The Battle for Jericho Read Online Free PDF

do when I began with, “Dylan, I’m really, really sorry for what I did. And I appreciate that you’re willing to let this drop.” I took a sip from the mug, and in that interval, my brain shifted direction so completely I almost didn’t recognize my own voice when I spoke again. “I’m gonna pay you back.”
    “What?”
    “I’m gonna pay back all the money I cost you. I get twenty-five bucks a week for my allowance. I’ll give that to you every week until I pay you back.”
    “Jericho, forget it.”
    “Just tell me how much—”
    “Kid, my insurance took care of most of the medical bills. I’ll get around to painting my bedroom walls and replacing that broken glass and cracked cabinet door eventually. I would have probably pitched that food myself under the circumstances. And those dishes were priceless, at least to me. They were a family heirloom, passed down from my great grandmother. My parents didn’t have a girl, so my mother gave them to me, the last thing I got from her before she died. They can’t be replaced. So just forget about it.”
    I groaned, convinced more than ever of my utter worthlessness as a human being. “I have to do something….”
    “Fine.” Dylan sat up on the sofa, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees. His gaze became intense. “Tell me why you did it.”
     
     
    I TOLD him almost everything about the break-in, leaving out only the participation of my accomplice. Dylan listened raptly to every word, and when I was done, he just stared at me. The stare couldn’t have lasted more than ten seconds, but it felt longer. Much longer.
    Finally, just when I was ready to squeeze myself behind the chair to get away from those eyes, he said, “Does that make sense to you? You may not like the way I’m living my life, but I’ve never hurt you or interfered with you in any way. You don’t even know me. Do you really think you were justified in doing what you did in my house?”
    Well, yeah. The idea of trashing Dylan’s place made perfect sense, at least when Mac and I were pontificating on the evils of fagdom there in the steamy, noisy confines of the locker room. At the time, I wanted Dylan and his boyfriend to go away so I could forget all about them. Now, sitting in front of the wounded victim of our scheme, I could see how monumentally dumb the notion was. It’s amazing how easily and completely stupidity reinforces itself in the right company. Gay or not, no guy deserved to have his house trashed or his scalp split open. I shrugged, shaking my head ruefully at Dylan and then lowering my gaze.
    “Being gay is tough,” Dylan said, his voice suddenly hard with anger. “And people doing what you did don’t make it any easier.”
    “Then why flaunt it?”
    “I wasn’t flaunting anything!” he snapped back. “I was living my life, just like everybody else. It’s not my problem if this damn town isn’t comfortable with that. I finally get past my fears, enough to where I can accept myself and be proud of who I really am. I find someone who loves me, and I build a life with him. What am I supposed to do, hide under a rock and pretend I don’t have romantic feelings, pretend I don’t want to be loved and show my affection, just so my neighbors don’t have to see me holding hands with my partner?”
    Damn. I had my issues with society too. I didn’t exactly like the way my folks practically ran my life. I enjoyed church, but some Sundays I would have just liked to kick back and kill a few hours watching the Cartoon Network or an NFL game. And it would have been nice to hang out with my friends without watching the clock to make sure I didn’t miss curfew. But there was only so far I was willing to go in pressing for more freedom. Hanging out a couple of hours past curfew would be fun, but getting grounded for life afterward would be a bit of a downer.
    “Don’t look at me like that,” Dylan said. His entire body stiffened defensively. “You don’t