Sebastian
SEBASTIAN
I try not to enjoy this too much.
It’s nice, arguing about where to eat while I drive around looking for a good place. It’s taking my mind off the shitty day I had yesterday, playing Farming Simulator and falling asleep in my underwear. It also kind of feels like being in a relationship. Not that I’d know anything about that. When I was ‘with’ Greg – or Professor Hardy (you can imagine the nicknames he got after that video leaked) – we had to meet in secret. If I ever bumped into him at a bookstore on campus or at the cafeteria, he spoke to me the way he spoke to all his students. In that crisp, cheerful, professional manner. He was so good at it. He never even flinched. I’d be standing there, trying not to blush while images of him red-faced and sweaty with my thighs pressed against his chest came to mind, and he’d just be yapping away about Dickens like he hadn’t had me up against his desk a couple of hours ago.
I glance at Austin in the rear-view. He looks lost in thought and I wonder if he’s thinking about that kiss. He’d never be able to bluff the way Greg could.
“I can put a country playlist on if you like.”
“Nah, I’m good.” He keeps glancing out of the window, and when I slow down for a stop light, I catch him swallow hard. “I’ll make you one.”
A little flutter. I push it down.
“Sure, thanks.”
“And maybe you could send me some more songs by that Julia woman… my ma would probably like her.”
“Sure.” I tamper down the grin fighting to light up my face. “I want to see your mom sing.”
Austin’s face gets almost as red as the stop sign.
“She only sings at Smokey’s, so you’d have to schlep your ass all the way to Jersey.”
“I don’t mind.”
He swallows hard again, but doesn’t say anything.
We park up outside the pasta place. It’s a no-frills sort of establishment with white plastic chairs and tables. A pasta and salad bar where you can load up a plastic container for five dollars.
Austin takes a table furthest from the window again and starts tucking into his food.
When he finally comes up for air, he asks if I saw the Rangers v Devils game.
“Of course you’d bring that up.”
He chuckles. “Rangers got their asses kicked.”
“Whatever, the Devils had a lucky game.”
He snorts. “Sure.”
For the rest of the meal, we talk about what NHL stars are performing at their best and which ones are most likely to get traded.
“You watching the Boston game Saturday?”
“I don’t know, I’ll probably go to the bar, but it’ll be a pain trying to stop the guys drinking.”
“You can watch it at my place if you like.”
“The whole team?”
I snort. “I doubt anyone would show up.”
“Give them time,” he wipes his mouth on a paper napkin. “They’ll come around.”
I don’t care, I think, but this time, I don’t say it.
“I appreciate you standing up for me.”
He looks so hard into his pasta container I think he’s going to stare a hole into it.
“I told you, it’s my job as your captain.”
I want to say something about the fact we kissed. Ask him if he wants to talk about this whole bisexual awakening thing, but I get the feeling he’s not in the mood. Not that he ever seems in the mood for deep talks.
“Well if you want to, the invitation’s there.”
He swallows and bunches his napkin up before throwing it into his container. “I don’t think it’d be a good idea.”
“Why not? You worried the guys will think I’m your favorite?” I try to flash a cocky smile, but my heart isn’t in it. When Austin looks up at me with just his eyes, something turns to jelly inside me.
“You know why not.”
“I’m not going to jump you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
His gaze shoots around the restaurant.
“Don’t worry, no one can hear me, and I’m not going to out you. I’d never do that. I know what it feels like to be outed.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “You mean the video thing?”
“That, and at school, when Frederick the Swede told everyone I tried to kiss him.”
“Did you?”
“ He kissed me , before he got all weird about it and blabbed.”
“I-”
“Don’t worry, I’m not saying that’s what you did.”
He slumps back in his chair. “We should go, we’ve got a business class in an hour.”
That week of practise goes faster than I thought it would. It’s like classes, assignments and hockey practise all ramp up for everyone at the same time and no one has the energy to hold grudges. I’m under no illusion the grudges are gone, just… on hold for the time being.
By the time the puck drops on Friday, I’m just focused on the game, and man that feels nice. To have a clear head like that, just for a little while.
We keep it up for the UMass game. The first line are communicating well, and we win the first face-off. Austin finds my stick and I breakaway through the neutral zone and take a shot on goal, but it’s saved by UMass’ goaltender and we’re denied a chance to get ahead early.
It’s the home team who get on the board first, and when Coach switches out the lines, Hayes actually taps my stick before going on the ice with a look of pure determination.
No doubt he’s improved since Austin’s little speech. My chest catches at the thought of being moved down again and I realize, not for the first time, I actually want this.
Hockey coaches always gave me more praise than my dad ever did. But this isn’t my future. I know that, and I need to get it out of my head.
Our second line are tight and communicating well. Hayes finds a freshman stick and Smith scores. We jump up and Austin presses his weight against me in a bear hug before pulling away, red-faced.
We go back out pumped, before UMass put another one in the back of the net and that’s the end of the first period.
The second period is scrappy from the start and when UMass score a third goal, it’s hard not to drag our asses on the floor, but we rally. UMass’ defense get sloppy and Austin lights the lamp on a penalty kill.
Heart thumping, I’m desperate to close the gap. Austin finds me after Jordan forces a turnover in the UMass defensive zone and I send a slap shot soaring into the back of the net.
We celebrate as if we just scored the deciding goal in game seven for the Stanley Cup.
It doesn’t even matter that the third period is goalless and we walk away with a draw. The main thing is that we pulled it back from a beatdown and left Lowell with our heads high.
On the bus back to campus, Jordan comes and sits beside me, his arm around my neck, squeezing with his big D-man biceps.
“Yale saved us from a getting our asses handed to us tonight,” he says.
“Yeah, maybe he deserves a new nickname,” Austin tries.
My gut churns at the reason he’s trying to stop everyone calling me Yale.
“Maybe, come watch Donno’s team with us tomorrow and we’ll think about it.” Jordan rubs his knuckles against my head until I flinch. Satisfied, he jumps up and goes back to his seat at back of the bus.
I rub my head and Austin laughs.
“So everyone’s going to the bar then?”
“Yeah, you should come.”
“I will.” I know all about obligations, and this is a glaring one if I ever saw one. Even if it’s a little late for us to all bond and hold hands now, maybe I will be playing on this team to the end of the year, so it can’t hurt to get on with it.
“Have you got your earphones?”
“Yeah, why? You wanna borrow them?”
“I want to hear your music.”
He looks like he’s about to shrink from the suggestion before pulling a set of earphones out of his pocket and plugging them into his phone. When he gives me one and takes the other, I have to hold back a giddy smile.
A song I can only describe as a hillbilly song starts playing. A man with a deep voice singing about crying. I side-eye Austin and he looks up with a grin.
“This is Johnny Cash in case you didn’t know.”
“ Pshht , obviously I know Johnny Cash.”
I don’t really listen to the music. I watch the side of Austin’s face instead as he looks at his phone.
Coach let us change into regular clothes as long as they were ‘smart’ and representative of the school. Austin’s wearing a grey hoodie with the college logo across the front. I bought one in every color, so I know they’re expensive. He’s got earphones with an actual wire rather than air pods, but he has fifty-plus dollars to spend on school merch. Unless someone gifted it to him. Or maybe I have a lot to learn about working-class priorities? Looking smart and representing your school = more important than having air pods. Got it.
He catches me looking at his chest.
“Nice sweater.”
“I got loads of them, don’t you?”
Don’t mention how expensive they are, do not mention…
“They’re expensive.”
He snorts. “Maybe for you, but I get this shit for free.”
“Who’s a cocky asshole now?”
He winks, but I catch that blush travelling up his neck to his cheeks.
The bar’s crowded when I arrive. I don’t spot anyone I recognize, and for a minute, I’m the new kid at school again. Dropped at the gate by my dad’s chauffeur with my bags and no promise of when I’ll be going home.
I shake the thought, pin on my most obnoxious smile, and make my way through the crowd.
The hockey team take up a couple of tables with the best view of the TV. There are girls at the table too. One in a Boston jersey sitting next to Austin, being so obvious it’s painful. I have no right to be jealous. If he wants to hook up with this girl, it’s none of my business.
I order a round of beers for the table and make my way over.
Hayes looks up from the conversation he was having with some girl and there’s a flicker of a snarl before he remembers he’s supposed to be nice to me.
“Hey, it’s Yale!” Jordan stands up to greet me.
At my entrance, Austin pulls a chair out and gestures for me to sit between him and the girl in the hockey jersey. I can’t deny the satisfaction that gives me.
Boston are playing Philadelphia and there’s a few Philly fans in the house too. The atmosphere ramping up as game time approaches.
The bartender brings over our beers and the guys thank me. Even Hayes. When I look at Austin, he’s grinning.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I drink my beer, trying not to stare at the side of Austin’s face as he waits for the puck to drop. My attention is taken by the freshman sitting opposite with his arm around some girl. They’re giggling about something and looking at her phone. I only realize they keep looking at me when our gazes meet and the girl looks embarrassed and locks the screen.
My stomach drops and my face burns.
Austin’s voice by my ear is muffled, asking me what’s wrong.
“What were you laughing about?” I ask Smith and his girlfriend.
“What? Nothing.”
“What’s going on?” Austin asks.
I tell myself I’m being paranoid. They were not looking at what I think they were. But the look on their faces - it’s identical to the looks people would get when they’d see me in the hallways at Yale. The same glances from their phone to my face and that glee they’d get in their eyes when they connected the dots. Like they were seeing a celebrity in real life, one they could mock and jeer at.
All the resolve I have is melting away and I’m running on pure primal instinct as I push my chair back and ask them what they were laughing at again, this time, louder, much louder.
The whole table pauses it’s conversations and looks at me. Even a few people on nearby tables look.
Austin stands beside me and grabs my arm.
“Show me what you were looking at on your phone.”
Smith’s face gets indignant. “None of your business Yale .”
My nostrils flare and I feel like flipping the table. I don’t make a habit of getting into physical fights, my dad always taught me that words and backstabbing deeds are far more effective than getting your hands dirty, but at this moment, I’d like to punch someone.
Austin leans closer, so only I can hear. “Come outside with me, please.”
That “please” flips the switch, at least half way back from the brink.
I follow him outside, the cold air stinging my face, dampening the anger into something else.
“What was that about?”
“Nothing.”
He sighs and takes a step back. There’s a cheer from inside.
“Sounds like the puck dropped.”
“I don’t give a shit about that, I want you to tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing, they were just… laughing and looking at her phone.”
“So?” Realization washes over him and he runs a hand over his face. “Want me to go in there and make them show me the phone?”
“No!”
“I won’t look at it… you know, they probably weren’t even looking at what you think they were.”
“They were.”
He sighs, looking back at the bar. “Wait here.”