The Glass House

Readers love the Love Story Universe

series by
S
UKI
F
LEET

This Is Not a Love Story

Best Gay Debut, 2014 Rainbow Awards

Finalist—LGBT Children’s/Young Adult, 2015 Lambda Literary Awards

“Unfortunately, my ‘kiss’ rating can only go up to five, or I would rate
This is Not a Love Story
by Suki Fleet much higher.”

—Literary Nymphs Reviews

“What struck me immediately was the fantastic descriptive style with which the author pens. I felt as if I was there… and I was entranced…  Beautiful. Just, beautiful.”

—Top 2 Bottom Reviews

“There aren’t many stories out there that render me speechless, but this one certainly did… I encourage everyone to read this heartwarming story, you won’t be disappointed.”

—The Novel Approach

Wild Summer

“Suki Fleet excels at immersing the reader in her characters’ world, creating an authentic, textured atmosphere where the dark dangers of reality lurk alongside the brilliance of true happiness found in love and home.”

—Prism Book Alliance

“It’s a great story, one YA lovers should most definitely read. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—this is an author to watch for. There’s magic in them there words she writes…”

—Boy Meets Boy Reviews

By
S
UKI
F
LEET

The Glass House

L
OVE
S
TORY
U
NIVERSE

This Is Not a Love Story

Wild Summer

Published By
H
ARMONY
I
NK
P
RESS

http://www.harmonyinkpress.com

Published by

H
ARMONY
I
NK
P
RESS

5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886  USA

[email protected]
•
http://harmonyinkpress.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The Glass House

© 2015 Suki Fleet.

Cover Art

© 2015 Aaron Anderson.

[email protected]

Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Harmony Ink Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or [email protected].

ISBN: 978-1-63476-356-1

Library Edition ISBN: 978-1-63476-357-8

Digital ISBN: 978-1-63476-051-5

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015933570

First Edition April 2015

Library Edition July 2015

Printed in the United States of America

This paper meets the requirements of

ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992 (Permanence of Paper).

For everyone who’s ever felt broken.

You are whole.

You are beautiful.

You are full of light.

“S
O
YOU
’
LL
model for me, right?”

Reluctantly, I looked up from my sculpture. It was hard enough to concentrate in art class with all the noise, and this girl just wouldn’t drop it—Jessica Cassidy was a dog with a bone. I shook my hair out of my eyes and regarded her wryly as I sucked the bright bead of blood from the cut on my finger. Most of the time I tumbled the glass to take the edge off, but this sculpture needed to be sharper, more defined. I needed to be careful with it.

I’d been sort of noncommittal when she’d asked me earlier, and now she wanted a definite answer.

Relenting, I nodded. Mainly so she’d go away and stop bothering me—so far she hadn’t left me alone all morning. She just wanted to take a couple of photographs, theatrically posed, she said—naked, of course. It wouldn’t be like the last time I’d posed naked for someone. At least I didn’t think it would be.

The smile she gave me near split her face in half. I hoped to God she didn’t think I was doing this because I liked her.

“Great! I’ll have the keys to the art room from half seven tomorrow morning, so meet me here, yeah? It’s going to be awesome,” she burbled. “I saw the photos Jeff Deal took of you last year. They were amazing.”

Involuntarily I shuddered. I’d rather not have been reminded. Though the photos she was likely to have seen at school were tame compared to the pornographic ones he had all over his basement.

As she turned away, the sunlight coming through the window caught the tiny metal screws she wore as earrings, glinting across my retinas like a warning light. I pulled a face and went back to arranging the pieces of broken glass into color order in front of me.

I’
D
FORGOTTEN
it was sports day. The air was sticky and warm, my skin clammy beneath my uniform. The urge to bare my skin to the sunshine was near overwhelming, but that was part of the reason I was in this mess, so I didn’t. A lawn mower droned somewhere, the sound heavy as a swarm of bees. There was no breeze.

I watched as 1400 nobodies in white school T-shirts crowded onto the overgrown playing fields to make arses of themselves, for the most part glad I wasn’t one of them.

Sitting on the grassy bank near the school perimeter, I was as far away from them as it was possible to be and still remain on school grounds.

No one seemed to have noticed except Thomas.

“Hey,” he said, ambling over and flopping down heavily on the grass next to me. “You not running or anything?”

I glanced at him, figuring he must be close to overheating in those thick tracksuit bottoms. “I’ve been suspended.”

“Oh.”

I was sort of glad he didn’t ask me why I was still here at school.

“Because of what happened this morning? I know you checked out of art quite spectacularly. Cole said Mr. Sparks chucked you off the course. I didn’t believe him…. Is it true?” he said instead.

I shrugged, more interested in watching Luke Jones fly down the long-jump track, nutsac swinging. Even at this distance I could see it.

“Aren’t you gonna appeal or something?”

I looked at him blankly.

“I don’t mean about the suspension, about being chucked off the course?”

“No,” I replied dully. Appealing would suggest I thought the judgment unwarranted in some way.

Knitting his dark eyebrows together, Thomas picked at the stubby grass. “But what about your final exams? It’s only a couple of months now.” He spoke quietly, but the ever-present flush staining his cheeks grew darker.

I didn’t know why this was bothering him. We weren’t friends. He just talked to me sometimes. Art was the only lesson we had in common. Just his luck he was absent this morning, so he missed the excitement of me getting marched from the art room bollock naked, covered in red paint.

As requested, I’d been modeling for Jessica Cassidy’s art project. The clock on the art room wall had been wrong, our time there spilling gracelessly over into the first lesson. Mr. Sparks called it obscene. I think he meant me. He wanted to call the police. He probably would have if he wasn’t such an uptight dick, too embarrassed to explain the situation.

Sand flew in the long-jump pit as Luke Jones lost his balance, landing mostly on his face. Unaffected, he loped back for another run up.

“Jessica Cassidy’s put a picture of you from this morning up on her Tumblr page. She’s such a bitch.”

Jessica Cassidy had spent the day in isolation as a punishment. Apparently what I did was far more serious.

Pushing boundaries in art is fine as long as you’re not the one being pushed, it seems.

I turned away from Luke Jones for a moment, shielding my eyes from the glaring sun to regard Thomas full-on. Even though he was shy, he had an aura of calmness about him. He was probably the most easygoing person I was aware of. He was
nice
. He didn’t call people
bitches
or
dicks
or
wankers
or anything. It made me wonder sometimes why he ever talked to me, since I was probably a bit of all three.

I couldn’t figure it out. I didn’t even know if I wanted to.

I looked back to the field, catching Luke on the very edge of his jump, every single muscle in his thighs standing taut as he leapt. Sometimes my mind was a camera taking a thousand pictures a second. He appeared so serene and focused in the air, I wondered if he knew he looked like a golden eagle swooping down on a mouse. Like he’d found his place in the hierarchy of things.

“Why did you do it, anyway? I mean, let her take pictures of you like that… naked.”