The days are still humid and warm, but the sky turns plush pink, then deep blue-gray sooner. Sunsets bring a comfortable chill, a sure sign of an early autumn. Camp’s over but for the bonfire tonight. Sebastian’s managed to survive the past few days solely on routine, something he’s good at. Tomorrow afternoon, they’ll pile in Mason’s car to go back to Bloomington.
Then it’s school and a lengthy countdown to graduation.
Sebastian’s been avoiding anxiety-driven thoughts about life after high school. He takes in the low sun, orange like the top of a Dum-Dum lollipop, and appreciates the steady warmth.
Classic Oakville. Next summer, who knows where he’ll be, how nice the weather will be, if he’ll ever feel like this again.
Sebastian wants to get wasted, not on cheap beer, but on the buzz of summer. Maybe he can get so blitzed he won’t have to wake up tomorrow hungover by reality.
The pitch is green and prickly under Sebastian’s hands. “What a world,” he says softly. Earthy scents and dank heat fill his nose. Damp with sweat, his shirt sticks to his chest. He’s bumming away the hours until dinner.
Practice today was long and grueling, but it didn’t suck. The team was in sync. Sebastian thanks Grey for that.
He pulls his knees close to his chest. Absently, his fingers run a short length across the inside of his forearm. He’ll have a nasty bruise tomorrow after blocking an attack from Robbie, but, whatever. It was worth it. In fact, the whole day was sweet.
“I thought you played with balls in your spare time? You suck!”
Willie says, breathlessly, “Whatever, Riley. I get no complaints about the way I handle balls, thank you.”
Mason and Willie are having their annual keepie-uppies challenge. The contest is an excuse for Mason to show off and for Willie to prove himself. He’s been saving whatever strength he has left in his knee for this day. Sebastian always wipes the green with both of them, but today he doesn’t have it in him. Instead, he observes fondly.
He would’ve never made it on the team without them. He wouldn’t have made it through high school without them. Maybe if he and Emir had stayed friends…
Sebastian groans. He’s gone three days—three whole days—avoiding Emir. It’s easiest during meals, since Emir never sat with them anyway, but the solo morning jogs, evenings spent in his own bed, and especially practices are all tedious and draining.
What troubles Sebastian is, he thinks he should apologize. Will it matter? Were things going to continue once the season was over and Emir wasn’t out to impress his dad? Sebastian doesn’t know.
And here he is again, unsure of what happens to his life after soccer. Sebastian just needs someone to give him an answer.
A clipboard thwacks on the grass next to Sebastian, followed by a groaning, disgruntled Coach Patrick. “Too old for this,” says Coach, hairy legs stretched out in front of him, brim of his snapback pulled low to shade the sun.
Sebastian lifts an inquisitive eyebrow.
“I can’t figure out why you always do this.” Coach leans back on his hands. “What seventeen-year-old has so many moments of self-reflection?”
Coach reminds Sebastian of a TV dad, all deep speeches, then a bear hug. He goes from vicious wolverine on the pitch to Mr. Rogers without blinking an eye.
“Uh, I—”
Coach holds up a finger. “It’s not bad, Sebastian, except it only happens after a bad practice or a tough game.” Coach’s smile deepens his crow’s feet. “Remember when we played that amazing school from Chicago?”
Sebastian will never forget.
After the disastrous loss the Lions suffered, Sebastian spent an hour coughing up his guts in the stalls. Then he staked out a spot in the stadium’s empty bleachers and sat for hours with his headphones, sulking. He didn’t say a word for twenty-four hours.
“You’re good at beating yourself up, kid.” Coach drops a meaty arm around Sebastian’s shoulders. “But enough is enough.”
Sebastian nods, blowing out a breath to get the hair off his forehead.
“The other coaches and I have been talking.” Coach pauses, staring at Mason. Sebastian’s stomach clenches. Coach shakes his head, and says, “You’ve grown, kid. There’s a bullseye on you across the conference; everyone’s talking about the goalie from BHS.”
Sebastian’s throat is dry. He gets out, “Wow!” but it’s hoarse.
“You’re better than Riley,” Coach says without levity. “We weren’t expecting that after freshman year.”
Sebastian says, “I’m not,” by instinct, but Coach tsks at him, so he shuts his mouth.
“It was a unanimous vote. You’re captain.”
It doesn’t sink in immediately. Captain. Then, the goosebumps break out like a bad rash. Numbness and relief hit Sebastian at once. He scratches his temple, trying to piece together a “thank you,” but Coach beats him to it.
“They follow you,” he says, nodding toward Mason and Willie. “You’re the only leader they want.”
Carl definitely wouldn’t agree.
Coach considers him. “College scouts want you, Bastian. Treat this season right, and you can have a scholarship wherever you want.”
Sebastian breaks eye contact to gaze at the sinking sun. The sky is edging toward pink. His fingers curl around prickly grass. The waning warmth cools against his neck.
Bloomington High’s soccer team has a new captain. Captain Hughes.
A whooshing breath finally escapes him. “Thanks, Coach.”
Coach grunts; his arm goes lax on Sebastian’s shoulders. He’s rough around the edges, intimidating, but Coach considers every one of the players his son, including pranksters like Mason. Sebastian is proud to be part of that.
Coach changes the subject. “So.” Sebastian’s neck hairs stand up at Coach’s insightful look. “Shah, huh? Never suspected him as your type.”
This moment would be much funnier if Sebastian wasn’t positive he’s a second away from a heart attack. He’s damned, flinching at his pathetic “me neither” laugh and Coach’s speculative, but amused, glare. He doesn’t know what’s worse, being caught by his mom making out with a girl or Coach’s awareness about his pining for the guy who hates his guts. Both?
And pining? Jesus, Sebastian hates how his brain works.
“He’s my,” Sebastian chokes, tries again. “He’s my friend.” And he’s my type, too. Maybe it wasn’t apparent when he first realized he was into guys, but those childhood memories make Sebastian think something was there, lying dormant.
Coach hums.
Sebastian says, urgently, “I care about him, but nothing’s going on.” Anymore. He shovels a pound of regret on top of that word.
Coach rocks in place, jarring Sebastian. He says, “O’Brien is convinced he’s gonna make a mean sweeper if he can keep his cool.” Emir’s biggest flaw. “Keep him in line.”
Sebastian sputters. His hands scrabble on the grass. He can barely keep his own feelings in check. What is Coach thinking? He squeaks, “Okay.” Coach peers at him, and the next few words nearly rip Sebastian’s jaw off trying to get out. “But what if—what if I’m kind of in love?”
“Kind of?”
Sebastian clenches his eyes shut. He’s lightheaded and obviously about to make a huge mistake. “I think I am.”
It’s the first time Sebastian’s said it out loud to anyone, including himself. He’s still figuring out his own definition of love. Shouldn’t you wake up wanting nothing more than your partner’s smile or affectionate eyes or fond voice? For such a sought-after emotion, love sure comes with a lot of answerless questions.
Sebastian hangs his head. “I’m supposed to lead this team, but I can’t even convince them to like Emir. I can’t tell them that I like Emir.” He glares at the smooshed grass near his cleats. “We talk about acceptance, but it’s different when you’re in the position of telling these guys how to be men.”
“You’re not teaching anyone about manhood,” Coach says. Then, in a calm, firm voice, “And you’re sure as hell more than just your sexuality to them.”
Sebastian ignores his irregular heartbeat. He focuses on Coach’s words and on the serene but serious expression on his face.
This is more than a speech.
“When Xander was kicked off—” Coach takes a long pause. He never talks about his nephew. “Xander’s so smart and a Patrick, which makes him a handsome squirt.”
Sebastian’s laugh vibrates deep in his chest.
Coach eyes the sunset. He always has a monologue or at least a quote in his back pocket for any occasion. But now he’s searching for something. “Things don’t rattle Xander. He knows who he is, always has. When he decides something, he does it because it’s in every bit of his soul.”
Prickly grass slips between Sebastian’s fingers as his hands roam the pitch. He’d kill for some of that certainty.
“He knew he was gay. It wasn’t a question or a decision,” says Coach. “And he didn’t hide it from my brother, his mom, or me.”
“Wow.”
Coach chuckles, wistful, and then he’s serious again. “He questioned himself when he was kicked off the team. He hid away. He didn’t want to be out and proud or even acknowledge his sexuality.” Coach sniffs, and Sebastian gives him privacy by not meeting his gaze. “For the first time, my nephew was unsure who he was.”
A familiar queasiness clenches Sebastian’s stomach. It’s warm, but a cold sweat is looming. He doesn’t know how Coach carries on.
“I should tell all of you more often why I make this team a safe place for anyone who’s considered different.”
“We know.”
Coach shakes his head. He’s talking about more than just Sebastian, more than Willie and Mason. It’s anyone who gets stamped with a label, who’s predicted to fail because of society’s rules, because of a stereotype.
“It isn’t easy being the one coach in the district who stands up for guys like Xander,” says Coach, chin lifted. “I don’t let one kid walk away from my team without a chance to be himself, whether it’s gay or bi or trans or whatever. I get shit too.”
Sebastian’s heard of the coaches who refuse to look Coach Patrick in the eye and the parents and faculty who call Coach “a supporter of sinners who’ll burn in hell.”
“I made a change, kid,” says Coach, sighing. “I wasn’t doing enough to make sure my nephew, or anyone, knows this life isn’t defined by who you fall in love with.”
Sebastian wants to fall on his back, stare at the darkening sky, and digest all this. You are not defined by who you love. It’s a slogan for a poster or a T-shirt, but, holy shit, it says so much. Sebastian can see, in vibrant Technicolor, the one thing that’s missing for him: respect. Not acceptance. Because that would mean Sebastian wants people to approve of him. Of his affection for Emir. He’s not searching for that brand of recognition.
He wants people to respect him regardless of who he falls for.
“I do this for Xander. It’s the right thing to do.” Coach’s arm drops from around Sebastian’s shoulders. He reclines, hands supporting him, and says, “I’m not searching for sainthood. This is about people like you who need to know you’re much more than you realize.”
Sebastian rests his chin on his forearms. Coach is right. He doesn’t tell them often enough why he does this.
“How is Xander now?”
Coach smiles widely. “He has a boyfriend and is in public school. Top of his class, on the basketball team.” He chuckles. “I couldn’t get him to transfer to BHS, though.”
“Of course.”
Coach groans, sits properly, and grabs his clipboard. “You’ve earned their respect and support; that’s the least of your worries.” He gets to his knees, then his feet. “But if you’re not honest with them and honest with yourself about Shah, then you’ll lose their respect.”
Sebastian tenses.
“I don’t condone romantic relationships on the team.” Coach has that firm, “I’m the adult” expression again. Then it softens as he says, “But if you care about someone, go with your gut.”
Sebastian chews on an awkward smile. Okay, talking about Emir with Coach is mostly awkward, but it doesn’t beat being caught by his mom. Nothing beats being caught by your parents doing anything.
“Okay, Coach.”
Coach dusts grass from his shorts and walks off. When he’s out of sight, Sebastian’s shoulders drop and he blows out a long breath.
“Okay, spill.”
Sebastian rubs a hand across his face. Willie and Mason loom over him, giddy as kids at Christmas. Sebastian doesn’t know whether to crack up or put them out of their misery. He opts for the latter.
“I’m captain,” he says, and he can’t do it without goosebumps racing up his arms.
“Bullshit,” Mason says, accusingly. “Captain Hughes?”
Sebastian nods, and then yelps with laughter when they dogpile him. Mason’s elbow jams his ribs. Willie knees him in the thigh. Breathless and sweaty from wrestling, they lie in the itchy grass.
“Ouch.”
“You guys suck,” complains Willie. “Worst friends ever.”
The sky is on fire, all crimson and orange. Their breathing isn’t synchronized, but it might as well be. Mason’s on his left, Willie on his right. Finally drunk on summer, Sebastian tucks his hands behind his head.
After too much quiet, random conversations happen, starting with Willie’s gross admission about his crush on Hunter. Okay, it’s disgustingly cute. And it’s the world’s worst kept secret, now.
“Duh.” Mason rolls his eyes. “Gonna ask him to be your boyfriend?”
Willie turns red, but he’s already sunburned, so it’s barely noticeable. He whispers, “Maybe.”
Sebastian can picture Willie and Hunter being that couple at homecoming: matching campaign posters, kissy-faces for the coronation, a spotlit, last-dance moment at the end of the night. He says, “Will’s gonna have a high school sweetheart.”
“Whatever,” Willie says, giggling as if he’s lovesick. He changes the subject: life after graduation, Sebastian’s favorite! Mason’s still on the Michigan boat, possibly deferring his MLS dreams for a few years. Willie’s leaning toward a technical school.
Sebastian gazes at the fading clouds. He can tell them, he just doesn’t.
“I think,” Mason stops, scratching his nose. “I want to ask Patrick out.”
“Patrick Wiggins, from the track team?” asks Sebastian.
Willie gasps, “Wait, Coach Patrick?”
Mason smacks his palm on the grass. “No dumbass, Grace.”
Willie’s jaw drops, and Sebastian has to elbow him before Willie pulls it together to say, “Oh, yes. Right. Grey Patrick… the girl you hate?”
“I don’t hate her.”
“Um, hate to break it to you, dude, but—”
Mason cuts him off. “I like her, and I’m an ass, okay?”
“Like-like her?” asks Sebastian, for confirmation.
Mason turns his head, glaring. He might punch Sebastian, but not before he says, “I messed up. Mom would murder me if she knew I acted that way toward a sweet girl.” He lowers his eyes. “Guess I’m just like my dad.”
“You’re not,” Sebastian says. Mason’s shoulder relaxes against his. “We’ve all screwed up, but you’re not him.”
“Sage words from Sebastian the Great.”
Cool nicknames aside, Sebastian doesn’t hesitate to punch Mason’s shoulder. He’s a dick, but he’s improving. Maybe Grey will do him some good?
Willie, on the other hand, is a traitor to his kind. Sebastian senses the next topic coming like the killer in a horror movie. Willie opens his big mouth. “So, what’s up with you and Shah?”
Sebastian squints so hard, he can shoot lasers.
“Yeah,” Mason says, devious grin on his face, “are you two hooking up? Don’t lie to me, man.”
Sebastian angles his head to face the sky. He can’t lie to them. Willie’s witnessed a half naked Emir in his bed. Mason’s been around so long that he’s become more perceptive about Sebastian’s bullshit than his own. They’re his brothers, and this weight he’s been carrying around just exhausts him. The clouds start to dissolve, leaving the sky an open book, and Sebastian thinks, Why not?
“Yeah. No.” Sebastian shakes his head; his thoughts are like a derailed train. “We were. I fucked it up, badly. I just—” He sucks in a noisy breath. “I dunno, but I’m pretty sure it’s not going to end the way I wanted.”
Mason says, “Do you want me to rough him up?”
Sebastian chokes on his own spit before laughing. Tears bite at his eyes. He’s not sure if they’re because of Mason’s offer or from relief. Telling his friends about Emir is like coming out. How did it become that heavy? Why do people let things so precious to them turn into dark, unbearable secrets?
Willie’s fingers are simultaneously cold and perfect when they squeeze Sebastian’s elbow. “Do you want us to help? We can talk to Emir, or Hunter can.”
“Nope.” It’s an accident when the tears drip off Sebastian’s eyelashes. When did he become such a drama queen? “I can handle it.”
“Check you out.” Mason whistles. “You came to camp a loser and you’re leaving a man. Take notes, Will.”
Willie stretches all the way across Sebastian to punch Mason’s shoulder. They squabble like toddlers fighting over a toy, and Sebastian sighs. Part of him is submerged in guilt. Both of his best friends are willing to kidnap and torture Emir for him. What has he done for them? He hasn’t been much of a friend while they’ve been dealing with their own romantic lives.
But then Willie says, “If you say so. But we’ve got your back, Bastian,” and reality sinks its teeth into Sebastian’s brain. Sometimes it’s okay not to be the perfect best friend. Sometimes it’s okay for your friends to take care of you.
Whatever vicious spring has been tightening in his chest finally uncoils. Then his eyes get a little bleary, but he doesn’t wipe away the tears. These are happy ones, so it’s okay. He doesn’t care if crying’s not considered manly. Who writes these stupid definitions of manly, feminine, beautiful, or handsome, anyway?
“Bastian, dude,” Mason says, as if he’s been hit with an epiphany. “You like Emir.”
“Shut up, Mace.”
“Skinny, quiet, uncoordinated Emir Shah.”
“Okay. Point made.”
“Holy shit! I didn’t see that one coming.”
Mason is doomed to be friendless before he graduates.
The bonfire is in a couple of hours, and then they’ll pack for the ride home tomorrow. Sebastian doesn’t want to move, and his friends make no effort to move either.
“We’re missing dinner, fellas,” says Mason in a slow, lazy drawl.
“Yeah,” Willie whispers. He points upward. The sky stretches toward infinity, a tapestry of every shade of purple and blue, dotted by dim stars. “But we’re not missing this.”
Sebastian’s cheeks press right into his eyes.
Fondly, Mason says, “Damn you, Will, and your poetic mouth.”