“This isn’t okay.”
“Yeah, well.”
Sebastian’s hands are clenched into fists. It’s not the end of the world. So why are tears clinging to his eyelashes?
Emir’s hand cups his jaw. His thumb nudges Sebastian’s chin until their eyes meet. Emir smiles. Sebastian pouts, but he presses into the touch.
“You’re beautiful.”
Sebastian rolls his eyes. “Guys aren’t—”
“Hey,” Emir cuts in. “Guys are beautiful. And girls are handsome. Words aren’t gender-specific. Don’t be some jock asshole about this.”
Sebastian is caught up in Emir’s warm breaths grazing the side of his neck.
Emir says, “Your body is amazing,” while his hands rub over Sebastian’s ribs.
A protest fizzes at the back of Sebastian’s throat.
Emir’s lack of height means he has to stand on his toes to rest his chin on Sebastian’s shoulder. It also means his arousal nudges the small of Sebastian’s back. He’s on edge in a very different way.
Emir’s whispered, “And you’re amazing,” and the way he stares at Sebastian as if he’s unbreakable vibrates through his whole body.
“We all do it, mate. We all have things about our body we hate.”
Sebastian bites back, Yeah, but you’re ridiculously flawless.
Emir says, “I can’t get any definition in my arms, and my ass is flat.” He’s barely holding back a laugh.
Sebastian’s helpless about how fast his mouth curves into a grin.
“It’s okay,” says Emir, hands smoothing over Sebastian’s stomach until he can tolerate the sensation. “We’re all imperfect.”
Sebastian licks his lips and salty tears hit his taste buds. “Speak for yourself.”
“I am, asshole,” Emir says, biting Sebastian’s shoulder. “And you too. The whole damn team is a mess, but that’s the point, right?”
“Yep.”
And he’s okay. Emir’s hands continue mapping his body, and he’s okay. He’s learning.
“Now,” Emir says, “can we go grab some lunch? Riley’s being a diva because you’re not around.”
“He’ll get over it.”
Sebastian’s shoulders slowly lose tension, and his chest inflates freely. At his side, his fingers wiggle. It’s as if Emir is at the core of his whole world, pushing the edges wider.
Before Emir can get too far, Sebastian whips around and kisses him.
“You’re predictable,” Emir says with a hint of smugness.
Sebastian knows that. But just because the kiss wasn’t long enough, he slides a hand to Emir’s neck, puts his thumb behind Emir’s ear, and pulls until their mouths meet again.
“I don’t care.”
Urged on by uncharacteristic boldness, Sebastian laces their fingers together. Their hands sway when they walk outside. He’s never held hands with a boy in the middle of the day. Would he be courageous enough to do this in the halls of Bloomington High? Emir hasn’t mentioned whether he’s out at school yet. Would he let Sebastian hold his hand? These are serious things that Sebastian has dreamt about, but never counted on.
But he doesn’t know if this thing with Emir is going past the summer. Maybe it’s like The Breakfast Club. Maybe when September hits, they won’t acknowledge each other. Sebastian would have absolutely no problem sauntering into prom arm in arm with Emir.
“You’re smiling,” Emir says as they walk. The sun is high, hitting their eyes. Emir cups his free hand over his brow while he stares at Sebastian.
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
Sebastian keeps his other thoughts to himself, for now.
21
Sebastian is almost ninety-eight percent certain that teenagers should be banned from making decisions during the summer, especially teens bored out of their skulls at night, like him. Summer should be a thought-free zone. No school. No extra brain usage. He should be on house arrest, not climbing through Emir’s window on a Wednesday night.
Of course, most of this is Willie’s fault. They were in their cabin, marathoning Stranger Things on Netflix. Free-for-all pizza was for dinner, so Willie conked out after the second episode. The guy can put away some Hawaiian pizza.
Sebastian can also blame some of his bad decision-making on the fact that summer is ticking down. Camp is almost over; less than two weeks are left.
The vault inside is almost perfect, but Sebastian smacks his shoulder on the floor. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s embarrassing. “So, so,” he stutters. Blood rushes to his head. His view of Emir perched on his bed is upside-down. He rolls over, laughing. “You weren’t sleeping, right?”
The lamp is still on. An open book sits in Emir’s lap. Ink-dark hair falls around his temples instead of standing in its usual sleep-mussed disaster.
“Nope. Just finished my Isha’a.”
Sebastian stands. He dusts off his ripped jeans, fixes his checkered flannel shirt. “Ish- what, now?”
“Isha’a,” Emir repeats. “It’s the last of the salats, daily prayers we do as Muslims.”
These reminders about Emir’s religion and his life at home light memories that flicker through Sebastian’s brain like tiny paper lanterns in the wind. He remembers the adults in Emir’s family fasting during Ramadan and a small backyard gathering to celebrate a feast day Sebastian can’t remember the name of, but he recalls the beautiful clothing, the music, and Emir’s parents passing out gifts to the children. And he remembers the giant, toothy smile Emir wore while pressed to Sebastian’s side on a sticky June evening.
“Is this a bad time? Should I go?”
“No.” Emir closes the book, carefully placing it on the desk by his bed. “It’s okay.”
“Okay.”
Sebastian’s snuck in here every evening lately. After dinner, he crawls in to find a space left for him on Emir’s bed. Sebastian talks nonstop with his head on Emir’s chest. His fingers trace the shape of Emir’s mouth. Sometimes, Emir talks, shedding his shyness. Eventually boring conversations turn into making out.
“Hey!” Tonight Sebastian came with a plan. He tosses Mason’s keys in the air, then catches them. He didn’t steal them; Mason always hands them over during the week so he doesn’t lose them. Being the token “good guy” has its advantages. “You wanna get out of here?”
“Are we allowed to leave?” Emir asks.
“Didn’t bother checking the rule book.”
Emir runs a hand through his hair; his fingers catch on the tangles. He says, “You wrote the rule book.”
It’s not an attack on Sebastian, but he still flips Emir off. He blames his lack of a solid comeback on the way the bridge of Emir’s nose crinkles when he snorts.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Sebastian says. His mind has been drifting lately, more than usual, wondering what this thing with Emir is or isn’t. “I dunno, I just want to get out of here. Just me and you.”
“Okay.”
“You’re sure?” Sebastian squeaks in an unnaturally high voice.
Emir shrugs and stands. “Yes, Bastian,” he says. He grabs his beanie, pulls on a pair of slightly wrinkled black skinnies, grips a hoodie—
The sight of Sebastian’s last name in blocky gold letters across Emir’s back is mesmerizing.
Emir stalks up to him, poking a finger at the middle of Sebastian’s chest. Brow furrowed, he says, “And if I get kicked off the team, you’re doing all the talking to Abbu about why his precious only son is no longer going pro.”
“Pro?”
“Semi-pro.” With a crooked grin, Emir says, “Okay, after high school, I won’t ever play again. But he doesn’t need to know that. Besides, it’ll sound better coming from a genuine guy like you.”
“Obviously.” Sebastian rolls his eyes. He circles Emir’s thin wrist with his fingers.
Emir turns his hand and twines their fingers. It helps to untie the knot in Sebastian’s stomach. “Now, let’s get out of here before you change your mind.”
“And miss an opportunity to watch you try to break the rules? I wouldn’t dare.”
“Whatever.”
Mason left his iPod hooked up to the aux cord, and The 1975 hums through the speakers when Sebastian revs up the car. He cuts the volume. “Mason’s addicted to them,” he explains.
“Huh.” Emir’s has his feet on the dash, slouched in the seat with a half-impressed expression. “Didn’t think this was Riley’s thing.”
“Mace would totally suck face with Matt Healy if he could.”
“Makes sense.”
Sebastian bites the inside of his lip. Mason is one of those Urban Outfitters, coffee-drinking, I’m-not-but-I-am hipsters. Sebastian doesn’t have a problem with those guys, but it’s hilarious considering Mason used to wear sweater vests and Keds when they were in middle school.
Emir asks, “Where to?”
“To the land of Oz,” Sebastian says. Or simply boring old Oakville. Going too far from camp is risky. Around them, a cloudless night showcases the indigo-black sky and giant stars hung like diamonds. Sebastian could stare at it for hours.
Emir taps his hands on his knees. “Cool.”
Yeah, it is.
No one’s in sight when Sebastian pulls off toward the main road. His nerves are still wonky; his fingers are white-knuckled around the steering wheel as the tires drag over dirt and rock. He’s subtly observing Emir in his peripheral vision.
Emir drops a hand on Sebastian’s thigh, squeezing. Sebastian doesn’t flinch. Sweet. At least his body knows how to act around Emir.
Emir says, “It’s just you and me, right? So just drive.”
So Sebastian drives to the melody, and Matt Healy singing about how his car smells like chocolate.
At the edge of town, an old cornfield has been mowed, stripped, and turned into a drive-in named Oakville ’76, the year it was built. This town lives and breathes creativity. A massive space has been cleared for cars to park; a colossal screen plays outdated movies. At least they run a different film nightly. During the week, no one shows up except the slackers, elderly folks, and horny parents searching for somewhere to, well.
It’s mostly empty tonight. Sebastian quietly geeks out about the feature presentation: the first Iron Man. The movie is just a backdrop for a small line of cars with fogged windows, jiggling back and forth. Occasional streams of profanity can be heard.
“Sorry,” Sebastian says over his shoulder to Emir.
They’re slowly walking to the concession stand. It’s staffed by college kids home for summer or townies with nothing better to do. The selection sucks: over-buttered popcorn, Red Vines, and M&M’s.
Emir falls in step next to him. “It’s not so bad.”
A man older than Sebastian’s dad emerges from a rusty Cadillac. He grins smugly with a hand firmly pressed to his wife’s ass. Sebastian hopes that’s his wife.
“No,” says Emir between chuckles, “It’s definitely cool.”
“Cool,” Sebastian repeats.
“It’s pretty empty.”
“Yeah,” says Sebastian, noting the suggestion in Emir’s voice. Then it hits him. Emir likes that this place is deserted. As in, he’s all on board for a night, just the two of them, with no one watching. “Cool, right?”
Emir snorts, bobbing his head.
If Sebastian were bolder, he might kiss Emir in public. It’s new, uncharted territory, though. This whole “first time for everything” is a lot more pressure than people make it sound. It doesn’t stop his mind from doing pathetic loops around the idea of holding Emir’s hand all forty steps to the concessions stand.
They part ways when they reach the line. Emir stands off to the side, thumbing through apps on his phone. Sebastian gradually inches closer to the front of the counter. He ponders what to order. What would impress Emir? Sebastian is trying to prove he isn’t lame but failing to find examples to support this theory.
“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this.”
Sebastian is thankful, when he turns, to find Val behind him.
She’s mega-preppy tonight: cardigan over a white shirt, khaki shorts, hair tied in a loose ponytail. But she gives a middle finger salute to private school with a shiny Marilyn Manson button on her sweater.
Sebastian raises an eyebrow. “What’re you doing here?”
“I’m here with Maggie.” Val points to a few feet away. “You remember her, right?”
Though the concession stand is just a gutted shack painted in ugly pastels, it has supreme fluorescent lighting. Sebastian has a prime view of a short girl brushing manicured nails up Emir’s forearm. Her jeans are on the obscene side of tight. Her tilted head reveals a crooked but attractive smile. Sebastian recalls her flirting aggressively with Zach at the ice cream shop last summer. He zones in on her freckles and her scrunched nose when she giggles at Emir. Sebastian isn’t sweating it, doesn’t have clenched fists at his sides or a heart rattling like a snare drum in his chest—much.
“She’s nice,” he says tightly.
Val flicks up an eyebrow. “And she’s single.” Val’s having way too much fun teasing him.
“Yeah, well. Single guys are everywhere, right?”
Single guys who are not Emir. Plus, Emir’s gay. Gay and whispering something to Maggie with a wry smile.
Whatever is happening in Sebastian’s chest is new. He’s not calling it jealousy. Sebastian was used to guys checking out Sam. It happened a lot; it was something he was proud of. He had this beautiful girl on his arm, and she only had eyes for him.
Of course, that story doesn’t include a happy ending. But he’s not harboring ill feelings over it. Anymore, not anymore.
Val whispers, “Who is that?”
“Emir,” Sebastian says. “My teammate.” He almost says friend, but that’s presumptuous. He’s definitely not going to call Emir his boyfriend. The word sits weirdly in his mouth. He’s okay with dating a guy, but he hasn’t worked up to referring to him as his “boyfriend,” not that he has anything to worry about, since they’re not even close to using that term.
Yet, he tells himself.
“Cute,” says Val, hooking an arm through Sebastian’s. “Single?”
Maggie leans close as Emir backs off, laughing. “Yeah,” Sebastian says, biting back and gay!
“I don’t think he’s interested. Maybe someone else has his attention?”
Sebastian’s staring a hole through Maggie’s pretty, dimpled smile. She’s quirky-cute. He’d date her, if he wasn’t completely into—
His mouth drops open, and Val winks. She knows!
Sure, the team and coaches are aware of Sebastian’s sexuality, but that’s his second family. He has no reason to hide it from them. He never told Sam, though. And he trusts Mason with his secrets, so Val definitely didn’t know. At least, he thought she didn’t.
“You look at him like… ” Val pauses, scratching her cheek. “Like I used to look at Mace, that’s all.” She smiles sadly.
Maggie is ogling Emir as if she might eat him. She’s licking her lip gloss-stained lips. An intensely green monster is devouring Sebastian’s insides. He’s not ashamed. It’s taken a while, but he’s starting to own his bisexuality.
“It’s not… It’s okay, right?” Sebastian admires his Chuck Taylors instead of meeting Val’s eyes. “That I’m bi?”
Val pinches Sebastian’s forearm. “Totally.”
It crosses Sebastian’s mind that Val could’ve known about Mason too. Did he tell her he was curious? Maybe she just knew, like a sixth sense.
Emir cackles. Maggie is very pleased about something. She’s sly, and Emir’s nervy: signs of a bad first date. Sebastian doesn’t like it.
“I think he likes you, too.”
Sebastian says, “How can you tell?” Emir’s face is hidden behind Maggie’s as he whispers in her ear. Her face falls, and Emir shrugs.
Val whispers, “A girl knows,” and leaves it at that.
Maggie stomps up to them. “He’s gay,” she tells Val, ignoring Sebastian. She makes a face, not as if she’s offended by Emir’s sexuality, but by his rejection.
Internally, Sebastian’s having a dance party for one. The song in his head is, “He’s mine, pint-sized!”
“I’m sorry,” Val says, but she doesn’t look it.
Maggie tosses her curly brown hair over one shoulder. Nearby is a lanky guy, thin like a basketball player, with a buzz cut and a goatee. Just like that, she’s over it.
Sebastian doesn’t understand people at all.
“So, like.” The guy behind the counter’s limp blond hair hangs into his bloodshot eyes. His nametag reads Capt. Mary Jane. “I’ve got half a joint out back that I’m dying to finish. Can you guys order already?”
Val snorts into her hand. Maggie rolls her eyes. Sebastian’s unsure what to make of this guy. The lights overhead buzz like electric bug catchers. It’s warm tonight, but the heat along Sebastian’s back is Emir.
“We’re gonna miss the beginning,” he says, chin hooked over Sebastian’s shoulder, fingers twisted in the belt loops of Sebastian’s jeans.
Sebastian turns his head. Emir’s amused at Maggie’s wide-eyed look. Screw it. Even in small-minded Oakville, Sebastian can be a tiny bit out of the closet. He replies, “Okay.” He’s addicted to Emir’s thumbs tracing his hipbones.
“So, um, popcorn?” Capt. Mary Jane asks.
Sebastian doesn’t exactly growl at him, but he mumbles their order as Emir pulls away. Val’s still giggling as if she can’t believe what just happened. Sebastian can’t either. He does, however, pay for their snacks and sodas, giving Val a “what can you do?” shrug before strolling over to Emir.
“Defiant Sebastian Hughes,” Val calls. Her smirk edges on proud. She shouts, “I like it,” raising her hand to give him devil horns, the universal sign for “Rock on.”
Running with Lions Page 17
