17. Jack

JP: I"m bored.

BN: Aren"t you supposed to be studying?

JP: This tutor is a dud.

BN: You"re just mad because you chased the pretty one away.

JP: She wanted my dick. It was distracting.

BN: I"m proud of your determination not to get distracted. I"m sorry your new tutor isn"t fuckable.

JP: I didn"t say that.

BN: Jack…

JP: What?

BN: Get an A on that upcoming American Lit test and you"ll be maintaining a solid 3.5 GPA.

JP: And? That"s well above the 3.0 I"m required to maintain.

BN: Keep it above a 3.5 and I"ll reward you.

Fuck. Yes. Finally.

"Yesss," I hiss out quietly.

I set down my phone, trying not to pump my arms in victory because my football coach might acknowledge my presence by jerking off on my face or whatever it is he has in mind. The last time I tried to get him to fuck me, he backed way off and hasn"t seemed interested in our arrangement anymore.

I"ve been trying to do things his way, maintaining my grades and athletic standards the way he wants, but I"m considering taking drastic measures again. I just don"t want to screw up everything I"ve accomplished so far just to get his attention, so I"ve been biding my time, hoping I can find a way back in.

My tutor, the fucking nerd, rolls his eyes at me and continues droning on about the fundamentals of different styles of poetry. American Literature is honestly not the worst class, and I actually even like the reading part. I struggle with writing some, but I"m managing. I wasn"t sure a tutor was even necessary until we started learning about prose and poetry, which I find to be a complete fucking snooze fest.

Then again, maybe it"s just this tutor. Emily made everything a lot more interesting, even if I felt like I was dodging hands pretty often. She got fired after a professor caught us making out in a dark corner on the top floor of the library. I feel a little bad, seeing as I brought her up there on purpose, so we might be seen by a few of my teammates. Grant Gipson and a couple of his friends are always hanging out in the library for some reason. They certainly aren"t looking at books, but they"ve always got their eyes on the hot librarian.

Luke gives me an exasperated sigh. "If you"re not into this today, I"m just going to pack it in a little early. I have a date."

I snort, because for some reason the idea of him going on a date is funny. Or maybe I"m just being an asshole because I"m not going on any dates. I"m not interested in dates. The most action I"m getting right now is sending dick pics to my football coach and having them be ignored. I don"t want to hang out with most of the guys on the team, and I"m avoiding Aniyah like she might be transmittable. I"m still a little worried she"ll tell someone I got soft when she was sucking me off a few weeks back, but she was drunk and I think she thought I was, too. I managed to redirect her attention to someone else"s dick, so for all I know she might have thought he was me.

"Where you headed?" I ask, trying to make conversation since I was so outright rude.

Luke"s eyebrow quirks up and then he rolls his eyes. He does that a lot around me. "Monster truck rally," he says, sounding a little exasperated.

Now I"m really laughing. "Doesn"t seem like your thing."

He shrugs, because I"m right. "It"s his turn to pick."

His turn?

"You"re… gay?"

Luke straightens his spine, staring back at me with his chin raised. "Yeah, what of it? If you have a problem with it, you can–"

"Slow down, dude. I have no problems. I just didn"t realize."

"Does it matter?"

I think about that for a moment too long. "Nah, man, it doesn"t. Have a good time. I"ll see you next week?"

It doesn"t matter to me if he"s gay. It never mattered to me. Only now have I realized that maybe the fact that I never thought it mattered was a sign. I come from a backwoods Alabama town where there is definitely not even one openly gay person, and words like fag, fruit, and homo are thrown around like fucking confetti. I"d grown up in that environment, and I"d never even considered that it was wrong. It just was what it was. But then when I moved away to college and experienced a slightly more progressive atmosphere, I didn"t bat an eye to see a dude wearing a rainbow shirt or two girls holding hands in the quad. Okay, that"s not true. I definitely thought about what I"d do with the two girls holding hands with the quad… and did them whenever the opportunity presented. Bethany and Cora were freaks.

To me, someone being gay was more a novelty than a fact about their lives that had real consequences. I never considered if someone in my hometown might be gay, living their life afraid that someone might find out, or maybe someday being brave enough to stand up for themselves the way Luke just did. I certainly never considered that I might be gay. I"m still not convinced I am—can you be gay for just one person? Am I bisexual if I"m attracted to pretty much all women and one guy?

I have a lot more respect for Luke when I consider it all this way. Part of me wishes I were brave enough to ask him questions, try to learn more about what"s going on with me. But I can"t risk people finding out, and I don"t think he likes me much. Not that I blame him. I"ve kind of been a dick.

"You seem lost in thought," comes a soft voice next to me. The librarian, Miss Wilson, smiles down at me kindly, concerned curiosity etched in her pretty face. Raking my eyes over her soft features, smooth brown skin, and curves for fucking days, I think I"m wrong about myself. I can"t be gay. Because damn.

"I guess I was," I say, giving her a flirty grin.

She leans on the corner of the table and looks down at my books. "What are you studying?"

My nose crinkles. "Poetry for American Lit."

"I take it you aren"t a fan?" she says, chuckling.

"It"s not my favorite. None of it makes any sense to me."

She smiles and nods understandingly, then holds up a finger. I watch her hips swing as she walks away, disappearing into the shelves of books. When she returns, she has a book in her hands. It"s a worn paperback with a green cover, gold letters and some kind of design. She hands it to me.

Leaves of Grass

"Walt Whitman is probably one of the most important poets in American history. He was all about celebrating the ordinary, doing things his own way, and free love—that sort of thing." She shrugs and smiles at me. "You might find it interesting. Or you might not. It"s worth a try, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose so. Thanks," I say to her back as she walks away. One of Grant"s friends is at the reception desk, watching us with narrowed eyes.

I flip through the book a little, and the descriptions of some things are interesting. I decide to take it home with me when my eyes start crossing. I might as well get some rest tonight. It"s my only night off this week with the homecoming game coming up.

I"ve been keeping a pretty full schedule of practice, classes, games, and study time while still making time to workout every night. At first, I was just doing it to see if Coach was going to come in, but now it"s just habit. I"ve been busting my ass on the field and in my classes, and for the first time, maybe ever, I feel like I deserve the accolades that are being thrown at me. Coach was right. I could be a better player—a better person.

But right now, I"m just tired, more so than usual. I woke up tired, and for the first time since coming here, considered skipping a class. I figured skipping one might lead me back down the wrong path, though, so I made it, but dozed off while I was there. Luckily, my beginner"s Calculus teacher is a big football fan and I"ve been doing pretty well in his class, so he didn"t give me too hard of a time.

"You look like shit," Ryan, one of my teammates, says, thumping me on the back.

"Thanks," I say sarcastically. I might be coming down with something, but it"s nothing I can"t handle. We just have to kick ass tonight, which shouldn"t be an issue. Texas AM hasn"t been near as good as us this year, so there"s no reason this game shouldn"t be a wash. Then we have a bye week before we go on the road for an away game, so if I need to recover from whatever this funk is, I"ll have two full weeks to do it.

"You gonna make it to the party tonight?"

I glare at him. "We"ll see." Nice of him to be concerned about my wellbeing. Ryan is one of the second-string players, and he's a huge partier.

"Aniyah is coming for sure," Ryan mentions.

Well, that settles it. I"m definitely not going.

As we"re getting ready to run out onto the field, Coach Nicks pulls me back. My lips twitch a little. "Not the time, Coach. Gotta go win us a Homecoming game."

"You"re looking a bit pale."

"I"m good, Coach." Before he can question me further, I wink and run out onto the field, throwing my hands up to get the crowd pumped. Tonight, the whole student body is in the stands, decked out in green and grey, waving flags and signs. I see more than a handful of signs with my name or number on them, and I point to a few of them, hamming it up for the crowd.

Tired or not, I"m excited about tonight"s game. I want to enjoy the fanfare, even if the noise of the crowd and the marching band music feels like it"s reverberating in my head.

Coach corners me just outside the bathroom during halftime. I wipe my mouth and try to get around him, searching for some gum or something to wash the taste of vomit out of my mouth.

"Perry," he calls after me. "I think you should sit out this half."

"What? No. I"m in the zone, Coach. I"m fine."

In the fourth quarter, we"re decimating our opponents; up forty-seven points and they"ve yet to put even one on the board. It"s almost too easy, and I can"t help but enjoy the way the other team is getting pissed off. My cocky grin isn"t helping much, I"m sure. But they came into our house and started this game talking shit, saying shit like, "we"re here to take you rich pussies down."

Well, now all my rich pussy friends and I are going to flat out embarrass them. As fired up as we are, their team can"t get the ball more than a couple of yards. I laugh out loud as I see our defense shut them down one more time, giving us possession of the ball. I bend to pick up my helmet and the ground spins, but I right myself and secure it on my head.

"Perry!" Nicks calls out. "I saw that. You"re sitting out before you hurt yourself."

I"m so tired, I consider listening to him, but we"re halfway through the last quarter of the game. I want to help my team send these fucks home with nothing but shame.

"Game"s almost over, Coach. I can make it."

"You look like a gust of wind could knock you over. Sit the fuck down, Jack."

The moment my ass touches the bench, the crowd boos and yells. I make a show out of shrugging my shoulders and pointing to Coach, and they start chanting.

"We want Jack! We want Jack!"

Coach Nicks looks up at the crowd, his eyes wide at the number of students, faculty, and fans that are shouting my name.

"Might as well give them what they want, Coach. It"ll be over before we know it." I replace my helmet and tap his shoulder before running out to take my position, the stadium screaming and ready.

Our next play is beautiful. Lane fakes the pass to me and passes it to Grant instead, who takes it halfway down the field before running out of bounds to avoid a hit. We can easily make another touchdown on our next play. We huddle up and Lane calls the play. On his call, I fake a step to my right and launch left. I run through the middle of their defensive line and into the end zone. The ball flies, landing perfectly in my hands. It"s a clean catch, and another touchdown! The crowd goes wild.

One moment I"m catching the ball and holding it up to celebrate; the next, all the wind is knocked out of me. The hit isn"t even that hard, I"ve taken way worse. But the lights in the stadium blur as everything spins when I try to push myself off the ground.

I stumble, and blackness closes in.