Right. This is becoming a waste of my time.
Again, I start to move around him, and again, he blocks me.
“You don’t understand.”
My hackles raise. Liars I can deal with sometimes. But not those in denial. Those people are always running from something. “That’s unfair,” I snap. “You don’t even know me.”
Immediately, I realize my mistake. Of course Max knows Kellan. They’ve been teammates for nearly a year. But he doesn’t know me—Noah.
“I mean—” My mind races as his features squint in puzzlement. “You know me. Of course you do. But the guys never talk about anything aside from soccer, so how could you know if I’d understand or not?” I’m pulling the words from thin air and I hope I’m right—that Kellan doesn’t discuss other areas of his life with his teammates.
Slowly, Max nods. “I guess you’re right about that.” Pulling his hat lower over his head, he gives a gusty sigh. “I love soccer, I do, but there’s a certain image I have to maintain.”
“Says who?”
“Says the world.”
“So you’re saying an athlete can’t also be into programming? Can’t be an individual? Have you been brainwashed into thinking you can only be a stereotype?”
Some of the color leeches from Max’s face. Whatever the mark was, I hit it dead center.
It’s sad how Max thinks he has to hide who he is from his friends. I’m a social recluse, sure, but at least I know who I am. If people can’t accept that, why should I accept them? I’m not going to change myself to meet others’ expectations. There’d be nothing of me left.
A muscle flutters in his cheek. He doesn’t break eye contact. The longer he looks at me, the more it feels as if he’s not the only one revealing parts of himself he’d rather keep hidden. “It’s social suicide to be anything other than how the world sees us.”
Oh, that drives me up a wall. “As people, you mean? Flesh and blood? Human?”
With every comeback, I break down parts of the mold Max has forced himself into.
“Kellan.” He scrubs his hands over his face. “Look at you. And look at me. If the guys knew I was into video games and all that shit, they’d treat me differently. You know they would.”
This is a bad idea, but my fingers are already fumbling with my coat zipper, the snaps that line the front. Cold drives out the warmth as I open my coat to reveal the shirt I’m wearing.
It’s a Zelda: Breath of the Wild t-shirt.
“Maybe you should think twice about passing judgment on others,” I say. If we’re talking about being honest with oneself, I should take my own advice, but I’m too angry to care.
Shock has frozen his features.
And that, I think, is that.
As if sensing my imminent departure, he throws up his hands. “Wait. I’m sorry about all of this. I was afraid, that’s all. Let me make it up to you.”
The only thing I can do is sigh, because I understand. Aren’t we all afraid of judgment in some form or other?
“Do you want to come over and play Super Smash Bros?”
Oh. He’s got me there. What did Kellan tell me this morning? Avoid hanging out with the team so they don’t begin to suspect me. Now Max thinks Kellan is a closet nerd.
But he said three of the best words in the English language: Super Smash Bros. The invitation is too good to turn down. “Melee or Brawl?” I ask, because it’s an important distinction.
He scoffs. “Melee. On GameCube. Duh.”
I smile.
Chapter 8
Max
