Futbolista

Chapter 14 #2

Barrera flashes in my head. The way he so happily talked shit about that gay player.

But also my Pops and uncles. How I’ve grown up going to a few M é xico games with them and seen them excitedly yell “culero” at a player with the entire stadium.

How I have gay, queer, nonbinary friends and call myself an ally, but I’ve let it all go because I didn’t think it was ever worth starting a fight over.

And maybe that makes me one of these chained-up guys staring at a wall.

“I want to be different. I want to be that escaped prisoner seeing the sun. Someone who’s brave enough to tell people the truth, even when it might get me chained right back up again.”

“I think you’ve found what to write about then,” Vale says, his smile going softer, but still just as bright and proud. “And, for what it’s worth, I think you are.”

Got me feeling like I’m the one blushing now. “Really? You think I’m like the guy who escapes and sees the sun?”

“Absolutely. And I want that for you too.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, resting my head on a fist, watching him take down some notes, thinking about how his shoulder looks like a pretty comfortable place to take a brain breather. “What do you think about when your brain isn’t in philosopher mode?”

“What do I think about?”

“Yeah, you know, when you’re just chilling. What’s that look like?”

He closes his laptop and pushes it away, bringing the fruit bowl in front of him and grabbing a strawberry. “I’ve always been really into X-Men.”

“For real?”

“Yeah. And, maybe not a great answer because they’re what got me into philosophy in the first place, but my cousins—the same ones that run the shop—would let me read their comics when I was little, and I fell in love with X-Men.

Their whole ‘symbolism for being queer’ thing really resonated with eight-year-old me.

I still love comics and graphic novels. I think, if I could do anything with a degree in Philosophy and English, it’d be to write them.

I’m not good at drawing, like, at all, so I’d have to have an illustrator, but that’s the dream. ”

“Who are your favorite X-Men?”

“Magneto, for, again, philosophical reasons. His ideas of morality are wild and really fun to think about. Bobby—Iceman—especially when he came out as gay. And … Nightcrawler. As someone who grew up Catholic, his whole vibe is appealing in a weird way. Also, teleportation is really cool.”

“Okay, I know all of them. They were in the movies, right?”

“Yeah, they were in the movies.”

“Who do you think my favorite would be?” I ask. “Honestly, I’ve only ever seen the movies, so I don’t know a whole lot about all of them. I thought Cyclops was pretty cool.”

“That’s unsurprising,” Vale teases before going quiet, his fingers tapping the island counter as he thinks, focusing on me.

And then his eyes go wide as he says, “Sunspot. Roberto Da Costa. He’s this mutant from Brazil, soccer player; like, really good soccer player.

But—to go back to our assignment real quick that you so easily got us away from—he can basically absorb solar energy and do cool shit with it.

Become stronger, fly, blast it. He’s at his best in the sun. ”

“He sounds cool.”

“I’ll have to bring you a comic. And we can watch some stuff, but the comics are definitely better when it comes to him. I’ll introduce you.”

“And when you have your own comic, you’ll have to make a character based off me.”

“For sure. The best superhero of them all.”

My eyes go down to where Vale’s looking, at one of his hands lying on the counter.

I spend a second on each finger and watching that hand move, holding my breath as he slowly gets closer to my arm until he’s touching me.

He gently rotates my arm so the underside is showing and he can see the large bruise making my skin purple.

“Is this okay?”

“I— What?”

“You’re really tense. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh. No.” I’m tense because never have I ever thought about what it means when we’ve been touching.

The times I’ve rested my head on his shoulder waiting for Philosophy to start or asked him to scratch my back or when we sat watching the water late at night.

But, now, I’m scared that the second he touches me, he’ll see all the ways I imagined touching him last night.

He doesn’t. Obviously not. It’s just a touch.

“You’re fine. Got it a couple days ago, Arizona’s last penalty kick. It doesn’t hurt too bad anymore. We— Tell me more.”

“Oh. I … I think a lot about my future,” he says, his fingers lightly grazing the bruise. “What comes after this. What my life might look like three years from now as a senior, or in five years.”

“What else do you see, besides writing the world’s most popular comic?”

He chuckles, and his fingers stay on my arm, just under the bruise. “Having a boyfriend, maybe.”

“Wait—” I let out, my gaze going from his hand to his eyes. “I’ve never asked you about your dating life, and you know all about how mine’s been recently. Are you talking to someone? Do you have a boyfriend?”

“I … I don’t have a boyfriend. This guy at A I’ll call my parents at least once a week, but it’s not as if they’re worried about me down here. And, if I ever needed them, I know that we’d throw fists for each other.”

“I bet you’re scary in a fight.”

Vale for sure clocks the sarcasm in my voice, the way his head tilts and his eyes glare. And his fists come up when he tells me, “I’m not afraid to pull some real San Antonio Westside behavior. Fuck around and find out, Gabi.”

“I might. Watch.”

“And I— When I came out, even though it was a little rough at first, my parents were really accepting. It’s not as if they were that surprised or anything, but they also had to take some time to find acceptance.

It changed our relationship, but for the better, being able to be truthful with them, and know I don’t have to hide anything.

My brothers and sisters have been great too. ”

“I wish I had siblings,” I tell him. “The rare only child in a Mexican family.”

“Bet you were spoiled too.”

“As much as my parents could, yeah. But, your family, they’re all cool with you being gay?”

“Yeah. They even went to Pride with me in June.”

My fingers tap against my water bottle as I let out a sigh.

“One of my friends in high school, he was on the varsity squad with me; he came out as gay last year. It, uh, it wasn’t great with his dad.

Shitty, actually. And I think … I think a lot of me expected that, having met his dad and spent all of thirty seconds around him.

Seeing how my friend was around him before he was out.

Like he was always tiptoeing on glass, trying not to hurt himself.

I hated that for him, but it’s like, obviously our people—especially the men—are going to act like that.

A lot of my confidence in us doing better, in our dads and uncles being better, was crushed when that happened.

So, it’s actually really nice to hear how that’s not the case for everyone. That not every dad is his dad.”

“I’m sorry that happened to him.”

“Yeah, I—sorry for getting real there for a second.”

“No, it’s okay. And, actually, why don’t we call it day?

I’m feeling really confident about you knowing what you’re doing with ‘Allegory.’ Type it all out, and if you want me to read over it before Wednesday, I can do that.

And I— oh! ” Vale hops off his stool, heading over to the couch and a bag sitting next to his backpack.

“Perfect time for a break. I brought some stuff for you.”

My head tilts, my eyes trying to guess what’s inside the bag, fully having zero context. “What did you bring?”

“Show me your room and I’ll show you.”

“Promise me you aren’t getting us both in trouble giving these to me, Vale.”

“ I told you , family policy. If I’m unpacking the merchandise, I get first dibs on anything I want. I saw these shorts last night and thought you might like the style, so I put them in the influencer pile.”

I do some modeling in the pair I have on right now with a plain white tee, flexing the quads and showing off the thighs in these four-inch nylon shorts, maroon with small white flowers and larger red roses printed on them.

On the bed, next to Vale, are a black pair with ivory flowers and a white pair with bluebonnet-looking flowers on them.

“I’ve never been huge on prints, but these are wild. I love them. Truly.”

“I thought with a solid tee or hoodie, even layering a shirt, they would look really good. Give something different to your usual vibe. There are also some paisley print shorts in this same length that I think you should drop by sometime and see. I don’t think shorts with prints are for everyone, but you pull them off really well. ”

“And you’re sure I can have these?”

“Yes, Gabi. I’m sure. Half the reason I work there is for incredibly discounted clothes. And these look really great on you. Honestly, thinking I should take them back just so I don’t have to share this view with other people.”

“Well, now you can take credit for it.”

“Almost as good. Plus you worked hard today, as much as you were clearly half asleep for a lot of it. And I know Coolidge is going to be really impressed with this essay. You’ve earned these for the brainpower.”

“But, just to triple check, you’re sure I can’t find a place to talk about the poop situation in a cave?”

“I’m begging you not to.”

I laugh, making my way to my bed and falling on it, legs hanging over the side, next to Vale. I try my best not to think of the thoughts . Of him right here on this bed as I—

“What do you think about?” he asks as he falls next to me and rolls onto his stomach, his hand holding up his head and his eyes going up and down my body. “What’s your brain like when you’re lying here? What dreams do you dream of, Gabi Pi n a? Give me some lore.”

“I, uh … football.”

That’s as much as I could get out on the spot.

He chuckles, shaking his head a little. “Okay, obviously. What about football?”

“I think about playing in the MLS. Or for a team in M é xico. The chance to be a successor of someone like Ochoa or Keylor Navas. Emiliano Mart í nez, even. Wearing an El Tri jersey. I have almost every single M é xico kit from every World Cup since I’ve been alive.

Well, some are my Pops’s, but he gave them to me as a graduation present.

Sometimes I fall asleep thinking about wearing one on the pitch, as their keeper.

About giving my parents a life where they don’t have to work so hard anymore.

And, lately, I’ve been thinking—as much as I try not to—about that philosopher Coolidge assigned me. ”

“Found anything interesting about him yet?”

“He’s from Argentina. Same as Messi.”

“That’s a start. Anything else?”

“About him? Nah. But I think about my friends I don’t see anymore and wonder if we’ll be able to fall right back into our groove when they’re back in December.

I miss when we would just get into pendejadas all the time.

But I also miss having someone to stay up late with and pour my heart out to.

All our hopes and fears. The chisme. Everything.

We still text, sometimes FaceTime, but we’ve also all got our own lives now, new friend groups, things going on that are important. ”

“What would it say right now? Your heart.”

I look at Vale’s eyes. His lips. How comfortable he looks in the faded navy long-sleeve shirt he’s wearing.

At his legs. Where his shorts end and our skin touches.

He’s actually got really nice legs, as much as he thirsts over mine.

The thought runs across my brain of him draping his leg over mine, my hand going up and down that skin. Then I go back to his eyes. And—

“ Yo, Pi n a! ” Ahmed shouts from the other side of my door. “FIFA tournament downstairs. Come on.”

I look to my bedroom door and then all the way back to Vale, giving him a soft smile. “Want to stay for some FIFA?”

“I’m not playing against actual soccer players. But I’ll root for you if you want.”

My smile only gets bigger as I pick myself up off the bed and offer a hand to him. “I’d like that a lot.”