This story is solely for use by adults over the age of 18 years and only to those for whom such content is legal. It is offered under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 license. Feel free to to copy, distribute and display the work, but please do not remove attribution or alter the file in any way.

Author's Note

Thanks again to everyone who emailed me with encouragement or ideas or just to ask why I was taking so long to get the next chapter done. This chapter has been unreasonably long in coming and I will try and get the next and final chapter up sooner.

I agree.

…And Dream My Dreams of You

by Jay B.

Chapter 5

Okay, my ass was definitely starting to hurt at this point. I’d been waiting in the school cafeteria for the last fifteen minutes and had quickly decided one lunch a day spent sitting in these crappy plastic chairs was more than enough. When the final bell rang I’d hurried over there hoping to catch Phillip and talk with him. But the minutes ticked by and the stampede of students heading home dwindled. The few that were left walked along leisurely-probably heading to one after-school thing or another.

“Fucking faggot! I can’t believe this shit.”

I’m not positive why—when you’re a closeted kid in a school without a single openly-gay student it’s probably almost instinct—but when I heard those words being snarled behind me; I whirled around without thinking, ready for a fight. Then I realized it was only Brock Martin, talking to some dumb-ass friend of his whose name I didn’t remember. It didn’t take much to figure out whom they were talking about. They didn’t notice me as they walked along, not that it would have mattered if they had: they probably thought I was one of them; everyone did. That’s why I’d stopped talking to Jake, ‘cause I didn’t like fags and he was one, or so went the rumor. Denying this—and the delicious irony was not at all lost on me—did no good: nobody believed me and I found myself the recipient of the attentions of every friendly bigot, every narrow-minded shit head in the school who thought they’d found a like-minded homo-hater in me. All day I’d tried to ignore these people. What could I say without outing myself? So I said nothing.

Why, I decided, should I stick my neck out defending Jake—a guy who couldn’t even keep it in his pants half an hour after I’d broken his heart? I mean, I had broken it, right? I wondered if Phillip was wrong. Maybe Jake only liked me as a friend after all. Hell, who knew what he was thinking? I decided then and there I wasn’t going to tie myself in knots wondering about Jake’s true feelings anymore.

And yet the moment I saw Phillip coming I practically ran over to him.

“So, how’s he doing?” I asked.

Phillip’s eyes swept the cafeteria. We were the only ones there, but when he spoke it was in a very quiet, very hasty tone of voice.

“Well let’s see, Paul. All day long, all anyone’s talked about was whether he’s a fag or not, and I’m one hundred percent sure Jake know that’s what they’re talking about. Today at lunch, most of the guys that usually sit with him went and sat somewhere else, and the ones that did stay didn’t say a word to him about it. In fact, they pretty much ignored him. Someone wrote “faggot” on his locker in pink marker. And now, he’s got to go out there,” Phil gestured towards the football field, “and face his teammates without knowing if they even want him there anymore. Do I really need to go on?”

“No, I get the picture,” I said glumly.

“Really? I kinda doubt you do, since I haven’t seen you anywhere within a mile of him today. And you know what’s I’m guessing is the worst part of this for Jake? Not that all these shit-heads hate him, but his best friend abandoning him when he needed him most. Hell, he probably wouldn’t be in this situation if you’d just accepted his apology at the party.”

I thought that was a low blow.

“Oh, so it’s my fault, huh? That’s bullshit,” I said. “For someone who’s supposedly in love with me, he’s got a pretty short fucking memory. ‘Cause half an hour after I left that party, he tries to pick up some other guy for a good fuck. He was the one who got caught and he was the one who was too stupid or too stubborn to deny it. I will nottake the blame for that. And you’re an asshole for saying I should.”

Phillip shook his head.

“You know what? I just don’t get you, Paul. And I’m not gonna listen to your shit any more.”

“Fine. Go ahead and take his side.” My voice had risen a bit too loud, but I was way past caring at this point. “Soon as you found out I wasn’t going to get with you that’s all you’ve been doing anyway”

Phil’s voice was icy, barely above a whisper: “You better watch it, Paul.”

“Oh, fuck you,” I said.

I think I’d basically had it at that point. Tired, that’s what I was, just tired: I felt sweaty and sour and sick and suddenly just wanted to be at home, lying in bed. Phillip turned to go. I sighed.

“I loved him,” I said quietly.

“Huh?” Phillip grunted.

“I said I loved him, you stupid fuck. I loved him. Don’t you get that?” I was gesturing fruitlessly, trying to put something into words so that someone would understand it, or at least so I would. Phillip just watched me with an expression that said that no, he did not get it at all.

“I mean, he was the first person I admitted my feelings to, this guy that I…that I trusted, that I idolized. I would have done anything he asked me to do and…”

There was silence. Phillip wouldn’t look directly at me and I think I must have sounded so pathetic he was embarrassed for me. But I didn’t care any more.

“But he fucking trashed it, man. And it hurt Phil, it hurt worse than anything. I can’t just forget about it. God it would be so easy to go crawling back; hell, he wouldn’t even have to apologize. He could just act like it never happened. I have dreams about going back to him, that’s how pathetic I am. But I won’t do it in real life, not anymore. I don’t know if I trust him, I don’t understand what he’s doing I just…I don’t know what to do. And now, I’m supposed to stick my neck out for him? Have everybody know I’m a fag too? You know what Phil? I don’t know if it’s worth it.”

There. I’d said it. I was afraid. I was fucking scared out of my mind. I saw what had happened to Jake and I realized that I could easily end up like that. Phillip was silent for a long time.

“Look, don’t give me advice Phil,” I told him. “Just…just understand where I’m coming from, OK? I’m trying, but it’s not easy. Just, give me some time.”

He nodded somberly.

“All right, Paul. I still think you’re acting like a dumbass, though.”

“Maybe. I don’t know,” I said.

We stood silently in the empty cafeteria. A door banged shut somewhere and the sound echoed through the halls.

“So you…uh…you coming to the game tonight?” Phillip asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Cool. Well, I should go.”

“All right. Good luck tonight,” I said.

“Thanks, we’ll need it. And Paul…”


“Sorry,” he said, “about blaming you. You’re right, Jake…I don’t know. I don’t know what he’s doing. Maybe he doesn’t either.”

Neither of us spoke, but neither of us moved to go either. Finally Phillip turned, his cool, appraising glance on me.

“Do you still …do you still love him?”

I thought for a while.

“I don’t know. Once, I would have said there was never any way I could be ambivalent about Jake. But now…”

I shrugged.

Phillip nodded that he understood.

The stands shone under the stadium lights, silver angles broken by clusters of hats, coats and blankets. The wind—which had cut right through my thin jacket as I filed from the parking lot into the stadium with everyone else, blowing scraps of paper and cigarette butts and dead leaves into the crowd—was, if anything twice as bad up here near the top of the bleachers. My cell phone buzzed in my pocket and I realized I hadn’t bothered to meet Liz where I said I would, that I hadn’t said a word to anyone since I got there, in fact. I stared down at the field and ignored the phone. A tuba blatted sullenly from somewhere and this seemed to rouse the whole band from its slumber, at which point they lapsed into a confused version of the school fight song. Intermittent shouts and hooting joined in the noise, then mounted in force and volume and finally broke out in a full cheer as our team scored another touchdown.

Or rather, he did. What was expected to be a close game was shaping up to be a kind of a shutout, and mostly, I was sure, because Jake was like a man possessed. It was really something to seem him tonight, playing harder, smarter, more fiercely that he ever had before. He was a pretty decent wide receiver most of the time, but tonight, it was like no one could touch him. If I knew Jake, it was that stubborn streak of his. Things hadn’t gone well with the team and now he felt like he had something to prove. Half-time came and he strolled confidently from the field. But when he came on the crush of his teammates on the sidelines—as if to prove my point—his shoulders sunk and he stood around awkwardly, as though he was unsure what to do. No one seemed to acknowledge him. His dad, who I could usually pick out in the crowd wasn’t there either. He was totally alone out there and I couldn’t watch anymore.

Avoiding the crowd, I hid myself in the cross-hatching of shadows cast by the bleachers and stared out into the parking lot. In my pocket, my hand clasped a pack of cigarettes I’d grabbed from under my bed, not knowing why exactly, except that the thought of having a smoke again—my first in almost a year—seemed comforting. I lit one of the remaining few (a desiccated, slightly crushed Marlborough Red) and inhaled deeply. The smoke was hot and dry and unfamiliarly harsh, sending me into a spasm of coughing that left me short of breath and a little queasy. But I resisted the urge to toss the cigarette away and kept drawing deeply in defiance of the warning lurch my stomach gave. It was a kind of penance, maybe, for what I’d done, or hadn’t done—hadn’t had the courage to do. That was basically it, wasn’t it?

My thoughts went back to that moment a few hours ago when that idiot Brock Martin had unthinkingly said those words—fucking faggot. He’d probably grown up hearing stuff like that from…who knew? his parents? his friends? —it was the kind of thing he didn’t give a second thought to saying, but it made my ears hot with shame, my clammy fists clench with useless anger I’d never felt before. That I sat there and did nothing, as I’d always done before: that small, simple cowardice hurt now in ways it never had. This wasn’t some abstract, some imaginary person he was talking about, this was Jake. This was real and it had consequences that were only too obvious when I looked at the haunted eyes of a boy I loved, a boy I now realized I’d never stopped loving. And all the fag jokes I heard all the time, the casual way that “gay” was tossed around as an epithet for whatever was weak or stupid or lame by people I considered my friends, all the hundred little things that conspired every day to remind me you are different, you will never be like them, all these things seemed suddenly and immensely significant. The anger and frustration that I’d failed to acknowledge when being gay was just an abstraction had come back doubled in intensity now.

And I was scared. That was the ugly truth. I saw what was happening to Jake, and I wanted to help him, stand up for him, but I didn’t want to risk the same thing happening to me. Secretly, shamefully, I could admit that was partly why I stayed away from him today.

I about jumped out of my skin when a voice intruded on my thoughts.

“Paul?” someone asked.

It was Kelly McGore and she was smiling. At first I didn’t know what to make of it. We’d hit it off okay at the party, but I was careful not to make her think I was interested. Now I watched her warily, but tried to smile back.

“Hey Paul. What’re you doing all the way over here?” she asked.

“Oh, just wanted a little quiet.”

She said nothing and seemed to expect something more in the way of an explanation.

“I guess I’m just not into the game tonight,” I offered.

“That’s a shame. It’s a pretty good one. The game, I mean.”

Was she nervous too? I had been staring at my feet or off in the distance—anywhere but at her—but now I ventured a quick glance. She was staring at her hands, and then her eyes glanced up and met mine. She frowned.

“You okay,” she asked. “I mean, over here by yourself?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Were you looking for me?”

“Kind of. I wanted to tell you I had a good time at the party.”

“Oh, cool. Yeah, me too,” I said.

“I liked hanging out with you, Paul. We could…maybe do it again sometime?”

Uh oh, here it comes, I thought.

“Um, well,” I said, “I’m kinda…well, not looking for…you know…”

If she did know, she didn’t give any sign of it.

“I mean, tell me if I’m wrong, here,” I continued. “And if I am, I’m really sorry. But I’m not interested in dating or anything, you know? And it kinda seems to me like maybe you are. I mean, you’re a really awesome girl. It’s just…I don’t know…” God, I was making a mess of this.

“You’re seeing someone else?”


The wind picked up suddenly. Kelly pulled a pair of gloves from her pocket and put them on. If she was hurt by what I’d said, she was hiding it pretty well.

I mean, I want to be…” I said. She looked at me quizzically.

“…seeing someone else, I mean,” I continued.

“I understand, Paul. And I wasn’t asking you to hang out on, like, a date.” She pulled a hat on next. “To be honest, I was interested in you, though. At first. I mean, don’t take this wrong, but you’re a pretty hot guy, and you’re smart and nice…I definitely had a crush. But I kind of figured you were…not interested.”

“Oh. Okay. Cool,” I mumbled.

“I just thought we could be friends. I really enjoyed talking with you at the party, and I thought we hit it off. It’s nice to be able to talk to a guy without worrying he’s just bull-shitting you because he wants to hook up.”

“Uh, okay,” I said, ever the conversationalist. Wait, did she just imply something?

“So, can I ask who it is?” she asked.


“Who it is you’re interested in?”

“Oh. Well, I don’t wanna say. You might uh, know her. And I don’t even know if she likes me back yet, you know?”

She smiled.

“Well, since we’re friends now,” she said, “why don’t you tell me what’s up with you? I noticed you didn’t say two words in English class today either. You look kinda down.”

“Aw, it’s complicated. I don’t know where to begin. Just worried about a friend, I guess.”

“Is it Jake?” she asked without hesitating. I nodded and laughed.

“How’d you know?”

“You two still not talking?”

“I don’t know. I want to talk to him. I don’t know if he has anything to say to me. Or what I’m supposed to say to him.”

“I mean, I wanna help him, you know? But god, everyone’s saying he’s gay and people I thought were cool are suddenly acting very not cool. It’s just fucked up,” I said, purposely leaving my opinion on that topic out of it and hoping to gauge her response.

“You mind if I give you some advice?” she asked and I shook my head.

But she didn’t give it, at least not right away. She started off towards the stadium lights, the wind tossing the hair that fell down her shoulders, while I pondered the irony that this truly beautiful girl—who most guys would love to date—was, or had been interested in me. Finally she spoke, still watching the stadium lights and not me.

“Most people, Paul, will do the right thing.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I think that most of the time, most people do the right thing. If you give them a little push.”

“Um, I guess I don’t follow,” I said.

“If you know something is right,” she said, staring straight at me now, “if you know it and you stand up for it, most people will follow you and do the right thing too. Some will do it because, deep down, they also know it’s right, and they just needed someone to remind them.”

She sighed.

“And most will do it,” she continued, “because they just want to fit in, and if you put the right pressure on them, they’ll follow you. You’re a cool guy, Paul, and people respect you. They might not have the courage, but they’ll do the right thing if you show them you that you have that courage. If you want to help him, just remember that.” She looked away and asked, “now do you know what I’m saying?”

“Yeah, I…I think I do. And I ought to be honest with you.” Truth-time. But she’d earned that much. “I care about Jake as more than just a friend. You know what I’m saying?”

She nodded.

I dropped the half-smoked cigarette and crushed it under my heel. “And that’s okay with you?”

“At the party, I saw how you were. I don’t know. I can kinda wonder if you might be gay. My older brother is; I guess I’ve been hanging out with him too much. Anyway, you don’t have anything to worry about from me. And it’s not completely obvious or anything.”

I laughed. “You know, Kelly, I have to be honest with you. I always thought if I’d met you, you’d be this popularity-obsessed airhead or something…”

She frowned

“…but I was way off. Hell, I wish I was as smart as you.”

This brought a smile to her face, and for the first time in a week, I felt kind of good too. Maybe everything would be okay. Of course it only took a minute for my usual pessimism to come flooding back, but it was a nice minute while it lasted. We started heading back to the stands.

“So tell me,” Kelly joked, “this girl you’re interested in. You think she likes you back?”

“Oh, I dunno. I hope so.”

We had reached the bleachers, but as I made a move to go back to my seat she grabbed my arm and motioned me to sit next to her. We sat silently for a while.

“Oh, I think she does,” Kelly said.


“Likes you. I think she does.”

I followed her gaze to the sidelines, where Jake sat.

“I think she likes you a lot,” Kelly said, and giggled.


She raised an eyebrow, then shook her head.


“Figures, what?” I asked.

“Figures that two of the cutest guys in this school turn out to be gay.”

“What? Me? I’m not that cute.”

“Oh shut up,” she laughed and pulled my hat down over my eyes.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared out of my fucking mind. As I stood there, I felt this weird giddy sensation, like I was surrendering to some current that might sweep me who knows where. That night, I’d thought about what Kelly said and the next day I rushed to lunch, where I found that Jake’s table was down to a mere two people, minus Jake who hadn’t arrived yet. And as any kid knows—or any adult with access to a TV, I guess—the people who sit at your lunch table are the best measure of your standing in the pointless hierarchy of high school cliques, so this was not a good sign. I noticed Tim Matthews first, and frowned a little because that ass had actually hooked up with Jake while I pined for him from afar. But now was no time for jealousy and I had to admire the fact that Tim hadn’t deserted Jake, even if it was probably so he could get another crack at him. The other person was Phillip. They had both looked surprised to see me, even more so when I asked them to come with me.

“Why?” Phillip asked.

“Because we’ve either got to fix this before it gets any worse, or get completely and totally ostracized trying.”

Tim glanced around nervously and seemed to hesitate.

“That okay with you, Tim?” I asked sarcastically.

“Okay, just do what you’re gonna do, Paul,” Phil suggested.

Looking around the cafeteria, I wondered where to start. A few tables over, I saw five of the guys from our table were sitting together. I was pretty good friends with two: Will and Rob, and the other three I knew okay. One of those was Dan Jenkins. That was good. Taking a deep breath and trying to look as imposing as possible, I walked up to the group.

Something seemed to have sucked up all the oxygen in the room. My mouth felt dry, my scalp hot and tingly. But as I stood there, I saw I had the attention of the five guys, so there was no turning back. Please don’t choke on this one, I prayed

“Allright, what’s going on?” I demanded.

I felt sort of detached, like I was watching myself do and say things now. It was like when I used to take piano lessons and would get so nervous about recitals that my body seemed to have to do everything by itself because my mind just hadn’t caught up yet. But it was also like playing soccer, when you get on some kind of awesome roll and you mind just hangs back and casually issues instructions that your body miraculously follows. My voice came out loud and strong, and I thought of my dad for some reason, and that thought helped, even if my mind felt to terrified to think about anything else.

First of all, no one said anything. Nobody at that table, and not Phillip or Tim, standing behind me with—what I imaged—were shocked looks on their faces.

“Huh?” I repeated. “Why’s everyone sitting here?”

Will spoke up.

“C’mon Matheson, don’t be stupid. You know why we’re sitting here.”

“No, actually, I don’t. The only reason I can think of why someone would do what you guys did is because they’re a fucking pussy who’s so worried about being popular that they’ll fuck a friend over. And I know you guys are better than that, so please explain it to me.”

No one did. Dan Jenkins piped up, though.

“What the hell, Paul? I thought you were the first one to stop talking’ to him.”

“Yeah, I was. And you know what? I was wrong. Way fuckin’ wrong, dude.”

I felt a little guilty about lying, but it was in service of something, plus appearing straight gave me a lot more credibility.

“I was wrong, and so are you guys,” I continued. “Look, we’re fucking seniors, man. Year’s halfway over. Who gives a shit what all the other kids think? Jake’s our friend”

“Maybe I don’t like fags,” Dan boasted. But I saw something wavering in his eyes. He was always kind of a scared guy and usually hated confrontation.

“We’ll, you’re a dick, then,” I said. “Especially because this ‘fag’ happens to have helped you plenty—way more than you deserve. Remember when you were trying out for the soccer team and didn’t think you’d make the cut? Who helped you with drills and made sure you knew how to play midfield, ‘cause you didn’t know fuck-all about it when you started? Who put in a good word with coach for you?”

“You,” he said weakly.

“Yeah right. Dude, no offense, but I didn’t give a shit. Jake came to me and asked me to help. Jake put in a good word with coach too, not me. If he hadn’t wanted to help out a friend, you’d never have made the team and you know it. So I suggest you lose the attitude about gays.”

I looked over towards Will. He had a thoughtful look.

“Will, man, you know Jake’s gone out of his way to help you too. When your mom had to go on chemo, who drove you to school and back home almost everyday so your dad could be at the hospital with her, even though it was way out of his way?”

Will didn’t answer. .

“Probably being nice ‘cause he wanted to get with you, Will,” Joe Hatcher joked.

“Shut the hell up, Joe,” Will said irritably.

“Rob,” Phillip said. (Rob was the closest thing our school had to a star quarterback.) “You saw how he played last night. Even after some of the shit guys gave him, he went out there and gave 110 percent. That took guts.”

I smiled when I realized that Phillip had said just the right thing to get him on our side.

“Dudes, look. He’s our friend, okay?” I said. “It’s just Jake, the same old Jake it’s always been, only instead of him doing whatever he can to help us, he’s the one that needs our help now. So either you act like a man about it, let go of your hang-ups and stand up for your friend; or you can join those all these narrow-minded fucks who never gave a shit about you before, who’d be too scared to stand up for their friends. Which is it gonna be?”

I didn’t draw a breath. Not only did we have the attention of those five guys, but everyone nearby was watching. Finally, Will stood up.

“Let’s go, ” he said to me. Rob got up and stood next to him, then Dan, then the other guy whose name I forgot. Joe stayed where he was, but I didn’t really care. If this had been TV and not real life, it would have been a real slow-clap kinda moment.

Puffed up with my triumph, I returned to Jake’s table with the other six guys only to find Jake wasn’t there. Either he’d never come to lunch or, more likely, arrived and left when he noticed the empty table and assumed even Tim and Phillip had deserted him. Feeling somewhat stupid in the face of such an anticlimax, I asked the other guys to wait while I went to look for him. Tim volunteered to come with me, but thankfully Phillip convinced him to stay behind. For some reason as I strode off down the halls, a small fear grew up in the pit of my stomach. As my anxious steps quickened, it took root there and began to grow as I broke out into a slow jog. I decided to check the library—sometimes kids went there to study instead of eating lunch—but he wasn’t there. The fear grew worse—where could he be?—and I wondered where to go next. I couldn’t think of any specific reason to be worried, after all Jake wasn’t the type to go and do something completely stupid. Except for outing himself to the whole world for no good reason, the voice in my head warned. Maybe he’d gone to his next class early, his study hall. I took off in that direction.

By the time I reached the classroom, I was out of breath. Jake was there, looking through his calculus book. His eyes glanced up when heard me enter the room. Surprise crossed his face, but it was followed immediately by a frown. He got up, tossed his book into his bag and walked to the door.

“Jake,” I asked, but he kept walking. Out the door, and around the corner he went. I called his name, but there was no answer. A slow jog brought me alongside him and I wondered if the one thing I had absolutely no idea how to handle—namely, that Jake wanted absolutely nothing to do with me and would never want anything to do with me again—was happening.

“Jake?” I asked once more. His eyes were fixed ahead, his lips drawn tight. Well, he’d just have to listen, then.

“Look Jake, I need to talk to you, okay? Can you please…” I put my hand on his shoulder to stop him and he whirled to face me. His bag slid off his shoulder and into a locker. The crash was louder than both of us expected, I think, and I instinctively pulled away from him.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Nothing…I just. Nothing…”

He shook his head and bent over to pick up the bag. When he stood up I expected to see anger on his face. But his eyes regarded me with sorrow instead. He seemed embarrassed and looked down at his feet.

“You can’t do that,” he mumbled. “You can’t…touch me like that.”

All I could think to do was apologize.

“Jake, I’m sorry. I know you’re mad and all…”

“Look, just stay the hell away from me, all right? Just go, Paul.”

“The other guys came back,” I said, clutching at anything to stop the conversation from heading where I knew it was heading.

“What other guys?”

“Phillip, Tim, Will and Rob and Dan. They’re sorry and they’re waiting for you at lunch.”

He didn’t say anything. As far as I could tell, the news hadn’t made him any happier.

“Thanks,” he finally said, “Thanks for telling me. But I meant what I said.”

“About what? Are you going back to lunch? I’ll walk with you.”

“I don’t know where I’m going. But you’re not coming with me, got it?”

Oh God, this was turning out really bad.

“Look, Jake, I know you’re angry…”

“I’m not fucking mad, Paul!” he shouted. I stepped back reflexively. Jake’s eyes looked a little wild, but his voice came out softly: “I’m not angry. I just don’t want you to get mixed up in this shit. End of discussion.”


“Leave me alone, Paul. I mean it. Don’t talk to me anymore.”

He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked away.

The sound of his footsteps faded, then was gone. Somewhere, a tennis shoe squeaked on the tile floor. A locker slammed and a lock clicked shut. Then silence for a while—I don’t know how long—but the quiet was comforting. Eventually the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch and then I was in the midst of crowds of students whose lives went on as they always did while they laughed and talked around me. But it was all suddenly alien. I wasn’t angry; I had no right to be. And I wasn’t sad, exactly. I simply felt empty and alone, even surrounded by all those people. The idea of French class just then seemed so uninteresting to me, so completely beside the point that the most natural thing, I decided, was to leave. That’s what I’d do. I’d go home and when I got there I’d go up to my room and think for a while. And I’d figure out how I could convince my parents to let me go to another school where I’d never have to see any of these people again. And maybe we could even move to another state. Because clearly, if facing my problems meant I was going to feel like this, maybe running away from it all was a better way to go.

Copyright 2006. Email Jay B.

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs2.5 License.

Thanks for reading. Chapter 6 coming soon…