The Water Boy (Narry)

Chapter 1

I slipped on my school's and team's t-shirt, even though I'd much rather be wearing a sports team jersey. After popping my head through the collar, I ran one hand through my feather-soft hair, brushing it sideways and out of my face. I looked down at the school's symbol that graced my torso. Again, I'd be much prouder of it if I were actually representing it with a more fighting purpose. Instead of running out on the field carrying bottles of water and towels over my shoulder, I could be running out with the team and be cheered on just like the rest of the boys. I wasn't like the rest of the boys but I could still daydream of being just like them. 

Sometimes in lessons, that's all I do. I like to think I'm smart enough to get by and use my mind for much more desirable things. There's a crowd cheering in my head as I try to focus on class tasks and I give into my personal adoration. As my mind completely zones out I start to vividly picture running legs, football cleats, and that green field which stains them. The backs of jerseys can be seen, the numbers and last names of the players popping out like they mean more than just symbols. The number 82 is running alongside of number 36.

Number 82 just happens to be the captain and star player of our team. That boy who is running in perfect unison with his stride, number 36, is me. Once we've huddle up, Harry Styles, team captain, would turn his head and wink over towards me, sometimes suggestively. Yeah, there's an infatuation factor with him at play. 

But, again, in reality, I run out last and I also don't join the team for the ritual huddle. I sit on the bench with my back facing the crowd. My shirt does not have my last name on it nor a number. It's rather plain, just like me, I guess. Nobody knows who I am. They only know what I do. I receive zero cheers or whistles for being the team's mother, basically. To bring myself out of my boredom, I sometimes pretend that the crowd is proud of me for giving Louis Tomlinson a towel to wipe his drenched face off or if I, nervously, toss Harry Styles a bottle of water. Then I watch as he squirts it into his mouth as I wait for him to toss it on the ground for me to retrieve from the mud. He once squirted water all over his face when it was quite warm out. He squinted his eyes and crinkled his nose. Sue me for staring but just picture it and then see the water dribble down his face. Then he'd shake his curls and run back to the match or practice. Being water boy can sometimes have its perks. 

That's just out on the field, in the public view. I've already mentioned briefly how the team truly treats me, only because I let it happen but I can never bring myself to tell the coach about it because I don't want to let the boys down or get them into trouble. Scratch that, there's pretty much only one boy's football career that I don't want to go and screwing up just because of teenage harassment. 

It's almost the same as watching a skilled and powerful dancer perform. His footwork is unbelievable and his agility is swift enough that he's quite unstoppable if he truly gets caught up in the plays. When he makes the slightest of mistakes, Harry gets pretty frustrated with himself. His fingers grip at his hair and tug on it as he runs his long fingers through the messy mop on top of his head. The expression on his face isn't his usual focused or bored expression. It also isn't the dimpled smile that he makes when a goal is scored, teeth showing brightly and pure joy just beaming from his entirety. 

Okay, I may just stare at Harry a little too much. When you see someone attractive, what are you supposed to do otherwise? Hiding it is almost impossible because that adverted gaze and face tuck is such a rookie move. You might as well walk straight into a pole right in front of your 15-second crush. So, all I can do is look and act like I'm just spectating or waiting for someone to need something from me like a normal water boy. 

Except, I'm obviously not the normal water boy. 

I don't think the team knows this but when they make jokes about me being gay, that I actually am gay. One of these days I'm not going to hold my tongue and I'm just going to confess it. Hopefully, it will stun them all. I hold back just in case the taunting becomes worse after the fact that I came out to a bunch of cruel bastards.