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your place if you kill me.”
“Whoa.” A smile crept up despite the boy trying to hold his
frown. “You are so not what I expected monks to be.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not a very good monk. I don’t think I’m a
very good person, either.”
The boy folded his hands and looked up at the sky, praying.
“The priest at my church wants to send me away from my parents for what I did. He wants me to go away for months.”
“To prison?”
“To Jesus camp. Do you know what they make you do there? I once spent three hours decorating a cross with sequins and col- ored cotton balls. I don’t understand what a rainbow crucifix has to do with Jesus bleeding all over a cross.”
“What did you do? Smoke marijuana? Steal your mom’s car for a joyride?” Brother George asked.
“So much worse.”
The small smile left Brother George’s face. He placed his palm on the boy’s shoulder. “Did you kill someone?”
“Worse!”
“Just tell me.”
The boy leaned forward, looking at himself in the water. His
freckles reflected against the backs of turtle shells, making him look even more innocent.
“I kissed a boy,” he whispered. “My friend Brett. Just one time.” His lips twisted and trembled, shaking faster and faster as he tried to hold back the tears. “Mom says I’m gay. She hasn’t looked me in the eye in three weeks. When she told my dad... He, um. He hit me.”
A lump slid down Brother George’s throat like a snake writh- ing beneath the skin. He noticed a greenish welt peeking out from beneath the boy’s collar, right around his neck.
Suddenly a woman appeared from the wooded pathway behind the pond. “Good, Billy. You’ve found someone to help you.” Brother George stood, meeting Billy’s mother with a solemn
face.
“It’s a tragedy, isn’t it?” she said. “Please help us. What should
I do with him?”