5. Chapter 5
The pain came and went over the next couple weeks.
On days when I pitched and the days right after, I couldn’t lift my arm; on days we just had practice, I could manage to put on a shirt without feeling like death was hunting me.
Today was a good day, though, as we’d had the last two days off from practice with it being Labor Day weekend.
I had offered to cut the Quinns’ grass yesterday, so when I lay on the ground, clippings brushed against my chin. Gavin huddled next to me, his face covered in eye black. He called it his war paint.
I made sure my gun was loaded and pumped. We brushed up against the pool, using it as cover, hoping to catch Zach and Jake before they caught us, the smell of chlorine mixing with the fresh-cut grass.
“Whatever you do, Gavin, don’t shoot until you see the whites of their eyes.”
He stifled a giggle as I adjusted the bandana holding back my hair.
He wore only his swimming trunks, a pair colored red, orange, and yellow with a bunch of flowers on them.
They were likely an old pair of Tanner’s or Zach’s, as they kept sliding down his body, and he’d yank them up just as fast, the drawstring in the front doing nothing to help.
I swept the sweat off my forehead even though it was September. I heard whispering a couple of feet away, meaning Jake was as bad as Gavin at keeping his voice low.
They crept around the corner, and Gavin and I jumped on them in a flash. Water sprayed everywhere—I even got a direct shot at Jake’s eyes. Laughter filled the backyard, bouncing off the trees and the house.
Then another noise butted in.
I scrunched my face, trying to place the sound—familiar but indistinct. I turned toward the driveway as an SUV pulled in, and then—
“TANNER!” Gavin screamed. He dropped his gun mid-squirt and sprinted barefoot toward the vehicle. Tanner exited the driver’s side and was immediately tackled in a hug by the chaos gremlin.
Zach, Jake, and I walked over more slowly, even though it took everything in me not to run as fast as Gavin had.
“That’s enough, you bum, you’re soaked!” Tanner said, throwing Gavin to the ground like a rag doll. Gavin tumbled into the grass, and heaps of it stuck to his legs.
Zach reached him next and offered him a quick fist bump; their smiles were a bigger greeting than any hug could be.
Jake and I stood ten feet away. How was I supposed to greet him? I was someone more than a friend but definitely NOT that kind of more. Not now, at least. I opened my mouth to say something—anything—then someone got out of the passenger’s side, and the words died in my mouth.
The man stood an inch or two shorter than me.
His buzz cut made him look like he was getting ready to join the military, but his fingernails said differently—they were painted the black of school pavement.
His glasses mimicked the color, except a hint of pink peeked out from the inside of the frames.
He hesitated for a half step before joining us, his right arm grabbing at his left elbow after he snuck around the front of the car.
“This is Calvin,” Tanner said. I knew the next words before they exited Tanner’s mouth. “He’s my boyfriend.”
I took a quarter step behind Jake and pumped the water gun, not sure what else to do with my hands. Every muscle in my back tightened, like staying still might keep Calvin from seeing me.
“That’s awesome! I’m Gavin.” Gavin reached out his still-soaked hand, his powder-blue bandana falling off the back of his head, all while pulling up his trunks.
Calvin shook his hand. Weak grip, I decided. Or maybe hoped.
“What are you even doing here?” Zach asked, ever the conversationalist.
“Three-day weekend. Figured it was time for you guys to meet Cal,” Tanner said. His blonde hair hung longer in the back than I had ever seen it, and it flowed in the slight breeze.
I forced my body to unclench. “Welcome back, bro,” I said, finding my words. I shot a small spray at his bare shins, getting a grin back.
I stayed long enough for Calvin to meet the parents, and when Jake said he had to go, I used that as my excuse to leave as well, saying my grandparents needed help with dinner. Tanner’s eyes caught mine, the way they always did when he knew I was lying.
I broke the stare before it could burn through me and followed Jake out the door before Gavin could ask me to stay.
“Calvin seems cool,” he said when we were alone. Jake had replaced Tanner the past couple of months, giving us a fourth person when we wanted something to do.
“Yeah,” I said, my hands in the pockets of my Nike shorts, my right hand twirling my phone.
“I think it’s cool Tanner has a boyfriend, too, so soon after writing that article where he came out. It’s like stepping up to the plate and calling your shot to center field, then hitting it out. Me? I’d point to the fence, try to lay down a bunt, and pop it up to the center fielder.”
“You’d pop up a bunt to the center fielder?”
“I’m too strong for my own good,” he said, breaking into a flex right on the spot, his muscles barely showing from underneath his shirt. His lips curled as if he couldn’t stop laughing at himself.
“You’re absolutely ridiculous,” I said.
“But in a good way, right?” he asked, his eyes on his feet hitting every crack of the sidewalk.
“Sure, Jake. In a good way.”
“Cool.”
I finished walking Jake back to his house as he pleaded his case again that he was too old to need to be walked home.
I told him I agreed, but I liked talking to him, causing a smile to rip across his face faster than when he stole second base—which, in reality, was pretty damn fast and the reason he’d be starting in center field next season even though he’d only be a freshman like Gavin.
My own smile started to fade as I walked home. I told myself I was fine. Tanner had his boyfriend and his family. I had…what? A water gun and Jake’s dumb antics? My brain pulled me back to the first time I’d heard my dad say it—like it always did when I thought about boys like Tanner.
I’m sitting on a park bench, maybe twelve? Our gloves are sitting between us; my legs are heavy. We had been running hills before we played catch.
A guy is walking his Dalmatian in front of us, wearing a pink shirt and green shorts. I laugh because it’s a cool combo. Different, but cool.
“That dude’s a faggot,” my dad says. He's said it before. But last week a kid said it at practice, so I looked it up—and now I know exactly what he means.
I flinch, not knowing why my eyes are watering. He shouldn’t be saying that word. But he did.
“What that guy does in bed is disgusting.” He spits out a sunflower seed. There isn’t malice in his voice. Hatred, sure, but it’s more than that. He believes this random person in the park is beneath him and not worth the ground he walks on.
I don’t respond to him, and the conversation goes back to baseball. But I never forget his words.