Chapter 7:
Sunday morning came dressed in pressed shirts, polished shoes, and the silent tension of a household that believed perfection could save them.
Elias sat stiffly beside his mother in their regular pew—third from the front, far enough to be seen, close enough to be judged. His father's arm was draped across the back of the pew like a banner of masculine authority. Elias didn't move when the worship team began the first song. He mouthed the words but didn't sing.
He couldn't.
Because every lyric about surrender, every chorus about grace, felt like a lie with a price tag he couldn't afford.
And somewhere in the corner of his mind, Rowan was still asking:
Are you still in there?
After service, Pastor Lyle shook Elias's hand the way adults did when they wanted to measure you by your grip. His eyes gleamed with approval. "We're praying for your scholarship essays, Elias. God's got a calling on you."
Elias nodded, smiled, lied. "Thank you."
His mom beamed beside him. "He's been studying all weekend. Except for rehearsal."
At the mention of theater, Pastor Lyle smile dimmed just slightly. "Well, just remember—drama is the seasoning, not the meal. Stay grounded in Scripture."
Elias nodded again, wondering if anyone could see the earthquake behind his eyes.
That afternoon, his parents made him come along for the youth group planning meeting at their house.
"I want you to be more visible," his mom said as she folded napkins. "Leadership looks good on college applications. And it's important you set the tone for the other boys."
"What tone?" Elias asked without thinking.
She blinked. "A Godly one, of course."
Elias carried the guilt of that conversation into his bedroom and slammed it into the pages of his journal.
" I don't know how to be godly and honest at the same time.
I feel like I'm being dissected. Pulled in pieces between who I am and who I'm supposed to be.
I miss breathing.
I miss being quiet without feeling like I'm hiding."
He stopped when he realized his hands were shaking.
He deleted Rowan's number from his phone.
Then added it back five minutes later.
Monday morning, school hit like a slap.
Posters for the fall play went up—Romeo & Juliet: Rewritten—and Elias's name, front and center, was circled in pink highlighter by someone in the hall. Above it, someone had scribbled "ROMEO ❤️ JULIET OR JULIAN?"
Laughter trailed after him all day. Not loud, but pointed. Measured.
Marley saw it first.
She tore the poster down in homeroom and stuffed it into her bag like a grenade. "Don't look at them. They're cowards."
"They're right," Elias said quietly.
"No, they're bored. And bored people throw stones at things they don't understand."
Still, it stuck.
By lunch, Camila had seen the group chat screenshot: a photo of Elias and Rowan onstage mid-rehearsal, paused in a near-kiss. The caption: Guess our valedictorian's been rehearsing more than lines.
Elias sat down across from them with a tray he didn't touch.
Theo glanced up. "Do you want me to report it?"
"No."
"You should," Marley said. "That's targeted harassment."
"And reporting it just proves them right."
Camila looked at him like she wanted to shake him. "Proves what?"
"That I'm…" He trailed off. Couldn't say the word. Not here. Not yet.
"That you're what?" Theo asked gently.
"Nothing," Elias whispered. "It's fine. I'm fine."
No one believed him.
Rehearsal was worse.
Rowan seemed to sense something had changed. He didn't press. He didn't even ask. But the space between them stretched like string pulled too tight.
When they ran the balcony scene again, Elias couldn't meet his eyes.
"Then plainly know: my heart's dear love is set…" Rowan's voice cracked—real, not staged. "...on the fair daughter of rich Capulet."
Elias forgot his line.
Mr. Kessler stood. "Romeo?"
"I—uh. Sorry."
Rowan didn't break character. He just stared at Elias like he was seeing every lie Elias had ever told himself.
That night, Elias couldn't sleep. He lay on his bed, eyes wide open, the dark too loud.
His phone buzzed at 2:14 a.m.
Rowan:
"you don't have to talk
but just so you know
I see you
the real you
and I'm not going anywhere"
Elias read it five times.
Then, for the first time all day, he let himself cry.