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“Please, Henry barely talks to any girls as it is,” A-Train said, and that was the crux of the problem, wasn’t it? It was hard to pretend to like girls and even harder to taper my attraction to guys. My sexuality was a dawning realization since the beginning of high school—and maybe even earlier if I was being honest with myself. But it was a hard pill to swallow. I had too much on the line. At least, it sure felt that way.
“I don’t have time for bullshit.” The lie came easily enough, but it still made me squirm. “I can barely keep up with homework outside of practice and dealing with your stupid asses on the field.”
“Sounds like Mr. Team Captain has got his hands full with you idiots,” Spencer joked to the offensive line. There was always a rivalry between them and Special Teams.
“Maybe they need to be even fuller,” Flash said, gesturing with his hands. “Sex can definitely help loosen you up.”
Spencer glanced at me and smirked. “Then you wouldn’t have to use your own hand so much.”
He was no different. I’d heard him jerking off plenty in the middle of the night. The problem was, I wasn’t interested in girls, no matter how much I tried or pretended to be. But I had to keep playing the part in front of my teammates, even if the male dancer across the dining hall was more intriguing.
“You dick,” I said, wiping my mouth with a napkin.
“He’s got a point,” Spencer replied in a softer voice.
“Maybe I will, so lay off.” I stood to toss my leftovers. “See you at practice.”
I slowed down as I passed by Lark’s table, pretending to fiddle with something in my bag. I overheard him reminding Bones’s roommate—Emil—that they had the same ballet class last period of the day. Not that I was eavesdropping or anything.
I was too chicken to make eye contact or say hello. Wouldn’t want to get teased more by my teammates, I told myself. Pathetic.
After my Computer Assisted Design class I went back to the dorm—Murphy House, named after some ancient affluent family because they donated a shit ton of money over the years. Something my own father aspired to, which made keeping this secret even more nerve-racking. He’d never been able to play football due to his epilepsy, so having his name associated with something at his beloved college was second best. Like he was counting on me to make his dream come to fruition.
Spence was already in the room because he’d dropped one of his afternoon classes. Football practice was in an hour, but I was feeling restless. “I need to get something straightened out with my school ID,” I said, skirting by him toward the door. “See you in the locker room.”
And then I wandered around campus, trying to settle down. I slipped inside the bell tower, my favorite, secret hiding spot. I’d found it last year during a particularly hard conversation with my father regarding a dismal test score, and it helped calm my heart rate. But even walking up the concrete steps and sitting high above campus didn’t help this time. Still, I took an extra five minutes for some deep breaths before climbing back down.
Glancing around to make sure no one I knew was in the vicinity, I walked into the Performing Arts building and moseyed past the classrooms, trying to find Lark. Not that I knew his schedule, but a quick search on my phone gave me some ideas.
Passing by one of the last rooms in the long hall, I spotted him immediately through the open doorway and promptly stepped to the side so he didn’t think I was stalking him. But that was exactly what I was doing. Damn, I really was pathetic.
He was dressed in a loose tank tucked into tight-fitting pants that looked like leggings and showed off every muscle in his thighs. He was holding on to a bar in front of a long mirror and wore similar ballet shoes to the others in the room. When he stretched upward on his arches, he looked like an elegant swan or maybe a crane—fitting for his name.
My pulse was going crazy as I watched him do a warm-up routine along with his female classmates, who wore leotards and had their hair up in buns. There were a few other guys in the class, including Emil, but I couldn’t tear my gaze from Lark to notice more than that.
He was lithe, his movements fluid and elegant. My friends would poke fun at some of these moves, but I thought it was beautiful. As he gracefully lifted his arms in the air to twirl, I noticed the Band-Aids again.
Could his fingers have been injured from dance?
Most of us were certainly banged up plenty from football.
I really needed to stop lurking before I was found out. But I didn’t know when I’d get the opportunity to see him outside of class or lunch on the days we were both in the student center. I didn’t think he lived on campus because I would’ve run into him sooner, like during move-in day.
After watching for another minute, I forced myself to walk away. But somehow seeing him in his element calmed me. Maybe because he was alive, strong, and doing what he loved. That was all it was.
I remembered how after a particularly hard test result in the hospital involving a high white-blood-cell count, I felt bummed and hopeless after my parents left. I had gone to the activity room to try and get my mind off things by playing a game of solitaire, but it didn’t work. Not until Lark came into the room. He saw my face, and somehow he just knew. So he did this silly dance move—like a twirl and a leap straight out ofBilly Elliot. It was sort of wonky because he was weak and didn’t have a lot of momentum. It made me laugh, and I instantly felt better. It was always that way with him.
I headed toward the field, determined to put Lark Levitt out of my mind. At least for today. The guys were up to their usual antics, cracking jokes and talking about girls as we got changed in the locker room. As the team captain, it was up to me to set a good example and rein them in, and they were good sports about it. Though sometimes the weight of what I was carrying so close to the vest felt overwhelming. Add in that the coach and my dad were old friends who spoke regularly, and I never felt comfortable enough to just let it all hang out. Had the guys not voted for me to be their captain last summer, I would’ve thought my dad had something to do with it. But I had stepped up after our senior star quarterback got injured last season, and I’d performed well enough to get us into the playoffs. So thankfully, I had earned the team’s backing on merit, though I never fought for it. In fact, the current seniors on the roster might’ve been better candidates. But as quarterback, I supposed the leadership already came naturally.
“Let’s get out there and start warming up,” I said, corralling them toward the door.
As soon as they stepped on the field, their demeanors changed and they took their job seriously. They knew if they didn’t, Coach would have something to say, and no one wanted to get on his bad side.
During a three-step roll-out drill where the first, second, and third-string quarterbacks were taking snaps from A-Train and other centers, my gaze snagged on someone familiar standing at the far end of the fence. Lark was perched in front of where the marching band was practicing. Bones had mentioned that Emil was also a music major, and come to think of it, he did look familiar. I’d never had time to watch the halftime performance, but they’d used the same field to practice since the summer. Though the noise normally drove us crazy, especially if they were off-tune, Coach said it was good practice to ignore it just like we would the crowd during a game. It had been the same in high school, where some of the practices were terrible, so to me, it had become like white noise.
Even though I couldn’t see Lark’s expression or exactly where his eyes were trained, I pretended he was secretly spying on me too. After another five minutes, he turned and walked toward the exit, and now I was more than curious where he lived and how he got home every day. Did he have his own vehicle, or was he waiting for someone to pick him up?
When I missed the backup quarterback repeatedly calling my name, I knew I needed to get my head out of my ass.
