Thinking Straight by Robin Reardon Read Free Book Online

back, dumbstruck. WTF? “So you have a choice to make, young man. Six weeks, minimum, depending on how well you do, at Straight to God. Or it’s military school in the fall.” He started to turn away from me like that was the end, but then he turned back and added, “And in either case, young man, you’re to consider yourself grounded until further notice.”
    I felt nearly hysterical. Ridiculously, what flashed through my head was a series of images of King Richard on a crusade, sent to the Holy Land to fight the infidels and, while he was at it, to purge the devil that made him want men, and all the time he was surrounded by men. Made that idiot Ted Tanner’s comment a little less idiotic. I came so close to pointing out to my father that he’d be sending me to a place where all feminine wiles would be missing and I’d have lots of boys to choose from, but something stopped me—probably the fear that he’d be so furious he’d send me there anyway, out of spite. And if I couldn’t be with Will all summer, then I sure as hell wasn’t gonna let him be out of reach all next year on top of that.
    I needed to kick something. Desperately. Maybe I was grounded, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t go into the backyard. So I headed for this big old maple tree that grows near the house, the one I’d broken my nose falling out of. I can see it from my bedroom window, and I’d always felt like it knew everything that was going on. So I knew it would understand. I kicked it till my feet hurt.
    When I got up to my room, things looked different on my desk. Like someone had been here, searching. But—for what? Gay porn?
    Then it hit me. If I was grounded, I couldn’t use my cell phone. I dived for where I’d left it. Gone.
    I pounded on anything that wouldn’t make too much noise. I screamed into my pillow. Eventually I calmed down and sank onto the floor, right where Will and I had sat that first night we kissed. Touched. Loved. Fighting tears, I relived my interview with Reverend Douglas, trying to come up with arguments that countered his insistence that this wasn’t real. That I wasn’t real. I kept hearing Angela’s words, quoting her freethinking boyfriend: if you don’t have to make sense, you can say anything you want. The problem was twofold. Angela was quoting people who didn’t even capitalize the word God. And what Reverend Douglas had said made a certain amount of sense. He almost had me wondering if maybe I had allowed Satan in.
    But then I thought of Will. And Will was no Satan, and this love was from God. It had to be. Reverend Douglas was wrong. After all, he wasn’t infallible. God did make me who I am, and he made Will who he is. Just thinking of Will, though, made me cry.
    The worst thing in the short term was that I was, like, totally grounded. Which meant I could spend my time reading only the things they approved of. No phone calls, no computer time, no visits from friends—my folks would be suspicious of everyone male, maybe because I hadn’t told them about Will specifically—so I was losing my mind trying to figure out how to let Will know what was happening to me. I cried myself to sleep that night, and just before I fell asleep it came to me.
    That Sunday, in church, I slipped a note for Will to one of his sisters. I watched as he read it, and when he looked over at me from way too far away, the look on his face nearly made me burst into tears on the spot.
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    And now I was here for real. My sentence had begun. The reverend was waiting.
    Charles moved forward, and I followed. Wasn’t much else I could do. Reverend Bartle looked right at me, but he said, “Thank you, Charles. You can leave your charge with me now.” He held an arm toward me, and I tried to avoid his open hand as I moved forward. I didn’t want him to touch me. But he grabbed my neck, squeezed it until it almost