Page 1 of Gay for Pray (Arport Sacred Sacrament University #1)
Chapter One
Jude
“WE’RE JOINING THE CHOIR.”
My roommate Nick levels a cocked eyebrow at me.
I hop over the back of the couch to join him on the cushions, and he pauses his video game, setting the controller on the cardboard box we use as a coffee table.
We’re only sophomores at Arpor Sacred Sacrament University, so we’re lucky to have a dorm with any kind of communal space at all.
Last year, we crammed onto bunk beds in the tiny freshman dorms, but this year we’ve got our own rooms plus this little strip of living room.
Nick sighs. “What’s this about?”
“Okay, hear me out.” I put up my hands like a guy about to give a TED talk. “We should try out for the liturgical choir.”
Nick scowls, which is unfairly handsome on him.
He pulled his black hair into a ponytail, exposing his undershave.
Matching stubble shades his tan cheeks, and his dark eyebrows draw down as he narrows his eyes at my latest stupid idea.
We’ve been friends since high school, but nothing more than friends.
When we briefly gave “more” a shot last year, it almost ruined our friendship, and we backed off quickly, resolving never to cross that line again.
Still, it’s hard being the only two out queer guys at a Catholic university, and every once in a while, out of sheer desperation, we may have… helped each other out.
That ends this year. No more swapping handies when we’re too pent up and frustrated to stand it any longer. We both need more than that, and we’re going to find it in the choir.
“You’re out of your mind,” Nick says. “The liturgical choir sings at Catholic Mass every Sunday. Why the hell would we join that?”
“We are at a Catholic university,” I point out.
“Yeah, because they offered us free rides. We’re not here to become priests, Jude.”
“I’m not saying we should become priests.”
“But we should join a church choir?”
I scoop up his hand and clasp it in both of mine. “Just hear me out. We can’t…do what we did last year.”
His dark eyes skitter away. Those handies aren’t something we like to talk about. A moment of weakness, a moment of desperate need, but something we’re better off not discussing. I love Nick dearly, but we both know we’re too similar to date and mess around like that.
“I’m not spending my college years being a nun,” I say. “And I don’t think you want that either.”
“No,” Nick mutters at his lap.
“That’s why we’re going to join the choir.”
He finally looks up at me again, his scowl digging even more deeply into his face.
“Think about it,” I say. “Where is every queer man going to go at a Catholic university? The choir, obviously. It’s basically a magnet for theater kids, and who’s gayer than theater kids? If we want to meet people, that’s the place to do it.”
“You’re conveniently forgetting the part where we have to sing in a church choir.”
“So? We like singing. It’ll be fun.”
“Mass is at 10 a.m. every Sunday,” Nick says. “Ten a.m. Every. Single. Sunday. The day after Saturday. The day after every good party on campus.”
I roll my eyes. “What’s the point of going to all those parties if we’re never going to get laid?
Use your head. Going to a bunch of frat parties isn’t going to solve our problem.
Joining the choir might though.” Besides, we’re not welcome at some of those parties.
It’s no secret we’re queer, and there are definitely some people here who are fine being complete dicks about that.
Nick slips his hand free, but hesitates, and I bite my cheeks to keep from smiling because this is the surest sign I know that his resistance is breaking down and he’s about to accept my latest crazy plot.
He always holds out on me as though he’s going to come up with something better, but he always gives in eventually.
I’ve dragged Nick into more stupid ideas than I care to count, starting back in middle school.
He’s yet to shut me down, no matter how harebrained the scheme.
He scrubs a hand through his hair, far more controlled than my mess of brown waves splotched with random streaks of old, faded out dye.
In high school, I’d color it with whatever cheap dye I could afford, and I never bothered to fix it.
I’d hoped it would make my plain brown hair a bit more exciting.
“I don’t know about this,” Nick says. “Do we really want to spend our sophomore year in a choir? They take this kind of thing seriously here. We might be heathens, but a lot of these people aren’t.
They came here because they’re true believers.
We might be the only out queer people in this whole place. ”
I’ve considered that. Being gay and not particularly religious at a Catholic university isn’t the most comfortable position to find myself in.
It certainly hasn’t help with me and Nick’s dating troubles.
In high school, the dating pool was definitely limited, but it’s a whole different game in a place where a bunch of people have good reasons to stay in the closet.
Even if we find other queer people through the choir, they might not be willing to take the risk of getting outed in a place like this.
The university made us all sign a code of conduct, and while it doesn’t explicitly outlaw homosexuality, it does encourage students to “embody the culture and values of A.S.S. Uni.,” and it’s not exactly a stretch to think those values include heterosexuality, or maybe even outright chastity.
Plenty of people in my philosophy classes share a major with me because they intend to go on to seminary school after getting their bachelor’s degree.
I grimace remembering one such example. If anyone embodies this place’s “culture and values” it’s Theodore (not Theo, never Theo).
The guy seems like he came out of the womb wanting to become a priest or a deacon or whatever he said his dad does.
I don’t quite get how it works (aren’t priests celibate?) but from the moment I met him in Philosophy 101, I hated the guy.
He’s the epitome of everything that’s making my time here difficult: he’s uptight, hyper religious, unbending and rigidly straight.
He’s the reason me and Nick are going to have to join a freaking church choir in the hopes of getting any action at all.
I shake my head. I can’t think about a stick in the mud like Theodore Walsh if I’m going to put my plan into action.
I have to stay focused. Nick and I can do this.
The choir is our ticket to finding other queer people in this place.
There isn’t even a gay-straight alliance.
We could leave campus, but at nineteen we can’t exactly roll up to a club or bar.
We’re stuck here, and I for one am not going to waste four of the best years of my life.
“Please, Nick,” I say, giving up on sounding crafty or calculated. I don’t care about begging if it’ll get him onboard. He nearly cracked before, so why is he still fighting? “I need this. We need this. It’s our only hope.”
He rolls his eyes. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
“It’s a dramatic situation! We might spend all of our college years like priests if we don’t take drastic action now.”
Nick groans, but his defenses are weakening, I’m sure of it. “Every Sunday.”
I don’t respond to his complaint. I know what I’m signing up for. There will be days when crawling out of bed hungover will feel like stabbing myself in the eye, but I’ll deal with that when it comes.
“Fine,” Nick finally says.
I leap off the couch and clap. He glares at me with narrowed eyes.
“You are too happy about this,” he says. “We might not even make it through the try-outs.”
“We’re totally going to make it through the try-outs. Don’t act like I haven’t heard you belting it out in the shower. We’ve got this.”
Nick shakes his head, but he’s smiling when I skip away to my room.
A twin bed and modest desk are more than enough to cramp the space, but that’s the price we pay to have a living room in our dorm.
It’s well worth it when I’m living with a close friend like Nick, though it would be nice if I had places to put my clothes aside from heaps on the floor.
I’ll worry about that when I actually have a guy I want to bring back.
It won’t be long. I’m sure of that now. I throw myself into the chair at my desk, opening my laptop and searching for the liturgical choir’s website so I can remind myself of the date and time for the try-outs.
Punctuality might not be my strong point, but after wrangling a “yes” out of Nick, there’s no way I’m letting him slink out of this.
“I’ll sign us both up!” I shout at the living room.
Nick grumbles something I can’t make out. I take it for agreement, too excited to care about his grouching. Once this scheme pays off, Nick will realize how brilliant I am. He’ll probably thank me for my genius, in fact.
Now that the wheels are in motion, the only thing that could make this school year more perfect would be if Theodore Walsh somehow wasn’t part of it, but with both of us majoring in philosophy, I probably won’t be so lucky.
It would take a miracle to avoid him completely, but I bet his presence will feel a whole lot less grating when I’m not sexually frustrated.
I might even find it in myself to be nice to the guy.
Deep down, I should feel sorry for him. He seems like he hasn’t had fun in his entire life, and he’s only going to college so he can become a priest or whatever.
It doesn’t get much more depressing than that.
It’s a shame too. A waste of potential. He’s got the kind of tall, strong build that would normally fry my brain.
His blond hair is way too tidy, but I can imagine it all mussed up by grasping hands.
I even caught a dappling of freckles on his arm one time, a shockingly endearing trait for a guy who exudes bitchy energy from every pore.
If he was queer, he might hate me less. He might even like me.
With his crazy dad and all, I’d be like an oasis of safety.
But I’ve never met anyone as straight and rigid as Theodore Walsh.
At least that means he won’t be in the choir.
What would a straight guy trying to become a priest need with a choir?
Nothing at all. I’ll be safe from his judgmental sneering in a way I’m not safe during our classes together.
I’ll retreat to a realm of theater kids and budding queers, and escape the dull, uptight religious adherence of the Theodores of the world.
I can’t wait. This is going to be it. The semester when I finally enjoy this university.
Freshman year might have been a disaster—not only did I encounter some hefty culture shock, but I made some choices with Nick that neither of us particularly want to think about or repeat—but all of that changes this year.
Nick and I will find the fun college experience we deserve, and even Theodore won’t be able to ruin it for us.
“Try-outs are on Thursday!” I call out.
Nick issues another grumble, but he can’t dull my enthusiasm. I’m too busy envisioning the perfect year we’re going to enjoy at Arpor Sacred Sacrament University. We may be stuck at a Catholic school, but we’re going to sin in ways the Bible doesn’t even have words for.