“Ah.”
“I’m gonna tell them,” Hunter says quickly.
Sebastian holds his hands up, eyebrows raised. “It’s cool.” Actually, it’s a relief that he’s not the only one carrying secrets around. Sebastian stands and packs up his things. “I’ll keep it short and sweet,” he says, patting Hunter’s shoulder.
Hunter sags, but grins. He grabs Sebastian’s elbow before he can get too far. “Listen,” he says, serious. “I have some classes with Emir, and…” Hunter’s stalling. “I know what it’s like to fall for someone, and it’s all confusing.”
Sebastian deflates. Did Willie tell Hunter about his crush on Sebastian? Is this something else? Maybe Hunter’s always waited around for Willie to notice him.
Hunter’s phone buzzes, and Sebastian’s heart beats to its noisiness. He says, “I don’t know what it’s like, Hunter, being in love.”
“You know it’s not easy to figure out, right? It’s not overnight. And it doesn’t happen just because you’ve been with someone for years. It’s just this feeling. I don’t think love knows how it works.” Hunter’s thumb rubs the crook of Sebastian’s elbow.
“What is it, then?”
Hunter’s eyes brighten. “If you’re watching Scooby Doo and think of someone because it’s their favorite cartoon. If you’re allergic to flour but still eat someone’s burnt pancakes. Or if you hate the color green but you wear it because it reminds you of a person’s eyes just before you kiss them—well, it might be love.”
Sebastian smiles helplessly. Is Hunter even a seventeen-year-old?
“And if you ever tell Will about this, I’m gonna use your testicles for keepie-uppies practice,” warns Hunter. He gives Sebastian’s arm a friendly squeeze.
“Got it.”
Sebastian walks away with one thought: Willie and Hunter are perfect for each other.
* * *
“Well, this captain thing suits you pretty well,” Zach says after another grueling practice.
Sebastian can barely keep his eyes open. “You think so?”
Zach collapses next to Sebastian in the penalty box and hands him a water before cracking open his own.
Sebastian drags the bottle across his face. The relief that comes from cold condensation mixing with sticky sweat is great.
“You’re certainly making an impression,” says Zach. “Rollins has a man-crush on you.”
Sebastian practically chokes on his first gulp of water. “He does not!” He hopes Rollins doesn’t. Rollins is a freshman, and all over the place when it comes time to hold a conversation.
Zach shrugs. “Maybe not.” He sips more water, then says, “Either way, we’re looking good.”
And they are. It’s their final practice before Friday’s big game and, though it’s three weeks into the school year, the team’s acing everything Coach Patrick throws at them. The defense still has a few holes—their wing-backs have opportunities—but nothing Sebastian can’t live with. Their synergy is on point.
“We’re passable,” Sebastian says, dryly. Zach shoves him. Sebastian tips, catches himself with an elbow, and then laughs.
“Check this guy out,” says Zach, nodding toward the sidelines where Willie, on crutches, practiced scowl and all, is reaming out the offense. “He’s recovering nicely.”
Sebastian’s certain that’s mostly because of Hunter. But also it’s because Coach has been encouraging Willie’s involvement from the sidelines. He’s not letting Willie drown in self-pity, not the way he did those first few days. They call it post-operative depression, and Willie had it bad. He shut down, closed off the world, and wouldn’t look Sebastian in the eye when he visited.
Now he’s back, and all the coaches treat him like he’s part of the staff instead of a player riding the bench. It’s obvious the team respects him. And he’s got this coaching thing down.
“It better not go to his head.”
“It will.” Suppressing a chuckle, Sebastian shakes up his water. Mason’s going to be the first one to burst Willie’s bubble. Sebastian’s looking forward to it.
“Dude.” Zach nudges Sebastian with an elbow. “Emir is a beast.”
Sebastian crosses his ankles and lays his hands in his lap. He whispers, “Yeah.”
Emir has become a monster on the pitch. He’s every attacker’s, including Mason’s, worst nightmare. He outruns everyone and has a good read on a player’s next move. He protects the penalty box as if it’s his, as if he’s determined to keep people away from Sebastian. It’d be flattering, but they’re still not talking.
Zach knocks their shoulders. “They’re crediting you for his turnaround. Mad respect, Bastian.”
Sebastian lifts his eyebrows. Did he do anything for Emir? These days, all he does is give Emir a thumbs-up every time he makes a good play on the pitch. Sebastian’s a coward. He should be shouting “I love you” as a good ‘80s movie demands. Sebastian is no Jake Ryan.
Even now, Sebastian’s got it bad, staring at Emir in his practice uniform while Emir leans on Hunter or talks with Gio. His eyes scan Emir’s toned calves, his narrow waist, his broad shoulders, and that skinny, long neck.
What a lovesick loser! All he has to do is stop being so sulky and say all of this to Emir. He finishes his water.
“We’ve got this in the bag, man,” says Zach, offering Sebastian a fist bump. He reciprocates and focuses on what’s ahead.
The Spartans are dust.
27
Sebastian’s not hiding.
He’s calling this meditating, huddled in his old Lions hoodie, which now smells like Emir, with his knees pulled to his chest. His ass is numb from sitting on the stadium’s cold stone bleachers.
John P. McKee Stadium, across from Bloomington High, belongs to the local community college. It’s a coliseum built for gladiators. And because BHS’s football team sucks, the college rents out the stadium for the soccer team’s home games. It has a collegiate-level playing field, renovated locker rooms, and enough space to fit the whole city in the stands.
It’s cool enough that Sebastian’s breath is visible when he exhales. He studies the pitch. A lot of dreams come true on that stretch of green and white. Last year, a lot of dreams were crushed there too.
Sebastian fishes out his phone, keys in the code, and then glares at it. His wallpaper is a profile photo of his sworn enemy: St. Catherine’s star attacker, Dawson. The guy is set for the pros; he’s that good. “Asshole,” Sebastian whispers. He keeps his photo as a reminder. He will not be beat by Dawson this year.
Friday, everyone will remember his name.
“Wow, this place sure is weird when it’s not packed with people cheering you on.” Lily settles next to him. Sighing wistfully, she drops her purse in her lap.
Sebastian pockets his phone. Usually, after practice, he hitches a ride with Mason. Today, Sebastian needed to be alone.
Lily pokes his cheek and asks, “Okay, what’s got you down, Bumble Bee?”
No one’s around to hear her, but Sebastian’s still slightly embarrassed. She won’t hesitate to use the nickname publicly. Parents say the worst things when a crowd’s around, as if they earn extra parenting points for humiliating their children.
“Well,” Sebastian starts, but Lily is wearing her means business face, so he bites his tongue.
Her superpower is seeing through his bullshit.
He says, shyly, “I’m scared, Mom. When the season’s over, I have no clue what to do.” His unexpected fearlessness outweighs the sweat breaking out across his hairline. “I don’t know if I want to go to college, let alone where. All I have is this sport and the guys. After that, I’m lost.”
Lily hums, and here it comes: The Talk about how important college is and that life goes on after sports. But Lily is an unpredictable force of nature. She asks, “What’s wrong with being lost?”
&
nbsp; Sebastian laughs. Behind his eyelashes is a needling burn. “It’s wrong, Mom. I should be looking forward to college, to playing on a professional team.”
“But why?”
“Because—”
Lily holds up a hand, and Sebastian’s mouth snaps shut. She says, “Bastian, you can do whatever you want, when you want. The only thing in life you have to do is live it.” Her hand covers his, squeezing. “Go to college, chase your dreams of being a pro athlete. Or take some time off, find yourself, and be an ‘adult’ later.”
Sebastian blinks hard.
“Just because people create rules doesn’t mean those are your rules. I don’t follow those rules; neither does your dad.”
Sebastian sniffs. A tear escapes, forcing him to slant his chin.
Lily clucks at him. “Do you honestly believe Mason and William won’t hunt you down to get into trouble after graduation?” He shrugs, and she frowns as if she can’t believe him. “Those boys are ruthless. Thank the heavens we stopped having children after you, because now I have three sons when I only asked for one.”
Sebastian knows she’s right. Mason will find some way to get him arrested, and Willie will bail them out.
“This is your senior year.” Lily has a finger under his chin; her thumb wipes at a tear. “Let life happen. All the plans we make are not guaranteed.”
“But—”
She cuts in. “High school is just like the night sky. It’s beautiful. Some moments, you’re just in awe of it. But it’s dark and endless, which can be scary, too. When the stars fall away, what’s left?”
Sebastian shrugs, his vision blurred.
“The sun,” she says, giggling. “Darkness goes away, but the sun shows up and you start over again. So let high school happen, and eventually you light up the rest of your life. Burn as bright as you want. The wonderful thing about the sun is, it’s always there. People don’t have to see you to believe you’ll be there.”
Sebastian’s heartbeat slows. He scrubs his sleeve over his wet eyes. His mom is pretty awesome. The future’s foggy, but that’s okay. He can take life wherever he wants, and his parents, Willie, and Mason will support him.
“I was thinking New York.” New York City is huge and nothing like Bloomington. “Coach says a few schools are interested in me, and, if that doesn’t work out, I can get a job until I sort it out.” He pauses, waiting for her disapproval.
Lily smacks his shoulder. “Perfect, you can take me shopping, and Dad will love the coffee shops. I’m in.” Her eyes scrunch; she’s happy. “And take your sister with you. She’s driving me nuts.”
Sebastian can imagine it: a cheap apartment with big windows overlooking the city. Maybe he’ll try out for the Red Bulls, or he could play for the Ramblers. He’s read brochures. Playing for the International Gay and Lesbian Football Association, being involved in a team from the LGBTQ community, sounds pretty sweet. Coach Patrick would approve.
It doesn’t escape him that Emir wants to go to New York too. So maybe he’s daydreamed about them living together, sharing M&M’s while studying in bed. That’s just a pipe dream now.
“So,” Lily, who is also part psychic, says, “was that Raj Shah’s son I saw in the parking lot on the way in?”
Oh, God. Sebastian’s body tenses so much his jaw clicks. Lily’s mouth twists into a very curious smile, a sign she’s calling his bluff, so he says sheepishly, “He’s on the team this year.”
Lily lights up. She claps. Her eyes are crinkled, the way Sebastian’s get when he’s over the moon about something. “Oh, I love that boy!” she cheers. Then, in a careful voice, she says, “I always thought it was such a shame you two stopped seeing each other when you were younger.”
Me too.
“Do you two talk?”
“Yeah, sort of. We’re friends.”
“And?”
“About that,” Sebastian pauses, blinking so hard he might cry. He’s trying to cough up a little bravery, just say the words, and not freak out.
“Bastian?”
He sucks in a breath. All he has to do is come out to his mom. Tell her how much his heart aches over a guy. He knows Emir’s come out to his parents. They’ve talked about how supportive Emir’s family is, and how Emir worried his religion would get in the way, but it hasn’t. He’s still a Shah, still as important to them as ever.
Sebastian’s nerves hang on his tonsils, but he manages, “Emir is all I think about.” Almost there. “Not as a friend, Mom, but… We started something, over the summer, and it didn’t work out.”
His shaking body wants to curl in on itself. Lily rests a hand on the nape of his neck and says, “You can’t do anything to fix that?”
Sebastian’s heart kicks like a wild animal. She’s not disappointed or angry. She’s worried. Her son admitting he’s bisexual isn’t the apocalypse; no, it’s her son being without the person, the boy he loves that saddens her.
“Maybe.” He shrugs wearily. “I hope. I don’t know, Mom, but I love him.”
And there it is. He’s said it out loud, and he means it.
Sebastian’s stomach backflips. Lily’s eyes are huge, as if all she wants is to help Sebastian get Emir back, as though she’ll love him no matter whom he loves.
“Oh, Bumble Bee, you’re too perfect.” Her fingers swipe away his tears. “I knew what you two had was special. As kids, you were inseparable. Whatever it is, things have a way of working themselves out.”
Sebastian’s against having a Taylor Swift oh-my-god moment. He scrubs the back of his hand over his eyes and sits taller. “You think so?”
“Honey, the universe is a bizarre place. Back then, Emir gazed at you like you were a solar system. So much to see! It’s fate.”
Sebastian laughs. None of this is funny, but holy hell, it’s hilarious. He’s just come out to his mom. He’s got tear tracks on his cheeks and wants a giant root beer float. It’s as if the whole damn world knew before Sebastian that he was lonely without his best friend, that he’s in love with Emir.
“Well.” Lily nudges his side, asks, “Does he know?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Tell him!”
It sounds easy. How hard can it be to say three words when he’s already royally screwed things up by not saying anything?
“Thanks, Mom.”
She squeezes him. “I love you, Bastian, and I truly love that boy too. Get your act together, because when I visit you in New York, I expect him to sit right next to me at all of your games.”
28
Pure, seconds-from-puking panic hits Sebastian an hour before Friday’s game. The stadium is packed end to end. Bloomington soccer is the real draw for locals. No one misses a home game.
“We’re ready,” he whispers to himself, pacing the tunnel outside the locker rooms. He can’t sit. He’s too jumpy and anxious and delirious. This is his pregame ritual, and no one disturbs him, no one except Grey. She keeps poking her head out of Coach’s office. Her big, reef-green eyes stare at him; her mouth is puckered as if she might say something.
“I’m fine.”
She nods once, then disappears.
Sebastian unclenches his hands, shakes out his fingers, and returns to pacing. He didn’t bring his headphones, so he can’t crank The Killers and give himself something to transfer all his restlessness into. He scuffs his cleats on the cement and prays his stomach gets off the Tilt-a-Whirl it’s been on all day.
“Dude, I can’t believe you didn’t know the answer to that one.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t warn me about the quiz today.”
Sebastian flinches at the voices. It’s Hunter and Emir. Their laughter precedes their slow walk into the corridor. Shadows created by the poor lighting make it easy for Sebastian to hang back, plastering himself to the wall. He’s been working toward saying something to
Emir. He’s just not there yet. And rehearsing “Hello” and “I love you” in the bathroom every morning isn’t helping.
Hunter tousles Emir’s hair. “Something distracting you lately, Shah?”
“Yeah, making you look like a loser on the pitch!”
Sebastian thumps his head on the wall. Damn it, he’s missed Emir’s raspy chuckle. It’s a shame his balls aren’t big enough that he can just tell him that.
Farther up, a door swings open and out barrel three of St. Catherine’s defensemen. Sebastian only recognizes one: Mason’s biggest rival, Cole Henry. Two bruisers flank him. One has shaggy gold-brown hair and an ugly smirk, and the other, a lean guy, has dark stubble and eyes green as spring grass. His jersey reads MICHAELSON, but his scowl says “Chief D-bag.”
They stride up, blocking Emir and Hunter.
“Looky what we have, fellas,” says Cole. “If it isn’t Bloomington’s sissy squad.”
The hall echoes with their guffaws. Sebastian tenses. His sweaty fingers curl into fists. He’s used to teams giving each other crap. It’s all strategy, like any other sport. Hell, Carl or Zach do it to players frequently. If you can get in an enemy’s head, the advantage is all yours. But these assholes are intent on something else.
Michaelson says, “The rainbow rebels, right?”
Shaggy punches his shoulder. He leers at Emir, then Hunter. “Careful, they might call their unicorn-riding coach on us.”
They all howl, and Hunter’s jaw tenses. Emir, on the other hand, stands tall, eyes black with thin gray rims. Sebastian’s certain Emir is going to deck one of them, and then he’ll be out of the game, dissolving any chances they’ll have on defense. Of course, Sebastian will be benched, too, if any one of these idiots lifts a finger against Emir.
“Lay off,” Hunter says, gruffly.
Cole steps into his space. “Or what? Did you know you play for a team of homos? Does your momma know that when you come home covered in—?”
Running with Lions Page 23
