Page 2 of The Way We Swing

“Sophomore. I’m sixteen, though,” he said, almost guiltily as we walked back to the group.

“Hey, Easton, guess what?” Gavin said when we rejoined the group. Who the hell was Easton?

“What’s that?” New Kid answered. Right. His name wasn’t New Kid, it was Easton.

“We have a pool and a batting cage. You should come hang out.”

I shook my head at Gavin, who’d strike up a conversation with a parking meter if it looked lonely.

Easton looked at me with his eyebrow raised, still smiling, asking for permission without saying a word. Then I saw his dimples.

Why did he have to have dimples? They were my kryptonite, like light switches that turned on red bulbs in my cheeks.

The last thing I needed was him at my house, in my pool, in my head—but try telling that to Gavin.

“Sure. Did you drive?”

“Walked. Let me text my grandparents where I’m going.”

Grandparents. Not parents. He said it like it explained everything, but it just added to the mystery. Who was this dude?

My brothers and Easton got in the car; Zach sat in front, absorbed in his phone. Easton and Gavin talked in the back as if they had been friends for a decade.

I sat in silence, thinking about my one rule in life: absolutely no lusting after a teammate. Too many complications, too tough to keep that secret.

It was an easy rule to follow when I’d played with the same guys for the last twelve years. We’d grown up together, and they were basically brothers at this point.

I stopped my thoughts of Easton from racing too far as we pulled into our driveway. Ricky pulled up behind me in his mom’s green minivan. Easton, Zach, and Gavin were out of the car in a second; I was sure Gavin was giving his new best friend the grand tour.

I looked at the house we’d lived in since I was eleven. Mom and Dad had bought it, saying it was time the three of us had our own rooms before we burned our previous house to the ground.

Mom and Dad had always been good to us. I figured they’d be okay with it…but I couldn’t really be sure. I’d read stories about kids getting kicked out of what they’d thought were loving homes. I’d seen the hate gay people got all over social media.

And being a gay athlete? Yeah, right. Everyone knew the expectation when you played sports: find a girlfriend, fall in love, have 2.5 kids and the white picket fence, possibly with a golden retriever. College might be different—but not now.

“Who is he?” Ricky asked as he got to my car.

“Easton,” I said.

“That’s all you’ve got for me?” Ricky asked.

“That’s all I know.”

“Want me to dig around?” For Ricky, digging around meant searching online to find out everything social media could tell him.

“No, Ricky. Just be normal and talk to him like you’re human.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked as we made our way to my room as splashing noises already came from the back yard.

“He seems fine,” I muttered, “Just…don’t run him away.”

“Fine. Toss me a pair of swimming trunks.”

Ricky had yet to bring his own pair since we got the pool five years ago. I’d given up on reminding him, so I tossed him a pair and shut my door.

I changed with my back to Ricky, quick and practiced. Shirt off, trunks on, don’t look. Don’t think. I wasn’t scared of doing anything—I was scared of looking like I might. One second too long, that was all it would take.

Any hint of being gay needed to be squashed as quickly as possible. Before it could turn into a problem.