Just plain old hazel, I thought. (At least I knew enough not to say this.)
I felt one hand slide up the side of my body and touch my hair. “And your hair,” Kevin said. “I’ve never seen hair this color before either. It’s the color of autumn leaves.” His hand moved to my face, gently feeling my cheeks, my nose, my lips, and my chin. “Best-lookin’ guy in third period P.E., that’s for sure.”
“What about Jarred?” I said. Jarred Gasner was a guy in our P.E. class, and yes, I immediately regretted saying this too.
“You’re much better-lookin’ than Jarred,” Kevin said. “He’s kind of cute. But you’re handsome.”
“Am not.”
Kevin smiled again, and his teeth glowed in the darkness. “You are.”
“Can I ask you a question?” I said, desperate to change the subject—and at the same time, not wanting it ever to change.
“Sure,” Kevin said.
“When did you know you were gay?”
He shrugged. “I guess I’ve always known. I just always liked being around guys. I like that they’re bold and confident. That they’re not afraid to take risks.”
“Oh,” I said, thinking, In other words, you like guys who are the complete opposite of me.
“Russel?” Kevin said.
“Huh?” I said.
“Can I kiss you again?”
I couldn’t very well turn him down now—not after what he’d said about liking guys who took risks. Then again, I didn’t want to turn him down. So I nodded, and he kissed me. His lips were firm and strong, his chin and face rough with whiskers.
We kept kissing, only this time there may have been some groping and fumbling and hugging. I think I’ll end this scene here, though. After all, a guy should be allowed to keep some secrets, shouldn’t he?
I had my first baseball practice that Monday afternoon, and I didn’t completely suck. Unfortunately, here “I didn’t completely suck” doesn’t mean “I was actually pretty good.” It just means I didn’t completely suck. But at one of my times up at bat, I really did manage to make it to third base.
Halfway through practice, Coach told the team to pair up, and before I could stop myself, I glanced over at Kevin. A couple of other guys looked like they were trying to catch Kevin’s eye too, so I was flattered when he drifted over toward me.
Before I knew it, Coach had directed us out to the outfield, where the pairs of us were supposed to practice our throwing and catching. Kevin would slam the ball into my mitt ( thwap! ), and I’d do my best to heave it back at him ( thwumph ).
At first, it felt stilted and awkward. My aim was lousy, and even though Kevin was obviously going easy on me, his pitches still hit my mitt so hard, they stung my hand.
Thwap!
Thwumph.
Thwap!
Thwumph.
But then something strange happened. It was like we fell into some sort of groove. The ball kept whizzing back and forth, and it felt like we were connected somehow—like it was electricity zipping back and forth on a shiny copper wire. The ball itself was alive, and suddenly so were we—fresh and alert and raw.
Thwap!
Thwumph.
Thwap!
Thwumph.
Kevin would throw and I would catch, then I would throw and he would catch, and as we did, the other baseball players all around us in the outfield fell away. Now we were completely alone, like two simmering volcanoes side by side on some deserted tropical island in the middle of a calm blue sea.
Thwap!
Thwumph.
Thwap!
Thwumph.
I stared at Kevin, at the graceful flow of his perfectly proportioned body, at the shocks of his dark hair poking recklessly out from under his cap. I thought, Is playing baseball always like this? (I also thought, It’s a good thing I’m wearing a cup!)
Ironically, only two hours before, I’d decided to quit the baseball team. My reasoning went like this: I’d joined the team to get closer to Kevin, but after Saturday night, I was now about as close to Kevin as I was going to get. Still, I’d planned to wait a few weeks to actually leave
I felt one hand slide up the side of my body and touch my hair. “And your hair,” Kevin said. “I’ve never seen hair this color before either. It’s the color of autumn leaves.” His hand moved to my face, gently feeling my cheeks, my nose, my lips, and my chin. “Best-lookin’ guy in third period P.E., that’s for sure.”
“What about Jarred?” I said. Jarred Gasner was a guy in our P.E. class, and yes, I immediately regretted saying this too.
“You’re much better-lookin’ than Jarred,” Kevin said. “He’s kind of cute. But you’re handsome.”
“Am not.”
Kevin smiled again, and his teeth glowed in the darkness. “You are.”
“Can I ask you a question?” I said, desperate to change the subject—and at the same time, not wanting it ever to change.
“Sure,” Kevin said.
“When did you know you were gay?”
He shrugged. “I guess I’ve always known. I just always liked being around guys. I like that they’re bold and confident. That they’re not afraid to take risks.”
“Oh,” I said, thinking, In other words, you like guys who are the complete opposite of me.
“Russel?” Kevin said.
“Huh?” I said.
“Can I kiss you again?”
I couldn’t very well turn him down now—not after what he’d said about liking guys who took risks. Then again, I didn’t want to turn him down. So I nodded, and he kissed me. His lips were firm and strong, his chin and face rough with whiskers.
We kept kissing, only this time there may have been some groping and fumbling and hugging. I think I’ll end this scene here, though. After all, a guy should be allowed to keep some secrets, shouldn’t he?
I had my first baseball practice that Monday afternoon, and I didn’t completely suck. Unfortunately, here “I didn’t completely suck” doesn’t mean “I was actually pretty good.” It just means I didn’t completely suck. But at one of my times up at bat, I really did manage to make it to third base.
Halfway through practice, Coach told the team to pair up, and before I could stop myself, I glanced over at Kevin. A couple of other guys looked like they were trying to catch Kevin’s eye too, so I was flattered when he drifted over toward me.
Before I knew it, Coach had directed us out to the outfield, where the pairs of us were supposed to practice our throwing and catching. Kevin would slam the ball into my mitt ( thwap! ), and I’d do my best to heave it back at him ( thwumph ).
At first, it felt stilted and awkward. My aim was lousy, and even though Kevin was obviously going easy on me, his pitches still hit my mitt so hard, they stung my hand.
Thwap!
Thwumph.
Thwap!
Thwumph.
But then something strange happened. It was like we fell into some sort of groove. The ball kept whizzing back and forth, and it felt like we were connected somehow—like it was electricity zipping back and forth on a shiny copper wire. The ball itself was alive, and suddenly so were we—fresh and alert and raw.
Thwap!
Thwumph.
Thwap!
Thwumph.
Kevin would throw and I would catch, then I would throw and he would catch, and as we did, the other baseball players all around us in the outfield fell away. Now we were completely alone, like two simmering volcanoes side by side on some deserted tropical island in the middle of a calm blue sea.
Thwap!
Thwumph.
Thwap!
Thwumph.
I stared at Kevin, at the graceful flow of his perfectly proportioned body, at the shocks of his dark hair poking recklessly out from under his cap. I thought, Is playing baseball always like this? (I also thought, It’s a good thing I’m wearing a cup!)
Ironically, only two hours before, I’d decided to quit the baseball team. My reasoning went like this: I’d joined the team to get closer to Kevin, but after Saturday night, I was now about as close to Kevin as I was going to get. Still, I’d planned to wait a few weeks to actually leave
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