Matt kept a frozen smile on his face. “My friend’s name is Harley,” he whispered.
Paul’s eyes went wide. The blood drained from his face.
Matt knew that look, knew the gut punching fear it entailed.
“Stay calm, Paul,” Matt said through his smiling teeth. His voice was low. “You, Harley, and I all play for the same team. Got it? I need you to trust me.”
“What team?” Paul blurted. “I don’t play any sports!” He pushed his glasses further back on his nose.
A gaggle of girls swept by, a collage of swishing skirts and bouncing boobs. Their chatter was loud and piercing, like birds squawking at each other.
One of the girls heard Paul’s protestation about sports and cocked her head quizzically. Then the gaggle was gone.
Matt laughed loudly as if Paul had said something funny.
“It’s a metaphor,” Matt whispered. “Think about it. Some of us are pitchers. Some are catchers.”
Paul was still confused. He shifted his weight. His eyes looked beyond Matt, charting escape routes.
Matt saw two of his soccer teammates approaching.
Shit!
They were about fifty feet away. They would spot him at any moment. They would be curious about what he was doing with Paul.
Matt tried one last time to pierce Paul’s concrete thinking. “Paul,” he hissed, “our team—the team you, Harley, and I play on—likes to play with balls. Get it?”
Paul gulped and nodded just as Matt’s two teammates strutted up to them.
“Mustang!” one of the guys called out, using Matt’s team nickname.
“Call him ‘Senator’ now,” joked the other. “And salute when you say it.”
Yes, Matt had won the election. He was a representative. There were no Senators, but he wasn’t going to argue the point. And he was dreading tomorrow evening when he would attend his firstSGA meeting.
“Let me do the talking here,” Matt whispered to Paul, then turned his attention to his teammates. “Idabel! Yukon!” He held up his hands to accept high-fives.
Idabel growled. “Come Saturday I’m going to singlehandedly stomp Saints University’s butts. No one’s gonna be calling me ‘Idabel’ after that!”
“I’ve seen you run,” Matt joked. “You’ll still be ‘Idabel’ when you’re a Senior.” He did not remind Idabel that, since the Saints game was an exhibition one, there was no opportunity to shed their nicknames.
Yukon laughed at Matt’s joke.
Idabel and Yukon glanced at Paul, obviously expecting Matt to make introductions.
Matt felt a moment of panic. Maybe he was being paranoid, given the whole Gay Chapel thing, but he wanted a plausible enough story about his connection with Paul that would not invite follow-up questions.
“Guys, this is Paul. He’s… going to tutor me.”
Idabel and Yukon greeted Paul.
Paul nodded, adjusted his glasses, but didn’t say a word. Apparently, he took Matt’s instructions literally.
“What’s he tutoring you in?” Idabel asked. “I could use some help, too.”
Matt shook his head. This was exactly the type question he wanted to avoid.
“No poaching my tutor. Find your own.”
