Harmonious Hearts 2018--Stories from the Young Author Challenge Read online

  Table of Contents

  Harmonious Hearts 2018

  Introduction

  Just a Phase

  The Language Unspoken

  A Boy Like Edgar

  Of College and Lost Dogs

  2:00 A.M.

  143

  Dev’s Law

  The Head That Wears a Crown

  The Train Station

  Subtle

  Someone Else’s Star

  Visit Harmony Ink Press

  Copyright

  Harmonious Hearts 2018

  Edited by Anne Regan

  Diversity is our strength, and now more than ever, the voices of young LGBTQIA authors need to be heard. Harmony Ink is proud to showcase the next generation of talented writers in our fifth annual Harmonious Hearts anthology. These authors, all between the ages of fourteen and twenty-one, are the winners of our Young Author Challenge and represent the future voices of our community. We are honored to showcase these writers, their experiences, visions, and the glimpses into their hearts in these pages. Join them on their journey and help us celebrate their courage, their love, and their unique ways of seeing the world.

  Introduction

  WELCOME TO the fifth annual Harmony Ink Press Young Author Challenge anthology, Harmonious Hearts 2018. It’s always a thrill to read through the submissions to our short-story challenge aimed at young authors writing LGBTQ+ themes.

  The authors selected for this year’s anthology represent five countries across five continents. While demonstrating the universality of LGBTQ+ experiences, they also highlight the authors’ individuality and unique perspectives. Whether related as science fiction, fantasy, or contemporary realism, the characters in these stories face challenges, doubts, and loss but also find strength, acceptance, and love.

  Some of these writers have participated in previous Young Author Challenges; for others, this is their first professional submission. But they’re all authors to watch as they continue to develop their storytelling skills.

  If you’re a young writer yourself, or know someone who is, you can find information about our ongoing Young Author Challenge at www.harmonyinkpress.com/submissions. We’d love to receive your stories.

  In the meantime, it’s my privilege to introduce you to our next group of young writers.

  Anne Regan

  Executive Editor, Harmony Ink Press

  Just a Phase

  By M. Caldeira

  Emme is very perceptive when she needs to be, and she tries to be friendly and helpful, but she can no longer accept her friend’s claim that her attraction to girls is just a phase. Can a confrontation and discussion help her friend move past the lie and into another phase… with Emme as her girlfriend?

  “JUST A phase, huh? Like when you were all for Meg and you were at my heels going ‘This will pass, it has to pass’?”

  Her tone is harsh, and I glance at her sideways. Rare are the moments where she employs that tone with me. The paper I’m writing on is the one to suffer the unfortunate consequences, as my hand trembles so much I poke a hole through the page. It’s a wonder I can detect it; she must really be laying it on thick, as I’m kind of tone deaf.

  “That was….” It’s hard to think of an answer that will get me off the hook with Emme, so I look away as I rip the page from the notebook. I hadn’t really written much anyway. I can easily start again. She’s known me for so long that she must have been there for every crush, every attempt at something more. Because who am I but a girl who’s obsessed with romance novels?

  Of course, most romance novels feature straight protagonists, and the girl gets with the boy… but she kind of has me pegged on that one too. Something about “underrepresentation of other sexualities and gender minorities in popular media.” That’s what she would probably say.

  Rather than tear away the page cleanly, I tug at it insistently, pulling it with all my strength, the tugging of the page mirroring the confusion in my head. Because one thing is very clear, but that’s the thing I can’t reveal.

  But that’s Emme, always looking for a cause to follow, always so passionate about things. It’s actually kind of hard not to use the plural when she’s discussing one of her crusades, one of her many fights for equality. Whatever minority it is, I always stop myself before “You should get your rights” becomes “We should fight for our rights.” That would be complicated to explain.

  The page gives, and I’m nearly knocked backward as the sheet of paper comes undone. I’m really not hiding that I like girls very well. But for that there is silence. She might be the one at Pride and raising money and fighting for equality, not only for her sake but for everyone else, but she won’t get me to admit that to her.

  She’s my friend! And friends keep secrets from each other all the time. Including the big one. I think my mouth purses as I think of that one. I steal a glance at her.

  She still awaits my answer, despite the silence that followed the first part of it. She’s gazing at me, her deep hazel eyes glancing into my plain boring bluish ones. I hear that some girls desire girls with blue eyes. That hasn’t happened to me, so far.

  Of course, when I catch her staring, I blush. It takes the strength of a Titan not to get lost in those eyes. And with me caught staring, I don’t really see what I’m doing. The paper I grabbed and ripped gets wrinkled and turned into a ball. To such an extent I don’t think I’ll be able to check the answer anymore. I bite my lip and come up with a reply rather halfheartedly.

  “Different. That was different,” I repeat, as if that will make it any less shaky, as if it will give it legs to stand on. Because if we’re being honest with one another, she can make a whole list of examples. Like in those cartoons where a list scrolls down comically for meters upon meters. Meg hadn’t been my first crush, and I doubt she’ll be the last.

  “Right.” The way she rolls her eyes tells me the truth that my heart doesn’t want to accept. She is definitely not convinced of my theory. Then again, if I were in her place I likely wouldn’t be either. One time is curiosity, two is pushing it, three? Well, either I was really into girls and girls alone, or I was attracted to them and boys all the same. And so far most of my crushes had been on bright young women. The one or two boys I had gone out with fell short on the whole spectrum of manliness. If that was a thing. I didn’t think it was.

  She gently places a hand on my notebook and pushes the few sheets of paper it held. She does it so perfectly that it looks to the world, and to me, like there was never any ripping. She’s gentle with her actions; she acts slow, in a controlled manner. But that is the personification of Emme, gentle but perfect.

  My sexuality aside, I have a much bigger problem in my life than whether I like boys, girls, or both. Or none of those, or… anything else, really. Emme would have been perfect in this aspect. Like with the sheet of paper, she would have been able to address people by their preferred pronoun. She would be able to be cordial, perfect, and not judge people as odd or weird.

  She would probably take them under her wing as she had done with me. Emme was mature like that, though we weren’t any different in terms of age—we were both sixteen. But I sometimes saw her as wiser than any adult I knew. And this had nothing to do with the fact I was in that age where adults fall under the whole “flawed and awful” description. Yeah, sure, most adults weren’t perfect, but then….

  I sigh, which doesn’t go unnoticed. How can she detect me sighing and yet not interpret my blushing? Maybe she’s being willfully ignorant? Besides being probably the most accepting, understanding person I know, she is also very perceptiv
e, something I have seen in action often.

  I just have to hope that she won’t catch me on the other thing I hide from her. Because while my sexuality, which I vehemently denied, might be obvious—not only to her, but probably to everyone—the other thing I struggle to keep better hidden than that.

  And yet as I grab hold of my pen, I have to steady my nerves. I have to breathe and go to my happy place. Which unfortunately just so happens to feature Emme, but there’s little I can do about that. I hold the pen, flipping it until it’s steady. Then, making sure not to look at her, I speak.

  “There’s a reason most people who want help ask for it,” I declare. I somehow manage to pronounce this with all the certainty I don’t have. I manage to make it sound like a fact even if I personally don’t believe in it. How many times has she uncovered someone in need and given them a helping hand, guiding them to the right path? Too many to count. Emme is like a saint on earth. And even when I’m not personally bawling at her feet, she is there.

  She’s always been there. A hand on the nape of my neck for support, resting my head against her head or shoulder. She somehow always seems to know when I need help. When I need, not only help, but her.

  And thoughts like those do nothing to help alleviate my problem. If anything, instead of dispersing it, they make it more apparent. I am certain I’m getting red, that I’m blushing up to my ears. Not for the first time. And I can’t exactly call it a side effect of rage. My tone has been far too casual, my smirk far too apparent.

  This isn’t the first back-and-forth about my feelings I’ve had with her. It’s just that she shouldn’t—couldn’t know. That much is obvious to me. That’s what I desire, that she won’t take a second glance at who I have a deep passion for. More than all those other crushes I somehow find myself with. Someone I have fallen for years ago and I still wish for, years later.

  And someone who has been there for me through thick and thin, through the hard times and the times that flew by like a breeze. Part of me is well aware that, though I could find other girls attractive or boys likable, there’s never a chance of a relationship.

  The pen still in my hand, I make sure to turn my face away from her. How can I not blush when I’m thinking about all her qualities, about my feelings, about everything that entails? And it’s not like everything’s perfect….

  It still sucks when I’m rejected when putting feelers out there, but even If I had started a relationship, I wouldn’t have been happy. That much I’m aware of. And maybe it isn’t fair to those girls or boys that I would try to get with them when I’m longing for someone else. But what else can I do? My feelings are no less genuine just because I have a deeper crush. And going for what I know to be physical attraction might seem shallow, and indeed it’s never worked, but it’s as good a disguise as any.

  I’ve heard of the term “beard” to refer to the wife of a gay man. I think the term somewhat applies here. No, I’m not married and maybe I’ll never be, it’s hard to tell. But all those failed relationships or attempts at one? Beards, all of them.

  And yet I wish Emme didn’t prod deeper. Hence why I try to ignore her sign that she didn’t uncover just who I’m crushing on. Because more than awkward, more than embarrassing, that would be hard to explain. Even if we’re sitting together under the pretense of doing our homework together. Even if it’s just a normal, definitely boring school-related activity. We still discuss our feelings.

  Or rather, my feelings. It’s an uneven relationship in that I don’t help Emme with her feelings at all. I don’t know why, but she never speaks of how she feels in front of me. Maybe that’s because I’m a poor listener, or maybe it’s because she just prefers to help instead of burdening others, but it still feels unfair.

  Any attempts at trying to help, to know her feelings fail, though. And I got the memo. I don’t try anymore. If I have things I’d rather keep hidden… especially from her, then she has that right as well. Repeating her words and echoing the sentiment that “sharing would help”? Well, that would just be hypocritical, not to mention moot, when I don’t share the target of my affection.

  And how can I? Emme is perceptive, so much so that I have to try to do everything in my power so she doesn’t figure out my feelings. Even then she’s gotten around my supposed sexuality in a roundabout way. I trust her so much I admit things I definitely shouldn’t or wouldn’t want to share.

  Even when we’re doing the most mundane of tasks. Homework, there’s not much to it, but she makes me feel all sort of emotions. Confusion of course, but also happiness. I enjoy her company. Even if she doesn’t normally prod as hard, one can see why my homework still hasn’t been done.

  Not that I don’t trust Emme. I do. She isn’t a gossiper; it’s only that to trace such paths, to create the precedent…. It’s a dangerous game I play. At least if she isn’t aware of just who I have that crush on, and I sure hope she isn’t , then keeping it hidden is all the more important and hard, because of how much I’ve revealed freely.

  I lightly bite the tip of my pen cap, as if having the blue plastic in my mouth will help me from revealing my hidden feelings. If Emme wants to know anything, she has her ways of getting people to speak. She can use a whole wide array of tactics, ranging from kindness to earnest friendship. The words that people reveal would come, not as something she plans, but as a side effect.

  Not that Emme does much judging, or indeed any other activity that would put me in a bad light. In fact, she’s managed to become the one most everyone goes to talk to and have a moment of friendship with. It’s just the thought of rejection that keeps me from revealing anything. She wouldn’t make fun of me, and if she says no (my mind corrects me to when she says no), she would offer me a hand in dealing with the issue. It’s only that I don’t want to compromise our friendship… and I’m afraid of the one word that can tear it apart. A simple “No.”

  “Sometimes people don’t realize they need help until someone shows them the way….”

  Emme speaks, and I spit the pen cap to the floor in shock. I should have realized she wouldn’t let the issue drop, but it’s been long enough that my thoughts drifted where they shouldn’t, when with her. If she’s just spoken now… I wonder why.

  With a sheepish smile on my face, I drop down to my knees to look for the pen cap. There goes that plan to keep quiet. I’m aware that now I’ll have to answer. Unless I put the pen tip on my mouth and bite it. But I don’t want to ruin the pen. The cap had been enough, and now it has fallen and it’s likely full of dust and other stuff.

  I pick up the slightly wet pen cap and pocket it. Maybe that will dry it. Making a big pretense of still looking for it, I try to find an answer to what Emme said.

  The big problem is… I knew what she said to be true. I agree with her. And while I can make a variety of arguments on why that makes no sense, they all ring hollow to my ears. And if they ring hollow to my ears, then surely someone as smart as her would see right through them.

  Finding no suitable counterpoint to her argument, I decide to concede. Lifting myself up, as if I have found the pen cap just then, I have to admit to her that she has a point, as she often does.

  “And don’t you know it? How often did you find that to be true?” Maybe admitting she was right doesn’t have to call for her personal experience or a (not so) hidden compliment, but those come out of my mouth either way, my body betraying my mind’s vow to play it cool. Maybe she will take it as a sign of friendship and leave it at that. I sure hope that will be the case.

  Should have known better than to expect a miracle, I guess.

  “Not often enough, I find. For instance, sometimes even with me trying to help, people refuse to acknowledge their feelings.”

  The amused little smile from when she saw me rip out the sheet, only to fall, is gone. So is the positive outlook on life. Her words are downright negative. I’ve never seen her like this. Even when she’s talking to someone who has no hope, she can bring a little bit of joy. He
re, even the way she speaks—it’s matter-of-fact, but it’s devoid of that bubbly voice she normally employs—shows a different facet of her. It pains my heart that something would make her feel that way. Then I take notice of her words and alarm bells ring in my head.

  If I still had the pen cap in my mouth I would have swallowed it, I’m so alarmed.

  A single, shivering idea runs through me. She knows. All my efforts to hide it from her have been for naught. And now I’m set to hear the rejection.

  I can pretend that what she says doesn’t affect me at all. I could go “How so?” in an incredulous tone, as if I didn’t know who or what she’s talking about. But I don’t think I can fool her. Even if I were to restore normality, I still don’t want to see her sad.

  So I simply ask one question, one that makes the color return to my face. Though I had gotten pale when I understood her answer, now the blush returns, as the question that hangs in the air is asked. “How lo….” I take a deep gulp and a breath to steady my nerves, and the pen I hold in my hand shakes once more, making a mess out of my homework. That doesn’t matter now, not as much as this. I’ll wipe the sheet clean and go over it again later. I just hope I can do the same with our relationship. “How long have you known?”

  She glances at my eyes, those boring bluish ones, and smiles. I’m a pile of nerves. I feel like my every last attempt at subtlety has failed. And yet she smiles. Despite the way her words come out as sad, that smile is still dazzling.

  “About your feelings? Ages. But then I hoped that you would come to me with them, instead of hiding under the ‘it’s just a phase’ excuse.”

  She averts her eyes, and I glance down, abashed. If she knows and I know…. Does that mean I’ve been hurting her? I can’t stand such a thought.

  “It’s not,” I state, sure of it. If it hasn’t gone away in four years, maybe even five, before I knew that what I feel is love, then it won’t go away now.