Between the Lines - 2. Chapter 2

The next morning started the same as always. Jen dropped me off at school in her beat-up car. The air con barely worked, and the ride smelled faintly of whatever she’d eaten on her last shift—and sick or dead people.

"Have a good day, Jer," she said, pulling up to the curb.

I grunted my reply and slung my backpack over my shoulder as I stepped out. I wasn’t exactly excited to face another day of wandering hallways and sitting alone at lunch.

Inside, the school was buzzing with the usual chaos: lockers slamming, people shouting across the halls, and some kid trying to shove a trumpet into his backpack. I made my way to my locker, doing my best to stay under the radar.

That’s when I saw him.

He was sitting on the floor near his locker, scribbling something in a notebook. His head was down, and the messy waves of his hair fell into his face. His locker door was wide open, cluttered with stickers, a crumpled schedule, and... a heart.

I blinked, slowing my steps. The heart was drawn on the inside of the locker door, surrounded by little doodles. Inside it, in bold letters, was his name, or at least what I thought was his name—"Calvin"—and another name beneath it.

A girl’s name. Sammy.

My chest tightened, and I looked away quickly, pretending I hadn’t seen anything. Of course he had a girlfriend. Why wouldn’t he? He was cool, funny, and apparently good-looking enough to make me forget how to breathe.

I kept walking, my stomach sinking a little with each step. By the time I got to my own locker, I couldn’t decide if I felt more stupid for noticing him or for letting my hopes rise in the first place.

School was the same old, same old. Core subjects, a few electives, a spare thrown in for good measure, lunch… more classes, then finally, home time. Rinse and repeat. Nothing changed for me, except that now I was in a new school where I didn’t know anyone. The thought gnawed at me every time, and I felt a familiar frustration bubbling up. But what could I do?

When the school buzzer sounded, I headed to my locker, grabbed my jacket, and slammed it shut. Ken said he’d pick me up right after school, so I waited outside on the steps, watching the students trickle away.

And I waited. And waited. And waited.

The late afternoon sun was beginning to dip when I groaned and leaned my head against my knees. Why do I always get the short end of the stick? Ken promised he’d be here on time. Dad would’ve never done this to me.

I was rifling through my bag to grab my phone when I heard the familiar clatter of skateboard wheels. I looked up, and there he was—Calvin. At least now I had a name for the face. He was riding with his friends, all of them laughing and weaving through the lot. Calvin slowed down as they passed, and then, to my surprise, he stopped.

I couldn’t help but notice him. Tall and slim, with a laid-back confidence that made it hard to look away. His baggy shirt and jeans didn’t give much away, but the way he moved hinted at someone athletic—effortlessly cool. His dirty blonde hair was a mess, probably from the wind, and that face… sharp angles softened by an easy smirk.

But why even let myself think about it? He’s not gay. He can’t be. Guys like him never are. So why even go there?

"Hey, Cal, what’re you doing?" one of his friends called, glancing back.

"I’m coming! Go ahead!" Calvin waved them off, then turned his attention to me.

"Hey… new kid," he said, his voice casual. "You know school’s over, right?"

"Yeah," I replied, my voice a little tighter than I intended.

"So, why are you still here?" he asked, tilting his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Or are you gonna camp out? Make it easier for tomorrow?"

I rolled my eyes, feeling my face flush slightly. "Waiting for my ride," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Walk. It’s easy," he said with a smirk.

"It’s an hour walk," I replied, unable to hide the irritation in my voice. "Not happening."

“Run?” countered Calvin.

“Really?” I replied, a little bit irritated.

"Huh. Fair enough," Calvin said, leaning slightly on his board. "So, what’s your name? I can’t keep calling you ‘new kid.’"

"Jeremy," I said. Before I could continue, he jumped back into the conversation.

"Jer. Got it," he interrupted with a grin. "I’m Cal."

I almost said, I know… but stopped myself. That would have been creepy.

He pushed off, skating backward a few feet. "Hey, gotta run. See you around."

"Yeah. Sure. Me too," I said, barely above a whisper.

As he rode off to catch up with his friends, I sat there, stunned. Oh my god. He spoke to me.

Why do I feel like a 15-year-old with his first crush? I’ve had boyfriends before—but there’s just something about him. Something that makes my stomach do flips and my brain stops working. And 'Me too'? What the hell was that? Cringe!

Just as I was replaying the moment in my head for the fifth time, Ken pulled up. His car squealed slightly as he parked. I grabbed my bag, tossed it into the backseat, and slid into the front without a word.

"Jeremy, I’m so sorry I’m late," he said, glancing at me as we pulled away. "Last-minute budget meeting, and I couldn’t get out of it. I wanted to text you, but I didn’t have a chance."

"Sure. No problem," I said flatly. It was all I could manage.

The drive home was quiet. Ken tried to start a conversation a couple of times, but I wasn’t in the mood. I stared out the window and eventually pretended to sleep. It wasn’t a long drive—maybe 30 or 40 minutes, OK so maybe I could have walked but that's besides the point—but I wasn’t about to make small talk. Ken must’ve gotten the hint because he didn’t say another word the whole way.

When we got home, Ken mentioned he’d be working in the home office until Mom got back. What was I supposed to say to that? I just nodded and headed upstairs. Dinner wouldn’t be for at least another hour, so I figured I might as well lay down for a bit.

My room here is way bigger than the one I had at our old house. I’ve got a queen-sized bed—finally, no more twin—and even my own bathroom. That’s a first. There’s a desk by the window where I’m supposed to do homework, but most of the time, it’s just covered in notebooks and random pens that I keep losing. It's just easier to do homework in bed with my laptop.

I put up some posters of bands I like—typical stuff. A little bit of Green Day, The Killers, and a random indie band no one’s ever heard of. They make the walls feel a little less bare.

It’s weird, though. Hard to believe I’ll be graduating soon. It doesn’t feel real, like I’m just stuck in some weird limbo. A new school, a new house—it’s all so different, but I’m supposed to act like I’ve got it all figured out. Spoiler: I don’t.

I dropped onto the bed, staring at the posters I’d put up. Just something to make the room feel less... blank. I glanced over at the TV on the wall. My PS5 was hooked up underneath it, but I wasn’t in the mood to play.

Lying there, I couldn’t help but think about Calvin... Cal. His stupid smirk, his messy hair, the way he said “Jer” like it wasn’t a big deal. My stomach flipped just thinking about it. What is wrong with me? I groaned and grabbed a pillow to cover my face. Cringe!

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I remember was Mom shaking me awake.

"Jeremy, it’s 7:00 p.m.," she said softly.

"Oh, shit!" I muttered, bolting upright.

"You fell asleep, so I figured I’d let you rest. You seemed exhausted. Do you want dinner? I left some for you; you just have to heat it."

"Yeah," I said, rubbing my eyes. "I’m hungry. Thanks, Mom."

"Of course, sweetie." She hesitated, sitting down on the edge of my bed. "Ken told me what happened. He’s sorry, you know that, right? Jer… give him a chance. He’s really trying."

"Okay, Mom. I get it," I said, my tone sharper than I intended. "But he said he’d be there, and he was almost 45 minutes late."

"I know," she said, sighing. "He told me what happened." She gave me a small, tired smile before standing up. "Just think about it, okay?"

I nodded but didn’t say anything. As she left the room, I sat there staring at the posters on my wall, my stomach twisting.

I just… I don’t know. I don’t know what to say to him. How to act around him. He’s trying so hard, but it just makes me feel worse. He’ll never be Dad. No one will.

He's been gone a long time, but Dad wouldn’t have left me waiting. Dad wouldn’t have moved us here. Dad wouldn’t…

I swallowed hard and pushed the thought away.

I went downstairs and heated up dinner. The microwave hummed softly, filling the empty kitchen with its mechanical rhythm. I sat at the table, eating in silence—just me and my thoughts.

My mind wandered to Calvin. His stupid smirk, the way he said “Jer” like we’d been friends forever. Then, as quickly as he came to mind, my thoughts shifted to Dad.

I missed him. It hurt so much. I kept a picture of him on my desk, and on my phone.

I stared at my empty plate for a moment before shaking myself out of it. I rinsed everything, wiped the counter, and headed back upstairs. My room felt a little warmer now, but the weight of my thoughts followed me.

As I was lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling, the dim glow of the streetlight outside casting faint shadows on the walls. Ten years. It’s been ten years since Dad died.

I was eight—or was it nine? It all blurs together now, like a haze of hospital visits and whispered conversations I wasn’t supposed to hear. But what I do remember, as clearly as yesterday, is how inseparable we were. He taught me how to ride my bike without training wheels, running alongside me, laughing as I wobbled down the street. He was the one who took me to the pool every weekend until I finally stopped being afraid of the deep end. He was there for every birthday, every school event. No matter how busy work got, he always found time for me.

Then cancer happened. Aggressive, the doctors said. That word still makes my stomach twist. He fought hard, I know he did, but it wasn’t enough. And when he knew he wasn’t going to win, he did something incredible—something that both comforts me and breaks me, even now.

He wrote me letters. Dozens of them. One for every birthday, every Christmas, and even milestones he wouldn’t live to see. Mom gives them to me on the right days, like clockwork. I’ve got a drawer full of them. They’re his words, his voice, frozen in time. But they’re also a reminder of everything I’ll never have again.

Sometimes... I don’t even want to read them. But at the same time, I can’t help myself. They remind me of him—his voice, his love—but they hurt, too. Every word is a reminder of what I’ve lost and what I’ll never get back.

And then there’s Ken. Always trying so hard, always trying to fill a space that isn’t his to fill. He’ll never be my dad, no matter what he does. And the worst part? Sometimes it feels like he’s trying to erase Dad, like if he just works hard enough, he can replace him.

I won’t let him.

And then there are the ones I haven’t seen yet. The ones Mom keeps locked away—the letter for when I graduate, for when I get married, for when I have kids, for all the milestones he thought of. Except Dad didn’t know I’m gay–I didn’t even know at that age. He didn’t know that marriage and kids might look different for me, if they even happen at all.

I wonder sometimes what he would’ve thought. If he’d still be proud of me. I’m sure he would, that’s what my dad was like. He was kind, and caring. He accepted everyone - variety is the spice of life, he'd say.

He showed up a few years after Dad died. At first, I thought he was just a friend Mom leaned on, someone to fill the silence in the house. But then he started staying for dinner. Then he started helping with homework. And before I knew it, they were married, and he was living with us. The best part was Jenn, I had someone to talk to and someone who understood me.

He’s been here for ten years now. That’s longer than Mom and Dad were together. Longer than I even had with Dad. And no matter how hard Ken tries, no matter how much I know he’s not a bad guy, he’ll never be Dad.

No one will.