Last period had gone by impossibly slowly, but the final bell of the school day had eventually rung. Justin waited until all of his classmates filed out of the room, then he picked up his notebook and headed for his locker, dragging his feet the whole way. He did not want to face his teammates. When he got to his locker, Lance was there waiting for him. Asshole. Justin ignored him. He pulled out his letter jacket and slipped it on before shoving a few books into his backpack and slamming his locker shut. When he turned and headed for the locker room to get ready for practice, Lance fell in step beside him. Justin continued to ignore him until Lance spoke.
"So, what're you gonna tell 'em, 'Lake?"
"Fuck you, Lance. That's what I'm going to say in front of all of them."
"So does that mean you're not going to tell?"
"Lance, just shut the fuck up. Go piss off someone else."
Lance fell silent then, but he walked the rest of the way to the locker room with Justin. When they got there, the guys were all laughing around and joking with each other as they got ready for practice. Justin dropped his backpack into his locker and changed quickly, not talking to anyone. He double-knotted the laces on his basketball shoes and headed for the door, ready to breathe a sigh of relief that no one had said anything to him. Just as he got the the door, Nick yelled, "So 'Lake, I heard a rumor today."
Justin stopped dead and turned to face his friend. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lance smirk. Part of him said 'Keep walking, just go down to the gym and shoot some hoops, cool off a little,' but another part, a louder part, challenged him to hear what Nick had to say. He gave in. "What did you hear, Carter?"
"Just that you and a certain kid who plays basketball for our cross-town rival were, let me see, how should I say this..."
"Don't bother, Carter."
"Don't bother? Does that mean it's true?" Nick looked at him quizzically, waiting for Justin to deny it.
Justin turned and walked out of the locker room. He could hear Lance's harsh laugh behind him as the door closed. Justin didn't go to practice. He walked out to his car, climbed in, and drove home, leaving his homework and his jacket and his pride behind in his locker.
Both of his parents were still at work when Justin got home, but Justin was glad the house was empty. He thought about taking a shower, but decided a nap would probably suit him better. In his room, he peeled off the jeans and polo shirt he'd worn to school and crawled into bed in his boxers. He pulled the blankets up over his head and bit back bitter tears. Basketball players don't cry, he admonished himself and the tears trickled down his cheeks. Yeah, but they don't fuck around with their enemies, either. And they never feel this confused. Feeling entirely alone, Justin finally fell asleep.
Justin woke up to the phone ringing. He fumbled around for the cordless on the nightstand and answered it groggily. "Hello?"
"Justin? Is that you?" Fuck. It was Justin's coach.
"Yeah, Coach, it's me."
"Justin, would you care to explain to me why you weren't at practice today?"
"I'm sorry, Coach, I wasn't feeling well so I came home. I've been sleeping all afternoon."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Justin. You should've let someone know that you weren't feeling well, though, we weren't sure what had happened to you."
"Yeah, I'm sorry about that, sir."
"Justin, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure, Coach, what is it?"
"I heard a rather disturbing rumor today," his coach said, and Justin cringed. The whole fucking school really does know. His coach continued, "I heard that you and JC Chasez spent some ... er ... time together on Friday night. This true, Justin?"
Justin didn't want to lie. He wanted to hang up the phone without answering any more questions, but he knew he couldn't run from this one forever, so he said, very quietly, "Yes, sir."
His coach cleared his throat. "Would this have anything to do with why you weren't at practice today?"
"Yes, sir."
"Were the guys giving you a hard time about what happened?"
"Yes, sir."
Justin heard his coach sigh through the phone. "Justin, running away from stuff like this isn't the answer."
"No, sir."
His coach sighed again. "Here's the deal," he told Justin, his tone trying to convey sympathy or some related emotion. "I'm required to suspend you from one game for your unexcused absence from practice today, so you'll miss tomorrow night's game against the Panthers, but I want you to know this isn't about what happened over the weekend. I want you to know that if you need someone to talk to, I'm here for you -- for anything, OK, Justin?"
"OK, Coach."
"Justin, I'm sorry."
"Me too, Coach," Justin said, swallowing his fresh tears and hanging up the phone. He couldn't say good-bye. He flopped back on his bed. Suspended. Fuck. Things just got worse.
Tuesday was a blur for Justin. Because Justin hadn't told his teammates, as promised, Lance had, and they were all pretending Justin didn't exist. It didn't help that Justin, the Jaguars' star player, had been suspended for that night's game, so Justin received cold looks from just about everyone in the school that day. He was miserable.
There was another note in Justin's locker after school, but he didn't even bother reading it, he just shoved it in his back pocket and promptly forgot about it. He drove home with his radio turned up almost as loud as it would go and stomped off into his room as soon as he got home. Once again, he collapsed onto his bed fighting tears. What am I going to do?
Justin woke up around 6:00 with a great idea. JC plays tonight. Kennedy against Lincoln at Lincoln. I'll go to his game since I wouldn't be caught dead at mine. He got up, tied his unruly curls back with a bandana, and left a note for his parents saying he'd gone to "the basketball game." They'll never know it wasn't mine, since they won't be there anyway. He stopped by the drive-thru at Wendy's on his way to Lincoln High School, which was about twenty minutes away. At the school, he parked and headed in the gym entrance, paid his $2 student admission fee, got his hand stamped, and went to find a spot in the stands.
As Justin sat down and settled back against the bleachers, he scanned the court for JC. There he was, #32. Kennedy was in their blue away-team uniforms, as they had been against Jefferson the Friday night before, and Justin thought JC looked fantastic. He watched him warm up, shooting quick jumpers from the paint and longer shots from just outside the 3-point arch. Everything was swishing through the hoop. JC couldn't miss. Justin couldn't help smiling, the first smile he'd had in days.
When the game started, Justin lost himself in JC. The boy was on fire that night, shooting almost 90% from the floor and a perfect 100% from the free-throw line. Justin couldn't take his eyes off of him. By the time the game ended, JC had scored 30 points and Justin had a major hard-on. As the game ended, Justin didn't cheer, he watched quietly from the stands as the Kennedy guys slapped JC's ass and headed for the locker room.
Justin didn't leave right away. He didn't want to leave. He didn't want to go back to the Jefferson school district ever again. They hated him there. They thought he was a freak. And his teammates had forgotten all about him. He wanted to stay with JC.
So he did.
JC, like Justin, was always the last one out of the locker room. When he came out, Justin was there, leaning against the wall, his eyes burning like blue coals.
JC stopped short.
Justin stepped close to JC, who didn't move. Then
Justin whispered, "I've been waiting here for you."