Hope
Age 13
"If I told you a secret, would you keep it?"
We were sitting on the edge of the dock, with our feet in the water, and Jordan had his reading glasses on. I suspected he wore them because he had been crying, but I didn’t want to embarrass him by saying so.
"I always keep your secrets, Jordan," I told him honestly. "You know that."
I'd been keeping his secrets since I could talk, and he'd been keeping his promises since as far back as I could remember.
"I hate it there, Keychain," he whispered. I knew exactly where there was, and it made the anger inside me boil to the surface. Three years ago, Jordan's mom, Karen, married this shifty-looking dude from her hometown in Idaho and moved back there, taking Jordan with her.
I'd never felt pain like I had the day Karen brought him to our house to say goodbye. I had known he was leaving, but I had been absolutely convinced – and so had Jordan – that Jordan's father, Derek, would step in and stop her from leaving. Derek didn’t stop her and I lost my best friend that day.
I hated Derek for it, but my hatred paled in comparison to Jordan's.
Jordan made me a promise to me, though: a promise to return – to always come back to me. And not once since the day he left had he broken that promise. Twice a year he came for me – not Uncle Derek – and spent the majority of his vacation at my house, and I loved him for it.
It wasn’t easy for Jordan. Nothing in his life had been easy. I worried about him constantly, especially now, with that look in his eyes and that pain in his voice. He'd been home for summer vacation three days and I could tell he was different.
I wasn’t stupid, I could tell something was … off … about his stepfather, Paul, and the whole damn situation, but I just didn’t know what that something was.
I had suspicions, but no proof and I didn’t like feeling useless. If I told my parents, my Dad would charge in like a protective lion, acting on his emotions, not logic; but Mom was much cleverer. She would get to the bottom of Jordan's problem.
"Twenty-five days." Jordan glanced over at me, his green eyes damp. "And then I have to go back." He sighed heavily; his hand trembled next to mine, and I wasn’t sure what to do to help him. "I don’t want to go back there."
"You can come live with me." Shifting onto my knees, I turned to face him, the scuffed denim of my dungarees felt hot against my skin. It was so hot today. "I can talk to my mom," I told him. "She fixes everything. She'll talk to Dad, and he can stop them from making you go back. He can talk to your dad and tell him you're sad."
"I can't leave her there," he choked out. "As much as I don't want to back there, I can't leave my mom."
I didn’t know what to do; or how to help. I didn’t care about Jordan's mom. I cared about him. I wanted him to be happy, and I wanted him here with me.
"Don’t go back," I urged him. Something was happening to him in Idaho, and if he wasn’t so insistent I keep his secrets, I could tell my mother about the bruises I saw on his body when we went swimming yesterday, or the way he flinched when he was touched. Jordan didn’t like surprises and he cried in his sleep.
My mom would understand.
She would know what to do.
"If I asked you to do something for me, would you do it?" Jordan croaked, not meeting my eyes, as he stared straight ahead. The only parts of our bodies that were touching were our fingertips.
He looked so nice, and smelled so good, and this weird tingling sensation came alive every time I touched his skin or sat close to him. When I was with Jordan, it felt like I was bursting with happiness and was on fire with excitement. At first, I was worried because I thought there was something seriously wrong with me, but then I decided I liked the feelings he brought to the surface. I liked him. My best friend. I had a crush on Jordan Porter.
"Anything," I vowed, covering his hand with mine.
I felt his hand tense
Age 13
"If I told you a secret, would you keep it?"
We were sitting on the edge of the dock, with our feet in the water, and Jordan had his reading glasses on. I suspected he wore them because he had been crying, but I didn’t want to embarrass him by saying so.
"I always keep your secrets, Jordan," I told him honestly. "You know that."
I'd been keeping his secrets since I could talk, and he'd been keeping his promises since as far back as I could remember.
"I hate it there, Keychain," he whispered. I knew exactly where there was, and it made the anger inside me boil to the surface. Three years ago, Jordan's mom, Karen, married this shifty-looking dude from her hometown in Idaho and moved back there, taking Jordan with her.
I'd never felt pain like I had the day Karen brought him to our house to say goodbye. I had known he was leaving, but I had been absolutely convinced – and so had Jordan – that Jordan's father, Derek, would step in and stop her from leaving. Derek didn’t stop her and I lost my best friend that day.
I hated Derek for it, but my hatred paled in comparison to Jordan's.
Jordan made me a promise to me, though: a promise to return – to always come back to me. And not once since the day he left had he broken that promise. Twice a year he came for me – not Uncle Derek – and spent the majority of his vacation at my house, and I loved him for it.
It wasn’t easy for Jordan. Nothing in his life had been easy. I worried about him constantly, especially now, with that look in his eyes and that pain in his voice. He'd been home for summer vacation three days and I could tell he was different.
I wasn’t stupid, I could tell something was … off … about his stepfather, Paul, and the whole damn situation, but I just didn’t know what that something was.
I had suspicions, but no proof and I didn’t like feeling useless. If I told my parents, my Dad would charge in like a protective lion, acting on his emotions, not logic; but Mom was much cleverer. She would get to the bottom of Jordan's problem.
"Twenty-five days." Jordan glanced over at me, his green eyes damp. "And then I have to go back." He sighed heavily; his hand trembled next to mine, and I wasn’t sure what to do to help him. "I don’t want to go back there."
"You can come live with me." Shifting onto my knees, I turned to face him, the scuffed denim of my dungarees felt hot against my skin. It was so hot today. "I can talk to my mom," I told him. "She fixes everything. She'll talk to Dad, and he can stop them from making you go back. He can talk to your dad and tell him you're sad."
"I can't leave her there," he choked out. "As much as I don't want to back there, I can't leave my mom."
I didn’t know what to do; or how to help. I didn’t care about Jordan's mom. I cared about him. I wanted him to be happy, and I wanted him here with me.
"Don’t go back," I urged him. Something was happening to him in Idaho, and if he wasn’t so insistent I keep his secrets, I could tell my mother about the bruises I saw on his body when we went swimming yesterday, or the way he flinched when he was touched. Jordan didn’t like surprises and he cried in his sleep.
My mom would understand.
She would know what to do.
"If I asked you to do something for me, would you do it?" Jordan croaked, not meeting my eyes, as he stared straight ahead. The only parts of our bodies that were touching were our fingertips.
He looked so nice, and smelled so good, and this weird tingling sensation came alive every time I touched his skin or sat close to him. When I was with Jordan, it felt like I was bursting with happiness and was on fire with excitement. At first, I was worried because I thought there was something seriously wrong with me, but then I decided I liked the feelings he brought to the surface. I liked him. My best friend. I had a crush on Jordan Porter.
"Anything," I vowed, covering his hand with mine.
I felt his hand tense
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