Covet Thy Neighbor

teacher at Tucker U,” I said. “She can work with you.”
    “I don’t want to learn to sing,” she growled. “I just want to talk without—” Her voice cracked, and she made a frustrated gesture at her throat.
    I nodded. “Yeah, but she can help you learn control.”
    Josephine’s brow furrowed, but the tension in her shoulders lessened. “Does that . . . does that work?”
    “It helps.” I smiled. “A friend of mine took singing lessons when she was transitioning, and wound up the lead singer in a metal band.”
    For the first time since I’d seen her, some of the hostility lessened in Josephine’s expression. “Really?”
    “Yep. She was damn good. And she could turn around and nail some of the lower notes, which made her an amazing musician.”
    “And she . . .” Josephine hesitated, shifting a little so she was facing me. “She passed? For a girl, I mean?”
    “To be honest, I didn’t even know she was born male until a good six months after I joined her band.”
    She wrinkled her nose. “You’re in a band?” Then she eyed at my arms. “I guess you do kind of fit the part.”
    I laughed. “Should I take that as a compliment?”
    She managed a laugh too, even if it was quiet. “So, what? Are you in one of those Christian metal bands or something?”
    “Uh, no.” I chuckled. “I don’t think they’d let me stay in a Christian band for very long.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because a prerequisite for a band like that is—” My teeth snapped shut as I remembered, a little too late, where I was. “Um, well . . .”
    “I thought the only prerequisite was you had to be a crappy musician.”
    I laughed. “Well, okay, there’s that. But you also have to be a Christian.”
    Josephine blinked. “You’re . . . not?”
    I shook my head. “I’m an atheist. Have been for a long time.”
    “Oh, yeah?” She looked up at me. “Then why are you here?”
    “Because what happened to you and half the kids here,” I said, “happened to me.”
    “It did?”
    I nodded. “My parents found out I was gay, and they disowned me.”
    “But this is a church.”
    “I know. But Darren—Pastor Romero, I mean—and I are friends.” Just friends. Just. Friends. “He said they needed some help down here, so . . .”
    “Oh.” She was quiet for a moment. “So your parents really disowned you, too?”
    I nodded. “Haven’t spoken to them in years.”
    “What happened?”
    I forced back the sick feeling that always came with rehashing this story. “I grew up in Los Angeles. My parents were hardcore Christian. Like . . . hardcore. So I was raised that way, and it was one of those crazy extremist churches. Nothing like this.” I waved a hand at our surroundings. “I think you could fit this place in a bathroom stall at that church.”
    Josephine laughed. “No way.”
    “Trust me. Anyway, I was here in Tucker Springs going to college. My parents were paying for everything, so I was living the dream. Just studying, playing in a band or two, doing some partying. Didn’t have to worry about a job or anything.” I took a deep breath. Just saying this part never got much easier. “And then I came out to my parents.”
    Josephine’s eyes widened. “What’d they do?”
    “They flew in with our pastor and my godparents, and tried to take me back to L.A. They were going to try to force me into one of those programs that makes you straight. You know what I’m talking about?”
    She shuddered. “Yeah, I do.”
    “Well, fortunately, since I was an adult, they couldn’t. Didn’t stop them from trying, but . . . yeah. And then they completely cut me off. Cut off my tuition, closed my bank account, canceled my credit cards, took my car back, the whole works. I had to get on my own feet almost overnight with no real work experience and absolutely nothing to my name.” I paused. “The worst part, though? They told me as long as I was gay, I was no son of theirs, and I haven’t heard from them since.”
    “How long ago was that?”
    “It’s been . . .” I ran the dates through my head. “Man, it’s been years now.”
    “And you haven’t talked to them since?” A note of disappointment crept into her tone. “At all?”
    “Nope.”
    “But you still got on your feet?” Josephine held my gaze now, like she was searching for something in my expression. “I mean, you did okay? Even after they cut you off?”
    “Yeah. It was hard for a while. I did a lot of couch-surfing, and believe me,