Welcome To Fake Paradise!

This is the personal writing blog for Joana Hill, creative writing major extraordinaire! Here you'll find the random ramblings and occasional writings of a girl obsessed with gay romance and the yaoi manga FAKE. You've been warned.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Scene Sunday (Short story, Summer)


The first day of summer I saw him, laughing and drenching a younger girl with a hose as they ran across the yard of the newly-bought house across the street. It was a hot day and my mother was expecting me to celebrate the summer solstice with her that evening, but all I wanted to do was sit directly in front of the air conditioner. I was not a guy of discerning taste; as long as I was comfortable, I was okay.

The first week of summer I became interested in him. He was my age, according to my mother, but he was so much more energetic than I was. Despite temperatures reaching above one-hundred degrees, he was constantly outside, laughing and getting to know the neighbors. He and the girl I found out was his sister even came over to my house one time, though my mother answered and I pretended to be passed out. Our air conditioner had stopped working, so we had a bunch of oscillating fans set up around the house. I just laid in front of one, sighing in relief every time its vaguely cool air hit my body. He went home before I could work up the courage to do anything.

The second week of summer I talked to him. His name was Henry, and I’d be going to school with him once this endless summer vacation was over. “You're both seniors, so you might even have the same classes, isn’t that wonderful?” my mother remarked as she walked by, a paper fan out. I was afraid it would burst into flames under the heat of the sun, but she just continued on her way to the corner store to buy more lemonade mix.

The Saturday of the second week of summer, we went to the local pool together, because it was one-hundred and five degrees, and the power was flickering on and off because of all the energy being used to keep people cool. It was actually relatively empty, I suppose because people didn’t want to make the trek out. Henry laughs and splashes me with the cool water, yelling, “Hey Freed, we should come here again at the end of summer, don’t you think?” And I do think, because it will be August and it might be even worse by then.

The Fourth of July was the first time we kissed. I never much liked the holiday, mostly because my name is Freedom and people liked to make jokes and puns about it. But as Henry and I sat there, watching the fireworks go off and waiting for his sister to get back with snow cones from one of the vendors that sets up on the field every year, he said my name, and when I turned, he kissed me gently. I don’t know how to respond.

The middle of July I found myself watching him from a distance again. The temperature had dropped down into the eighties, just barely tolerable for going outside, but I was a coward. Or maybe I was waiting for him to come and see me again, to take the initiative like he always did. But as the days dragged by, hot and hazy and full of sweat and “It’s too hots!” he never did.

The first week of August I finally got fed up with laying around my house and went to his. It was raining but still hot, so there was steam coming off the pavement as I made my way across the street. Henry opened the door before I even got the chance to knock, and he grinned when he saw it was me. He stepped out, closed the door behind him. I noticed he wasn’t wearing socks or shoes, and he was looking at the puddles that had still managed to form in the grooves of the street. “Want to join me?” he asked, and I knew what he planned to do. All I could do was nod and he started stomping through the water like a little kid.

The middle of August my mother decided that we needed to go on a family vacation, since there were only a couple more weeks left before school started and we hadn’t spent much time together. I didn’t want to leave Henry behind after we had finally accomplished something, but she didn’t give me much choice. Mom dragged me down to Cape Cod, where we stayed in a few different places. We talked every night, at least briefly. When he asked if I was bringing him back any souvenirs, I said, “Of course.”

The end of August, we were back at the pool, but it’s more crowded and Henry’s sister is there with us that time. I tried not to seem jealous, but it seemed that Henry could tell. When we finally had to go home, because we were tired and chlorinated and school started the next day, Henry said, “Want to take a shower together?” with this big grin on his face, and all I could do was blush and turn away.

The first day of school, Henry comes in wearing the shirt I got him in Provincetown. It was a gag gift, something I had seen in a shop and laughed at. I didn’t expect him to wear it. But here he is, with a shirt that says, “My boyfriend went to Provincetown and all I got was this t-shirt.” I’m the only one that seems to know him, and he stays with me until the bell rings and we have to part ways. People are looking at him, unsure of how to act, but I don’t care and neither does he. The longest summer of my life is over, and he’s right there beside me as proof that I survived.


  1. You portray gay couples and feelings so truthfully. I was wondering if you could do the same with lesbians.

  2. I have tried writing lesbian stories, admittedly. I find the emotions are harder to portray, though XD Not that being a lesbian is harder or complicated than being a gay male, but females themselves, y'know?