6. CHAPTER 6
Fourth of July finally came, and I couldn’t have been more excited. Our small town came alive on this holiday. There were events all day, and adrenaline filled me at the thought of Easton being part of it all.
The day started with the annual wiffle ball tournament at the softball field. Anyone could play as long as they attended that morning’s workout. It had been the most attended workout for the last three years.
The centerfield fence of the baseball field doubled as the right-field fence for the softball field. It always felt special to play there, knowing the softball team was demolishing their opponents right beside us.
I drove the Durango over and parked along the fence. Easton and Gavin hopped out to unload the grill and rolled it over to the first-base dugout. I joined Ricky, Silas, and Maddux in the third-base dugout, already arguing about who got the first pick.
“This was my idea,” Silas said. “I always get first pick.”
“That was four years ago,” Maddux said, flipping his red hair under his hat. “You can’t use that forever.”
“Biggest dick goes first!” Ricky shouted. He said that every year, and every year we reminded him that meant he’d pick last.
I’d heard people say they realized they were gay in the locker room.
For me, the locker room with the guys had always been a nightmare.
I had changed in a stall until I was fifteen, and even then, I had moved fast. I didn’t want anyone to look, but more than that, I didn’t want anyone to notice me looking.
That didn’t mean I hadn’t seen, as tough as it was to see when it came to Ricky.
We decided picks would come down to a rock-paper-scissors contest. I won two out of the last three, mostly because I kept a notebook of everyone’s habits since we were eight. That wasn’t a joke—the book sat in my desk, the third drawer down.
I won again and didn’t hesitate before taking Easton. I wanted to win, didn’t I? The others were too dumb to draft Gavin, so I ended up with him, too. It looked like we were winning again.
Ricky’s team would be playing mine in the second game, so we gathered in the bleachers. He’d drafted the only two softball girls, and they huddled near him.
To his right was Bella Zink, the starting catcher on the softball team. She had a big afro—or maybe a perm—but either way, it suited her. She could crush the ball and probably take Ricky’s spot if she ever joined the baseball team.
Lying on the row below was Lacy Fortin, her arm over her eyes to block the sun.
She was Bella’s best friend and pitched to her on the softball field—which was honestly terrifying to watch.
Off the field, they had their moods, but I loved them for it.
Lacy didn’t smile often, but when she did, it made your day.
Easton and I sat nearby, trying to pick up on their conversation. Bella kept calling someone named Ally a slut. Her voice rose to near a shout every time she said Ally’s name.
When Easton looked at her, Bella zeroed in. “And who the hell are you?”
“Easton Chase,” he said. “I’ll be going to school with you guys.”
“You’re cute,” Lacy added. “Where are you from?”
“Ashland,” he said.
“Oh crap,” Lacy muttered.
“Ashland?” Bella repeated. “So, you went to school with Mark Blake?”
Easton tensed. “Yeah.”
“Were you friends with him?”
“Whatever you do, don’t say yes,” Lacy warned. “She might kill you.”
“Mark Blake is the worst person I’ve ever met,” Easton said.
Bella backed off, satisfied; Lacy cracked up. Easton looked as lost as I felt. I had never heard of Ally or Mark Blake.
“What are you so salty about?” I asked Bella.
“Don’t worry about it, Quinn.”
"Her girlfriend hooked up with Mark last week,” Lacy said.
Bella scowled. “She’s my ex now. I don’t do cheaters.”
Bella sat there, loud and fearless, like the word “gay” had never scared her a day in her life. I couldn’t even say the word to a mirror. Sometimes I wondered what it would be like to live openly about who I was.
But times like this made me a Ricky kind of awkward; whenever talk turned gay, I got weird. I felt like everyone could see right through me. I forced myself to ignore every internal thought, put on a brave face, and hope that would be enough.
When I saw Gavin fumbling with the grill, I used that as an excuse to leave.
“Move,” I said. “You need to turn on the propane.”
“I had it,” Gavin said.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Need help?” Easton asked. He twirled a pack of burger buns in his hand as he joined me, and Gavin sulked away, muttering something about me being a jackass. I decided to ignore him.
“Bella scaring you?” I asked.
“Just a little,” he said. Our laughter intermingled as we lined up the patties.
“Are there any other gay kids at our school?” He glanced over his shoulder like someone might hear.
“A few,” I said. “All girls.”
“Cool. I had a friend in Ashland who was gay.”
My hand paused over the grill before I could flip the burgers. His tone had been too casual. I waited for the joke, the glance, the trap. But Easton just stared at the sizzling burgers, as if he’d asked about the weather.
The smell of the meat rose into my tiny nostrils as I went to flip a burger, but Easton stopped me, hand brushing mine. “Not yet. You’ll give everyone E. coli.”
“Maybe that’s my goal.”
He laughed. “Shut up and let the pro work.”
I checked behind us. Everyone was watching the game.
Except Bella.
After lunch and a title in the tournament, we went home for the party my parents threw every year.
“What are you doing?” Easton asked.
We’d ventured into the attic—a place he’d never seen. The air was thick with mildew, the wood chipped and dusty. A few old boxes lined the walls, filled with Christmas decorations and other junk we only used once a year.
I walked to the window at the far end, pushed it open, and climbed out onto the flat roof of the garage. "Follow me," I said. The black slate was warm beneath my bare feet.
Easton glanced back, checking the room to see if somebody was following us. I reached for his hand, scraping my forearm against the siding as I helped him to the second-floor roof.
We stood on top of the house. The angle allowed movement, and the view stretched over the trees.
“Why are we here?” he asked.
I pulled a blanket from my backpack and spread it across the shingles. “Fireworks,” I said. “They shoot off that way. Best view in town.”
We lay side by side, but I made sure there was a deliberate gap between us. I didn’t trust what I’d do if the gap closed.
The sky burned orange and gold, the sun fading fast. I had grabbed a couple of beers and handed him one. We had stolen them from the cooler; of the few dozen people at the house, no one had noticed—or they just didn’t care.
Zach and Gavin had gone to the golf course for the fireworks, but we stuck back, not wanting to risk being around the wrong person with alcohol on our breath. Voices, but not the words they shaped, drifted from the deck below.
Easton stared into the distance, quiet. I giggled—rare for me and a sign I wasn’t sober.
“What?” he asked, glancing at me.
“You spaced out.”
“Just thinking,” he said, turning back toward the sky.
“You’re cute when you think,” I said impulsively. Shit.
“You think I’m cute?” he asked, his lips twitching upward.
“Only when you think,” I blurted. That made it better, right? “What were you thinking?” I added, not wanting him to ponder too much about me calling him cute.
“This town. Your family. Now you.”
“Oh,” I said. I couldn’t find any other words. After five minutes, I couldn’t sit in silence any longer. “Did you have fun today?”
“Way better than my last holiday,” he said. He took a sip of his beer but didn’t elaborate.
“Why’s that?” I asked.
The question lingered, like so many did when we talked alone.
I opened my mouth to try again, but a loud pop filled the air. A red firework burst across the sky, lighting up the space between us. I watched, letting the color wash over me. At one point, I turned to look at Easton just to see his face. But when he noticed, I snapped my eyes to the sky.
What if I made a move on Easton, and I was rejected? I couldn’t lose him. I didn’t know how I’d gotten used to needing him so quickly, but I had.
By the time the fireworks ended, the mood had shifted. I pulled out the last two beers, and we drank in silence. We didn’t finish them—we fell asleep before we could.
I woke up with a jolt. Thunder cracked above, followed by rain that soaked through my shirt in seconds. Easton stirred beside me, blinking up at the storm, and we both burst out laughing as we scrambled back through the window and into the attic.
We stumbled into my room, soaked and out of breath, but neither of us said a thing as we changed for bed.
He slid onto the futon as I pulled myself under my covers. I kept waiting for the silence to crack—some dumb joke, some bold confession. Something.
But nothing came. Staying quiet seemed easier than telling the truth.