RUNNING BACK

Chapter 4: Butch Wants to Run

I trudge over to the shade under a cluster of trees dreading the confrontation about to ensue. When I turn to face him, I suck in a sharp breath. He's taken off his jersey and shoulder pads, his arm threaded through the neck hole, holding his helmet underneath. My helmet is off too. But at this point, it doesn't matter.

He stops jogging and slowly approaches me with his head cocked to one side. He's got swagger, moving with an easy laid-back gait. Broad shouldered with farm-boy good looks–sweaty, tan, rugged–he's definitely athletic. I try not to get distracted by the way the weight of his gear makes his right bicep pop out or the midline between his abs that trails from under his chest before disappearing into his low-slung football pants.

I swallow a couple of times and say "Yeah?" trying to regain the edge in my voice.

"I wanted to say congrats, you know, on making varsity. That's pretty impressive considering it's your first year here," he says, softly. Still not quite sure of himself.

"Thanks," I snap, chip firmly on shoulder.

He gives me a crooked half-grin. His gleaming row of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth blind me as his eyes search mine for the answer to his unasked question.

"So, hey. Can I, uhh... ask you something?"

I look down at my brother's helmet, running my fingertips along the faded gray scuffs. I finally look back up at Jack.

"Yeah. What is it?" I know what he's about to ask.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but are you, uhh..."

"Am I what?"

He looks at me, doubt in his eyes. "You're a girl, ain't you, Thomas?"

"Yes, double-o-seven. I am. Is that all?"

He audibly exhales, like in relief or something. "Yes...I mean, no."

"Okay. What else can I do for you?"

"Coaches don't know, do they?" he says.

"You think I'm an idiot?" I reply hotly. "This is Blue Lake, Texas, the town where open-minded goes to die. Of course they don't know."

He laughs. "You'd better tell them, Speedy. They're going to find out sooner or later, but it would be better if you told them sooner."

"And why would I do that? If they're too dumb to discover what took you all of ten minutes to figure out, then that's their problem," I say, raising my voice.

He steps closer to me, lowering his. "Look, they'll be pissed. Hell, they probably won't let you play. And that's not right. But right now, they're counting on you. You had one of the fastest times at tryouts, and they're thinking you're going to be an important part of this team. This is a team. We all rely on each other, and if you don't tell them the truth, it hurts the team."

"I never lied about anything," my voice rises another octave. "They just assumed."

"Listen," he says, still unfazed by my total loss of composure, "not telling the truth is as good as lying. And neither one of them is right. And you know it, or you wouldn't be so damn defensive right now."

He's got you there.

"Whatever," I say through gritted teeth.

"What's that?" he asks, smiling again.

I can't handle it when he smiles. I roll my eyes. "I said whatever. Fine," I hiss, starting to sound like Emma. "I'll tell them."

"When?"