Between the Blue Sky and You

by Clyde Andrews

  Chance’s appetite disappeared.

  Brody’s presence was another reason for that. More so when the boy sat opposite him with freshly cooked French fries and a burger from the canteen that smelt divine. Chance’s stomach rumbled.

  Brody shrugged, as was common with him Chance realised. “It’s a free country, ain’t it?”

  “Well, go be free someplace else.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Chance, through his confusion and frustration towards the attractive enigma, saw red. He didn’t like the uneasy feeling he got whenever he tried to think of Brody’s motives. Besides, being cautious around straight boys was ingrained into him due to necessity.

  “Look, just leave me alone, Brody. I know what you’re doing. You’re setting me up, waiting for me to do something gay so you can beat the crap outta me and your mates over there can be entertained at my expense. But enough is enough, okay? Please, just leave me alone. I mean it.”

  Brody didn’t move. His deep brown eyes seemed to study Chance. Again, Chance’s stomach tightened, and he got sweaty in places he hated being sweaty in.

  Finally, in a quiet voice only just audible above the din of the canteen, Brody said, “Would you like some of my fries? Because damn, that lunch of yours sure looks nasty, if you ask me.”

  Chance couldn’t believe his ears. Was Brody for real? “I said for you to go away. Or did you want me to spell it out for you?”

  “Fine.” Brody picked up his tray. “I’ll go. Can’t say I didn’t try, though, can you?”

  “What do you mean, you tried?” Then it hit Chance like a slap in the face, which was what he should have expected instead of all this trying to talk to him crap. “Oh, I get it. You were given a bet to come talk to me, weren’t you? As the new captain of the football team, no doubt your teammates challenged you to do it, am I right? Like some sort of hazing thing to go talk to the lonely gay boy for laughs?”

  Brody snorted. “You are a lost cause. You just don’t get it, do you, Chance?” And with that, he stormed off.

  Chance was left to stare at the abomination in his lunch box.

  All he deserved, really.

  3

  Chance lay on his bed, not even bothering to get under the doona. He couldn’t sleep; his mind was a maelstrom of thoughts about what happened today with Brody.

  His phone then buzzed, causing his bedside table to vibrate with a wooden echo, startling him. That was strange. What made it even stranger was that it was a message from Brody.

  Hey, you up? Wanna talk?

  Chance had to blink a few times to clear his head. Okay, he’d just beaten off his meat thinking about Brody and those perfect brown eyes of his looking up at him while his luscious lips were kissing his dick, which meant he was still suffocating in his post euphoric glow and then guilt for even thinking such things. But Brody messaging him after that really good rub out session was freaky.

  Chance texted back: No.

  A reply came in immediately. We are talking because you answered me. So stiff shit, we’re in a conversation now. How was your day?

  What the actual…

  Chance typed back, unable to believe the audacity of the guy. None of your business.

  Fine, be that way. But my day was good even though you told me to get lost. Ouch, that hurt. Chance felt pangs of guilt, because he knew all too well what rejection felt like. He read on. I found out our first fixture of the season is to play Werribee on the weekend. A Sunday game, too. I think we’ll smash ‘em. What do you think?

  Chance, after the guilt subsided, became numb with…heck, he couldn’t even describe the feeling. Brody was something all right. He just had to figure out what that something was, and fast.

  I don’t think anything. I don’t know the first thing about football.

  Oh, it’s easy to learn. I can teach you the rules. Tomorrow come to school early and I can give you a private lesson. What do you say to that?

  He noticed Brody always closed with a question. Perhaps that was his way of leading on the conversation. Chance got nervous. Okay. This is getting weird.

  Just like you, hey?

  I’m not weird.

  Yes, you are.

  Chance then had another thought. How did you get my number, Brody?

  That’s for me to know and you to find out.

  Now you’re being annoying. But Chance realised he had a smile on his face, one the nerves couldn’t quite chase away. Brody did that to him. Brody and no one else. He hadn’t felt like smiling since Liam left for Estonia.

  Smiling felt good.

  Brody, disturbing Chance’s thoughts, messaged again. See you tomorrow on the footy oval around 8 then?

  Chance sighed. Okay, fine. I’ll be there.

  Awesome. See you then. G’nite!

  Chance turned the phone off without answering back. He didn’t want to sound desperate or misleading or whatever it was he was supposed to feel that could get him beaten up by Brody’s teammates. Before he did so, he set his alarm for seven—an hour earlier than usual.

  As he put away his phone, he said to himself, “Let’s see what tomorrow brings, then. Hopefully, it will unravel the enigma that is Brody Simpson, because I think I’ve got feelings for him.”

  Right then, Chance’s dick decided it needed to reinforce his words. That part of him was predictable and easy to deal with, though. As such, he moved his hand underneath the elasticated band of his night-time shorts to grab it, not wasting any time getting the matter there under control. While pleasuring himself, he thought of Brody kissing him everywhere.

  It felt darn good, too.

  His phone’s alarm buzzed.

  Chance groaned, rolling over to turn it off. He schlepped himself out of bed, plastering down his hair as best he could but failed…like always. As he came into the hallway, heading for the shower, he encountered his mum.

  “Mum!” he exclaimed, stopping dead in his tracks. As if doing so was like finding a rare and endangered animal for the first time since scientists believed that it was extinct, and he didn’t want to disturb it.

  “You’re up early, honey.” She had a pen and paper in her hand, no doubt about to write an escape note; she was already in her uniform, floral perfume wafting to his nostrils to make him sneeze a couple of times.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” He waved his hand in front of himself. “And wow, easy on the scent, Mum. You’re not trying to snare white trash again, are you?”

  “Ha, ha, very funny, young man.” She studied him, her gaze intensifying. “You look strange this morning. Are you okay?”

  “Don’t you start.”

  “What does that mean? I was only going to point out that you look like you’re glowing. You look happy, honey.”

  Chance had to admit he was kind of happy, in a weird way. He still couldn’t figure out what was going on, even though he enjoyed Brody’s sudden attention. “I suppose I am.”

  “Are you going to tell me why you’re happy? I mean, I haven’t seen this look on you since before Liam left.”

  Chance didn’t want to reveal anything for the simple fact there may not be anything to reveal. “Aren’t you late for work?”

  She checked her watch. “Oh, darn it, I am. There’s lunch made in the fridge, honey. See you tonight—if I can get home before you go to bed.” And with that she dashed out the door, car engine starting before the front door even closed.

  Chance sighed.

  After his shower, and the obligatory wank with the mental image of Brody’s soulful eyes spurring him on, he got dressed into his school uniform and went to the fridge. The pecan pie was gone. Funny. His mum didn’t have anyone around last night. Not a date, anyway. Or even friends, for that matter. What was going on? More importantly, what happened to the pie?

  There were two rounds of cut sandwiches made for him: cheese and ham. At least it wasn’t leftovers. As he stuffed them into his lunchbox there was a knock on the door.

  Chance was startled.r />
  Who could that be at this time of day? No one ever visited. When he opened the front door, the ever so handsome and fit and fine physique of Brody greeted him along with those beautiful brown eyes of his. Chance’s breath was taken from his lungs, as if Brody had leaned in over the threshold and kissed it out of him. Which would have been very nice indeed.

  Chance gasped. He couldn’t think like that. Another shower wasn’t an option right now.

  “Morning,” Brody chirped, beaming a smile that made him look even more ravishing than usual. “What up, Chance?”

  Was the boy always happy, no matter what time of the day it was?

  “How did you know where I live?”

  “I’ve been stalking you. What do you reckon?” he answered cheekily; again, that smile of his killing Chance. So much so, his sweating had returned, his palms the worst affected. His mouth was also dry again. Was that the result of his infatuation? Chance wasn’t sure he liked his body doing crazy things in Brody’s presence. It could get embarrassing really quickly, for obvious reasons.

  But Chance managed, “In that case, who’s the weird one?”

  Brody shrugged. “You still take the prize for that, my friend. By far.”

  “What makes you say that? I’m not weird, all right?”

  “Fine.” Brody raised his hands in mock defeat. “You’re not weird in any way because you don’t want to talk to people and go out of your way not to since your boyfriend left to go to Ethiopia—”

  “Estonia.”

  “Whatever. All I’m saying is, you’ve built up walls around you since then. Walls so high no one can get over them, even when they want to get to know you. Get me?”

  “I have not,” Chance defended. He hadn’t built up his walls that high, had he?

  Brody snorted a laugh. “Yeah, right.”

  “Are you just going to argue with me, or are you actually going to tell me why you’re here?”

  “To drive you to the footy oval and give you your private lesson, of course. I thought we discussed this last night?”

  “Wait, what? That wasn’t what we discussed. You told me to meet you there. Remember?”

  His smile became even more adorable. “Surprise!”

  Chance glanced beyond Brody’s fantastically fine frame draped nicely in the Preston Tigers’ football uniform—football boys always wore their uniform no matter what day it was, it seemed—to a gun-metal grey sedan sitting in the driveway. “Is that your car? You drive?”

  “I’m eighteen and got my full license now. But to answer your questions: yes and yes.”

  Chance whistled. “I wish I had a car; I’ve done most of my logbook hours, but I just need the wheels before I can go for my final test.”

  “My wheels are your wheels, if you want them. Maybe after school you can get some practise in before your test.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “Sure I would. But first, there’s a footy lesson that isn’t teaching itself. So, let’s go!”

  Chance didn’t know what to say. Not even when he clicked in the seatbelt, got driven to the oval, and was soon holding a football with Brody standing in front of him. Was Chance supposed to kick the ball or handball it to Brody? He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t remember his instructions, as everything had become a blur, annoyingly so. All thanks to Brody.

  Finally, through his haze of what the heck is going on, he stammered, “Are you insane, Brody?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I have little to no interest in football. Why would I want to learn how to play it?”

  Brody shrugged. “It’s our national sport.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Look, just kick the ball towards the goals—those posts over there.” He gestured towards four large white posts standing like sentinels at the far end of the oval to show Chance his objective. “Then you’ll see how awesome it is.”

  “Um…how do I kick the ball, Brody?”

  Brody came around so he was behind Chance. So close Chance could feel Brody’s breath tickling the back of his neck. Shivers of delight coursed through Chance to settle in the small of his back. His throat also got excruciatingly tight, especially when Brody put his arms around him to show him how to hold the ball.

  Then something else got tight. Uncomfortably so.

  “Here, give me the ball. I’ll show you how to punt kick first. It’s not as accurate as other types of kicking, but for your first time, it’ll do.”

  Chance couldn’t move. He was engulfed by Brody and he loved it. The boy smelt even better up close and personal, all musky with notes of cinnamon and something he couldn’t define. Perhaps the mystery smell was Chance’s lust coming to the fore. In any case, Brody’s scent made him wonderfully uncomfortable all over, especially in the between-the-legs department. Aching balls be damned, even though Chance knew he’d have them for the rest of the day. He loved Brody holding him, even if it was to show him how to kick a football and nothing else.

  “O-okay.” Chance gave Brody the ball.

  “Are you ready for me to show you?”

  Chance nodded. “I think s-so.”

  “Really ready?”

  “Uh…yeah. I’m sure.”

  It was then, to Chance’s complete and utter astonishment and disbelief, that Brody placed his right hand onto the back of Chance’s right leg, pushing on it so he had no choice but to move his leg up as the ball dropped from Brody’s left hand.

  The ball connected with his foot in mid-air, sending it about ten metres away in a wonky spiral-like trajectory.

  Brody cheered. “That was awesome for your first kick. You’re a natural, Chance.”

  “I-I am?”

  “Sure you are.”

  “But that kick didn’t even get halfway towards the goals. It was pathetic.”

  “So pathetic it made you smile?”

  Chance was taken aback. He was smiling; one that went from his mouth right to his heart. “Suppose.”

  “Pfft, you’re full of crap, you know that? You loved it. Besides, you look good when you smile.”

  “I d-do?” Brody’s compliment affected Chance deeply. His stomach fluttered, as if hundreds of footballs had been kicked up into the air inside him to lighten him. He was walking on cloud nine, to be honest.

  Chance turned around in Brody’s hold so they were face to face, his stomach doing unbelievable things to him as he did so. Was there a potential for a kiss here? Brody sure was giving off signs he didn’t mind being close to Chance.

  But lip on lip close?

  Could there be more to this straight boy than Chance had even hoped?

  His dreamy thoughts didn’t last long, however, because a harsh voice pierced Chance’s reverie, bringing him back to Earth with a thud. “What the hell is he doing here?”

  Brody let go of his hold when one of his teammates, all slabs of muscle and overhanging “Neanderthal-like” brow, approached from the changeroom side of the oval. “I’m just teaching Chance how to kick a footy, that’s all.”

  “He kicks like a girl; it’s pitiful. Didn’t even get to the centre line, it was that bad.”

  Brody seemed to stiffen. “Someone’s gender isn’t a reflection of their ability, Prescott. We have a women’s league now, and they can kick butt with their skills.”

  Prescott’s face scrunched up. “All right, I’ll say it how it is then, Captain. That fag can’t kick a ball because he’s too limp-wristed and still hanging onto his mother’s apron strings. He’s piss weak, that’s what he is. How about that, Brody? Better?”

  “Don’t be such a—”

  Chance didn’t hear the rest of what was said. He couldn’t. He felt uncomfortable, especially as he was so exposed without Brody being near. In fact, he got cold. A feeling he remembered from the day Liam left him, a coldness that sank into his soul and leeched the happiness out of him.

  Not again…

  Chance left. Brody and Prescott’s discussion went on, bu
t he didn’t want to hear any of it. He had a fair idea about what was said, anyway. Gay boys don’t mix well with sports jocks. That’s a fact.

  With his head buzzing, and a darkness enveloping him far more tightly than Brody’s hold earlier, Chance got emotional. He wanted to cry, but first he had to get off the oval before things turned nasty once Prescott was done dealing with Brody.

  4

  Library—or study period, as it was known—was first up today on the schedule. Which was a relief since it gave Chance the opportunity to get some alone time, as Brody had sport instead, being an Elite Sports Programme student of the school.

  After study period, Chance had ended up crying in one of the gender-neutral toilets the football jocks never went into. Thank God they didn’t. What a nightmare it would be if they saw him all emotional over a straight boy.

  Once he’d dried his eyes, composed himself, and tried to forget what happened that morning, he made his way to his next class: Social Sciences.

  “Hey, wait up, Chance,” a familiar voice shouted from across the main hall so that everyone turned to look.

  Chance felt his cheeks heat. “What do you want, Brody?”

  “To find out why you left me this morning.”

  “Um…because your football mate Prescott kind of didn’t make me feel welcome, that’s why.”

  “I sorted him out. You should have stayed; I was just getting warmed up with the lesson, too. One Prescott won’t forget, either.”

  Chance stopped dead in his tracks. “What did you do to him?”

  “Put it this way: he won’t be calling you that disgusting name again, or he’ll be eating more than dirt next time.”

  “You hit him?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “That doesn’t make it right, Brody.”

  Brody shrugged. “It does. When a mate attacks another mate, that’s not on. Simple.”

  Chance, once again, couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I’m not your mate.”