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Our helmets clashed as Flash and I hugged, and then we high-fived our teammates. The irony was that sports was more hands-on with testosterone-fueled heterosexual men than anyone wanted to let on. After we’d smacked each other’s asses enough times, would they really balk at hearing I was probably gay? Okay, definitely gay.
But I was too chicken to do anything about it…except daydream about getting to know Lark Levitt.
The time on the clock had whittled down to the two-minute warning; we’d held them back, and soon enough I was kneeling at the line of scrimmage to run out the clock and take the win. The triumphant mood in the locker room was contagious, and there was already talk of taking the celebration to our clubhouse tonight, which Coach had decked out with couches, a fridge, a television, and a stereo. With the help of donations, of course. Coach had rounded up old friends from college days, Dad being one of them, who were willing to donate money, and the rest was history.
That whole prestige thing again.
It was supposed to be a place the team could feel at home and relax before and after games, but when we won at home, it became party central.
We showered and changed and then began filing out of the locker room to head to our dorms or meet up with our families.
“Meet at the clubhouse in an hour,” Bones said before going out the door.
My parents were waiting for me in the parking lot, and that doused some of the excitement because Dad was sure to offer his version of constructive criticism despite our win.
Dad clapped me on the back. “Good job today.”
I used to live for those compliments from him, but now they didn’t feel like enough. The shine was wearing off the older and more distant from them I got. “You had a couple of missed opportunities, but at least you were able to stay on your feet this time.”
He was referring to the fact that I hadn’t gotten sacked all game—at least not behind the line of scrimmage. I’d gotten tackled plenty when I stepped out of the pocket and ran the ball myself to get the first down.
“He always plays well,” Mom said because she was constantly straddling the line between us, trying to appease us both. But when Dad put his foot down on one idea or another—like hiding my medical history—she always gave in. And let’s be honest, so did I. Maybe I never felt like the argument was worth it, or maybe deep down I thought he was right. But lately, I wasn’t so sure.
“Thanks, Mom,” I said as she pulled me into an embrace. I’d always liked her hugs, and tonight I welcomed it.
When Dad wasn’t around, she gave me plenty of attention, and some of my favorite moments when I was sick were when it was just the two of us. She’d lay off the pep-team attitude with all the we’re-going-to-fight-this chants and just let me cry and be held.
Those times seemed too few and far between of late—not that I needed them as an adult, but every now and then, I ached to be heard and held by someone who got it.
Dad thought Mom doted on me too much, so he had to temper it with his bravado talk. “You looked tough out there, confident, like a leader should look. Keep it up.”
“Thanks.”
Mom had intimated once that his dad was the same. I’d never met my grandfather, but I always imagined him telling my dad to stand up straighter and be tough, which likely fed into all his insecurities.
It also helped explain why he’d felt so helpless as a kid. His father could’ve lifted him up, told him how proud he was as he embraced his disability, and shown other kids that he had the same goals and dreams as them. But he hadn’t. And now he was repeating the pattern with me.And you’re allowing it by not making any waves.My stomach roiled.
“We’re going to hit the road. You go celebrate with your teammates,” Dad said with a gleam in his eye. No doubt he was proud of his contribution to the clubhouse and his relationship with the coach too because as soon as Coach made an appearance outside, Dad lifted his arm in greeting. “Clint, good game!”
They met in the middle to catch up or whatever the hell they did. It seemed that everything the team did eventually got back to Dad, so that was another thing that made me uneasy. He had never played a day of football in his life, but he lived and breathed it through us. No wonder I was always on my best behavior.
“We’ll be back in a couple of weeks for Parents’ Day,” Mom said as I watched Dad and Coach with a frown.
Parents’ Day was an event that took place every year, sort of like an open house in grade school where your parents came, met the teachers, and discussed what the students were learning in each class. I wondered if Lark’s mom would be in attendance too.
“Yeah, about that,” I blurted out, panic taking hold that our families would be at the same event. It was bound to happen eventually, but I’d thought I would have more time.
“What’s the matter?” Mom asked, the worry clear in her expression.
Exhaustion from the effort of keeping the pieces and parts together suddenly overwhelmed me. I just didn’t feel like I could deal with this tonight. “Nothing. See you then.”
Back at the dorm, I put my bag away and followed Spencer out to the common room, where the others were celebrating. Flash was good at smuggling in alcohol from his older brother, but no one wanted to get caught, so we took turns taking swigs from the bottle in his room until we were sufficiently buzzed. Some weekends we left the dorm and headed somewhere in town to eat, but tonight we walked as a group across campus to the clubhouse.
Sometimes Coach would join us after games, and we’d have to be on our best behavior, only to breathe a sigh of relief when he finally called it a night. Tonight he’d switched on the wide-screen television to the sports channel and had ordered enough pizza to feed the whole team and then some.
As soon as he bowed out, invited guests showed up, the television was muted, and the music turned up. Some of the guys were already dancing with female fans or girls from the cheer squad.
This was when I tried so hard to fit in. I liked hanging out with the guys, but when I was egged on by a couple of cheerleaders to dance, I pretended to be interested. Not that I could dance. I essentially shuffled my feet for a bit and then escaped to the refreshments table.
