Ethan’s World

by Daphne Childress

Ethan Martin and his mother live a simple life in a small Southern town... with a twist: She makes dresses to pay the bills and he helps out as best he can.
 

Chapter Thirty-Two: The First Day of School

The first day is always the hardest.
 

Abraham Lincoln Middle School, Monday morning. Hallway echoing with chatter, lockers slamming, the faint squeak of sneakers on waxed linoleum.

Ethan clutched his books to his chest, weaving through the swarm of kids like a minnow in a river. Sweat dampened the back of his white polo, sticking it to his skin beneath the straps of his backpack. His loafers clicked on the floor with every careful step. Don’t trip. Don’t look up too fast. Don’t let anyone see you thinking about… her.

Emily. The name whispered through his mind even when he tried to silence it.

He’d been dreading this day for weeks. He had secrets and there were people here who knew them. He’d barely slept the night before; every time he closed his eyes, he saw Claire’s smirking face, and those of her girlfriends, Tara and Maddy, Whitney and Lindsey. They had clearly enjoyed his little performance last summer as Emily, and now he dreaded seeing them on a daily basis. Their little clique was famous for spreading rumors and ruining secrets, and he had no doubt that they would make his life miserable if given the chance.

But that wasn’t his biggest fear. Not even close. While it was bad enough that those five girls held his future in their hands, another name rose above the rest: Samuel Torres. Ever since that terrifying encounter at Savannah’s Sweet Sixteen, Ethan had dreaded running into Samuel. He was the biggest bully at Lincoln Middle School—everyone stepped out of his way, even high schoolers and some teachers. Ethan feared that broad, sneering grin, those mocking eyes staring at Emily like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh, hit something, or… something else.

And now it was Monday. Reality crashing back down. Samuel had probably told all of his friends every detail how the mysterious “maid girl” at his sister’s party was that sissy boy, that fairy, that faggot from school. The very thought made Ethan’s stomach tighten into a hard, sour knot.

Just get to class. Don’t talk to anyone. Keep your head down.

He rounded the corner toward the science wing—and froze.

Up ahead, in front of Ethan’s locker, there he stood.

Samuel Torres.

Tall. Skin black as coal. Shoulders like a linebacker. Black denim jacket draped over a black T-shirt, dark jeans hanging low over high-top sneakers. He leaned back against Ethan’s locker, arms folded, while four other boys flanked him like satellites.

Ethan’s pulse thudded in his ears.

Not today. Please. Not today.

Samuel’s gaze flicked up. Their eyes locked. Ethan felt like he’d just stepped under a burning spotlight.

A slow grin spread across Samuel’s face. He pushed off the locker door and swaggered forward. His friends snickered like hyenas in the shadows.

“Hey there, fairy boy. Where you think you’re going?”

The words snapped like a whip. Ethan’s knees wobbled, but he forced himself to stand straighter.

“I—I’m just going to class.”

“Ohhh, he’s just going to class,” one of Samuel’s friends mocked in a high, nasal voice. “Ain’t that cute?”

Samuel stepped closer. Ethan could smell the faint spice of aftershave under sweat. Samuel’s shadow fell across his books.

“You trying to avoid me, sissy?”

Ethan swallowed. Hard. He could feel sweat rolling down the sides of his ribs. He was too scared to lie, but too proud to admit the truth.

“I—I don’t want trouble, Samuel.”

Samuel smirked. “Trouble finds you, fairy boy. You know why? ‘Cause somebody’s gotta show you how to be a man.”

One of the boys murmured, “Yeah, quit being such a queer, you fag.”

Ethan’s throat constricted. He felt the urge to bolt—but his feet refused to move. If I run, they’ll chase me. And everyone will watch. And then I’ll die.

So he just stood there, trembling, a pale moth pinned under Samuel’s stare.

Suddenly, a voice rang out behind Ethan. Sharp, electric—female.

“Hey, why don’t you pick on somebody your own size? Come on, tough guy—come after me instead!”

The crowd shifted. A flash of red hair under a backward baseball cap pushed through the circle.

Dani.

She wore a worn gray T-shirt with faded white letters that shouted: Girl Power! Cut-off jeans showed scraped knees. High-top sneakers scuffed nearly white.

She planted herself beside Ethan, chin jutted out, eyes glinting.

Samuel’s jaw tightened. “Stay outta this, Dani.”

“Or what?” Dani shot back. “You gonna swing on me, big man?” She glanced at Ethan and rolled her eyes. “You ever think of picking on someone who might actually punch back?”

Ethan’s face flamed. Pride warred with shame. He wanted to crawl into a locker and disappear.

Samuel shook his head. “Ain’t nobody swinging on you, girl. I’m just giving sissy boy here a little grief, that’s all.”

Dani crossed her arms. “Yeah? Calling my cousin a fairy? A sissy? That’s a little grief?”

Samuel flicked his gaze toward Ethan. His eyes darkened.

“Well, somebody’s gotta show him how to be a man. Ain’t that right, mama’s boy? Hey, don’t ignore me! I asked you a question… ain’t that right, mama’s boy?!”

Samuel stepped closer, looking almost straight down at him.

“I said, ain’t that right… you… MAMA’S BOY!”

Ethan swallowed. His tongue felt huge in his mouth. He managed to croak out:

“Okay, sure… I’m a mama’s boy, I guess. But who isn’t? I really love my mom. Who doesn’t?”

The hallway seemed to fall silent in the space between breaths.

One of Samuel’s friends whispered, eyes wide: “Uh oh. He shouldn’t have said that.”

Samuel’s stare went flat and dangerous. His nostrils flared. Then his eyes flashed, and he slammed his fist into the metal locker beside Ethan’s head.

BAM!

The entire row of lockers rattled. A sixth-grader squealed and ducked away. Papers fluttered to the floor like snow.

Samuel loomed over Ethan, chest heaving, breath sharp and ragged.

“What… did you just say… about my mom?”

Ethan blinked, heart hammering so hard he thought it might crack his ribs.

“I—I didn’t mean anything, Samuel. I just… you called me a mama’s boy. I thought… I mean… you love your mom, right? If you don’t you should.”

Samuel’s jaw tightened so hard the muscles jumped along his cheeks. He didn’t say a word.

One of the other boys hissed, “Man, leave it alone. Come on. He’s just a little punk.”

But Samuel didn’t even glance at them. His stare was pinned to Ethan, eyes shimmering with something that wasn’t quite rage, but wasn’t far from tears, either.

Ethan swallowed again. Oh God… he’s gonna hit me. He’s gonna pound me into the floor right here in front of everyone.

I’m going to die.

“Hey!” Dani barked, stepping forward. She shoved herself between Samuel and Ethan, planting her palms on Samuel’s chest.

The tall boy’s body was hard and solid, but she managed to get him to rock backward. Just a bit. His eyes finally broke away from Ethan’s.

“That’s enough, Samuel,” Dani said, voice sharp as broken glass. “You want a fight, take it up with me. I’ll drop you so fast you won’t even see it coming.”

Samuel sneered. “Get outta my face, butch.”

Dani shoved him a little harder. “Nope. You wanna swing, do it.”

Ethan stared at the back of Dani’s head, throat tight with humiliation and gratitude. He wanted to tell her to stop. He also wanted to hide behind her forever.

Finally, Samuel stepped back, hands lifted, voice dripping sarcasm. “Whatever. Ain’t worth it. Go on, fairy boy. You get to live another day.”

He glanced back at Ethan, eyes shadowed. Then he jerked his chin, signaling his friends.

“Let’s go.”

The crowd parted like the Red Sea, allowing the quintet through, leaving Ethan trembling and pale. There was a long, awkward silence. Eventually the hallway buzzed back to life, kids darting away, whispering, staring. Ethan wiped his clammy palms on his khakis.

He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder. He turned. Dani stood there, eyes sparkling, her jaw softening.

“You okay, E?”

He tried to speak but his voice cracked.

“I… I don’t know. I guess. Thanks, Dani. I owe you one.”

“You owe me a lot more than one, Sissy.” Dani gave him a crooked grin and snorted. “I’m the only one here who can call you that.”

He stared at her, emotion coiling in his chest. Part embarrassent, part fierce gratitude.

“Um, okay. Thanks… anyway?”

“Don’t mention it.” She swung her backpack around and slung it off her shoulder. “Was about to get my skateboard out and clock him in the shins. But your way was more fun.”

“My way?” Ethan croaked.

“You know…” Dani waggled her fingers airily. “Talking about feelings and moms and junk. Total headgame—you blew his mind completely. Works every time.”

He snorted despite himself. Dani grinned wider. She bumped fists with him, then slapped him lightly on the shoulder.

“Later, cousin!”

And with a swirl of red hair and denim, Dani disappeared down the hallway.

 

* * *
 

That was not the only shocker that morning.

When Ethan finally found his way to Room 204 he discovered yet another keeper of his secret—one that he’d not accounted for.

His homeroom teacher was, of all people, Mrs. Julia Campbell—tall, blonde and beautiful, shapely, possessing a bosom and a posterior that made her the heartthrob of every schoolboy and many a grown man.

He suddenly flashed back to the crafts fair to when his favorite teacher caught him modeling one of his mother’s best-sellers that summer, a vintage party dress decorated with pink rosettes. It all came back to him, and more. To be discovered in that prissy, childish outfit and subjected to such a smug smirk and those all-knowing, eyes—it was a memorable, though alarming moment in his life, to say the very least.

And now, this very same woman stood at the front of the room, arranging a neat stack of attendance sheets. Her hair was swept up and pinned neatly, a few golden strands loose against her cheek, her magnificent breasts levitating by some mysterious force. She looked up, spotted him, and smiled—warmly, professionally.

He felt a sick feeling in his stomach, almost as bad as when he’d been confronted by Samuel just a few minutes earlier.

Could this day get any worse?

“Good morning, Ethan,” she said, her voice pitched to carry just enough for the other students to hear. “It’s great to see you again. One of my favorites.”

All heads turned toward him. Several, mostly boys, either grinned or made kissy faces at him. Ethan managed a polite nod. “Morning, Mrs. Campbell,” he said, and made for a seat near the back.

No wink, no raised eyebrow—nothing in her tone to suggest she knew anything more about him than any other student. He breathed a sigh of relief. He felt lucky, and after what just happened with Samuel Torres he needed a bit of luck. He was safe—for at least the next thirty minutes or so.

The class unfolded in ordinary rhythms: attendance, morning announcements, the distribution of schedules. Mrs. Campbell moved through the rows, answering questions, pausing to chat with students she remembered from last year, introducing herself to new attendees. She was every inch the calm, capable teacher.

And then the bell rang.

Students surged for the door, the hallway noise spilling in. Ethan lingered, stacking his papers, letting the crowd thin. He was almost to the door when her voice came, quieter now.

“Ethan? A quick word before you go.”

He turned back. She casually leaned against her desk, her generous bottom resting on its surface, phone in hand, swiping once or twice before turning the screen toward him.

A photograph—a little blonde girl, grinning in a white dress with pink rosettes, frilly socks and shiny shoes catching the light. It was like looking at a smaller, unselfconscious version of Emily.

“She loved that little dress you sold us,” Mrs. Campbell said. “Wore it for her whole party. Insists on wearing it all the time, in fact. Reminded me of someone.”

Ethan shifted, glancing at the floor. “I… I’m glad she liked it.”

“She did, very much so. And I must say, Emily”—her voice dropped just enough to make the name feel private—”you sold me on it better than any catalog ever could.”

He swallowed. “I… uh—”

She let the silence linger, then tilted her head, eyes narrowing just slightly in amusement. “Tell me, are you still helping your mother with her business?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, the words coming out smaller than he intended.

“I bet it’s fun, isn’t it? Being your mother’s pretty model and sales girl,” she said, savoring the last word just enough for him to hear the emphasis. “Picked up any new favorites since the fair?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, ma’am.”

She let the silence stretch for a beat—not unkind, but with the easy confidence of someone who knew she could be… and might. Then she tucked the phone back into her tote. “Well. You let me know if you do. I’d be happy to see them. And you modeling them, of course.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ethan’s mouth felt dry as he tried to swallow.

The smile on his teacher’s face was a blend of amusement bordering on being almost too sweet. “You’re an unusual child. A boy who helps his mother… and knows how to model a dress. Few boys are so conscientious—or brave.”

Ethan frowned. Did she say... brave?

There was another pause, then: “I am curious, so tell me. You help out around the house, too, don’t you?” she pressed. “I hear you look quite pretty in an apron.”

His head snapped up, eyes wide, but she was already laughing—a warm, throaty sound that somehow made it worse. “You know Penelope Whitaker, of course. She used to teach here. She was my teacher when I was your age, in fact. We still keep in touch.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He could feel the blush rising to his ears. “Um, she’s … she’s kind of one of my aunties.”

The pretty teacher nodded. “She told me. She’s painted quite the picture, you cleaning her house and serving tea and all. Something about being a maid or some silly thing. But she insists that it’s true.” She raised an eyebrow. “I may have to come by and see for myself one day.”

Ethan felt like dying.

“Well, this has been very interesting.” Mrs. Campbell stood up and put her hands on her hips, smiling as if she’d won a prize. “Off you go, pretty boy. Wouldn’t want to be late on your first day.”

He murmured a thank-you and fled into the hallway, but the sound of her laugh—and the impossible image of her watching him serve tea… and her seeing him scrubbing floors at Auntie Penelope’s—stayed lodged in his head all the way to his next class.

By the time he arrived at his next class, one thought had taken root:

Had Mrs. Campbell arranged for him to be in her homeroom?

And if she had… what did she have planned for the rest of the year?

 

* * *
 

It was at lunch when Ethan ran into what he hoped would be his last problem of the day.

He’d been staring at the grayish slab on his tray, trying to decide if it was supposed to be meatloaf or some kind of science experiment, when the whole room seemed to tilt toward his table. A wave of perfume and hairspray and whispered giggles washed over him, followed by the soft scuff of flats and the sharper click of little heels the girls weren’t really supposed to wear to school.

He didn’t have to look up to know what that meant. Girls. A lot of them.

A tray clattered down across from him.

“Well, look who’s all by himself,” a familiar voice said, sing-song.

Ethan’s eyes jerked up. Claire Madison was sliding into the seat opposite him like she owned it, chin propped on one hand, her eyes bright with mischief. Maddy and Tara dropped down on either side of her, boxing him in from the front, and Whitney and Lindsey took the spots on either side of him—the surprised boy suddenly found himself in the middle of a semicircle of eighth-grade girl.

“Um… hi,” he managed. The fragrance of perfume and bubble gum and fresh nail polish set off his blushing.

“Hi, Ethan,” Maddy said, dragging out his name like it tasted funny.

“Are we bothering you?” Tara added, already grinning. “You looked so lonely over here.”

Whitney bumped his shoulder with hers as she sat, all easy friendliness and trouble. Lindsey set her milk carton down with a pop and leaned in, elbows on the table, smile sharp and curious.

Ethan’s heart started that sick little rabbit thumping again, the way it had when Samuel Torres had backed him up against the lockers earlier that day. He could still hear Samuel’s voice in his head—sissy, fairy, fag—like it was echoing inside the cafeteria walls.

He picked up his fork and poked the mystery meat again, as if it might give him a clue how to get out of this.

“So,” Claire said, folding her hands on the table. “We were just wondering…”

Here it comes, he thought.

“…where’s Emily?”

He froze.

The sound of the cafeteria—the clatter of trays, the squeak of sneakers on linoleum, the roar of voices—faded to a dull roar behind the single word.

Emily.

He swallowed. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, he doesn’t know what we’re talking about,” Tara said, delighted, turning to Maddy.

“Total amnesia,” Maddy agreed. “Tragic. We should alert the nurse.”

Whitney tilted her head. “You sure? Because I could’ve sworn I saw someone who looked a lot like you this summer. Same eyes. Same nose. Same little worried frown.”

“Only,” Lindsey said, “she was in a very cute black maid dress with a frilly white apron and a little lace thing on her head.” She fluttered her fingers over her hairline. “And she kept curtsying every time she turned around.”

Maddy put a hand to her chest in mock sympathy. “It must be so hard having a twin sister nobody ever talks about.”

Tara leaned in closer to Ethan, squinting dramatically at his face. “Do you think we should tell him? About his secret twin?”

Ethan’s cheeks burned. He kept his eyes on his tray, tracing a wet line in the gravy with the tines of his fork.

“It was just a party,” he muttered. “I didn’t know it was going to be a big deal.”

Claire laughed softly, not quite as sharp as the others. “Relax, Ethan. We’re just talking. You were… very convincing.”

“That dress was everything,” Lindsey said. “Like something out of a movie. All that lace. And the stockings.” She pointed down at his legs under the table. “You don’t have those on today, do you?”

Ethan snapped his knees together under his chair, even though he was just wearing his regular khakis and loafers. “No. I don’t—”

“And the way you carried those trays.” Maddy mimed balancing a tray on one hand. “You could totally get a job here. Right, guys? Emily the lunch lady.”

“Ooh, yes,” Tara said. “She could work in the cafeteria with the hairnet and everything. Or wear that maid outfit. She could serve us all lunch.”

“‘More mystery meat, ma’am?’” Whitney said in a prim little voice. “‘Can I freshen your milk carton?’”

Claire giggled, covering her mouth. “I mean, Emily’s really good at taking orders.”

Lindsey snorted. “Well, obviously.”

They all laughed. Ethan stared at his plate, doing everything he could not to fidget, not to bolt for the door.

Whitney nudged him again. “Hey, speaking of dresses—”

“Oh, yes,” Tara said, as if that reminded her. “That pwetty wittle sundwess.”

Ethan’s stomach dropped.

Maddy’s eyes lit up. “Oh my gosh, yes. Show him, Whit.”

“Which one?” Whitney said, already fishing in her backpack for her phone. “The one in front of the bakery or the one where the cat looks like it’s judging him?”

“Both!” the other girls squealed in chorus.

Whitney pulled up her photos, thumbs flicking. A second later she made a little triumphant noise. “Found them.”

She turned the screen toward Ethan before he could look away.

There he was, smack in the middle of the screen: standing on the sidewalk in that ridiculous yellow sunflower dress with the white trim, the hem high above his knees. Bare legs. Sandals. The sunhat with the upturned brim that his mother had insisted on. And in front of him, like the universe had it in for him, the baby stroller where Gingersnap posed like she was in an issue of Catnip Monthly.

The angle was awful. His bare legs looked too girlish. His arms looked too thin. His cheeks too pink, eyes caught mid-blink.

Whitney flicked to the next one. This one was worse—he was pushing the stroller, biting his lip, looking down at Gingersnap as if begging the cat not to jump out and run.

“Isn’t he adorable?” Whitney cooed.

“Aw, look at Emily taking her baby for a walk,” Lindsey said, her voice just enough for several nearby tables to hear. “What a good mommy.”

A few heads turned their way, curious. Ethan’s heartbeat roared in his ears.

“Stop,” he said quietly. “Please.”

Whitney dialed the volume back a notch, but she didn’t put the phone away. “Relax, we’re not showing these to anybody. Unless you want us to.”

Claire watched him for a moment, chin back on her hand, her smile thoughtful now. “It really is a cute dress, though, Ethan,” she said. “The sunflowers suit you.”

He wanted to disappear into the floor.

“Hey,” Tara said suddenly, leaning down toward the floor near his chair. “Where’s your bag?”

Ethan’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Your backpack.” She ducked under the table, and he felt the tug as her fingers closed on one of the straps. “Just checking something.”

He grabbed the strap on his side and yanked it away from her. “Hey! Don’t.”

Maddy laughed. “What’s the matter, Ethan? Got something to hide?”

“We already know what's in there,” Tara said, popping back up in her seat, cheeks flushed from laughing. “Mama’s boy knows all about feminine hygiene.”

Maddy ticked items off on her fingers. “Tampons, pads, and—what was the last thing? Oh, yeah. Douche.”

“Very glamorous,” Lindsey said.

Whitney made a sympathetic face. “It’s a lot of responsibility being the woman of the house.”

Tara leaned toward Ethan again, eyes gleaming. “Whatcha got in there today, Ethan? Any tampons? We could use a couple. You know. For emergencies.”

He clutched his backpack closer, jaw tight. “No. Just textbooks and school stuff.”

Maddy smirked. “You sure? Because you’re making a really big deal out of us looking.”

“It’s none of your business,” he snapped, a little louder than he meant to.

Claire lifted her eyebrows. A few more kids glanced over, then went back to their food.

“Okay, okay,” she said, holding up her hands. “Let him breathe. He might faint and then who would carry all those pantiliners home for his mom?”

There was another ripple of giggles. Ethan’s face felt hot enough to fry the mystery meat.

Whitney took a sip of her milk, still grinning. “Speaking of fainting… we saw you in the hallway this morning.”

Ethan’s grip on his fork tightened. “What?”

“This morning. Before first period?” Lindsey chimed in. “We were over by the bathroom, and we totally saw Samuel Torres having… a moment with you.”

Maddy mimed someone towering over a smaller person, wagging a finger. “‘Listen here, fairy boy,’” she said in a mock-deep voice.

Tara snorted. “He was so mad. I thought he was going to actually hit you.”

Whitney laughed. “And he kept calling you a sissy and a fag and stuff. I mean, wow. Subtle, right?”

Lindsey shook her head. “Don’t tell Emily about Samuel—she might get jealous.”

The girls burst into laughter. Ethan shrank back in his seat, fingers numb around his fork. Just remembering Samuel’s face inches from his own that morning made his stomach twist.

“It’s not funny,” Ethan muttered. “He just… hates me.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Whitney sing-songed.

Maddy wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, maybe he’s got a thing for pretty boys.”

The laughter sharpened. Ethan stared at the tabletop.

Claire was still laughing, but it faded quicker than the others. She glanced from Ethan’s hunched shoulders to the smug looks on her friends’ faces, and something in her expression cooled.

“Okay, enough,” she said.

The other girls kept chattering for a second, then noticed her tone and quieted.

“A little teasing is fun,” Claire said, looking around the group, “but I don’t like it when someone gets bullied. He could get hurt.”

For the first time since they’d sat down, she sounded less like she was performing for the table and more like she meant it. Her gaze slid back to Ethan, and some of the sparkle in her eyes softened.

“Samuel’s a jerk,” she added, almost offhand, but there was strength under it. “Nobody needs that.”

Whitney made a face. “Yeah, he did go a little overboard.”

Lindsey shrugged. “He always does.”

Tara rolled her eyes. “Fine, no more Samuel stories.”

Maddy sighed theatrically. “Y’all are no fun.”

Ethan took a breath, then another. His heart was still pounding, but the worst of it had eased.

“I got a question.” Whitney bumped shoulders with him. “Why didn’t you run?”

“Run?” Ethan blinked.

Lindsey nodded. “You know, when Samuel threatened you. You didn’t run. How come?”

“I dunno. Too scared, I guess.”

“I hear that.” Whitney snorted. “Well, good on you.”

Claire nodded. “Yeah, that was actually brave of you.”

Ethan frowned. There was that word again: Brave. Was she serious or just mocking him?

For a moment the table was oddly silent, considering its occupants.

“Are you gonna tell?” he asked, his voice low but clear.

“Tell what?” Claire asked.

He looked around at them, forcing himself to meet their eyes one by one. “About… all of that. The maid thing. The dresses.” His throat felt tight. “Emily.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Claire smiled, tilting her head. “No,” she said. “We’re not going to give your secret away. We were just having a little fun. You know how us ‘mean girls’ are sometimes.”

The air seemed to rush out of him in a shaky exhale.

“We’re not?” Whitney repeated, mock-surprised.

Maddy leaned back, folding her arms. “Why would we? If everybody knew, it would take away all our fun.”

“Exactly,” Lindsey said. “Why spoil a perfectly good secret?”

Tara gave him a bright, toothy grin. “We’d rather keep your little secret to ourselves so we can tease you all we want. Like cats playing with a mouse.”

Ethan swallowed. He wondered: was he hearing mercy—or just… ownership?

“Lighten up, Emily,” Tara added, deliberately using the name. “Boys fight over sitting with us all the time. You should feel privileged.”

“Yeah, you don’t want anybody thinking you don’t like girls, do you?” said Maddy.

Whitney crossed her ankles, swinging her foot. “Maybe he’d rather sit with a boy. Maybe he has a boyfriend. I wonder who that might be?”

Lindsey’s smile went sly. “I only know one boy who pays him that much attention—Samuel Torres.”

All of the girls, including Claire, went, “Ooooo!” in perfect chorus, hands over their mouths, eyes huge with fake scandal.

“Ooooo! Samuel Torres likes Emily! Now there’s a rumor for you!” Maddy cooed. “Of course, if you don’t like Samuel, there’s always my older brother. I told you, he’s got a hardon for Disney princesses.”

They collapsed into giggles again, some of the tables around them glancing over just because of the noise. Ethan’s face burned so hot it hurt. He scooted his chair back.

“I have to go,” he said.

“Oh, come on,” Claire said, still laughing. “We’re just having fun, remember? Don’t take it so seriously. We tease each other all the time, right guys?”

“Not really,” Lindsey scoffed. “Ow!” She fussed as someone kicked her under the table. “Hey, that hurt!”

Ethan looked at Claire for half a second—at the hint of something almost apologetic behind the grin—and then pointedly at Tara:

“I’m not your mouse,” he said quietly.

He picked up his tray and his backpack in one practiced motion and slid out from the bench. For a second, he thought maybe they’d let him go.

“Hey, Ethan?” Maddy called after him.

He stopped, shoulders tightening.

“You sure you don’t have any kotexes in your backpack?” she said sweetly. “’Cause I need some for my mom.”

The table exploded in laughter.

Ethan stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, and walked.

The cafeteria doors swung shut behind him with a heavy thud, muting the noise. In the half-quiet of the hallway, his ears still rang with their giggles and that stupid, drawn-out “Ooooo,” but at least no one could see his eyes shining.

He took a deep breath, swallowed the lump in his throat, and kept walking, one foot in front of the other, like a boy trying to convince himself he had nothing to hide.

 

* * *
 

School let out under a sky gone bruised and cloudy. Ethan was approaching the main exit, backpack thumping his spine, when he spotted Samuel and his crew once again loitering by the lockers.

He froze. A voice inside screamed turn around. But he stood there, heart pounding.

I’m tired of running.

He forced himself to keep walking. Head down. Breath shallow.

“Hey, fairy boy!” Samuel barked.

Ethan’s stomach flipped. He glanced up, terrified. Samuel’s face was unreadable.

“Come here.”

Ethan hesitated. He was a dozen feet away but it seemed like Samuel only had to take two steps over to grab his arm. His fingers clamped around Ethan’s skinny bicep like a vise.

“Ow! Wh-what…?”

“Shut up. Come with me, faggot.”

Samuel dragged him toward a nearby boy’s bathroom, ignoring his friends’ puzzled looks. They passed under a fluorescent light buzzing faintly like trapped bees. The angry teenager slammed the door open with his shoulder and shoved the smaller boy ahead of him.

The door swung shut behind them with a heavy thunk.

The room smelled faintly of bleach and metal pipes. Water dripped steadily into one sink, echoing in the tiled silence. They were alone.

Samuel released Ethan’s arm and stood there, chest heaving. His denim jacket shifted as he balled his fists and relaxed them again, over and over.

The frightened boy hugged his books tighter. He felt microscopic in the empty bathroom, dwarfed by cracked white tiles and the echo of his own quick breathing.

Samuel finally spoke, voice low and ragged.

“That thing you said today. Why’d you say that?”

Ethan blinked, trying to understand. “Say… what?”

“That thing about my mom.”

“Oh, that.” Ethan licked his lips. “I… I don’t know. You called me a mama’s boy. I felt like I had to say something. I didn’t know what. It... it just came out.”

Samuel slammed his hand down on the edge of a sink, rattling the metal fixtures. His head hung forward, shoulders shaking slightly.

“You know I’m adopted, right?”

Ethan’s breath caught. He vaguely remembered Savannah saying something about that at her party, but he hadn’t given it much thought.

Samuel kept talking, as though the words were leaking out against his will.

“I don’t know who my mom is.” His voice broke. “Don’t even know what her face looks like. She gave me up when I was little … didn’t want nothin’ to do with me.” Ethan was surprised to hear the bully sob. “People always saying ‘My mom’s awesome, I love my mom.’” He lifted his head, eyes wet and red. “I don’t got that. Okay? So don’t fucking tell me I should love my mom.”

Ethan stared, wide-eyed. The world tilted sideways for a moment. Samuel Torres—big, tough, fearless Samuel—had tears glistening on his lower lashes.

For a heartbeat, Ethan forgot to be afraid.

“I… I’m sorry, Samuel. I wasn’t thinking.”

Samuel let out a sharp laugh, half-bitter, half-cracked. “Yeah. Well… not thinking almost got you the beating of your life. I wanted to kill you. What’s the matter with you—didn’t your daddy teach you better?”

Ethan gritted his teeth. His eyes darkened and there was something in his expression that caught Samuel’s attention.

Now it was his turn.

“Yeah. My dad taught me plenty. How to terrorize my mother. How to smack her around, punch her in the face... hurt her so bad they had to take her to the hospital. How to run off and leave his family bankrupt and nearly homeless.”

Ethan’s voice was uncharacteristically hoarse and angry as he spoke. It was the first time in his entire life he’d said any of this out loud.

“Sure, I learned all sorts of stuff from my daddy.” He spat the words out like rancid meat. “Bad stuff… ugly stuff… stuff I try all the time to forget. But he didn’t stick around to teach me what I needed to know. How to fight back… how to not get beat up by guys like you. Or anything good.”

He paused for a moment, waiting for a response. There was only the drip-drip of the faucet.

“That's why I love my mom. For all she went through, for protecting me from my dad, for everything she’s done since then, working hard so we could keep our house, make us a home. And… well, if that makes me a mama’s boy—” He closed his eyes. “Then come on, hit me… just beat me up and get it over with.”

The echo of trickling water could be heard throughout the bathroom, accompanied by the sound of Ethan’s near-panic breathing. His eyes were clenched shut, waiting for the first blow to strike.

But it never came.

He opened his eyes to see the bully standing in front of him. A crooked smile on his face.

“Well, ain’t we a pair.” Samuel shook his head. It was a statement, not a question. “Ain’t we just somethin’ else. Two sides of the same coin. Not the same… but the same.”

Ethan let out his breath. Finally. For an instant his adrenaline had been up, but now it was fizzling out. The flight instinct was still on alert. But he could sense a change in Samuel’s attitude, he just couldn’t tell which way it had gone.

“I ain’t got no old man, either. But I got a lot of guys who taught me what I needed to know to get by. Guess you never got that, huh?”

“No. Well, my mom tries. My Aunt DeeDee—Dani’s mom—she’s really tough, though.” Ethan almost smiled. “She runs a garage, fixes and builds cars, gave some guy a black eye once—almost beat him to death.” He gritted his teeth, remembering the story behind that. “She’s not scared of anything or anybody. She gives me a hard time, but she’s good to me, protects me when she can.”

“Dani’s mom, huh?” Samuel grunted. “Figures. Sounds like a badass chick.”

“That she is.” Ethan nodded.

There was that awkward silence again. Moving carefully so as to not trigger a reaction, Ethan stepped closer to the larger boy. He felt like he was approaching a wounded beast. I am such an idiot, but I gotta try…

Grimacing, he looked up and was just about to speak when he found himself momentarily distracted—it was the first time he’d ever noticed the green sparkle in Samuel’s eyes—how they glistened like jade under the flickering lights.

That’s strange… reminds me of—

He blinked—refocused his thoughts—and then cleared his throat. “So, um… are you going to… keep picking on me? Calling me names?”

Samuel snorted. “What do you think, fairy boy?”

“Okay then.” Ethan took a deep breath and asked the big question: “Well, uh … did… did you tell your guys? About me… you know. Emily?”

Samuel’s eyes flickered. He turned his back on Ethan, wiping at his face.

“None of their fucking business.”

The nervous youth exhaled, shaking a little with relief.

“Thank you.”

Silence stretched between them. The bathroom buzzed around them—lights, drips, distant footsteps in the hall.

Finally, Ethan said softly, “I’m… sorry about your mom.”

Samuel stared at the sink, knuckles pressing down hard on the porcelain. Then he let out a long, weary breath.

“Not your fault.” His voice softened, barely audible. “But… yeah, thanks. Sorry about your pop. Sounds like a real piece of work.”

Ethan nodded, unsure as to whether he should say anything else. Then he turned and pushed open the bathroom door.

Light flooded in. He stepped back into the hallway, blinking at the brightness.

Outside, Samuel’s friends loitered against the lockers. One of them glanced up in surprise as Ethan emerged—face unbruised, clothes unrumpled.

Ethan squared his shoulders, clutching his books tighter, and walked past them. He felt the weight of Samuel’s eyes on his back but didn’t look over his shoulder.

As he made his way toward the school’s exit, his thoughts tumbled over one another.

I thought he hated me. I thought he was just some bully… a gangster even.

But now … things are different.

He’s hurting. Just like me. Maybe worse.

A strange, tiny warmth flickered inside his chest.

Maybe Samuel isn’t just the enemy. Maybe… he’s another secret, waiting to come out.

He pulled open the glass doors and stepped into the gray afternoon, the wind tugging gently at his polo shirt.

Next up, The Mysterious Hat Shop