Within the Lines

6.

"I guess things are pretty okay at Pinewood high so far," I said, holding my phone near my mouth. 

"I think I'm actually gettin' used to crowd—" 

I got punished for my optimistic words immediately. A guy with a massive set of shoulders bumped into me on the pathway leading to the football field. 

"—kinda gettin' used to it," I corrected myself. 

"Anyway, I finished the wild horses painting for Chiara. She wanted to put it on the wall immediately while Dad insisted he did it to help her. They're almost disgustingly cute sometimes. Kinda awkward standin' next to it. Oh, speakin' of awkward, my whole grade knows I'm gay but I haven't gotten any crap for it."

I skirted off the path towards a cluster of trees and gently knocked on one of them to ward off misfortunate. 

"Yet. People here just don't seem to care, not even if I want to join the football team. There's gay varsity jocks. And now I'm on my way to tryout for the football team so who knows, I might become one of those. Talk to you guys later"

I ended the recording and pressed send to Jenny, Taylor, and my mom. They wanted all the updates from my life in the big city, and to be honest, I was happy to share. Venting was nice. While I already loved certain aspects of the city like how being openly gay was much less of an issue here than back home, Pinewood high was still kind of uncomfortable like a new pair of shoes. I'd have to walk a few miles more before it'd fit better. 

Oh, God, miles. I strongly hoped they wouldn't make us run literal miles at the football tryouts. I'd die. 

Actually, it seemed like I was going to die, anyway. There were a couple of very huge football guys waiting on that field. If any of them body slammed me, it'd be all over. 

Corey squinted and then waved at me. "Turner!" he yelled. "Over here!" 

There went my plan of  u-turning and making up some excuse why I wasn't there tomorrow. 

I trudged onto the field towards Corey. Dad curtly nodded at me but didn't pay me any further attention. I understood. As a coach, he couldn't treat his son any differently from a stranger. 

The rule didn't seem to apply to stepsons, however. Dad leaned closer to Atticus and muttered something to him under his breath. I averted my eyes and turned to Corey. 

"So, you, the quarterback still has to try out?" I asked him. "I though you were already on the varsity team." 

"Oh, it's never entirely set in stone," Corey replied, rolling his head and shoulders, as if preparing himself for a fight. "It's more a formality than a tryout for most varsity guys. Actually, in general tryouts are more of a formality because nearly everyone who wants to play makes one of the teams. So hey, don't look so worried man, you'll be fine."

Corey patted my back, nearly knocking the wind out out of me. 

I grimaced. "If the tackles in this game are anythin' similar to your back pats I will not be fine." 

Corey threw his head back laughing like he thought I was kidding. Then, Dad whistled and made us all run a few laps to warm up. Oh, did I say 'warm up'? I actually meant some sort of crazy who-has-the-largest-dick sprinting competition. I wheezed like a dying giraffe after half a lap and watched Atticus, Corey, and the other varsity jocks fight it out, until Dad sharply blew his whistle and made them behave.  

Dad had sharp eyes, too. He lived up to his miracle coach reputation. Just from watching us do laps and throw the ball back and forth a few times, he was able to assign us into teams based on ability. I was obviously put in one of the bottom of the barrel group with other zero experience people.