Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
“You don’t have to ignore them. It’s true. I’m bi.” I pulled my helmet off and kept my eyes on the exit sign above the door.
I was the antithesis of cool. My timing wasn’t just weird. It was fucked up. I’d made an already intense pregame situation fifty shades of awkward by making it about me. Everyone who’d ever played a sport knew there was no “I” in “team.” But I couldn’t keep it inside anymore. This had been bottled tight for five years. It had been seeping out of me in fits and starts since Chelsea’s party months ago and now…I was out.
“Okay. All right. That’s cool,” Christian said. He held my gaze for a long moment and then turned to look around at the flurry of confused faces partially hidden in black helmets. “Anybody got anything to say, or are we ready to go?”
No one moved or spoke for what felt like ten minutes. Finally Jonesie took his helmet off and squinted so hard the veins in his forehead stood out. “You’re gay?”
“Bi.”
“And that’s like mostly straight but kind of gay, right?”
“No. It’s just bi,” I replied, scanning the confused faces before refocusing on him. “It means I’m attracted to girls…and guys. But don’t worry…not you. Any other questions?”
A tentative chuckle broke the strained vibe in the room. Then Jonesie shoved my chest when I raised my helmet over my head, immediately killing a return to normal. Blood rushed to my ears and through my limbs. I curled my fists and prepared to fight and maybe have the shit kicked out of me in the process. But I wasn’t throwing the first punch.
“Have you always been bi? Like in every workout and every game? Or is it recent?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I’ve always been bi. You can’t catch it, dummy. Don’t worry. My cooties aren’t gonna rub off on you. And believe it or not, I don’t wanna rub off on you either. You’re cute, but you’re not my type.”
Someone hooted with laughter and a few others joined in, but Jonesie didn’t crack a smile. He looked confused as hell but not necessarily upset or disgusted.
“But the blond kid is your type. Is he your boyfriend?”
“He’s the guy I’m crazy about. Leave him out of this,” I hissed menacingly. “I’m still me. And I can still kick your fucking ass.”
“Back off, di Angelo. I know who you are.”
“You don’t know me at all.”
“Not true. I know you’re one of us. That’s all that counts.” Jonesie smiled and held up his hand for a high five. “Score a few TDs for us tonight and I might just beg you to be my boyfriend too.”
The room exploded in raucous cheer followed by a showtime rally cry. Christian grinned and inclined his head in what seemed like a nod of respect and acceptance before gesturing for us to follow him.
I ran onto the field with my teammates, soaking in the frenzied atmosphere and the deafening roar of a sell-out crowd before taking my place behind Christian. The stadium was electric. Hypnotic even. It was only a glimmer of what I’d once dreamed of. But I didn’t care about the crowds or the accolades now. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to win tonight. But I wanted something else too. Redemption, renewal…a chance to reclaim myself and start over again.
When the whistle blew, Christian faked a throw and passed me the ball. I barreled through our opponent’s defensive line and ran forty yards. The ginormous guy who finally caught up with me bumped my shoulder hard when I stood and sneered. “Fuckin’ faggot.”
My initial reaction was to deck the motherfucker. I saw red…and then darker red. My nostrils flared as my adrenaline spiked. Some semblance of reason came over me before I did anything stupid. I pulled my mouth guard out and winked at him.
“This fuckin’ faggot is about to score on your ass, dipshit. See if you can keep up.” I blew him a kiss for good measure and jogged back to my team.
“What did you say to him?” Christian asked, furrowing his brow. “He’s fuming.”
“Good. It’ll hurt a little more when we win. Keep passing me the ball. I’ve got this. I know what I’m doing.”
And I did.
It was an epic game by anyone’s standards. I scored three of our five touchdowns. The last one was my personal favorite. I leaped over a crouching opponent and ran into the end zone with five giants in hot pursuit. My teammates charged toward me with congratulatory shoves and high fives. And when the final whistle blew, I was surrounded.
This wasn’t the LA Coliseum. We weren’t Division One. Scouts weren’t coming to see us play unless they had a kid on the field. When we graduated, we were going to get regular jobs like everyone else. But tonight, we were all-stars and we were heading for a championship. Students and friends and family members rushed the field as the local press pushed microphones in our faces. “We Are the Champions” blared in the background and lightbulbs flashed. It was surreal. Time stood still yet seemed to rush by at once.