Running with Lions

by Julian Winters

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.”

  26

  August unofficially dies after a few days of lazing around the house. Sebastian creates a comfortable dent in the living room sofa and mindlessly flips through TV shows while his parents come and go. Lily makes Sebastian help in the garden or bake cookies, anything to spend extra time with him. Oliver pats Sebastian’s shoulder, talks about the trades going on in the Premier League, and catches him up on the things he missed while at camp.

  Carly calls him a bum and shoves his legs off the couch to make room for herself. She always scrubs a hand through his hair before stealing the remote. Tonight, the Food Network drones. Carly asks, “All right, pup?”

  Sebastian shrugs.

  “How is counseling going?”

  Sebastian blinks, then says, “Pretty good.”

  After the Carl incident and Coach’s speech, Sebastian knew it was time to talk to his parents. Maybe not about everything, but some of his ghosts. It wasn’t easy. When is telling your parents about your insecurities easy? But they were patient, understanding; that helped. Carly’s calls helped. And the counseling helps, too.

  “It’s good. Real good,” he repeats.

  “Anything else?”

  During their phone calls, Sebastian’s considered telling her about being bi, about Emir, about totally freaking out over graduation and the foreseeable end of all his happiness. Carly isn’t brilliant with advice, but she’s levelheaded. Then, too, she’ll call Sebastian a dumbass in the most loveable way. They’ve always been close.

  “Last year of school,” he says with a grunt, and she nods knowingly.

  Carly passes him the bowl of popcorn and the remote. “Is that it?”

  Sebastian hesitates. His phone vibrates in his pocket, but he doesn’t answer. It’ll be Mason or Willie. Carly stares at him with soft eyes and a crooked smile like their dad’s. Sebastian’s breaths stutter. Since he got home, he’s been walking around like a zombie from Warm Bodies, and now he’s finally awake.

  “Is this about a boy?” Carly says it as though it’s nothing, as though she’s been waiting.

  And Sebastian just shudders and nods.

  Carly nods too. She squeezes the bottom of his foot and grabs a handful of popcorn with her other hand. “Yeah, that sucks,” she says, turning back to the TV. “If you ever want to talk, you know. Call me, pup.”

  She leaves it at that. No lectures, no scary sister stink-eye for being bi, or for being a total idiot about a boy who hasn’t called or texted since camp ended. Emir doesn’t even have Sebastian’s cell number. He never asked, and Sebastian never gave.

  “Do Mom and Dad—?” Sebastian stops, barely able to get a word out.

  “Nope. But let me know when you’re gonna tell them.” Carly angles her head, exposing her devious expression. “I want to record and post it on Snapchat.”

  Sebastian tosses a throw pillow at her head. He slouches, feet propped on the coffee table, and pretends he’s not thinking about Emir.

  It’s all he thinks about.

  * * *

  On the first Monday of school, Willie has his surgery. Sebastian’s last class is an elective course. His teacher, an eld
erly gym instructor, doesn’t bother with roll call, so he ditches to hop into Hunter’s beat-up Honda Accord. They burn down the freeway toward the hospital, jamming to Hunter’s random playlists.

  Hunter wears a shaky smile; he’s too shy to admit he’s wound up over how Willie’s doing. Sebastian feels the same way. But he cracks jokes and Hunter laughs. His hands beat on the dashboard to the Fugees track Hunter’s iPod cranks out.

  “Nice selection, bro,” he says, awed.

  Hunter’s fingers eventually relax on the steering wheel, creating a weird butterfly effect on Sebastian until he’s mellow, too. Why haven’t he and Hunter hung out before now?

  “Mind if I go in first?”

  They’re in the main lobby, with their backs to the grumpy desk nurse who gave them shit about not being “immediate family.” Hunter’s a charmer when it comes to adults. And Sebastian, in his Bloomington track suit, can pull off a great Boy Scout smile.

  “Nope.” He smacks Hunter’s arm, jostling him but earning a grin. “He’s all yours.”

  Hunter’s skin is slightly darker thanks to summer, but the faint blush blossoming on his cheeks stands out. “Okay,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I won’t be long.”

  Sebastian wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, says, “Take your time,” and gets reprimanded by the nurse for laughing too loudly when Hunter trips while getting away.

  Comfy pumpkin-orange chairs are parked in one corner of the waiting room. Sebastian kicks his feet up on a table cluttered with boring celeb magazines. He pulls his laptop and headphones from his backpack and watches YouTube videos.

  According to a very timid confession in the elevator, Hunter and Willie are boyfriends now. Sebastian can’t hide his pride.

  Willie’s happy coasting on a wave through life. His self-confidence shows in the way he ignores anyone who gives him a sideways glare for being a too-blond white kid dating a very cute black guy. Willie doesn’t give a shit. He has a middle finger for anyone demanding that he do it their way. Maybe he can tutor Sebastian on how to be a boss like that?

  “He’s ready to see you,” Hunter says. He’s mashing a text on his cell, eyebrows scrunched. He pockets his phone. “Sorry. My parents don’t know everything about Willie yet.”