Symptoms of Being Human by Jeff Garvin

and boiled chicken breasts. Then I went to the tryouts—and practically got laughed off the field.”
    â€œThey laughed at you? And you still wanted to join the team?”
    â€œThey knew me as the three-hundred-pound brown kid with the furry Chewbacca backpack. I didn’t fit in yet. I hadn’t passed the test.” He reaches for a handful of fries. “And yes, I did still want to join the team. I wanted to play.”
    â€œSo what happened at tryouts?”
    He answers with his mouth full. “I tackled Vickers in the first drill. Laid him out flat.”
    â€œWas he pissed?”
    Solo shakes his head, swallows. “Nope. He was impressed. Grudgingly, but still. That’s how I earned my way in. By proving myself on the field.” He looks at me. “That, and I had to lose the Chewbacca backpack.”
    â€œYou did not.”
    He shrugs. “It took a long time to lose the nickname Chewie. But eventually, I became Solo. I like that a lot better.”
    â€œWow,” I say. “So you gave up something you really loved just to fit in with a bunch of guys who laughed at you and called you fat.”
    Solo folds his arms. “I didn’t stop liking Star Wars , or even talking about it. I just stopped wearing the furry backpack to school. You’d have done the same thing.”
    I look at Solo, then down at my lap. “I think this is where the analogy breaks down for me.”
    â€œExplain.”
    â€œI can’t just stop wearing a backpack.”
    Solo raises his eyebrows. “Care to elaborate?”
    I open my mouth, then shut it. Is this the person I want to come out to? And, if he is, what will I say?
    Solo leans in. “Look. I don’t expect you to spill your guts to me. Your business is your business. Dress how you want to dress. Let people wonder. Fuck ’em.”
    I smile.
    Solo raises a finger. “But you’ve got to stop looking for a fight every time someone makes a comment. High school sucks for everyone.”
    I feel my smile fade, and I sit back in the chair. “It kind of feels like you’re defending those guys.”
    Solo shrugs. “There will always be guys like Jim Vickers. But I’m not going to let them stop me from doing what I want. And neither should you.”

CHAPTER 12
    WE PULL OFF THE FREEWAY, and the wind rushing past the window fades to a gentle breeze. It’s the first cool evening of fall, and the air on my face is exhilarating. It feels good to be driving on a Friday night with the windows down after ditching school for video games and french fries, and I look over at Solo and feel a sudden rush of affection for him.
    â€œThanks for standing up for me today,” I say.
    He nods. “You needed it.”
    â€œSo.” I glance out the window, then back at Solo. “What happens on Monday?”
    We turn onto my street.
    â€œYou could come sit with us,” he says.
    â€œAnd get verbally abused by the entire football team? No thanks.” I expect him to reply, maybe even get defensive, but he just pulls up in front of my house and sets the parking brake.And then we’re quiet for a while, listening to the irregular idle of the old car.
    â€œAre you going to get it for ditching?” Solo asks.
    â€œProbably. You?”
    He shrugs. “Half the time my mom yells at me, I can’t understand what she’s saying. Plus, I have a really good shame face.” He tilts his head toward me and his massive cheeks fall forward. He looks like an enormous sad bulldog.
    â€œThat is a really good shame face.”
    I glance out the window at my house; if the attendance office called my parents, I’m probably in for a talk when they get home. In the meantime, I feel . . . good. Maybe for the first time since I started at Park Hills.
    After a moment, I get out of the car.
    â€œHave a good weekend,” I say, carefully closing the rickety door.
    Solo bows. “May the