Page 1 of Pride High 2: Orange

CHAPTER 1

November 26th, 1992

Cameron Huxley’s entire body was tense. Much like it had been earlier this morning in the shower. He didn’t expect to feel the same explosion of relief accompanied by a rush of endorphins, although he was thinking of Anthony just as much, despite the drastically different setting. A spread filled the kitchen table. All the staples of a Thanksgiving feast. The turkey was a collaborative effort with his father, who rarely cooked. But when it came to grilling, barbequing, or anything else involving meat, Trevor took an active role, often waxing nostalgic about how he’d helped his own father with such things. Cameron felt like he was being indoctrinated while helping him. In a good way. Their relationship wasn’t the closest, especially with Trevor being out town on business most of the week, so Cameron welcomed the time spent with him.

He had helped his mom as well, baking a sweet potato pie from scratch with her. Their collective efforts ended there. Most of the food they were now gathered around was straight off the shelf, including the stuffing, cranberry sauce, and gravy. They’d mostly only needed to open boxes and cans, sometimes adding water. The green beans and roasted potatoes were all him though. Cameron wanted the holiday to go well—neededit to with an urgency that made his stomach churn—because lately his parents’ relationship seemed to be getting worse. He was terrified of what that could lead to. They were already isolated from the rest of their relatives, and had been since moving to Kansas more than three years ago. If his parents split up…

Cameron imagined a raft, a primitive version made of tied-together logs. The rope was their bond, and if it frayed anymore and broke, they would all be set adrift. The food on his plate was forgotten as he tried to imagine how Thanksgiving would work if they got divorced.

“When did you fry bacon for the beans?” Brenda asked, his mother taking another bite while awaiting his answer.

“I didn’t,” Cameron admitted sheepishly. “I was feeling lazy and used bacon bits instead. You know, the salad kind?”

Trevor scoffed, his thick features skeptical as he took a bite and chewed. His hair was darker than Cameron’s, dark walnut rather than English chestnut, but they shared the same build. Trevor had played football in high school and had probably been brawnier than Cameron was now, but he had clearly inherited the broad shoulders and strong chest from his father. He watched Trevor swallow before looking surprised. “Not bad! They must use real bacon.”

Cameron decided not to correct him. The label had specifically mentioned imitation bacon bits. He had taken note, intending to recommend the product to Anthony, who didn’t eat much meat. The tension began to drain from Cameron as he thought of his boyfriend. Ever since they’d met, the sun seemed to shine brighter. Or maybe it was all in his head considering how short and wet the days had gotten. But it sure felt like summer whenever Anthony strolled through his thoughts. Which was often. Cameron almost wished it was a normal school day, just so they could see each other.

Or that Anthony had joined them for this meal. Cameron was eager to introduce his boyfriend to his parents. That would happen soon no matter what. They were both going to come out. To everyone at once, according to Anthony. That seemed crazy to Cameron, but then he was still reeling from everything that had happened over the weekend. They’d nearly lost a friend. To suicide.

“Honey?” Brenda said.

“Huh?” Cameron noticed his parents staring at him expectantly.

“Your next play,” his mother prompted. “I was asking when we’ll be able to see it.”

“In just a few weeks,” Cameron said. “We’re really down to the wire. Speaking of which, I know it will be a pain, but can you guys park outside the garage this weekend? I could use the space to get caught up.”

“Fine by me,” Trevor said, “but it seems like an awful lot of effort to go through just to hone your skills.”

Cameron shook his head. “What do you mean?”

Trevor cocked an eyebrow and shifted in his seat. “Can’t your shop teacher find better work for you to do? Or even that furniture salesman you hang around with? At least with him, you earn a commission.”

He was referring to Charles, who was an antiques dealer, not a salesman. But that wasn’t what had Cameron so confused. “What difference would it make?" he asked. "I enjoy the work.”

“Fine,” Trevor said. “Just make sure you don’t end up on Broadway.” He grinned as if seeing humor in his own statement and seemed to take it personally when they didn’t react in the same way. “You know what I mean,” he grumbled.

“What’s wrong with Broadway?” Cameron challenged, his tension finding an outlet. “Is it the work you don’t respect or the people?”

“Take it easy now,” Trevor said, raising a hand to ward him off. “I simply want what’s best for you, and we both know it’s not going to bethat.”

Cameron opened his mouth, intending to find out exactly what his father meant, but his mother got there first.

“When I asked you to take an interest in your son’s life,” Brenda said, “this isn’t what I meant.”

Trevor glowered at her, his tone sarcastic. “Sorry, dear. From now on, I’ll make sure to submit whatever I want to say for your approval.”

“Maybe you should,” Brenda retorted as she set down her fork.

Cameron’s own anger abandoned him, swiftly replaced by concern. This is exactly what he’d feared. “It’s fine,” he said hurriedly. “Dad’s right. I don’t plan on building stage scenery for a living. But it’s still—”

“You can do whatever you like, honey,” his mother interjected.

“And this is why I don’t bother,” Trevor said, glaring at his wife while tossing his napkin on the table. “You always undermine my authority!”

Brenda’s eyes narrowed. “I’m encouraging our son to follow his dreams. It’s called good parenting.”

“Guys,” Cameron tried.