Mom slowly begins to descend the stairs. I don’t want to see her right now, because she would ask

about Danny. She’d want to talk, and I really have nothing to say that I’d want her to hear. Quickly I

turn to my right, and I’m halfway in the kitchen when I hear a knock at the door again.

Oh thank god. I don’t even try to hide my relief when I run to the door and tear it open. “What have

you forgotten… now.”

“Not you, James, that’s for sure.”

I don’t know if the warm chuckle of the vision standing in front of me has anything to do with the

completely dumbfounded look on my face, but my guess is, it does.

The sun is setting, illuminating his slender form like an aura, and in spite of the shadows on his face,

his eyes are shining brightly.

“Hey, you,” he says softly, stepping closer.

My moment of shock passes, and I can feel my face starting to beam. “Casey! You’re back!”

He just grabs me and pulls me into a hug. When I feel his arms around me, him leaning into me, and

our bodies seeming to fit like two pieces of a puzzle, I slowly exhale and close my eyes. For a few

precious seconds the world stands still and everything is wonderful. It’s him, he’s here, and I’m home.

Then I remember what I did, and Danny, who is still so close that I’m sure you could smell his scent

on me. And I feel like the biggest creep on the face of this earth.

“I missed you,” Casey whispers and gives me a little kiss.

I swallow, but I know my eyes don’t lie when I look at him, because my feelings are honest. “I

missed you too, Case. I missed you too.”

End of Book 2

Back to Table of Contents

Book 3

Recast

by Susann Julieva & Romelle Engel

Chapter 1

Porcelain

JAMES: I think by now we’ve successfully established that I’m a big old geek. Not surprisingly, I

always look forward to going back to school after summer. But this semester, things have changed. It

feels like I’ve brought more baggage with me than I meant to. Because someone here knows now.

Because he knows.

What I told Danny about my stepfather is nothing but the tiniest fraction of a multivolume tale, and

yet he seems to guess too much already. I don’t believe in psychoanalysis. I think there’s a reason why

we suppress certain memories, and some things are just meant to stay buried. There’s more than enough

that I do remember as it is. And that’s some good shit, man, take it and smoke it in your therapeutic

pipe, or otherwise shove it up your ass and leave me and my oh so meaningful nightmares alone.

The truth is, I loved Simon, just as fiercely as I hated him. But maybe one lesson, the most important

I need to learn, is to make peace with all of that and accept that it’s in the past. And more than that, to

finally let it go. If I can only get one step closer to it this semester, I may have learned more than in my

entire school days combined. But they don’t teach you about life in European Literature class, do they?

Outside my window, dawn is quiet and colorless, September gray. I’ve barely slept tonight and I’ve

been up for an hour, but I can’t concentrate on studying for the life of me. Casey’s still asleep in my

bed, breathing evenly - and there’s peace. Deep and rich, and real. The words are endlessly rotating in

my mind: How could I possibly leave him?

Of course, it’s entirely Professor Kinderman’s fault for telling me. Woodhaven has an exclusive

student exchange program with the Free University in Berlin. Every two years, they’re granting a full

scholarship to the best applicant. Which means that you get to go to Germany to study there for one

year, all expenses paid. And you get to travel Europe during semester break for cheaper than you

imagine in your wildest dreams. Kinderman’s on the selection board, and he’s the one who talked me

into applying last semester. Seriously, I never thought I’d actually have a shot. Good things happen to

good people, and hell knows, I’m not one of them. So why should it happen to me?

And then the prof asks me to stay on after class yesterday, and he basically tells me that I’m shortlisted.

In other words, I might actually get this. They’ll make their decision at the end of next month,

and that leaves me about six more weeks to torture myself. Because I want this, more than anything. I’d

get to learn about European politics first hand, and that’s priceless for someone wanting to be a

journalist. I’d get to live in a different culture, on another continent, where everything just oozes history.

I’d be able to visit Paris, stroll down the Rue de Rivoli. Gaze at the Forum Romanum in Rome, at the

steps where Caesar was murdered. Look at Rembrandt’s paintings in Amsterdam. Take a boat trip on the

water streets of Venice, and stare in amazement at palaces of mighty emperors and kings that died

hundreds of years before I was born. I’d live in a city that was divided by a wall for forty years and has

become a cultural boiling point of East and West, creating something fresh and exciting. This is the city

Bowie and Iggy went to to come clean, and hell, if it worked for them, it sure can’t hurt another screwed

up wreck like me. I’d get to get away from it all, for once and for all. If I get the scholarship. If I go. But

if I go… it means leaving everyone I care about behind. It means leaving Mom, who can barely take

care of herself as it is. And it means leaving Casey, when I’ve only just found him. He doesn’t even

know about this yet. I never told a soul that I applied.

In any case, Berlin and the scholarship are still nine months away. But what are nine months when

you’re at school? It’ll pass in the blink of an eye. And the entire Atlantic is no distance to be

underestimated. There’s no way I could ask Casey to wait for me.

This is the chance of a lifetime. But it’s like I’m keeping my fingers crossed for something I fear to

happen. Just the right kind of food for schizophrenic me.

I can sense that Casey is awake even before he begins to stir underneath the covers. Then he lies still

for a moment, yawns, and looks at me, sitting fully dressed at my desk with my legs drawn up. The

sight doesn’t seem to surprise him. He smiles, and glances at the clock.

“Christ. What are you doing up at this hour?”

“Thinking.”

“I’d be shocked to find you not thinking for once,” he grins and groans a little when he sits up. His

hair is standing up in every direction.

I wait for him to come to me, looking all too tempting in nothing but his shorts. His body is still

wonderfully warm from bed when we kiss.

“What were you racking your brains over this time?”

“Nothing important.”

“That wouldn’t be the same nothing that always makes you toss and turn at night?”

“Geez, do I do that?”

Casey shrugs lightly, turns around and jumps onto the desk beside me. “Where do you think this is

from?” Legs dangling, he shows me a small bluish bruise on his arm, and my eyes widen with shock,

but he’s smiling.

“Oh shit. Tell me I didn’t give you that!”

“You didn’t. You just tend to… move a lot in your sleep, is all. I just happened to be in the way.”

“God, I’m sorry.” I feel awful. What the hell is wrong with me? Well, okay, I know what’s wrong

with me, but this is just plain scary. You don’t get a bruise like that easily. That must have been a pretty

good whack.

“Don’t be.” He leans over and rests his head on my shoulder, yawns again. “I don’t mind. I like

sleeping here.”

“Well, perhaps you shouldn’t.”

He smiles and places a little kiss on my neck. “Don’t be a dick. I’m not made of porcelain.”