THEO
“Let’s go, hustle, hustle, Garner!”
I ignore the sweat dripping down the side of my face and run faster, pounding my cleats into the turf and clutching the hard metal of my Lacrosse stick.
I can hear the hard breathing within my helmet as I sprint towards the opposite end of the field, my eyes dead focused on the net standing behind one of my teammates dressed temporarily in a bright green penny… a representation of my current opponent.
My feet are aching, but I’m used to it. Practices have been going hard lately to prepare for the next match; the one that determines if we’re going to state or not. Everyone’s on my ass about it; my coach, my teammates… my dad.
I run harder when his image flashes through my brain.
Tuning out the two boys desperately chasing after me by only a few strides, I keep my eye on the net and swing my arm back, hurling the ball forward with a sharp grunt.
It brushes just past the goalee’s shoulder and sinks into the mesh, toppling to the ground by his feet.
I slow to a halt just before bumping into the guy as he straightens up, defeated.
“Damn, Garner,” our goalee Patrick huffs. “You’re driving me crazy, you know that?”
“Just gotta move faster,” I pant, spinning my stick in my palms.
He chuckles and shoves my arm before I turn back to Coach on the sidelines, hands on his hips and eyes squinting at me in the sun.
“Not bad,” he calls. “A bit too close to your enemies, though… Bennett and Rodriguez were right on your tail. Push harder next time.”
I’m pushing as hard as I can go. “Got it, coach.”
I hang my head back and squint my eyes shut into the sun, exhaling and letting my stick drape down my leg at my side for a moment. I feel Patrick slap my shoulder before trudging way for a quick water break. Two new voices approach.
“You’re a beast, Theo,” Gavin says. “You better pull out the big guns for state.”
“Yeah, or we may be screwed,” Mason scoffs.
“You’ll all kill me if I don’t,” I joke breathlessly, starting towards the sidelines for water. “And you’re not screwed without me. The whole team is good. That’s why we’re almost to state, anyways.”
“Well, I’m just saying,” Mason shrugs. “I’m not thinking about anything else, honestly. I can barely finish my homework without stressing about training.”
“You can barely finish your homework on its own,” Gavin grins.
I’m leaning down to grab my water bottle when I hear Mason mumble some joking “shut up, man”, and I’m hoping they just continue their own banter that excludes me due to my utter exhaustion, but I’m unlucky this time.
“Hey, Theo,” Gavin perks up while I’m chugging water. “I was thinking of having a party at my place this weekend… you know, just for people we can actually put up with, not some big shindig… you up for it?”
Not really. “I’ve got a shit ton of assignments.”
“Oh, damn, really?” Mason’s eyes widen.
I gave myself a free future pass by attending a party with my teammates a little over a week ago just so I could skip the next one, so maybe this’ll work. I decide to add a bit more to ensure my elusion.
“Yeah, it’s ‘cause of training,” I shrug nonchalantly. I’ve always appreciated my skill behind lying. “It’s been kicking my ass when it comes to balancing that and school. Might as well not add failing classes to the mix, you know? Sorry.”
“I get it,” Gavin replies. “Your dad would murder you.”
I swallow. “Yeah. Have fun for me, though.”
“Yeah, we’ll try and hook up with Sarah Barlowe for you, if that’s what you mean,” Mason grins, pushing my shoulder.
I give him a sharp look and dart my eyes around the field as if everyone could hear that. I’d rather not them bring that up… again.
“Oh, he doesn’t like us teasing him about that, does he?” Mason sighs sarcastically. “Come on, man, we have to give you shit about sophomore-year pinings.”
“It’s over, alright?” I snap lowly. “I don’t want to- I’m not trying to- just shut up.”
The two of them simply laugh, and that’s when I decide to drop my water bottle and head over to stretch with the rest of the team instead and blame the growing red in my cheeks on the previous running.
●○●○●
The following Friday night is when I return home from school, sweaty and exhausted from another practice on the field. The sky is darkening outside and I’m surely about to walk into a dinner already prepared by my mom, and being eaten by both her and my dad at the table as they await me to shove into the door and drop my bags.
My dad doesn’t give a shit if I’m late to the table. What he does give a shit about is-
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“How did practice go?” he asks tonight as I push my duffel bag to the wall with my foot, huffing.
“Fine,” I reply, walking over.
“Just ‘fine’?” he says, putting down his fork. He and mom are sitting across from one another, poking at their porkchops and salad.
“I don’t know,” I shrug, pulling out a chair. “Same as always. We ran suicides. Did the drills. Scrimmaged against each other. The usual.”
I can feel him watching me as I begin to serve myself some meat from the large, white plate, not meeting his eye. I’m not in the mood to describe in detail my lacrosse practice to him. Again.
“Well,” he gives in, returning to his food, “I just hope you’re ready for the match. I hope you all are. I know you’ve been working hard.”
Yeah. For six years. “Yeah.”
“There’s some potatoes, too, honey,” my mom tells me quietly. “Help yourself.”
I pull the dish over.
“You know,” my dad says next, sitting up a bit and looking at me, “I was curious about your graduating class last night. About who might be going to school with you in the fall.”
I poke at my diced potatoes and flick my eyes up to him, briefly. “I highly doubt anyone’s going to UW all the way from here.” I picked it because of its distance from home. And its entirely different environment. And its great school, of course, but… I think mainly the distance thing.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” my dad replies. “I checked out Woodside’s website. The tab with a list of where everyone’s headed off to this year? Yeah, I took a look. Just thought if anyone was joining the lacrosse game there with you.”
I clench my jaw, pulling my fork from my mouth. All about the scholarship, right?
Whatever. I need that scholarship. Hopefully, with that, and loans, and my own major contribution to the tuition due to all the jobs I’ve had since middle school, I won’t have to rely to heavily on my parents.
I can’t have them hovering over me anymore. “I haven’t heard of anyone even applying there, Dad.”
With a long inhale, he says, “there is someone.”
I look up this time.
“It’s that kid… Hart,” he says, leaning back in his chair.
I notice his thick fingers tightening around his fork, and realize mine are, too.
But I doubt for the same reason. “What?”
“Wasn’t her name Naomi before?” he says, brow furrowing at me. “Naomi Hart? The one who turned all… tomboy.”
“Transgender.”
“Oh,” he raises his eyebrows at me. “So you know the lingo?”
“I don’t know Noah,” I mumble, staring at my plate. I wish I didn’t know him.
“She’s in your class, ain’t she?” he asks while my mom is transfixed by her wine glass.
“Yeah,” I say, pushing around my salad, “but we’ve never talked. I don’t know.”
“Well, shame it’s not one of your teammates,” he sighs, shrugging. “You got that Hart trans instead. Maybe you can figure out why she chose to do that to herself while you’re there.”
He lets out a little scoff, half-amused, half-disgusted. I stare at my plate some more.
“James,” my mom says softly from the other end of the table. “Let’s not talk about that at dinner.”
“What?” my dad defends. “I’m just saying.”
“Theo will be perfectly fine at UW… he doesn’t have to talk to her,” she says calmly. “And that girl is probably just confused. That’s what college is for. Figuring things out. Let’s leave it at that, please?”
So he does.
And I decide to eat dinner very fast and retreat to my room, trying to drown out the sound of my father’s voice from downstairs as he talks lowly to my mother at the table while I climb the stairs and shut my door behind me.
But when I sit on the edge of my bed, facing the window looking out into the dark horizon of this Friday night leading into the weekend, my mind drifts to other places that don’t help me distract myself from the uncomfortable conversation at dinner.
I picture Gavin laughing loudly as he throws back a shot at his house, throwing that “not so big shindig” tonight. The one I weaseled my way out of two days ago. I imagine him and all the people there, partying their way into the weekend.
I remember hearing my dad tell me a few minutes ago that I’m going to school with “that kid”, Hart. And I remember a house party from a different time.
●○●○●
The music is booming, bumping the house into low, steady vibrations and causing voices to project across to each other; voices and laughter… drunk laughter.
There are quieter corners of the house, though. People are talking. Chatting. Flirting. I am in the kitchen, where the music is still pretty loud. I idly sip at a hard lemonade sitting in my solo cup, hoping that there aren’t any more upperclassman Lacrosse players on the team to come over and comment on this drink, laughing about how an underclassman sophomore is working at such a “beginner’s” beverage.
But I’m not drinking it because of that. I’m drinking it because A) I don’t want to throw up a shit ton of hard beer tonight and B) my dad will kill me if I wake up with a hangover tomorrow, the day before a match.
And I can’t deal with that. Really ever, honestly.
I have my eye on Sarah across the room, talking with one of her friends. I sip my drink again, eyeing her, contemplating. I’m conflicted. Maybe if I just offer her a drink? No, she’ll think I’m trying to get her wasted. What if a friend introduces me? Too obvious. Way too obvious.
Before I can decide on what exactly I am going to do about this, Matthew is sliding up next to me by the counter, and I’m turning away from Sarah to look at him.
“Pretty quiet over here, Garner,” he says. “Not party shy tonight, are you?”
“Suppose I’m just not going buck wild tonight,” I reply, lifting my drink.
“Yes, because you are always going ‘buck wild’,” he teases. “On the field, you sure are.”
Dad would kill me if I didn’t.
“Hey, by the way…” he says, looking away from the party back at me again, “I overheard a, uh… conversation… about you.”
My right eyebrow lifts at him. “What?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t be concerned,” he scoffs, shrugging. “But I just thought I’d mention it. It shouldn’t be worrying when it’s Naomi Hart talking about you.”
I set down my drink, fully facing him now. “What do you mean? Naomi? Why was she-”
“It was just something I passed by,” he says. “In the hall back there. She was talking with a couple of the girls… and she sure didn’t have a lot of nice things to say.”
He laughs. I don’t.
“I don’t get it,” is what I reply with.
For some reason, my stomach is churning. People trash talking me apparently is something I’m not a fan of… even between a huddle of girls.
“What was she saying?” I ask, eager to know more.
He shrugs again. “I just picked up bits and pieces. I think she said you were an asshole, and… you were a total player… from the way she was saying it, it sounded like she was trying to make a villain out of you.”
He chuckles like it’s no big deal. It probably isn’t… I think Naomi hates me. I don’t really have an opinion on her. I think she can be a know-it-all. Whatever.
So now I get it. She’s spreading shit about me just because she thinks I’m an asshole.
Fuck that. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll watch your drink,” Matt jokes as I set it down.
I’m already weaving through the party crowd, my eyes scanning the laughing attendees for the person I’m fuming over. Just because you don’t like someone doesn’t mean you get to throw around names and lies.
“A total player”? Really? She’s just pissed that I’ve got more friends than her. I’ve got a hobby. I’ve got some stability in my life.
And after a minute or so of slipping past students exclaiming “hey, Theo!”s and “there he is!” shoutouts, I find her leaning against the fireplace, hands in her jeans pockets and eyes casted down. She doesn’t look like she’s enjoying herself.
Good.
“Hey.” I stand right in front of her.
She looks up. When our eyes meet, her brows knit with both disgust and this odd surprise that I’m approaching her.
“You think you’re funny?” I snap.
“What are you talking about?” she retorts.
“I know you’re talking about me,” I say, jabbing a finger at her. She’s wearing a baggy Nirvana tee shirt over blue jeans and black sneakers… a very different arrangement from the other girls at the party. “I’d like to know what gives you the right to spread shit like that.”
“I’m not spreading anything.” She pushes off the fireplace. “Why are you doing? I thought you’d be seen dead before you’d let your friends see you interacting with me.”
My brow furrows in frustration at her. I don’t answer her question… I’m too pissed.
“Did you talk to Sarah?” The question was lingering on my mind.
“What?”
“Did you talk to Sarah?” I snap again. “Sarah Midgley?”
I’m both really fucking angry and really fucking worried. I didn’t just waste six months pining after this girl to have Naomi, the mouthy know-it-all, mess that up for me.
“I can talk to whoever I want,” is what she says after a long hesitation.
She did.
She talked to Sarah. She said those things. Sarah was in that group that Hart was gossiping to. Lying to.
I feel like a cement block has been dropped onto my chest. I can’t speak for a moment. I just stare at her, jaw tight, eyes forming a piercing gaze. She hasn’t looked away yet, either. She also looks angry, and she has no damn right to be.
“You’re the asshole,” I say.
It’s all I can get out. I don’t want to stand here a moment longer.
So I walk away, pushing back into the crowd, getting somewhere that’s not anywhere near Naomi Hart.
●○●○●
I continue to stare out my window, quiet, pushing away the memory like a rotten apple core.
I know Sarah Midgley is sure to be at that house party Gavin urged me to join tonight. She lives in his neighborhood. And despite the fact that my sophomore crush on her faded long ago, I’m happy to be dodging the event right now.
Thanks, Noah Hart.
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