Date: Fri, 21 Feb 2014 22:48:45 -0500
From: Roe St. Alee <roesaintalee@hotmail.com>
Subject: How I Got Carter: Part 6

This story contains sexual content, involving high school age males. If
this offends you, please leave this page immediately. This story is a work
of fiction, and any similarities to real life people, places, and
situations is purely a coincidence.

If the above does not offend you, please enjoy!  Your questions and
comments are welcome, so email me at roesaintalee@hotmail.com. Thank you
for being patient with the story, and as long as you'll wait for the next
chapter, I'll keep on writing slowly but surely. Enjoy!

I'm also looking for a few proofreaders to help me make sure my next few
chapters are fit for consumption.  Email me if you're interested and have a
good grasp on the English language.

--------------


"Mulkins, Willard. Station 9."


Nizen, our chemistry teacher, has a firm, clear voice, so there's no
mistaking what he said.  It's accepting it that's the problem.  I swallow
hard and can practically taste how awful this situation is.  Having study
hall together is bad enough.  Being lab partners in chemistry...  I can't
imagine anything worse.


As I make my way back to the lab table, I think about all the
ramifications.  Twice a week we'll need to work together in lab, which
amounts to two straight hours of nonstop communication and physical
nearness.  Beyond that, we'll need to write lab reports and even do
presentations, which means additional work together outside of class.


That's a whooooole lot of Carter.  I'm not sure I can handle it.


A few weeks ago I would have thought spending several days a week in the
lab with the hottest boy ever to grace the halls of this high school would
have been nerve racking but exciting.  I'd have to work to keep a grin off
of my face every time he laughed or smiled at me, and I'd agonize over the
little things I said, whether or not he thought I was cool or funny.  Right
now, I would be wondering if he was any good at Chemistry, or if I'd have
to help him with all his work.  I'd be thanking my lucky stars that we have
study hall together, which will make for easy collaboration outside of
class.  Maybe we'd hang out after school sometimes if we had too much work
to do.  It might actually be great!


But that's not the way it is.  Things are different now.  Carter hates me.
Ever since that party.  I take my position across the lab table from my new
partner and brace myself for the worst.


"Hey Jackson, how's it going?"  Carter beams at me with his usual, heart
melting smile.  That ruthless son of a bitch.


"Fine."  I can't help but flick my eyes back down to my lab instructions
instantly.  Looking Carter in the eyes is highly dangerous at all times,
but right now I feel like a fly in a spider's web.  Just waiting for the
inevitable death stroke.


"How was the rest of your summer?" he asks innocently.  "I haven't seen you
around."


"Uh..."


I've never been especially articulate around this boy, but I seem to be
doing exceptionally poorly today.  I risk a look at Carter and he's still
grinning right back at me like usual.  I instantly feel my face start to
heat up and I return my eyes to my paper.  I couldn't detect even a hint of
malice in his expression.  He's probably just luring me in to make it sting
even more when he drops the hammer.


"It was good," I finally manage to reply.  What does he want me to say?
`Oh, ever since that night I made out and ripped your pants off things have
been pretty same old same old.'  Not likely.


"Good?  That's... good to hear."  He chuckles a little bit and I'm sure my
face turns even redder.  He pauses for a few seconds and I can feel his
eyes boring into me.  He must be enjoying this so much.  The gay boy with a
crush on him squirming under pressure.  "Did you do anything fun?"


He can't be serious!  He's toying with me!  Just shout it to the heavens!
Out me to everyone, and then tell them how I'm in love with you, and then
maybe you can get me in trouble for trying to put moves on you.  Just do it
already!


Still nothing.  He's just staring at me like I'm some kind of amusing
lunatic.  Damn him.


He has every right to be pissed, and I may have lost some amount of pride
over our incident in the woods, but I am not going to be toyed with!  I
will not let him soften me up only to lash out and really hurt me.  I
better just get it over with right here and right now.


""I'm sorry," I finally blurt out.


In return, I receive a blank stare, but at least the smile has dropped off
of Carter's face.  If anything I've managed to wipe away the facade.  But
after a few seconds it doesn't look like anything else is going to happen.
I try to think of the right facial expression to convey what I mean without
actually having to say it, but before I can channel "contrite and pitiful,
sorry we made out but don't tell everyone I'm gay" Carter finally decides
to comment.


"Oh, shit," he says quietly.  "From the party."  He purses his lips,
clearly very displeased.  Well, duh, what did he think I was apologizing
for?


"I said I'm sorry, Carter.  I don't know what-"


"Jackson, stop."  He cuts me off before I have the chance to really make an
ass of myself, although I've certainly given it a hell of a try already.
"I'm the one who should be sorry.  I guess I just..."  He looks almost
sheepish as he searches for the words.  "I guess I'm just kind of a dick
when I wake up in the morning."


Wait, what?


He's apologizing to me?  But he was so mad at me!  He practically
threatened me in the morning because he was so furious.  Unless...


"I didn't mean anything by it.  I was like, super hungover, and I'm..."
After a thoughtful second he breaks into a grin and finishes his thought.
"I'm not really a morning person I guess."


His grin is infectious as ever, and coupled with my apparent exoneration
I'm feeling better than ever.  "I would have to agree with that - you're
pretty scary!" I say.


"Dude, I just thought that..." he laughs and shakes his head.  "The last
thing I remember, Trish was stalking me like I was a baby wildebeest, and
she made it very clear that she was ready to pounce.  I kind of remember
heading into the woods.  Next thing I knew I woke up in a tent with no
pants on."


My smile only gets wider at that thought, although probably not for the
reason Carter thinks.  "Yeah, she was basically trying to have you for
dinner."


He sighs.  "I was on thin ice with Kailey, so if anything had happened with
Trish, that would have been it."


"Don't worry," I say, "you were in good hands."  If I'm not the villain, I
can be the hero, right?  You asked me to escort you back to the tent to get
away from her."


"Ok, yeah," he says, nodding, "I remember that, too!"  He looks comforted
by his ability to stitch a little more of the night together.  I guess he
still had some doubt, and it must be good to hear he's in the clear.
Hopefully the rest of the evening can stay lost to the alcohol forever.


"Well, don't worry about it, I'm just glad you're not pissed off or
anything," I say, and while I'm not being entirely forthcoming, I at least
admit to a little bit of my fear and doubt.


"Of course not!" he says, "I know you had my back out there."  He reaches
across the table and hits my arm.  I expect it to be a punch, but instead
he kind of squeezes my arm a little as he does it.  It's strangely
intimate, and a lot more than I expected him to show in this situation.  It
feels nice to be close with him.


I'm not sure what to say, short of some kind of delighted squeal, so I bury
my face in my lab notebook until my blush subsides Which incidentally is
also a good catalyst to get me focused back on the task at hand: Chemistry.
The lab doesn't seem too hard, but we'll need to get a lot done in the next
hour.  We split up the first couple of sections and get working.


My part involves a lot of tedious measuring, so my body sort of gets into
autopilot and I have a little time to decompress from our conversation.


Obviously I am very relieved that Carter isn't mad.  Not only does he not
remember our little happening in the woods to the tune of us stripping each
other and making out, but he actually thinks I was protecting him!  Boy,
did I dodge a bullet on that one.


Granted, it's a double edged sword.  On one hand, he doesn't hate me, which
is a relief. We can just go on being like we always were. I'll lust after
him, always keeping a safe, respectful distance, and he can be himself. His
ridiculously hot, regrettably straight self. In the day to day sense, I
feel very okay with that.  It will sure make being lab partners a lot less
awkward.


But on the other hand, it's almost like it never even happened. Sure,
Jackson Willard remembers everything at Matt's party, but who believes what
he says anyway? I could have just dreamed it all up. And even if it did
happen, it doesn't mean a thing to half the people involved.


I had felt such an overwhelming sense of destiny as our lips met. I felt
the night would live forever in my heart as the single most exciting night
of my life.  I suppose it still will, but it's surreal in every way.  From
the inherent haziness brought on by the gin, to the pure impossibility of
what almost went down, it's always going to feel a little bit like a
dream...


"Earth to Jackson... Can you hear me?  Over."


I look up to see Carter using a pair of calipers like a microphone, trying
to hail me through my reverie.


"Sorry, I was thinking about something.  What's up?"


"Yeah, I could see the smoke coming out of your ears."  He sticks his
tongue out at me before continuing.  What a flirt...  "Are you doing the
fourth part or am I?"


"Hmmm..." I skim through the last part of our lab and it looks pretty
involved.  Even if we manage to get all the data recorded during lab, there
are a lot of formulas to look up and a couple of graphs we'll have to make.
"I'm almost done with what I'm doing, so I'll start on it in a few minutes.
Are you still working on yours?"


"Yeah," Carter replies, "I'll be done soon.  I bet we can get the last part
done pretty fast if we do it together."


"That sounds..."


I look past Carter to the front of the room and see Nizen talking to
someone, a boy about our age, maybe a little younger.  "Who's that?" I ask,
more or less to myself.


Carter turns to look, shrugs, and then gets back into the lab.  I start
working too, but first give the new kid a quick eyeball.  I can't help it -
he's pretty cute!


I'd put him at maybe 5'6" with a slight build and boyish features. His
reddish brown hair is in a sort of stylish crew cut, and he's put together
pretty well. Dark slim jeans and a dark gray v-neck. Definitely better
dressed than most, and better looking to boot. He's no Carter, but he has
my attention. I wonder who this kid is.


I strain my ears to try and try to make out what he and Nizen are talking
about, but I only catch one word: Jackson. They're talking about me for
some reason! Now my interest is definitely piqued.


"Willard!" Nizen finally raises his voice to an audible level. "Come on up
here, please."


I make my way to the front of the room and stand at attention. Nizen's told
us that grew up in a military family, so he likes it when you stand at
attention. For most of us, it's already second nature in his class.


"Willard, this is Goldsmith. Sam Goldsmith. Sam? This is Jackson Willard."


We shake hands and smile tentatively at each. Sam has very nice teeth, and
a winsome smile. He's even cuter up close, with a little spray of freckles
on each of his cheeks.. I can't say what it is, but I feel a little twinge
of something in my gut when we shake hands, like this meeting is important
for me somehow. Destiny?  Or maybe he's just cute?  Either way, I'm ok with
it and it sort of makes my stomach hurt.


"Goldsmith is new," Nizen explains. "He just started this week.  He's a
grade below you.  He plays soccer, just like you. Please escort him from
tenth period to the locker room so he can get started with the team this
afternoon."


Nizen could write a minute biography on the most interesting man in the
world, that is, he doesn't beat around the bush. Sam and I both stand in
front of him waiting for more instruction, but he's already opening a
folder and grading another class's homework. I guess we're on our own.


"Um, do you want us to head out now, or wait until the end of the class,
sir?"  Nizen looks up from his grading for a second and nods in
affirmation. An unspoken "Dismissed!" sounds in my head.  I guess we're
supposed to go now.


"Can you hang on one sec?" I ask Sam.


He nods, and I head back to Carter, who has just started to fourth part of
the lab.  Which, sadly he'll be finishing by himself.


"Dude, I gotta go," I tell him.  "I'm supposed to take this new kid to the
field for soccer.  Can you get the lab done without me?"


Carter wrinkles his nose is an obscenely cute way, which means he's
thinking hard about something.  "I think so, but I can't finish the lab
report this period if I'm working alone."


"If you get all the data we can write the report tomorrow in study hall," I
suggest.  As wary as I was about having study hall with Carter earlier
today, it looks like it's going to be pretty convenient.


"Sounds good man," he says, nodding, "I'll catch you later."


I leave Carter to it and gather my books.  A minute later I head out the
door with Sam in tow.  He's a little quiet at first, but proves to be
friendly once I get him talking.


Sam just turned 16, and, as Nizen said, he's a sophomore this year.  He
transferred from Segman, a private school about an hour away. His mom is a
nurse and got a new job in town at the beginning of summer, but the move
took longer than expected, and he didn't even get into his new house until
yesterday, which would explain why no one's seen him around.  There's only
about 200 people in a class here, so everybody pretty much knows everybody.


Sam plays soccer, but his real passion is archery. I guess Segman must have
a team for that, but not us. This is a public school, and if you so much as
think about a weapon, you get expelled.  God forbid we let a bunch of kids
run around Hunger Games style with bows and arrows.  Sam, however, is
undaunted by our lack of a team, and thinks he might try to get one
started.


"That's actually the only thing I've unpacked at our house," he tells me.
"I have a mattress on the floor and an archery range in the back yard."


Call me a teenage boy, because that's the coolest thing I've ever heard of.


Our walk eventually takes us through the gym, which is a awash with
confused looking freshman hitting volleyballs in every conceivable
direction, and finally we enter the locker room.


"So, this is it," I say, gesturing out to the lockers and benches.  "It's
probably not much compared to Segman, but it works."


Sam smiles at that, making cute little dimples on his cheeks.  "I didn't
always go to a private school," he says.  "So I've seen plenty of grimey
locker rooms," he adds with a smile.


Huh, he's been to a couple different schools.  Maybe his parents move
around a lot.  I make a mental note to ask him about it later.


For now, I throw down my bag onto a bench and Sam does the same a few spots
over.  I look at the clock and there are only a few minutes until the final
bell rings.


"We should probably just get changed now and head out to the field.  That
way you can meet coach before everybody else comes in," I suggest.


"Yeah, good idea," he replies.  We're getting along great, but Sam still
seems a little nervous. I guess it is his first day and all. It must be
hard to be the new kid.  I'm sure the soccer guys will help loosen his up.


I bend down to pull my gear out of my bag, and when I look up I see that
Sam has turned his back to me and is pulling off his shirt. I always try to
play it cool in the locker room, so I make sure to turn away and give him
some privacy. I don't watch him changing at all. Not one bit.


Who am I kidding? I totally check him out! I rustle through my bag
absentmindedly, just in case anyone happens to walk in, but I keep my eyes
fixed firmly on my new friend.


Sam is, to put it very mildly, super cute. Where Carter is a bit more
jocular in his build, Sam is slight and boyish.  While he's certainly not
muscular, he's not frail either, and you can see a little hint of strength
show in his back.


It's not polite to stare, but Sam's back is to me and he's in his own
little world as he starts undoing his fly. I wouldn't do it if the locker
room was full of people, but since it's not... I keep watching.  He pulls
off his jeans and underwear in one motion, bending down to reveal a small,
tight ass and lithe, hairless legs. As if that wasn't enough, he stays bent
over for a few extra seconds as he pulls off his socks. There's no denying
it, Sam has a very nice behind.


I pray he can't feel my eyes on him as he digs in his bag for his soccer
clothes.  What's it going to be, Sam?  Briefs or boxer briefs?  I wouldn't
say it's a fetish or anything, but I think a cute guy in cute underwear is
pretty much the hottest thing ever.  Sam finally pulls out a pair of
stylish blue compression shorts and slips them on.  It's more than I could
have asked for.  With the spandex covering them, his butt is, for lack of a
better word, transcendent.


Sam bends over again as he reaches into his bag, giving me one final,
glorious look at his behind when the final school bell rings.  I take a
mental snapshot and get myself changed as fast as I can. I do not need
anyone coming in to notice me sporting half a stock while the new kid
changes.  Talk about awkward.


The first couple of football players come in just as I finish adjusting
myself inside my shorts, and I turn around to see that Sam is fully clothed
and ready for practice.


"Ready to meet the team?" I ask, smiling.


Sam grins back. "Let's do it!" he says, before he joins me walking out the
door towards the soccer field. It's nice to see him smile, considering how
nervous he must be on his first day at a new school with a new team. He's
got me smiling too, and not just because of his fine bottom.  I don't want
to speak too soon, but maybe I've got a new friend in the works.


Practice goes well for me, for the team, and for Sam. Everyone warms up to
him right away, and I'm pleasantly surprised at how good he is, considering
soccer isn't even his primary sport. Being new means he still needs to
learn our system and get comfortable with our players, but if today is any
indication of his skill level, I think he'll get a lot of playing time this
season.  Which is great considering he's only a sophomore.


It helps that our team is made up of a pretty good group of guys. I don't
hang out with them a lot outside of practice (besides Ko, of course), but
we spend a ton of time together during the season, and everyone gets
along. There's a few kind of jocular guys, some nerdier kids, a couple
preppy dudes, and even Jake, a goth who just so happens to be a 1st Team
All-State sweeper for the last two years.  Once you put on the uniform, who
cares what lunch table you sit at?


That being said, the crux of our bonding is that we are not football
players.  Yes, there are plenty of very friendly guys who play pigskin;
Carter and Matt are on the team, and a few other guys I know from class or
swimming.  But there are also a good number of outspoken, aggressive,
mongoloid assholes.


Our practice usually ends about thirty minutes before theirs, but sometimes
we go late or they go short, and, inevitably, worlds collide among a bunch
of muscular, sweaty, possibly naked dudes. In theory, one might argue
that's my idea of a good time: Worlds colliding with naked dudes and all
that.  But things can get nasty, and us soccer kids are outmatched in size,
number, and general aggression.  I'd put our standardized test scores
against theirs any day of the week, but that doesn't do you much good when
someone's flicking you with a towel and calling you a pussy.


As luck would have it - bad luck, that is - today just so happens to be one
of those days when we'll be sharing the locker room.  We can see them
coming up the hill behind the track as we enter, which means they'll be
here in about a minute.  Normally I would use my head start to get changed
and out as fast as I can, but with Sam in tow I figure I should stick
around at least until he's finished.


I hear him before I see him: Troy.


Remember how I was saying that most of the football players are decent
guys?  Well, of the ones who aren't, the rottenest of all the bad apples
would have to be Troy.  He' s about the size of a refrigerator, but not
quite as bright.  What he lacks in brains, however, he makes up for in his
ability to be a huge asshole.


Some days he can get off on simply swaggering through the locker room,
misinterpreting our resentment and loathing as respect and fear.  Other
days he'll berate someone who looks especially helpless, and on rare
occasion he might even get physical.  Never enough to hurt anyone or force
you to get the administration involved mind you, but enough to be
humiliating for his victim, and thus apparently reassuring for himself.  I
may not respect the kid, but I definitely try to avoid being his target.


Troy's malevolence generally correlates to his volume, so I know it's a bad
sign when I hear him before I see him.  I should expect no less - it's the
first day of school and he'll want to assert himself for any new kids.
King Douche.


As he steps into view, I can see that he has somehow become even larger
during the summer break.  He's probably pushing 6'3", and he's muscular as
hell.  To remind us of this, he's already peeled his shirt off, revealing
his admittedly incredible, ripped body.  Barring the shit personality, I do
have to give him that little bit of credit for having an amazing physique.


Troy looks out over the locker room as a lord would survey his fiefdom.
Who has a bad haircut?  Whose parents got divorced over the summer?  Who
looks especially weak and victimizable today?


Troy's eyes stop when they hit Sam, and a big, nasty grin plasters itself
on his face.  That's not good.


"Look who it is," he says mockingly, jutting his chin up at Sam in a sort
of mongoloid challenge.  "Looks like the soccer team is recruiting more
queers to join up."


At that, I see a bunch of my teammates roll their eyes, but no one says
anything.  As much as we don't like this sort of thing, it's best to just
keep your mouth shut and let it roll off your back.  Most of Troy's shit
talk is just to bait you into reacting.  He rarely takes things beyond
verbal abuse if you don't engage him.  Obviously I don't want to step in,
but I start steeling myself to get Sam's back if things get serious.


Sam, for his part, keeps his eyes down and starts packing up his gear bag
as though he hasn't heard.  He's changed his clothes, so he should be good
to go in the next thirty seconds.  Probably the best thing you could do -
just get out of here.


"Hey!" says Troy.


No response.  So far so good.


"Hey, faggot!"


Ugh.  That word.  I know he just uses it to get a rise out of us, but I
hate that fucking word.


Yet still nothing from Sam.  Troy seems keen on escalating the situation,
but I'm still holding out a little bit of hope that he'll let it go.  I
mean, I also wish a meteorite would crash through the roof and incinerate
him, but we can't have everything we want.


"I know who you are," says Troy.


Sam stops packing his bag, and even though he doesn't look up Troy knows
he's onto something.  Uh oh.


"That's right," he continues, raising his voice so all can hear, "I know
who you are, and I know why you got kicked out of Segman."


What?  Sam got kicked out?  He definitely did not mention that on our walk
to practice.  He implied he had been to a bunch of different schools... Did
he get kicked out of all of them?  I make a mental note to ask him about it
later.


Now that Troy has everyone's attention - including my own, admittedly - he
starts slowly walking towards Sam, grinning maniacally.


"That's right, faggot," he says, "my cousin told me all about what
happened."


At this Sam starts to move again, and he quickly stuffs his shirt in his
bag and zips it closed.  I think he's going to take off and run out before
Troy can get to him, but instead he does the unthinkable.  Just as Troy
enters melee range, Sam drops his bag on the floor and looks him dead in
the eyes.  Troy probably towers almost a foot over him and outweighs him by
maybe a hundred pounds,, but Sam meets his gaze unflinchingly.  A direct,
obvious challenge.  Who the hell does this kid think he is?


"Who's your cousin?" Sam asks, completely unfazed by or maybe just not
aware of his impending death.  He is absolutely, perfectly calm.  Almost
smiling, actually.  "Do I know him?"


He puts the emphasis on the word "know," and even though I don't know what
he means by it, he makes it sound like a threat.  And Troy is not pleased.


"What did you say?" he asks.  He grabs Sam by the collar and pulls his face
in until they're only an inch away.  Troy is flustered, but a flustered
Troy is an angry Troy, and an angered Troy is very, very dangerous.


"If you want to start something," he growls, "now's your chance."  He
gestures at the locker room with his free hand, as though to show Sam how
many people think he's about to get his face smashed in.  "Did you have
something to say to me?"


The question hangs palpably in the air.  The locker room is dead silent, as
no one is even breathing right now in anticipation.


Mind you, Sam doesn't look scared (which I would absolutely be if I was in
his shoes), but he certainly isn't smirking anymore.  Whatever was fueling
his insolence before, the threat of physical violence seems to have taken
him down a notch.


"No," Sam says quietly.  "Nothing at all."


Victorious, Troy glowers down at Sam for another second before pushing him
away.  Sam loses his balances and stumbles down to the floor on his back.
It doesn't seem like it hurt, but it gives Troy a chance to walk off
towards the showers, laughing and high fiving with his friends, before
anyone can instigate anything further.


The second Troy is out of sight Sam springs up, grabs his bag, and
hightails it out of the locker room before anyone can so much as say a word
to him.  I scoop up my gear and follow as quickly as I can, just a few
seconds behind.


Even so, he's all the way out of the gym and approaching the main doors by
the time I manage to catch up with him.  "Sam," I call after him as he
blows out the front door, "Wait up!"


He keeps walking away from me quite briskly, and I have to jog a little bit
to get within striking distance.  I grab his arm and get him to stop
walking.


He doesn't turn around, but at least I got him stopped.  "What, Jackson?"
he asks quietly.


"I wanted to..."  Actually, that's a great question.  What do I even want
to say?  I want to congratulate him for giving Troy lip and coming out
alive.  Or maybe I should see if he needs his head examined.  Or did I want
to apologize for not coming to his aid?  Oh, and while we're at it, why did
you get kicked out of Segman?


"Are you ok?" I finally manage to spit out.


Sam sighs slowly and then turns around to face me.  He doesn't look hurt or
scared... or really anything.  He kinda just looks tired.  "Yeah," he says,
and shrugs.  "I'm fine."


"Oh... ok."  On second thought, he actually looks a little bit pissed off.
Not like he's fuming from the fight, but maybe he's annoyed.  "Don't worry
about Troy, he's mostly bark and no bite.  He'll talk shit all day, but you
don't have to-"


Sam cuts me off with a wave of his hand and a stern look.  "Jackson, I
don't give a shit about Troy," he says.  He sighs pauses and looks
embarrassed.  It's obvious he needs to tell me something but can't bring
himself to do it.


"Sam, what?" I finally ask.


"It's true," he says, dropping his head.  "It's not a secret or anything,
but you should probably know before you..."  He still isn't ready to say
it, because he trails off and bites his lower lip thoughtfully.  "You seem
cool.  And maybe you might want to be my friend, but..."


Oh, shit.  This is not going in the direction I thought it would.  I had
really good vibes from Sam, and he seemed nice.  But maybe he already has
other friends or prefers to be alone.  He's obviously a little
confrontational sometimes, so I guess he just doesn't like people that
much, and he doesn't want me to get the wrong idea.  I'm in an awkward spot
here, but it's better to have this conversation now so I don't make a total
ass of myself later.


"I get it," I say, crestfallen "If you don't want to be friends, it's
cool."


He visibly recoils at my words and shakes his head.  "No, Jackson, that's
not what I mean!" he says pleadingly.


"Oh..." If that's not it, I'm not sure what he's getting at.


I don't have to wonder for long, because he drops the bombshell: "I'm gay."


What?!


"That's what I meant.  Troy didn't make that up, when he said I was... a
fag."  He lets the word hang in the air, as though it should be all the
excuse I need to beat him up or something like that.


It probably freaks him out even more when I start laughing.  I can't help
it, it's just so ridiculous.  This new kid shamefully outing himself to me.
Oh, the irony.


"Sam, it's cool," I say.  I grab him and give him a hug.  It's what I would
want if I was him.  In a moment like this, you have to know that you're
being accepted without reservation.  He tenses up at first, but once he
gets the idea his whole body seems to relax in my embrace.  "In fact, I
should probably make a small confession of my own..."


So I tell him, as concisely as possible, where everything stands.  I am
gay.  I am one hundred percent sure about that.  I've never been interested
in girls, but I haven't really done anything with guys, either.  Because of
that, there hasn't been much reason for me to come out to the general
public.  My close friends and my family know, but I don't come off as
particularly gay to people, so no one ever suspects enough to ask.


I don't tell him about Carter, or about our night in the woods.  I mean, I
don't have to spill all my guts, right?  But I want him to feel ok about
being different, and want him to know that he has a friend.


"Sam," I say in conclusion, "I'm not public about my sexuality, and I'm
happy with that for now."  He nods knowingly, and I can tell he understands
completely.  "But if you ever need me to get your back or anything like
that, I'm there for you one hundred percent."


Now it's Sam's turn to hug me, and I can tell how deeply I've touched him.
As we break the embrace I think about the people in my life who have stood
up for me and how important it's been: My family, Ko, and Katy have been
nothing but supportive, and if I ever have the opportunity to pay that
support forward, I'll do it.


We stand looking at each other for a few seconds both trying to think of
what else to say.  I can't come up with anything, and apparently neither
can he.  In fact, we both need to get home before our parents start to
wonder where we are.  So naturally, we both just smile at each other and
laugh, happy to have found someone who understands.


"I'll see you tomorrow," I finally say.


"Later, Jackson!"


Sam starts walking in the direction of his house, which is only a few
minutes from school.  I watch him go for a few seconds before heading off
in the opposite direction.


I have a little bit of time to think as I walk to Ko's car at the far end
of the student parking lot.  Sam and I are almost definitely going to be
friends, my classes seem like they'll be good, soccer is starting again,
and Carter doesn't hate me.


I have a good feeling about this school year.  A very good feeling.


To be continued...