Rough and Tumble

by Shae Connor

  I lose track of time until my stomach grumbles at me and I check my phone to find it’s almost seven. I haven’t eaten since I grabbed a muffin and coffee at the dining hall around eleven, and if I don’t hurry, there won’t be anything edible left for dinner but liver and onions or the equivalent.

  After shoving my stuff into my backpack, I head outside and around the corner toward the student union building. Thunder rumbles overhead, a late summer storm threatening, and I reach the door as the first few raindrops fall.

  The dining hall is nearly empty, normal for a Saturday evening. Half the students here commute from off campus anyway, and the ones who live in the dorms usually have better things to do on Saturday nights. Hell, I’ve certainly been to my share of parties in the houses nearby that are rented out to students. I probably could still find one, but all I want to do right now is eat something, go back to the room, and veg in front of a screen.

  Pathetic, that’s what I am.

  A memory pops up then, of a party I’d dragged Darryn to early in the semester. The house was only two blocks away from the campus, near enough to walk, rented out by several juniors who were celebrating their newfound off-campus freedom with a blowout celebration. I knew one of the guys from my psych class, but not his roommates. I still couldn’t tell you their names. I can remember what they looked like from when Boyd introduced me, though.

  One of them was Rich.

  Which means, as if it’s not bad enough that I blew my own chance with him, I actually created the opportunity for Darryn to meet the bastard in the first place.

  Well, that’s one way to kill my appetite.

  I force myself to get food anyway. If I don’t, I’ll be nauseated and starving later. The food here is decent, the kitchen’s apparent obsession with liver and onions aside, but they shut down at eight on Saturday nights, which means it can be slim pickings this late. I get a thick slice of meatloaf with mashed potatoes and corn on the side, none of which looks appetizing in the least. At least it’s relatively bland.

  I turn to look for a table and almost run into someone with my tray.

  “Surprise!” Annie sticks her tongue out at me. “Up for company?”

  I shrug one shoulder as my heart rate settles back down to normal. “Don’t know how good I’ll be, but sure.” I nod behind me. “Better get while the gettin’s good.”

  Annie glances toward the glass front of the building, where I can see rain coming down in sheets outside. “Maybe find a table in the corner?” Away from the windows, she means. Lightning flashes, making her flinch. I love a good electrical storm, but they’ve never been Annie’s favorite thing.

  “Will do.” I head toward the seating area farthest from the windows, and when I pick a table, I slide into the side facing out. Best of both worlds. I can watch the light show while Annie can keep her back to it and pretend it isn’t happening.

  Annie comes over a few minutes later with a tray that’s identical to mine, right down to the glass of tea. She sends me a brief look of gratitude for my seating choice as she slides into the chair across from me. Thunder cracks overhead, and she flinches again.

  “Dammit.” She stabs her fork into her meatloaf. I know her fear of storms bothers her, even though I’ve tried to tell her it’s a perfectly rational thing to be afraid of. It never gets through, though, so I go for distraction instead.

  “You’ll never guess who I worked out with yesterday afternoon.”

  Annie rolls her eyes. “I’m assuming not your roommate, or you wouldn’t be making a pronouncement about it.”

  I’m pretty proud that I don’t flinch myself at the mention of Darryn. “None other than Pace Solomon, rising star of the University of Atlanta Tornadoes baseball team and the hottest thing on two legs.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell.” She sounds cool and collected. As usual, I see right through that.

  “Ah ah ah.” I wave a scolding finger. “I know you better than that. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you had your butt planted in the stands for every home game last spring. Or whose tight little butt and pretty green eyes kept you coming back for more.”

  She slumps in her seat. “I love baseball,” she defends, weakly. “You know that.”

  “That’s why you went to the first game,” I shoot back. “Not what kept you going back.”

  If it’s possible to chew resentfully, Annie manages it. I just grin. “Anyway, turns out Pace is a pretty cool dude. Down-to-earth and all that. Doesn’t lord his iridescent beauty over us lesser mortals.”

  Annie almost chokes on her snort. She pauses to swallow and take a sip of her drink. “Iridescent?” she parrots. “He’s not a sparklepire, dorkwad.”

  “Watch out, Annieconda, or I’ll tell him about your secret love for all things Cullen.”

  A shudder runs through her. “Still can’t believe I read those things. I want that brain space back. Someone should invent a memory eraser that targets bad books and movies.”

  “And music,” I add. “Can you imagine how great it would be to excise all the Nickelback riffs from your brain?”

  Annie immediately starts humming one of them—I have no idea which song, they all run together anyway—and I respond by flicking a kernel of corn at her. She actually giggles at that, and I laugh in response, because I know that means I’ve won.

  “Anyway,” Annie says when we stop laughing. “If you think Pace is such perfection, why aren’t you going after him? I mean, sure, I think he’s gorgeous, but I’m never going to actually date someone like that.”

  I give her an eyebrow. “Hey now. No putting yourself down. You know that’s my job.”

  “Jerkwad.” She tosses my rogue corn kernel back at me, but something in her expression has me paying closer attention. “Besides…”

  I wait for her to go on, then finally prod her foot with my toe. “Besides what?”

  Annie sighs and looks down at the deconstructed remains of her meatloaf. “I think I might kinda…likegirlstoo?”

  It takes me a second to untangle the words. And whoa. “Any, um.” I clear my throat, determined to be as cool about this as she was when I came out to her. “Any particular girls?”

  She pokes her mashed potatoes with her fork. “Well, I like baseball…and I kinda like softball, too.”

  Her cheeks are flushed bright pink, half hidden by the fall of her hair, and I fight the urge to reach over and brush the long strands out of the way. “That’s cool,” I say instead. “I mean, I like guys, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a beautiful woman.” I nudge her foot again. “You need any help snagging one of them, let me know.”

  Annie snorts and glances up, a more normal-looking smirk on her face. “Yeah, like I’m going to you for relationship advice. Even theoretical.”

  I do flinch then, and there’s no hiding my reaction. “Yeah, well, about that.”

  Annie sits up straighter. “Did he break up with the chick?”

  My laugh is as hollow as my heart. “Oh no. It’s way worse than that.” I sure can’t talk about it here, though. I crumple up my napkin and drop it on my plate. “Let’s get out of here.”

  An hour later, we’re in Annie’s dorm room, an open bag of miniature Reese’s peanut butter cups and two bottles of root beer between us on her bed. After we left the dining hall, Annie dragged me through the fading drizzle down to the overpriced snack shop in the student union for provisions. I’ve just finished vomiting up the rest of the story—and possibly parts of my spleen—and I unwrap two more Reese’s cups, and pop both into my mouth to chew listlessly. I know outing Darryn without his permission is kind of a dick move, but my whole friendship with Darryn is in tatters, and I need someone to talk to about what I’ve been dealing with. Besides, Annie’s not going to tell anyone.

  Annie takes a sip from her bottle. “Well,” she finally says. “At least you don’t have to w
onder if he likes guys anymore.”

  I snort. “Fat lot of good it does me.”

  “For now.” Annie grabs another peanut butter cup. “I mean, what are the odds this Rich dude is gonna last? Especially since Darryn said he’s in love with you.”

  “Was,” I correct. “Was in love.”

  Annie shrugs. “Didn’t hear anything in what you told me that sounded like he’d fallen out of love.”

  She watches me as she eats her Reese’s cup, and I can just imagine the startled expression on my face. She’s right. Maybe it’s a thin straw to grasp, but Darryn said he’d fallen in love with me. He did not say he didn’t still love me, and he damn sure didn’t say he was in love with Rich.

  A tiny warmth flickers to life deep in my chest.

  If I had to give it a name, I’d call it hope.

  …

  As promised, Darryn shows up back in our room late Sunday afternoon, looking tired and lugging a duffel bag. “Hey,” he says, dropping his backpack in its usual spot and lifting the duffel onto his desk.

  “Hey,” is my brilliant reply. I watch as he opens the bag and starts pulling out dirty clothes and tossing them into the basket in the bottom of his closet. Which means he didn’t spend the weekend at his parents’. My heart sinks at the realization.

  “Did you get that paper done for English lit?”

  I nod absently, still staring at the evidence proving Darryn’s been with Rich the past two days. Probably fucking. And that’s a mental image I could really use Annie’s hypothetical memory eraser for.

  “Grant? You in there?”

  I snap back to attention to find Darryn staring at me, an expression halfway between annoyance and amusement on his face. “Sorry,” I blurt out. “Didn’t sleep well last night.”

  It’s the truth, at least. I finished the series I’d been watching on Netflix and started another, and it had to be close to sunrise before I finally dozed off. Loud voices in the hallway woke me a few minutes after ten, so I couldn’t have gotten more than about five hours.

  Darryn doesn’t look as though he believes me, but he lets it go. “Anyway, I have the thing mostly written out. I just need to type it up.” He’s talking about the lit paper, right. “I probably won’t have time to go to the dining hall, so I thought I’d spring for pizza from Charlie’s…if you want to share?”

  Charlie’s pizza with Darryn. It’s been a monthly tradition practically since we met, sometimes at the restaurant and sometimes in the room, and a part of me wants to jump at the chance for a slice of normalcy. Even though it’s totally different now because he knows I’ve got a thing for him, and regardless of whether he might return my feelings, he’s dating someone else. Which means he’s totally off-limits.

  And you’ve got to learn to live with that, I remind myself.

  “Sounds great.” I try to smile. “I’ve still got to read a chapter for anthropology anyway.”

  Darryn smiles, and it almost feels like it did before.

  Almost.

  …

  A shrill whistle cuts the air as I step into the gym, ten minutes early for practice, which to the coaches is five minutes late. Guys are spread out all over the mats in various stages of warmups, but all heads pop up at the noise and swivel toward Coach Everson.

  “Coach Sato’s running practice today,” he announces. “I’ll be observing. I know you know this, but you listen to him like you would me. Got it?”

  All those heads nod, and I start back toward the locker room to get changed. “Clark!” Everson yells. I pause and turn his way. “Get changed and come find me.”

  I nod again and push into the locker room. I rush through changing into my practice gear and give a few short stretches before heading back out. Back in the gym, I search out Coach Everson where he’s standing off to one side, talking with Kenny.

  Oh. Right. I said I’d help train the kid. Guess that’s starting today.

  I cross over to the two of them and shoot Kenny a quick smile. “Hey. Ready to get started?”

  Coach Everson claps me on the shoulder in some display of support or warning or, I don’t know, heteronormative machismo. “Clark here is one of our strongest on flairs. You pay close attention and we’ll get you where you need to be.”

  Kenny nods, eyes wide with the earnest look all the freshmen have when they get a little personal attention from the head coach. I know I wore the same expression more often than not during my first few months on the team.

  “C’mon.” I wave the kid toward one of the practice mats, which is clear now that the rest of the team has headed off to work on the full apparatus. This mat is about a third the size of the official floor exercise mat, but it’s made of the same springy material, designed for the kind of specialized work we’ll be doing.

  I haven’t put all that much thought into how to show Kenny what he needs to be doing to get his flairs where they need to be. I know he can do the moves, just from watching him during practices on the floor, pommel horse, and parallel bars. It’s the same progression either way, the only difference is having your hands planted flat on the mat for the floor instead of gripping the pommels or bars.

  “Okay,” I start. “Let’s see you go at it.”

  Kenny blows out a breath as he lowers himself to the mat. He works his way into the flairs carefully, until he’s got his legs swinging smoothly and his arms working with precision. I watch him closely, seeing a hitch in his motion when he picks up his left arm and moves it to the other side of his leg. Aha. Bet that’s what’s holding him back.

  I stop him and point out the problem. Turns out he had a shoulder injury a couple of years earlier, and while it rarely bothers him anymore, he didn’t realize he’s still favoring that side. He concentrates on that for a few minutes, and while he still has a ways to go, he’s doing much better already.

  “Great job!” If I’m going to play coach, I’ve got to remember to give some praise along with the correction, right?

  Kenny grins widely as he comes to rest on the mat. “Would you…I don’t know, demonstrate?” He’s stumbling over his words, and it might be cute if he were my type. Darryn’s face flashes in my mind, and I have to physically stop myself from looking around to find him wherever he is across the floor.

  “Sure.” Kenny scrambles to the side, and I swing into action, letting my body take over as I spin into the rotation. When I have the momentum going, I shift into the flairs, swapping my hands around my legs and swinging my legs up high toward the ceiling. One of the reasons I’ve gotten so good at this move is that it feels like I’m about to take flight every time. Like one good push at precisely the right angle and I’ll be soaring high above the floor.

  Okay, well, technically that does happen on horse and bars, but it’s not the same thing.

  I bring myself back down from the flairs, swiveling into a split, and glance over at Kenny. The expression on his face has shifted. He still looks eager, all right, but it’s not learning he’s interested in.

  Well, shit.

  I smother a sigh. I guess a student crush is one of the many things I’ll have to learn about coaching if that’s what I end up doing. I give Kenny a short smile and a nod as I move out of the way.

  “Give it another shot.” I do my best to keep my voice firm and businesslike. “Remember to point your toes and concentrate on stretching out your legs. The long lines will make the flairs look bigger even if you’re not getting full extension off the floor.”

  Kenny moves even faster this time to follow my instructions. I don’t know that his flairs are any better than they were a few minutes ago, but at least his interest is keeping him, well, interested.

  We work for another ten minutes before Coach Sato stops next to us. “Okay, time’s up for the private lessons, guys. Washington, head over to the vault. Clark, you’re up on rings.”

  Great, m
y favorite. I don’t smother the sigh this time as I clamber up and give Kenny a quick wave before jogging over to stare down the rings. We meet again, I think—and have to bite back a crazy giggle before it sneaks out.

  Coach Sato comes up behind me. “Okay, let’s work on your swings,” he says. “Concentrate on keeping the rings still.” That’s their name, after all—still rings. The point is to keep them from moving, especially when holding strength poses like crosses. The less movement during the full-body swings that are part of the routine requirements, the easier it is to keep the rings motionless in between.

  Easier said than done, that’s for sure.

  I follow Coach’s instructions as I work, taking breaks for other teammates to take their turns. My arms and shoulders are burning like fire when we finish—the good burn from muscles worked hard, not the true pain that would come from an injury.

  Coach ends our session with a clap of his hands. “Great work, guys. Hit the showers and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The four of us make a beeline for the locker room, where another group is right ahead of us. There are twenty of us total on the team, most on some kind of athletic scholarship. Between the state HOPE scholarship from the lottery and the school’s own financial support programs, tuition and books are covered for most students anyway. Scholarships are used to cover housing and food. That means, thanks to the requirement that freshman and sophomores in all sports live on campus, I’ve got pretty much a full ride through the end of the year.

  I follow my teammates into the locker room and strip down quickly before heading to the shower, eager to get some hot water on my aching muscles. I’m not so eager to be naked in the same space as Darryn, but hell, it’s not like none of us has ever sprouted wood in the locker room before. Sexuality aside, the potent blend of teenage hormones topped off with an extra dose of athletic testosterone makes for a hell of a boner-inducing drug.

  I ignore the chatter around me and lean forward under the spray, just breathing as the water rushes over me. I give it a few minutes to do its work before giving myself a quick lather and rinse and flipping off the faucet.