Page 20 of Within These County Lines

I tell myself not to be disappointed. I know he only invited me there to humiliate me. There was nothing I could have done to salvage the conversation. But it still stings. Murray has a way of making me feel everything in extremes—humiliation, love, and all emotions in between. He’s always been good at making me feel special.

Like that night in October of our junior year during one of his football games. The scoreboard suddenly lit up with: Stetson, will you go to junior prom with me? (Murray)

I was so confused. Junior prom wasn’t until April. Two hundred and fifteen people watched me descend an entire flight of stadium steps toward Murray, who stood waiting by the field’s fence. I knew the exact number because the second my name flashed across the field, I panicked and counted them all.

“Is that for me?” I asked him.

“Of course,” he said, grinning widely. “What other Stetson and Murray are there?”

My cheeks warmed, looking back at the sea of faces watching us. “Junior prom is so far away.”

“Yeah, but I liked this idea. I didn’t want anyone to steal it because I knew you deserved it the most.”

Or when, not long after that promposal, the county paper ran an article about Murray being one of the few openly gay kids in town. The headline read: Local High School Football Star Lives Out His Small-Town Dream. When the journalist asked where he found the courage to live so openly, Murray said, “My boyfriend makes it easy.”

He even refused to let them publish his story unless they gave me my own article too. So, in January, I ended up being featured in the Penango County Spring Track and Field Preview. It wasn’t about me or my relationship with Murray. But I was quoted a couple times and Mom framed it and hung it in my bedroom.

But the following fall, after a football game, Murray used his talents against me—and I felt special in all the wrong ways.

Whitley and I walked into a barn party, the air thick with the smell of hay and cheap beer. The dim yellow barn light cast a mustard glow over the crowd. I did a quick head count—thirty of our classmates, all familiar faces. Most of them were wearing silver and black Stillwell Trail High gear.

My view went straight to Murray. He was perched on the second story, his long legs dangling over the edge. His jersey was still on, his cheeks flushed from the game. He held a red plastic cup in one hand, and the other was slung lazily around a teammate’s shoulder. Bits of hay drifted down through the air every time they moved.

I waved. His glassy eyes landed on me, and for a second, I thought he’d wave back. But before he could, his teammate stood and shoved him aside.

“My people!” the guy bellowed with his arms outstretched. “Let’s welcome Penango’s smartest man to the party, Stetson Delancey! He’s got bigger dreams than ours.”

My heart slammed into my throat. Whitley’s head snapped toward me. The barn fell silent, except for the low chuckles of the football team.

“We heard this town isn’t good enough for you anymore,” one called out.

“Yeah,” another voice chimed in. “Are you sure you even want to be here? This might not be your scene.”

Whitley grabbed my shoulder. “What’s going on?” she asked. “This party sucks.” My hands trembled, so I shoved them in my pockets.

My eyes locked on Murray. “Are you serious?” I shouted. My voice cracked with anger. He just stared at his feet.

I swallowed hard. “You’re right!” I said, my voice sharper. “I don’t want to be here.” I spun on my heel and burst through the barn doors, letting the night swallow me before I said something I’d regret.

The most annoying thing about feelings is that the more I try to control them, the harder they bite back. I broke up with Murray because I thought it was the right thing to do to get space and grow on my own. But ever since then, I haven’t stopped thinking about him.

And now, my chest tightens as I try to figure out how to balance Murray’s needs and Xander’s.

Freshman year, I would’ve been thrilled to have two boys obsessed with me. Like, what do you mean I’m in a love triangle with a jock and an edgy guy from the woods?

Just four years later, and the thought exhausts me. I’m on Do Not Disturb!

Then my phone lights up in the cupholder.

I sigh, already assuming it’s Murray, and roll my eyes as the vibration rattles against the plastic. I ignore the call, letting it go to voicemail while I dig around for my earbuds, ready to tune out the world.

But my phone rings again. A jolt of frustration shoots down my arm as I snatch the phone from the console to silence it. Before I do, Whitley’s face flashes on the screen. My eye twitches.

It’s not Murray.

Without hesitating, I swipe to accept the call.

“Hey, Whitley,” I say.