Last summer, Mason Riley was on top of the world. He’s been the undisputed best attacker on the Lions’ squad since sophomore year; he started every game. His grades were passing, students adored him, and scouts lined up with pamphlets on why their schools are the best fit for him. His thing with Val was normal; normal for them. Also, he wasn’t hurting for hookups during the school year. Mason was never lonely.
Something has changed.
Mason whispers, “She broke up with me.”
It’s an especially quiet Saturday evening, so Sebastian doesn’t have to strain to hear him. They’re hip to hip on a bench outside the ice cream shop. Mason wasn’t in the mood for burgers with the guys, and Sebastian had no interest in catching the Will Smith flick playing at the drive-in. It’s moments like this he misses during the school year.
Mason works a part-time job at the mall in the off-season. Most of his money goes to helping his mom with bills. A slacker during the soccer season, Sebastian spends his downtime catching up on classes. They share Saturdays at Starbucks and the occasional Hughes family barbeque; Lily Hughes is a good PTA, bake-sale, life-of-the-party kind of mom.
Evenings like this, shooting the shit and talking about soccer, music, whatever, under a bright pink and blue sky, are important to Sebastian.
Sebastian nudges his sneaker on the pavement. “She did?”
Mason glares at Val, who’s near the diner with her friends and a handful of visiting college guys. “I haven’t told anyone,” he says. His hands are clenched in his lap.
“Yeah, okay.”
An unspoken rule exists between bros: No questions about love-life-shit unless prompted. Sebastian respects the rule, but he’s curious about what the hell went down between Mason and Val. He’s been letting Mason deflect for weeks, but now the cracks in his armor of silence are discernible.
“She ended things after last season.” Mason’s mouth goes tight. “She thought it was time for her to be serious about life, and that I’m never serious about anything. It was kinda rank.”
Sebastian scratches his temple, giving Mason space to talk.
“She’s right, though.” Mason winces, and Sebastian does too. He’s about to protest, but Mason laughs, dryly. “It’s cool; I can take it. I should’ve been serious about her, but I wasn’t.”
Sebastian met Mason a month before he met Willie, a week after Emir left, and that has created a sense of loyalty. But he still says, “She’s a damn good girl, Mace,” because he believes it, because she deserved more than Mason gave.
Mason nods. “Part of me is over it,” he says, frowning now. “But it messes with my head, bro, like full-on brain damage.”
Sebastian’s afraid Mason will shut down if he hugs him. He punches Mason’s arm.
“I’m not as good as I want to be,” Mason says, slouching. “Mom keeps telling me she’ll be fine, whenever I go away for college, she’ll be fine. But I can’t.”
“Join the club,” says Sebastian, slumping forward. His elbows dig into his knees. “We’re a mess.”
Mason elbows him and says, “You’ll do fine, dude. You’re built of awesomeness.”
If you only knew…
“I’m mostly okay with that, being a mess,” Mason says. Sebastian believes him, mostly.
In the line at the ice cream shop, Willie and Grey argue like a married couple about flavors. Sebastian’s grateful those two have become inseparable over the summer. Grey has been a crucial distraction, keeping Willie’s mind off the fact that he’s sidelined by his knee.
What truly trips Sebastian up is how soft Mason has gone for Grey. He doesn’t kick her from their table every day; he says a few polite words between mocking or talking over her, and he smiles. Like right now, when he says, “Who invited The Brat?”
The sky is changing from cotton candy colors to indigo. The wind is light against their faces. Sebastian whispers, “Willster to the rescue.”
Mason says, “He loves to watch me suffer,” and glares at Willie, as if he’s trying set him on fire with his mind.
“Still don’t like her?”
“She’s tolerable.” Mason Riley is such a poser. One side of his mouth twitches. “She talks too much. And she looks at me, like—” Mason waves a hand, and Sebastian says, “Like she’s drunk in love with you.”
Sebastian’s familiarity with Mason’s expressions tell him one thing: Mason is smitten. He hangs an arm around Mason’s shoulders and pulls him in. “It’s not so bad,” he insists. “You two are kinda friends now, right?”
“About as much as you and Shah are,” Mason says, casual as can be.
Sebastian might spew chunks all over his favorite sneakers. He chokes out, “He’s okay.” Mason is the one guy Sebastian knows who does irrational, stupid things, and lives life as if regret is a foreign word. Sebastian shouldn’t hide Emir and their confusing whatever from him.
“Uh huh.”
“Things are,” Sebastian pauses, “interesting.”
Mason raises his eyebrows but doesn’t interrogate Sebastian. He respects the bro code.
Good, because Sebastian didn’t want to have to hire assassins to put Mason out of his misery. Then who would he soak up the last dregs of summer with?
The ice cream shop has old-school megaphone speakers attached to the sides that play music Sebastian’s parents danced to. They’re blaring a crackled Elvis Bishop tune. Sebastian flashes on that one scene in Guardians of the Galaxy. He loves that movie. He loves the nostalgia the music evokes, the way it fits this perfectly weird little town. Next to him, Mason hums, tapping a foot.
This distraction keeps them from noticing Grey. She’s a ninja, suddenly thrusting a cone at Mason. Her big green eyes reflect the last hints of sunset. “Peppermint.” She waggles the cone in Mason’s face. “Your favorite, right?”
“Jesus,” Mason says, almost in a squeal.
Willie hooks his chin over Grey’s shoulder. He says, mockingly, “She knew, dude, how awesome is that?”
“As awesome as someone shoving that plastic spoon up your—”
“Is that a thank you?” Grey cuts Mason off. She has one eyebrow raised.
Mason grumbles, shifting until his thigh is pressed firmly against Sebastian’s. “Just sit, Patrick.” Eyebrows lowering, he growls, “Quietly.”
Grey flops on the bench. She hands Mason the cone. A satisfied curl appears on her lips when he licks viciously at melting ice cream.
“Small victories,” Willie whispers to her.
Mason flips him off.
Sebastian folds his hands behind his head, doing his best to stretch out while squashed four-deep on the bench. He hums “Blister in the Sun” while Mason and Willie continue their brotherly bickering. Grey tries to get a word in. She’s not annoyed. Maybe it’s because Mason doesn’t shut her down each time she opens her mouth.
Around them, the team fills the streets: having water gun fights, window-shopping, parading around like a bunch of teens drunk on good weather and freedom.
Sebastian should get in on that.
“Isn’t that Shah?” Mason points at the ice cream shop.
Sebastian’s breath stalls. He peeks through his eyelashes, pretending Mason’s wrong. It’s simply a random skinny guy with tense shoulders who’s severely shy in public settings and has Permanent Scowl Syndrome. This guy just might look like Emir, if a person squints. Sebastian’s delusion lasts five seconds, until the guy begins to turn around—
“Yep,” Grey says, lips smacking on strawberry ice cream. “It’s him.” She is now the enemy to Sebastian.
“Huh.” Willie is careful not to meet Sebastian’s eyes, but he smirks as if he has a secret. “He never comes to town with us.”
All of Sebastian’s friends are now dead to him. He’ll begin his search for new ones tomorrow, but first—
Grey asks, “Should we invite him over?”
Sebastian studies his shoes. His cheeks are hot. He refuses to make eye contact or say the wrong thing.
“He doesn’t like us,” Mason says.
“He doesn’t like you,” Willie and Grey say together, cracking up.
Mason fakes a laugh while giving them a two-finger salute. “That’s not humanly possible. I’m very likeable.” His chest is puffed up and his chin juts out. “Isn’t that right, Patrick?”
Grey punches him in the thigh. Panic butts into Sebastian’s life when Grey says, “I’ll get him to come over.”
He manages a “No” that’s both strangled and anxious.
Three heads turn slowly in his direction.
Sighing, Sebastian wriggles off the bench. He dusts off his jeans. He’s fighting off a frown. “I’ll go get him.” His friends’ narrowed eyes confirm that they’re putting it all together.
If he told them, would it be so bad? Mason and Willie have never judged Sebastian, not when he didn’t stop a goal during a game, or when he cried over Sam. Having a thing with Emir should be harmless.
Clearing his throat, Sebastian says, “Maybe he’ll be a little less anxious if I’m the one who invites him over. We’re, um, friends. Again.” He leaves out and I think I’m falling for him because that is a moment of pure boxed-macaroni-and-processed-cheese-cheesiness he can’t live out loud.
“Okay,” Mason says. Grey’s smiling eyes affirm Mason’s words. Willie looks skeptical.
Sebastian turns on his heels. He takes a deep breath, stuffs his hands into his pockets, and strides over to the shop.
“Can I have a—?”
“Vanilla and chocolate swirl, right?” Sebastian props his hip against the order window counter like a smooth criminal. Emir sizes him up. Sebastian licks his lips. Emir raises his eyebrow.
“Uh…”
“Still your favorite, right?” Sebastian’s trying not to seem too hopeful.
“No.” Emir turns back to Barb and says, “Actually, can I have a scoop of butter pecan?”
Barb, along with her husband Shea, owns Clovers and Sprinkles. They have an agreement: Barb, with her sweet, kind, wrinkled face, mans the till while Shea, who has a penchant for mumbling four-letter words in his Irish brogue, scoops the ice cream. Sebastian’s pretty sure Barb wears the pants in their relationship, though.
Sebastian’s an absolute idiot. After all these years, Emir couldn’t possibly like the same ice cream flavors. He almost misses it when Barb asks, “Anything for you, Bastian?”
“He’ll have two scoops of cookie dough ice cream in a waffle bowl,” says Emir before Sebastian’s tongue remembers motor skills. Emir wiggles two fingers confidently. “My treat.”
Sebastian does a double take. Of course Sebastian’s still the same, boring guy he was when they were kids, while Emir, who doesn’t like the same ice cream flavors, who’s semi-dated a guy, who has had sex with a guy, has changed.
Emir asks, “Hey, are you okay?”
No. Sebastian wipes at the tingling sweat at his hairline. Eventually, he remembers why he’s standing in line with Emir. “You don’t usually come to town.”
Emir shrugs, an apple-red blush blooming through his cheeks. “Yeah, my mom says I need to try harder to socialize,” he says. “And I thought, well, it was time to be around. To try, like Zach said.”
Sebastian nods like a happy stoner. He likes that every moment with Emir is like being on a rollercoaster for the first time, minus the wanting to throw up bit. “Cool,” he says.
Ten feet away, Grey clears her throat.
“Um, my friends,” Sebastian jerks his head to where Grey is waving like a crazed Nick Jonas fan, “would like you to join us.”
Emir pales.
Reality sinks in. Sebastian’s heart does a trip-skip-flatline. “Hey,” he says, fingers catching Emir’s elbow, “It’ll be fine, okay? They’re harmless.”
Emir’s mouth twists skeptically.
“Okay, Mason is a bit much. But Willie and Grey are cool. And—” Sebastian pauses, aware his next few words will be too gooey-pathetic. “I’d love it if you came over.”
10cc is singing about not being in love over the speakers as Emir whispers, “Okay.”
“Okay,” Sebastian repeats. He might be brain-dead. His fingers skim the meat of Emir’s palm. He almost grabs Emir’s hand.
“Thanks,” says Emir. He takes their ice creams from Barb. His eyebrows silently direct Sebastian to lead the way.
Sebastian does, fingers tingling the entire time.
“Shah, you walk amongst the living.” Mason greets them with spread arms and a teasing grin.
Eyes lowered, Emir stands close to Sebastian. Sebastian sneaks a hand behind him and rubs circles into the small of Emir’s back.
Willie eyes them. “Welcome to the pits of hell, Emir.”
Sebastian says, “Better known as the geeks of the team,” as his friends shuffle and squeeze to make space on the bench for them.
“Speak for yourself!” cries Mason. “I’m the top of the food chain around here.”
Grey sighs. “Face it, you’re a bottom-dweller now that you hang with me.”
Mason mocks her, sticking his tongue out. She chucks rainbow sprinkles in his hair. Willie hefts his legs up; the backs of his knees cross Grey’s lap and his Vans rest on Mason’s thighs, while Mason and Grey bicker.
Sebastian considers disowning all of them.
But then Emir says, “Well, I obviously bring the group’s loser level up five points for having better hair than Riley.” Grey nearly spills her ice cream giggling.
Squinting, Mason points his spoon at Emir. He grins. “You can stay. I like you.”
Emir relaxes against Sebastian’s side.
Well, it’s decided then. This isn’t the worst idea Grey’s come up with.
It’s a hard fit, five teens stuffing their faces with ice cream on one bench, but they make it work, mostly. It takes some Cirque du Soleil maneuvers, with Willie spread out in Grey’s lap and Sebastian smooshed in the middle, Emir’s thigh pressed tightly to his, but Sebastian’s not complaining.
He’s overwhelmed with laughter.
It’s Willie’s fault. For a half hour, he’s been telling grand tales of their adventures, each more embarrassing than the last. Sebastian could do without remembering that time he drank too many wine coolers and took a dare to do keepie-uppies naked. But Grey’s face is streaked with fat tears. Mason is choking. Emir is guffawing, his face pressed to Sebastian’s shoulder. Sebastian can deal.
Mason and Willie argue over their respective teams. Willie stalks FC Dallas and Mason has had a man-crush on Beckham since puberty, so things get heated quickly.
“You’re both wrong,” Grey says. “It’s all about Kansas City.”
Willie scoffs at her. “Who made you the authority?”
Grey says, like a badass, “I just am.”
“Shut up,” Mason says, no heat in his voice. He nudges her, and she quickly turns pink. Mason rolls his eyes when he notices.
Sebastian leans on Emir as Willie continues with another story.
“—and then, like Charlie Brown going to kick a football, the douchebag misses a free kick. It was epic.” Willie’s doubled over, wheezing as he talks. “He went flying but the ball didn’t move.”
Sebastian never gets tired hearing about Mason’s first game, especially not the way Willie tells it.
“Didn’t Coach bench you?” Grey asks.
“Twice!” Willie howls. “I don’t know why Coach kept putting him back in.”
Mason says, smugly, “He knew I was an all-star even back then.”
“Or,” Willie drags out the ‘r’ as he elbows Mason’s side, “we had three players out with mono thanks to the lovely Cara Beckman.”
Sebastian and Mason both make a face. Cara Beckman was a junior cheerleader with excessively teased hair and a thing for athletes. She tried flirting with Sebastian a few times, something he found amusing.
It’s sticky-warm. Mason flicks sweaty dark locks out of his eyes. He says, barely annoyed, “Okay, enough of that, William.”
Willie’s face is scandalized. “Uncool, Riley.”
The moon is out. A fistful of stars accompanies it, but there’s hardly enough light for Sebastian to truly enjoy Emir’s face as he laughs. He likes the crow’s feet around Emir’s eyes. Dark stubble makes the pink of his mouth stand out.
“Um, staring,” Emir whispers. His tongue has a dollop of ice cream on it when he sticks it out at Sebastian.
“Sorry.”
Emir says, “I didn’t say I had a problem with it,” and Sebastian sags with—he doesn’t know. He still hasn’t figured it out. They’re friends, from what he can tell, but there’s also more. Possibly. Sebastian wants more.
Sam made the first move on him. Sam told him she was his girlfriend. Sam said, “I love you” first, words she didn’t mean. Sam broke up with him. First by text and then in person. His reference points when it comes to dating are pretty messed up, so he’s not sure how to approach discussing this with Emir.
Now isn’t the time, though. Not with Emir amused at something Willie’s animatedly explaining, laughing at Mason’s jokes, or putting a hand over Grey’s knee. This is Emir, as himself. Sebastian’s scared of ruining that.
He waits for his moment to direct Emir’s attention toward him. It happens when his friends talk college, a conversation Sebastian’s avoiding like bird flu. Sebastian scoops up a spoonful of ice cream and knocks his knee against Emir’s. When Emir looks at him, Sebastian holds out the spoon. Emir smiles slowly.
“Hey,” Sebastian says, softly, as he feeds Emir, “They like you.”
Emir mashes ice cream around with his tongue. “How can you tell?”
“I just can.”
It’s a good enough reason. He scoops more ice cream. Humming and nodding, Emir pops his mouth open. Sebastian has better reasons, like how Mason hasn’t once been unnecessarily snarky with Emir, or how Willie’s yapping like there’s a fire sale on all their top-priority secrets, but he’s enjoying the glow that radiates from Emir.
Acceptance has an amazing effect on people who pretend they don’t need it.
Emir says, “They’re pretty cool.”
“Yeah?”
Emir shrugs, then nods.
“Oh shit, Shah, did you ever hear about the time our boy Hughes was so nervous dancing with this girl that he blew chunks all over her dress, at her birthday party?”
Correction: Sebastian’s friends are the worst.