I’m not sure I trust anyone else to keep their mouth shut. 3dge-m3—shit,Chris, hasn’t done anything wrong. At least I don’t think he has. If sexting with strangers is illegal, then I’m just as guilty. I’m 21. Far as Chris knew, he was texting some townie. If this gets out—shit, is he evenout?
Hockey and figure skating are complete opposites in that regard. Boys in my middle school decided I was gay before I did, based solely on the fact I did ballet and figure skating. Admitting that Matthew Breslen from third-period math was right was way harder than admitting I liked boys. At least I could commiserate with the other guys in my sports; a lot of them had it way worse than me. It’s real rough when the onlygirl you’ve ever held hands with is your pairs partner, who is also your sister.
Meanwhile, there’s never been an out and active NHL player. From what I hear it’s a little better in the minor leagues. Like a lot of sports, the baked-in homoeroticism really pushes guys into toxic territory. I don’t know. Maybe it’s gotten better. I should ask Terrence or Leroy if there are any gay coaches. Real casual conversation.
Back at the dorm, I take a long, hot shower and find myself counting the stall’s wall tiles. I’m surprised I don’t use up the building’s hot water. My hair is still wet when I crack open my Aesthetics textbook. It’s like I haven’t left the shower. I read each word independent of one another, finding it impossible to string together the sentences. Like I don’t struggle enough already in this class.
Accepting that I’m not actually getting any work done, I check my phone. Practice should be over by now. Most nights I grab dinner with Terrence and a few guys from the team, a good chance to feel out what the situation is with Chris, but I’m impatient and send a text to Terrence.
How’s the new coach?
I open up poundr. My message is still marked as unread. Maybe Chris panic swiped the notification so he’ll never see my message. That’s the good ending to this story, the kind of thing I can keep to myself till graduation. Then, when it’s safe, Terrence and I can have a laugh over it.Hahah. Rod saw Coach Chris’ dick,hilarious.
Terrence responds faster than expected.
Dude I dunno he’s intense but nice about it.
wdym?
still feeling him out
Fair enough.
I attempt to study some more when my phone dings. I’m expecting another message from Terrence, an offer to go into town for dinner instead of the dining hall, but it’s a poundr notification. I could ignore it, narrate my own happy ending, and save Terrence’s graduation present. But I tap the notification.
3dge-m3:I’m free at 8. your place or mine?
Like any good college student, I put off doing the actual hard work.
TwinkleTop:8 is good. Your place. I have roommates
Maybe I should add,you actually know him!But that’s a bit much. For my own peace of mind, I shouldn’t assume 3dge-m3 and Coach Chris are the same person.
I make my way to the dining hall. My thoughts are so damn loud I barely hear Terrence calling to me from a few yards away.
“Hey!” He touches my shoulder as he comes up behind me. His hair is wet after practice, the only time anyone ever sees him without a backward baseball cap. He’s got me trapped under his arm as we enter the dining hall. “Perfect timing, I’m starving, did you bring my empty tupperware?”
There’s no rule against taking food out of the hall so long as you can carry it out. Terrence loves to talk about how his fellow students fail to fully abuse this rule. But he fails to realize most people have a concept of shame. That and a more refined palate.
A bunch of freshmen at the front of the line slow us down as they struggle with scanning their IDs. Terrence pushes, “I left it on my desk.”
“Sorry, I zoned.” Despite making fun of his beat-the-education-system-life-hack, I do usually bring him his tupperware from the dorm.
“Nah, it’s alright. Hey, we could go halfsies on a pizza later tonight.”
“You know this isn’t what coaches mean when they suggest meal planning.” I land a soft elbow into his gut. “And you know I can’t have late night snacks right now.”
“You say that all the time.”
“And I’ve got plans tonight.”
“Yeah, demolishing a two topping twelve inch with me.”
“Sorry, can you say that a little louder?” We swipe our cards. “Really emphasize the twelve inches part.”
We grab food and convene in our usual spot, right as a few other guys from the team file in. Terrence eyes my plate of more beans than rice and a good helping of salad. “Damn you’re serious about the diet already.”
“Maude wants me to start yoga.” I stab some leafy greens onto my fork.
