Morgan's life isn't that bad. Sure, he's bullied, but what gay guy isn't. He doesn't have many friends, but it's high school, a notoriously shitty period in the life of every teenager. He's eighteen, and in just two months, he'll leave for college, where he'll major in Modern Literature and Poetry, and he'll be far, far away from Mission High School.
Until a bullying episode drives him running straight into a speeding car. Morgan's life is suddenly hovering by a thread. But Morgan isn't dead -- he's just out of his body. No one can hear or see him but Derek, his red-haired, unapologetic intern who sticks by him and helps him overcome his fears and find his path in life.
Derek's a keeper, and Morgan's sure he's in love. But will those feelings last once he's back in his body?
All rights reserved.
Copyright (c)2010 Sophia Titheniel
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The Golden Gate stretched on and on, from one shore to another. It glittered like a jewel in the hot, dry summer sun, not a trace of fog in sight. It looked as though the bridge was calling wanderers to move along their journey, silent yet provocative, like a siren --
"Look at this!"
Morgan's eyes snapped up and he frantically tried to grab his notebook back from the hands of the stocky, tall football jock -- said Keller on his jersey. "Give it back," Morgan snapped, trying to keep his voice steady.
"The Golden Gate stretched on and on, from one shore to another," Keller read out loud, putting on a high-pitched squeak, "It glittered like a jewel, in the hot, dry summer sun --"
Morgan's Bambi-brown eyes prickled with unshed tears as the courtyard filled with people -- other football players, friends of Keller's, cheerleaders, and a bunch of curious onlookers. "What kind of fag writes shit like this?"
"Give it back!" Morgan yelled again, but Keller was dangling it out of his reach to raucous laughter.
He grinned maliciously. "Say please." He was a good foot taller than Morgan, who had always been a bit on the scrawny side, and at least twice his size in shoulder width alone.
Morgan swallowed, trying to blink back tears of humiliation. "Please."
"Do you want it back?"
"Make him beg!" a voice shouted, and Morgan flushed so hard he could feel his glasses steam up.
"How do you want it? Hard? Fast? Is that what you faggots like?"
"Make him say it!"
"Make him beg."
Morgan found it harder and harder not to burst into tears, but he didn't want to give them that satisfaction. This wasn't anything new. Morgan had been the butt end of every fag joke in the book. He was very used to people harassing him, slamming him into lockers, flushing his stuff down the toilet. Morgan tried his best to stay under the radar, but it didn't always work. No one would stick his neck out for him, not the people from his calculus class, or the drama club. Morgan had grown up with his dad's talks on how liberal and wonderful San Francisco was, but he'd never experienced that tolerance firsthand. Quite the contrary.
"If you want the stupid book go get it," Keller rolled his shoulder back and threw the book as far as he could towards the dumpsters at the other side of the road, opposite the high school's cafeteria. The crowd cheered and laughed, clapping their hands as they chorused "fag" with elaborate fake coughs.
Morgan rolled his lips into his mouth, his ears red and his chest squeezing in, humiliation so thick it was suffocating. He ducked his head and ran across the road, not looking at anything, ignoring the yells, the calls of his name, just staring straight ahead at the dumpster where his notebook lay and --
Casey fell out of his chair, all his breath driven out of him. Sandra lifted her eyes from the paperwork she was sorting through and immediately jumped up in alarm as Sadie started to bark from her cushion.
Casey pinched at the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath as he tried to focus. "Where's Evan?" was the first thing out of his mouth, his palms sweaty as the vertigo pushed him back down on the floor, the whole room spinning.
"I'm right here." Evan crouched down next to Casey, his green eyes staring at somewhere in the vicinity of Casey's face. "I'm fine. It's not me."
Casey nodded, mouth dry. He usually only had that kind of strong reaction if Evan was involved -- that's how they'd met, really. Casey's psychic abilities had guided him to Evan when he had been attacked, and from there on, throughout their relationship, that connection never faded. Evan hadn't really liked it at the beginning; he was a little too guarded, and a lot too scared. The idea of Casey having full access to his thoughts was a bit more than he could handle. But their relationship had grown past the somewhat rocky start, and now Evan really relied on the way Casey was able to see for him.
"Something bad happened," Casey explained as Evan helped him to his feet. "On the crossroad of St. Louis and Fifth. A car crash. Someone's hurt."