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Drown is my first completed novel, and one I am very fond of! It is a “New Adult” LGBT coming-of-age story in the guise of a romance. Dom is the star quarterback of the Marcella High Magnates, but when he ends up partnered with Damion, the coldly dismissive goth with even colder secrets, they begin a journey of self-discovery that will challenge the foundation of everything they believe in. This excerpt comes from Chapter One, a usual day in the life, until their history teacher begins assigning unit partners. Edited for language.

 

“Hey Dom! Go long!”

Dom turned. The parking lot was a mass of students rustling like leaves to get into the building on time. Forty feet away, Dom caught sight of the person shouting—Chance stood by his green and gray Subaru, winding up to send a football flying.  He smiled and jogged to the outer reaches of his friend’s range.

Chance didn’t hesitate. The kids filtering around him moved out of the way, and the football went soaring into the autumn air, headed for its target. Dom ran the last ten feet and jumped to make the catch; the ball landed perfectly in his arms.

Cheers erupted before his feet even touched the ground. He landed softly on the concrete, backpedaling to catch up with the momentum.

“Nice catch!”

“Yeah, Dom!”

“Lucky Number Seven!”

Dom stopped to look around a bit sheepishly—people had paused to watch his catch, and were now stepping a little more enthusiastically towards the back doors, excited at seeing their star quarterback in action. The football season was in full swing, and almost everyone rallied to see him bring home another win.

Almost everyone. A figure caught Dom’s eye, on the fringes of the parking lot: a dark figure slumped up against an ebony Jaguar. He seemed out of place in a lot full of second-hand high school student cars. Cigarette smoke seeped from its mouth with indifference. He hadn’t even glanced Dom’s way.

“Freaking awesome catch!”

Dom snapped his attention back to the people in front of him. Chance was catching up, shuffling his backpack from one shoulder to the other. The jock shook his thoughts of the stolid goth and smiled at his friend. “You’d think we were celebrities or something,” he joked, tossing the ball back to him.

A crooked smile spread across Chance’s face, and he slung an arm around Dom’s neck. “Don’t you know, man? We are celebrities. Five wins in a row! We’re on top of the f**** world!”

A laugh was Dom’s only response. The attention was going to Chance’s head, but Dom could feel it too, like the entire town was cheering for them.  He involuntarily glanced back over his shoulder, to the figure on the edge of the parking lot. “What’s his deal?” he asked hesitantly. He remembered seeing the goth out smoking sometimes in the morning, but never paid much attention.

Chance looked over, following Dom’s gaze. An instant frown took his face. “F***** Freak. He’s a piece of work… I guess the school’s fined him a dozen times, doesn’t care. His parents pay for it all anyway.” He looked to Dom—the quarterback didn’t seem satisfied with the explanation. “C’mon,” he prompted. “That’s the one-minute bell.”

Dom turned, shrugging it off. “Yeah. I’m coming.” He followed his friend into the building.

 

Across the parking lot, Damion watched the football players disappear into the building with a dark frown. Every morning it was the same, jocks and their girlfriends walking in like the school was theirs. It disgusted the young goth. Smoke seeped from his lips coldly, watching the letterman jackets and bleach blond hair filtering into the school. They were so cocky, so ignorant.

But the school was theirs. Everywhere they went people fought for their attention; teachers excused them from everything, looking the other way when they walked in late or turned in assignments days overdue. It was sick. Nothing else mattered when football season was in full swing.

“What a bunch of apes.”

Damion turned to find the voice—a woman had come up behind him and stood at his bumper. She was punk this week, with a skull shirt and a purple streak in her strawberry hair. She watched as another truck full of jocks pulled in.

“It’s a miracle they know what side of the street to drive on,” she added.

Damion didn’t care. He flicked the smoked butt away on the pavement and shouldered his messenger bag, then started towards the back doors; he bought liquor from the girl once and she thought they were friends. As it was, the only thing keeping him from driving away from all of it was that he had nowhere else to go.

“Hey, listen,” she caught up with him. “Rex is having a party at his place this weekend. We’ve got booze and X, and—”

“F*** off, Terissa.” He left her standing on the pavement alone.

 

…………

            “Hey Dom, are you coming to the pep rally tomorrow night? My squad’s performing.”

Dom turned to find Christine tucking a renegade tress of hair behind her ear. She was cute, holding her books like that, raven hair framing her face. He opened his locker and retrieved his history textbook, offering on of his winning smiles. “Of course, babe. You know I wouldn’t miss it.”

She smiled back—she could always count on him. “Great! See you there!”

He nodded and closed his locker. She stood on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss, then took off down the hall.

Dom wove his way through the crowded hallway in the opposite direction, headed towards to his last class of the day. He had done well in school, and most of his classes were honor and college level; Ancient Civilizations was his only high school level course, and it always dragged. He hurried through the chaos apologetically. He always felt naked in a crowd alone. Everyone looked at him, and deep down, he was afraid of what they might see.  He cast his eyes down and hurried through the crowd.

Damion slammed his locker shut and cranked his headphones, allowing the vicious screams and metallic bass to wash over him. He was going to be late to history, but it didn’t really bother him. Except the way people stared when he walked through the door. Sometimes he thought about screaming at them, but that would only confirm everything they had ever said. He turned.

Just in time to knock Dom Sal’s books to the floor. For a split second there was silence; Damion glanced up in fear to see the same fear in Dom’s eyes. It puzzled him.

Then, “Watch it, fag!” Jake barked. He appeared out of nowhere, slamming Damion against the lockers so hard his skull rattled.

The massive tackle guard glared viciously before turning to Dom, smiling like nothing had happened. “Hey, man, did you catch the game last night?”

“I… No,” Dom glanced back. The goth hadn’t moved, but Jake was already walking away. After a moment, Dom caught up with him. What else could he do? “… Did they end up making it?”

Damion remained where he had been pushed, leaning against the lockers. He wouldn’t fight back, not in the middle of the hallway. It would just put him back in detention. He needed to get to history anyway.

 

Mr. Vito’s classroom was interesting. The slightly eccentric teacher had posters of everywhere, from Rome to China to modern-day Canada, all portraying some landscape or artifact or leader. Vito had the slightly off habit of licking his lips while talking, tongue darting out like a frog every other sentence. He was often the brunt of James’ jokes, one of the three seniors—Dom, Damion, and him—who had the class.

Dom slid into his back row seat, catching the figure of Damion several seats ahead. He tried to act nonchalant—Damion didn’t even look up. For the first time Dom actually considered the goth, looked at him. He always had those headphones, always wore black trench coats and long-sleeved shirts with macabre depictions—bloody daggers and skeleton figures—and always wore black eyeliner, thick. His piercings seemed designed to shock: two black rings through his bottom  lip reminded Dom of snake fangs, and a strange silver metal knotwork design was actually woven into the skin on the back of his neck. He’d seen the goth before, in class, but paid him little attention. He was quiet; Dom couldn’t remember ever having heard his voice. Maybe Vito never called on him for fear of what his answer might be.

“Hey Dom, did you see the game?” James asked, reclining with ease in the seat next to Dom, who glanced over amiably, but said nothing, lost in his thoughts. It disquieted James.

“Attention, class,” Mr. Vito spoke up, “Let’s get started.” Things quieted down, and the snarling voices of Damion’s headphones ended abruptly. “Now you all know we’re starting our Roman unit—an important chapter in history.” He retrieved a large folder from his desk, opening it and producing a paper. “The first thing is to assign you new unit comrades. Every activity that requires a partner will be done with your comrade. And no trading,” he added, glancing at several previous offenders. “The point of this is to expand your horizons and build teamwork. I’ve already made the list, so don’t even bother requesting a change.”

Same old story, Dom knew. They’d gotten this speech before, and people still tried to switch partners. There was no use fighting it. Dom had been lucky last time with a freshman track team kid who thought Dom walked on water. It made conversations awkward, but the projects easy. He pulled a three ring binder.

“Brad Bell and James West,” Vito began. “Ashley Baker and Jessica Stanford…. Joey Hays and James West…” And finally,  “…Dom Sal and Damion Adrik.”

Dom started writing the name in his notebook, then stopped short. Damion Adrik?

He glanced up to the goth—Damion’s expression hadn’t changed much, but his eyes look ready to kill. This was not going to go well.

Mr. Vito finished reading the list, then replaced the paper in favor of his class. “Remember, the point of comrades is to learn more about someone you might not otherwise interact with. Right now I want you to find your partner and get to know them. By the end of ten minutes you should be able to tell me their full name, favorite band, color, ice cream, and…”

“If they’re single or not,” offered James. He obviously wanted a chance to use one of his infamous pick-up lines on the blonds a row over.

Vito didn’t notice. “Why not? So that’s band, color, ice cream, and if they have a significant other. Ten minutes—go.” James rose, smacking Damion up the backside of his head before leaving, smirking confidently to himself.

Damion grunted angrily before turning with reluctance to find Dom with that heart-winning smile plastered across his face. “Start talking.”

Dom winced at the anger in Damion’s voice, but only paused a moment. “Well, um… My favorite band is Switchfoot. His newest album is my favorite. Color… red or blue… Cookie dough ice cream, and I have a girlfriend, Christine. She’s on the cheer team here at school.”

Damion’s gaze hardened; of course he’d be dating a cheerleader. “Marilyn Manson, black, vanilla, single,” he rattled off.

“Marilyn Manson?”

“Marilyn Mason,” he snapped. “Got a problem with that?”

“No…”

Damion said nothing further. Dom tried again. “I’ve heard Good Charlotte on the radio sometimes. I like it.”

“You would.”

“…Do you like just heavy metal, or…”

“Yes.”

“Oh…” He considered mentioning activities—church, football, pep rallies, clubs, anything. Then he realized Damion didn’t do any of those. In fact, he didn’t really do much of anything, at least that Dom could tell. Reverting to the only option left, he asked, “What’s the design, on the back of your neck?”

Damion’s gaze turned to ice, but he did not respond.

The pair remained in an awkward silence while the groups around them chattered on. The girls in the next row guffawed at each other’s ex-boyfriends, giggling and gawking. Damion disliked women, and it showed; for the first time, Dom pondered this—no one else in all of Marcella High seemed so disinterested in the opposite sex. The jock made a mental note to check around and see who he hung out with. Damion was too attractive and dark not to have a girl. Maybe not a girlfriend, but definitely a girl.

“Alright everyone! Quiet down!” Vito called. “Time for your first comrade assignment.” The classroom went reasonably silent. “You and your partner are to watch a movie based on the happenings in ancient Rome. I have already selected your movies, and also have the copies from the school library. Your movie must be watched by next Wednesday.”

A chorus of “What?” “That’s less than a week!” and “Hell, no!” resounded. Mr. Vito smiled in turn.

“I know it’s less than a week, but I am fully confidant you’ll find time—I’m giving you a weekend.” He moved to a stack of movies. “Every movie has a list of questions, synopsis and analysis. You must watch the movie with your comrade, because on Wednesday I’ll have a quiz drawn up of the exact same questions—you’ll have to answer with what you and your partner discussed. If your answers don’t match up, points will be docked.” This caused dissension, but the graying teacher simply began passing out the movies. “You have another five minutes to discuss logistics with your comrades.”

Eventually Mr. Vito reached the pair of boys, handing over Julius Caesar along with the promised list of questions. Inscribed on a sticky note attached to the case were the words, Adrik, do well on this—one more F and you’re gone, in Vito’s concise print.

Damion cursed under his breath—now he couldn’t blow it off. As much as this class sucked, he needed the credit to graduate. And the thought of another year in this hell made his stomach turn. Turning to Dom, he stated dryly, “I’m free whenever.”

Dom nodded. “I’m really only free tonight, with the pep rally tomorrow and the game on Saturday, then church on Sunday and—”

“Tonight’s fine.” Damion wondered what it was like to be that busy; he didn’t ever really do anything. “We could do it at my place. There’s a TV in my room, with surround.”

Dom agreed, wondering what it was like to be that rich; he didn’t even own a DVD player.  “Um… I don’t have a car. Do you think you could pick me up?”

“Where do you live?”

Dom hesitated, then plowed forward, trying to mask his insecurity. “Over in the Saint Michael Charity Housing, off Eight Avenue.”

Damion paused, surprised. Everyone knew the Charity Housing was for families with no other choice. It was a twenty minute drive from his house into town, and the extra distance to the Charity Housing would make it a forty minute drive both ways. “Come with me right after school. It’s easier.”

“Sure. I’m not doing anything. Coach gave us the night off.” And Dom knew his parents wouldn’t even notice his absence. “Where should I meet you?”

“Out back. It’ll save your reputation.” Damion didn’t try to stave his sarcasm.

Dom’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Do you really want to be seen getting a ride anywhere with the cocksucking Freak?”

“Look, I’m sorry—”

“Front or back?” he insisted. He wanted no apology, especially from Dom.

And the jock knew it. “Fine—front.”

With a snarl, Damion conceded, “F***, it’s your reputation.”