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I had even stood up at the caucus in February and declared myself for him (my attendance there sealed my ‘A’ in Mr. Harrington’s civics class). I entered my credit card number, confirmed I was eighteen years old or older, pushed the fifteen dollar contribution button, and promptly reached my credit card limit. Now, if I could only win, this would be a graduation present all right - a dinner with Mr. Dreamboat and the next President of the United States in Los Angeles, California. Six days later and now an official High School Graduate, I received an e-mail with the subject, “Congratulations, You Won!” I was about to delete it as junk mail when I recognized the name. I clicked it open. I stared at it over and over as I read, “You have been chosen to have dinner with the future President of the United States at the home of his Hollywood Star friend.” There was a telephone number to call, immediately, to confirm my acceptance. I called within the next second and talked to a senior. Gustav did not know why he wasn’t more surprised at his friend’s advance. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Erich but could feel his eyes upon him like a hard slap across the face. The intensity of the moment they had shared the other night still a fresh wound in his memory, the guilt a vicious beast gnawing at his conscience. He bore just as much of the blame for this as Erich, if not more. He came from a strong family, a house of values, of God-fearing decency. His friend lacked this solid ground beneath his feet and thus his behaviour could be pardoned, but Gustav knew better. And yet the urging of his loins was too powerful. The sense of morality his parents, his teachers and his priest had worked for years to instill in him was strong, but this... this was stronger. The good boy did not stand a chance against the depraved and wanton young man he was fast becoming. The prospect of shame and the enticing promise of a heaven he was not meant to know weighed heavily on Erich’s.
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