrity, is the trustee of the trust Dad had set up to take care of me in case anything happened. The judge is also my legal guardian, to say nothing of my friend and mentor, which is what he calls himself. He stops by frequently to visit and take a dip in the pool, but I know he's checking up on the place as well. So does my foster mother, Mrs. Robles. I've kept my promise that my friends and I wouldn't mess up because otherwise, this place is history.

"Hey, I better get home for supper. I don't want to get yelled at," I tell Chloe.

"Does Mrs. Robles still yell at you?" she asks.

"Nah, not as much. I'm still trying to make this work so we get along okay."

She seems to be thinking this over. "Are you finally getting comfortable with your foster home?"

Hot anger rushes to my face. "I only said I'm trying to make this work. I'll never be comfortable in a foster home. It's just not fair. She says she's trying but she's not my mother. She's never going to be my mother!" Chloe's face tightens in a frown. "I'm sorry, Chloe. I need to take your advice and not get so steamed up about being in a foster home."

Chloe, always calm and comforting when I'm out of control, gently rubs my shoulder. "It's okay," she says. "I know it's hard. Maybe as time goes by things will get better."

"Hey, gotta go," I tell her.

At the foot of the stairs, it hits like a flash of lightning. "Oh, no! It's all over town," I tell Chloe with a slap to my forehead. "I don't want the judge to find out from someone else I'm gay. Shit!"

"So maybe you'd better tell him. Like tonight?"

"Oh, crap," I moan.

"Jeez, Bobby, weren't you going to tell him?"

"I guess so, but later, maybe a lot later. I didn't mean for everyone in town to find out so soon."

"Bobby, you told those girls."

"I wasn't thinking. What am I going to do?"

She tries to calm me down, rubbing my shoulder again and talking softly. "It's going to be okay. You'll see. Just don't let him find out from someone else, okay? You've been so close and he's helped you so much."

"But what if he freaks out? What if he throws me out of here? Oh shit, I'm screwed."

Saying nothing, my best friend gives me another wonderful hug. It's her way of saying everything will turn out okay, and if not, she'll still be here as my best friend.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from And It Was Full of Light!by Robert W. Littlefield Copyright © 2010 by Robert W. Littlefield. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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