Title: The Gravity Between Us
Publication date: October 17th 2013
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance
Synopsis
Where does friendship stop and love begin?
At just 19, Kendall Bettencourt is Hollywood’s hottest young starlet with the world at her feet – but behind the glamour and designer dresses is a girl who longs for normal.
Payton Taylor is Kendall’s best friend since childhood, and the one person who reminds her of who she really is – her refuge from the craziness of celebrity life.
With her career taking off, Kendall moves Payton to LA to help keep her sane. But Payton is hiding a secret that could make everything ten times worse. Because to her, Kendall is more than a best friend – she is the only girl that she has ever loved.
Just as they need each other more than ever, they’ll have to answer the question of where friendship stops and love begins? And find out whether the feelings they have can survive the mounting pressure of fame…
The Gravity Between Us is a daring, romantic, emotional story about friendship, love, and finding the courage to be yourself in a crazy world.
New Adult novel: recommended for 17+ due to mature themes and sexual content
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Excerpt
Payton
The Met
is much larger than I remember. It’s teeming with tourists, which turns out to
work in our favor. We walk the halls of the museum in silent anonymity,
drifting through a sea of strangers. Not once does anyone stop to ask Kendall
for a picture or autograph. I can tell she is relieved. Truthfully, I am too.
We reach the photography section and
stop to sit on the floor. And that’s when my senses are tossed into cataclysmic
upheaval. Mounted on the wall in front of us is a print called “Lesbian Couple at
the Monocle.” Instantaneously, I’m anxious. It’s like a sign from the universe
telling me that I need to gather my guts, forget the past, and finally stop
being afraid.
I’ve never said it out loud to anyone.
I’m not sure I should start now. Will saying it give it some kind of molecular
structure that permanently and visibly imprints itself on me? I doubt it. But
saying it means that there is a very real chance I might lose friends and
alienate people. Worst of all, I have no idea how Kendall is going to handle
it. It’s not exactly a topic we’ve discussed much or, like, at all. Will she
still see me the same way she did this morning, last week, last year? At least
if I tell her here, in public, she won’t make a scene. She is notoriously too
good an actor for that. Hell, that’s what she gets paid to do.
I’m about to drop the bomb when
Kendall’s eyes wander up to the photo.
“Lesbian Couple at The Monocle. What?”
She stands up to get a closer look.
“That’s weird. I thought it was a picture
of a man and a woman. Look at it.” She bends down, offers her hand to help me
to my feet. For an instant I think about refusing it for fear that my palms are
sweaty. I decide I’m being ridiculous, but wipe my hands on my jeans just in
case.
I
clear my throat before speaking and immediately notice how annoyingly hollow
and gruff that sounds. “I would think it was a man and a woman too, at first
glance.”
“It’s interesting how old this picture
is and how much society has changed since it was taken.”
“What?”
I’m so close to full-blown panic, I’m willing to bet it’s written all over my
face. “What do you mean?”
“Like, back in the day,” she starts
lightly. “I mean, she is clearly a woman,” she points at the print, “but she is dressed like a man. I suppose there
had to be that, I don’t know that… dynamic back then. If it were a picture of
two girls…” She’s getting flustered, blushing a bit, but she presses on. “Okay,
say it were a picture of me and you. That caption, ‘Lesbian Couple at the
Monocle,’ would have sent people’s heads spinning more than I’m sure it already
did. Do you see what I’m saying? It’s like there had to be one feminine woman
and one more masculine woman for it to have been understood that they were a
couple.”
“Oh.” I want to say ‘what?’ again, but
know I shouldn’t. “You’re talking about stereotypes?”
“Yes! That’s it! Like today, just
because a woman has short hair or wears racer back tanks doesn’t mean she’s a
lesbian.”
“And on the flipside, just because a
woman has long hair or wears skirts doesn’t mean she’s straight,” I add.
“Right! Those notions don’t apply to
the world anymore is what I was trying to say.”
“I get it. You can’t go by what a
person looks like.”
“Exactly!”
Then it hits me. This is it. It’s now
or never, put up or shut up. I’ve gotta go for it. “So, if I were to tell you
that I’m gay, it wouldn’t be all that surprising—purely based on the fact that
I have a feminine appearance.”
“No, not based on your appearance.
Based on the fact that I know you, maybe…”
I’m staring at her now. Blatantly
staring. Was that too indirect? Should I
be more forward?
“Wait,” she says, her eyes narrowing in
on me. “Are you trying to tell me that you…”
I motion yes with my head. “I’m gay, Kendall.”
And then there is silence—a very deep,
impenetrable stillness. I want to curl into the fetal position and die right
here in the middle of this world class museum.
“Um, how about we do that lunch thing
I’m letting you pay for? I need a beverage,” She says finally.
It’s not at all what I was expecting to
hear. “Sure.”
We walk down to the Rock ‘n Roll Deli,
neither of us uttering a word to the other. When we arrive, I order her
favorite, tuna salad on a whole wheat wrap, and my tried-and-true staple,
grilled cheese and tomato on rye, while she finds a booth in the back.
I haul ass over to her with our food
atop a bright red, plastic tray. She snatches her wrap from the tray, but
doesn’t eat it right away. Instead, she is hell-bent on gawping at me for I
don’t know how long. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, but it’s as if she is
somewhere between eyeing up a piece of meat and staring down a rabid dog.
“So,
you’re like, gay gay?” she asks after
taking a few bites of her wrap.
“Uh,” I pause to think over her
question. “Is there some kind of non-gay gay?”
She laughs—the kind of good, hearty
laugh that always gets me laughing, too.
“What I mean is that you’re gay, as in,
exclusively. Not like bisexual?”
“Yes, exclusively. I’m an exclusive
lesbian. Though, syntactically, that would indicate that I’m difficult to get
into or something, like one of your hot LA nightclubs.”
“It’s impressive that you’re able to
maintain your hilariousness even when talking about serious, life-altering
things.”
“Well, it’s not like some crazy Body
Snatcher thing happened, but yeah, it is pretty life-altering.”
“How long have you known?”
“For a long time, but I didn’t start to
think of it as a fact until I was sixteen.”
At that, I see her expression change.
She’s offended, or hurt, or something. Maybe a little bit of both. “Seriously,
Payton? You’ve known for ‘a fact’ for nearly three years, and you’re
only telling me now? Jesus, are you that scared of me?”
“No, not at all!” I shake my head
fervently. Terrific, I have to tell her the story. This is one memory I was hoping to never relive. It might be old
news, but it sucked enough to damage me irreparably. Every time I think about
it, I start trembling like a dead leaf in the wind. “Do you remember Amanda
Garrison? She was a year ahead of us in school.”
“Amanda Garrison.” She taps the table
top as though trying to place a face to the name. “Yeah, I remember her. She
was the captain of the soccer team the year before you were, right?”
“Right.”
“Uh huh. What about her?”
Here we go. “I kind of had a thing with her. It
wasn’t, like, love at first sight or anything. I just knew that I liked her and
that she liked me, too. We started talking a lot after practice, went out on a
couple of dates. Eventually her parents found out about it; I’m still not sure
how. They went through her text messages or something. Anyway, it doesn’t
matter. The point is, her mom totally flipped out. She dragged Amanda to my
house and demanded to talk to my mom. Mom wasn’t home—thank God—but when I told
Mrs. Garrison that, she started screaming at me. She kept telling me that her
daughter wasn’t gay, and I had better stay away from her. She forbid Amanda
from seeing me; she even went as far as making her quit the team. From that day
on, Amanda wouldn’t even look at me. It was so brutal.
After that, the thought of coming out
to anyone was paralyzing. I pretty much dined on an unhealthy diet of
self-loathing and terror. It took me a long time to get comfortable in my own
skin—I’m still working on it. But at this point, I’m just too exhausted from
keeping it a secret to even bother trying anymore.”
Her revolted expression speaks volumes.
It’s enough for me to know what she’s going to do next. She reaches across the
booth and takes my hand in her own. “Wow, Payton. That’s monumentally messed
up. I’m sorry that happened to you. Some people are just so closed-minded.”
“Some people are, and that’s also part
of the reason I’ve been hesitant to tell you. You’re a celebrity now. Your face
is already plastered all over the tabloids, and you’re just doing normal
teenage crap. What if it got out that some girl you’re always flying
cross-country to visit is a big old homo? I’m sure that would start some
delightful rumors. Rumors create rifts between people. So you see, I wasn’t
scared of you. I was scared I might lose you.”
“The tabloids are going to write what
they’re going to write regardless of what the truth is, Payton. I can’t let it
bother me. Plus, hello? I live in Hollywood.
It would be insane to think that I don’t have any gay friends! And lose me?
That will never happen. I’m like a bad case of herpes—just ‘cuz you can’t see
me doesn’t mean I’m not there.”
“Herpes! Eww,” I roll my eyes. “That is
a horrible analogy.”
“Yeah, but it’s kind of funny and also
very true.”
“So, we’re okay then? We’re cool?”
“Are we cool?” She drags out the
“cool,” leans back in her seat, and crosses her arms. “Yeah, dude, everything’s
cool. Everything’s smooth.” She’s making fun of me, and I couldn’t be happier
about it.
“Sweet, dude. Finish your wrap.”
She brings the last bite to her lips
and abruptly stops. “Hold the phone. If you’re into girls, what the hell was
with you and Scott Strafford the end of junior year?”
“Let’s chalk it up to a last ditch
effort at heterosexuality.”
She stuffs the bread into her mouth.
“Yeah, you should’ve picked someone else. If I had to choose between that
asshole and lesbianism, I’d go gay all the way. Seriously, I considered asking
your mom to have you committed. Only a mental patient could’ve fallen for that
jerk.”
“I’m going to write The Inquirer and let them know that one
of Hollywood’s It Girls talks with her mouth full.”
“See food.” She sticks out her
tuna-covered tongue. “It’s all the rage.”
“Charming,” I lark. “No wonder all the
guys find you irresistible.”
“Harhar,” she says and grabs the tray
from the table. “Let’s get out of here.”
Kristen is a New Jersey-based freelance writer and editor. A member of the International Women’s Writing Guild, she holds a B.A. in English with a Concentration in Creative Writing from Montclair State University. She also studied Music Performance with a focus on percussion instruments at Five Towns College. When not busy writing or burying her nose in books of the YA/New Adult fiction persuasion, Kristen enjoys spending time with her family, which includes two adorable Black Lab mixes and a very patient Better Half, and making electronic music. The Gravity Between Us, a contemporary New Adult Romance, is her first novel.
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