Weston absentmindedly tapped out a rhythm on the table with his fingers. Sundays were those days where he could relax and get away from the stress of his relationships, track, choir practice, and school. He scooped out a spoonful of his soggy Rice Krispies from his cereal bowl and shoved it into his mouth.

Patrick came loping in, angrily slamming a baseball into his glove.

"Hey, what's wrong brother?" West asked, looking up at his older sibling.

"West, what do you think of Joel Friedman?"

West froze. "He's ok… I guess."

Joel was West's boyfriend—and if Pat found out, their relationship was over.

All his life, West had looked up to Pat. He was Weston's idol—the role model—he was everything. Only this year, (West was sixteen and Pat was seventeen), Patrick had suddenly developed an intense hatred for homosexuals, never suspecting that his own brother was one. West had discovered that he was gay last year, when he realized he liked it when Joel had kissed him at a party. West had never had the courage to confess to his brother (or his parents), so only Joel knew. And of course, himself.

"I just found out that he's gay." Pat spat the word "gay" out with disgust, like it was dirty. West couldn't see his brother's eyes, (seeing that they were covered by a sheet of straight hair), but he knew that they were narrowed in anger and repulsion.

West and Pat didn't look that much alike, even though they were brothers. West had darkish brown hair and greenish eyes flecked with brown. His hair was sort of curly and his eyes usually looked excited. A few freckles dotted his cheeks and he tanned easily.

Pat, on the other hand, had light brown hair that was almost red. His eyes were brownish-greenish-grayish. His hair was naturally straight and it ended at around his neck area. He didn't tan as easily as West, but he had the same freckles.

Both teens were tall and lanky—still, as their mother liked to say, "growing boys." West couldn't wait until he was eighteen and no longer a "growing boy." Pat was already close to obtaining that goal.

"Well, is it really that big of a deal?" West wanted to know. How could Pat ever accept him if he felt this way about homosexuals?

"Of course it is, West! It's wrong, it's disgusting, it's just sick! What if you were in love with a guy? It's against the Bible for God's sakes!"

The words slowly sank in.

"Oh God," Pat whispered, the blood disappearing from his face. "Mom is going to kill us."

"Let's get in the car. Now!" West said hurriedly, pulling on a jacket and then placing his cereal bowl in the sink. He ran outside down to the driveway, Pat following him.

As they got into the car, Pat started to drive like a madman.

They had to get to church. Their mother was having a fund-raiser for the homeless and she had forced Pat and West to help her. They'd reluctantly promised, but now they'd forgotten. She had promised to ground them if they forgot. And they did. Sadly.

Pat slammed the car into a parking space, and West flinched as the sound of screeching tires reached his ears. They clambered out of the car, and headed over to where their mom was standing. She looked extremely flustered, and started howling at them as they approached her.

"You were supposed to be here HALF AN HOUR AGO!" she screamed.

West and Pat tried to apologize, but not before she had sentenced them to one week's of grounding. However, neither of them were too worried. She tended to forget easily.

About four minutes later, West and Pat found themselves standing behind a bunch of counters, selling old donated stuff to crazy old ladies. (One of them hit Pat with her cane, saying that he was a selfish son of Satan).

They stood there for hours in the blazing sun, and finally the ladies began to trickle down and disappear. Pat was starving; he headed off to a nearby McDonald's, while West remained behind to help his mom clean up.

As most of the extra stuff was put away and the money was counted, (3,459 dollars raised in total—the ladies were mean, but they were rich), West managed to slip away and into the church. (He headed for the adult section, not the contemporary section for teens).

He liked the quietness of the Church and the way his footsteps echoed on the floor.

He sat down at one of the empty pews and looked up around the room, noticing a couple of other people around him. He needed to find an answer. He started speaking in a low voice, hoping that God could hear him.

West wasn't extremely religious, but he asked for help when he was in a tight spot. He didn't pray everyday like his parents did. He asked for guidance scarcely, the same way that Pat did.

"Dear God, if You do exist. I don't know… You've never shown Yourself to me before. I do believe, don't get me wrong… it's just… never mind. It's me, West. Umm… I know I don't do this too much, praying, I mean, but I felt I should… for once or something. This time… I really need Your help.

"You must know Patrick, my brother. He hates homosexuals, and as You know, I'm one. He says that they're against the Bible.

"God, I'm gay, I'll admit it. But I'm in love too. God, please protect my Joel. He's my everything. I love him. And God, if it's so wrong, why does it feel so right? Why does it feel so right when he kisses me? Why does my heart race up when I see him? Why do I feel so happy when I know he's coming and I'm going to see him?

"Yet, why does Pat hate him so much? Why does Pat hate people… like me so much? Please God, please let Pat accept me. He means so much to me. I love him, God. Please protect my brother.

"I guess You're too busy for me. But if You do have a chance, please help. Thank You God. Amen."

But as West sat there, he knew his answer wasn't coming so soon. It would take longer than he had bargained for.