Status: Finished c:
You Could Be My Compass
Prologue
They were thrown together.
That’s the only way you could describe their friendship. It wasn’t a beautiful happenstance encounter. They didn’t meet in pre-school. To be perfectly honest, they didn’t have much of a choice in the matter of their friendship. They were doomed to become best friends before they were born. It was inevitable.
The fault belonged to their fathers. Isn’t that how it always go? Blame everything on your parents. No, the blame really did lie with their parents in this case. Their dads were best friends from sixth grade onwards. They went to a private school together, having come from wealthy families. Top of their class—literally: Gaskarth was the valedictorian; Barakat was salutatorian by one tenth of a point. Both attended the same Ivy League school, where they met the women who would become their wives.
As fate would have it, those women were roommates. Typical. The four were an inseparable group. It only made sense that after graduation, they would go into business together. They had no idea just how successful it would be. By the time their wives announced that they were both expecting—again, it was inevitable—Barakat-Gaskarth was a household name. They were known across the nation for…
Well, nobody was actually sure what they did. That didn’t matter, though. They had success and wealth. Of course, with success and wealth comes one thing you don’t want when you have a kid on the way:
Enemies.
Both families decided it would be for the best if they relocated to a secure neighborhood. The gated type with passcodes to get into any of the many amenities offered. That was where the two boys would grow up, right next door to each other.
Inevitable.
Their mothers—and fathers, for that matter—were paranoid. Private tutors were hired for the first few years of their education. They lived a sheltered life, not having friends outside of each other. Their world was their block of the large neighborhood. Until age nine, they didn’t know that life existed beyond that.
They did finally go to real school. Jack’s mother had attended public school and she convinced her friends and husband that it would be a good experience, even if they only went for a year. They were given careful instructions and driven in the Gaskarth family limo.
Everybody loved them at first. It was impossible not to. They were naïve and awkward and shy and goofy and rich. Every single kid in the fourth grade wanted to be their best friend. Despite all the offers, they preferred to stick together. It was safest that way. It was comfortable. They knew they’d made the right decision when they heard Rian, who had initially tried to befriend them, whispering to someone else, calling them snotty rich kids.
Were they?
They stuck to the rules their parents gave them, following them to the letter. They didn’t go home with anybody else, called as soon as school let out, and when they started middle school and were given cell phones, they texted their mothers hourly to let them know that nothing had happened to them. They rolled their eyes each and every time without fail; they didn’t see any threat to them. But it was for their own safety, as Mrs. Barakat was always quick to point out when one of them protested what they thought were stupid rules. They could quote her speech word for word.
They were twelve when it happened. It was April in their sixth grade year, and they were feeling rebellious. Instead of getting in the car rider line and waiting for one of the many family cars—it switched frequently so that nobody could notice a pattern, leading them to wonder more and more who it was their parents were afraid of—they decided that the weather was nice and that they would walk home.
It was Alex’s idea, mostly. Jack agreed to it, though. Everything was going great, and just when they reached their neighborhood, a car pulled up.
When Alex looked back, he couldn’t remember if it happened in slow motion or too quickly to process. A man climbed out of the car, gun in hand. He pointed it at Alex, while another man grabbed Jack. Alex was screaming but no sound would come out. He was scared out of his mind and he wanted to run but his feet were glued to the ground as his best—his only—friend was thrown roughly into the car.
After he called 9-1-1 and his and Jack’s parents, he sank to his knees, still in the same spot, one thought running through his mind:
Why not me?
That was five years ago.
That’s the only way you could describe their friendship. It wasn’t a beautiful happenstance encounter. They didn’t meet in pre-school. To be perfectly honest, they didn’t have much of a choice in the matter of their friendship. They were doomed to become best friends before they were born. It was inevitable.
The fault belonged to their fathers. Isn’t that how it always go? Blame everything on your parents. No, the blame really did lie with their parents in this case. Their dads were best friends from sixth grade onwards. They went to a private school together, having come from wealthy families. Top of their class—literally: Gaskarth was the valedictorian; Barakat was salutatorian by one tenth of a point. Both attended the same Ivy League school, where they met the women who would become their wives.
As fate would have it, those women were roommates. Typical. The four were an inseparable group. It only made sense that after graduation, they would go into business together. They had no idea just how successful it would be. By the time their wives announced that they were both expecting—again, it was inevitable—Barakat-Gaskarth was a household name. They were known across the nation for…
Well, nobody was actually sure what they did. That didn’t matter, though. They had success and wealth. Of course, with success and wealth comes one thing you don’t want when you have a kid on the way:
Enemies.
Both families decided it would be for the best if they relocated to a secure neighborhood. The gated type with passcodes to get into any of the many amenities offered. That was where the two boys would grow up, right next door to each other.
Inevitable.
Their mothers—and fathers, for that matter—were paranoid. Private tutors were hired for the first few years of their education. They lived a sheltered life, not having friends outside of each other. Their world was their block of the large neighborhood. Until age nine, they didn’t know that life existed beyond that.
They did finally go to real school. Jack’s mother had attended public school and she convinced her friends and husband that it would be a good experience, even if they only went for a year. They were given careful instructions and driven in the Gaskarth family limo.
Everybody loved them at first. It was impossible not to. They were naïve and awkward and shy and goofy and rich. Every single kid in the fourth grade wanted to be their best friend. Despite all the offers, they preferred to stick together. It was safest that way. It was comfortable. They knew they’d made the right decision when they heard Rian, who had initially tried to befriend them, whispering to someone else, calling them snotty rich kids.
Were they?
They stuck to the rules their parents gave them, following them to the letter. They didn’t go home with anybody else, called as soon as school let out, and when they started middle school and were given cell phones, they texted their mothers hourly to let them know that nothing had happened to them. They rolled their eyes each and every time without fail; they didn’t see any threat to them. But it was for their own safety, as Mrs. Barakat was always quick to point out when one of them protested what they thought were stupid rules. They could quote her speech word for word.
They were twelve when it happened. It was April in their sixth grade year, and they were feeling rebellious. Instead of getting in the car rider line and waiting for one of the many family cars—it switched frequently so that nobody could notice a pattern, leading them to wonder more and more who it was their parents were afraid of—they decided that the weather was nice and that they would walk home.
It was Alex’s idea, mostly. Jack agreed to it, though. Everything was going great, and just when they reached their neighborhood, a car pulled up.
When Alex looked back, he couldn’t remember if it happened in slow motion or too quickly to process. A man climbed out of the car, gun in hand. He pointed it at Alex, while another man grabbed Jack. Alex was screaming but no sound would come out. He was scared out of his mind and he wanted to run but his feet were glued to the ground as his best—his only—friend was thrown roughly into the car.
After he called 9-1-1 and his and Jack’s parents, he sank to his knees, still in the same spot, one thought running through his mind:
Why not me?
That was five years ago.
♠ ♠ ♠
This was just the somewhat necessary background information, blahblahblah. I don't own Jack or Alex or anyone in this story. Story title credit goes to Happy Endings Are Stories That Haven't Ended Yet by Mayday Parade.