As luck would have it, we found some seats close to Ryan and his parents. His brother was the quarterback, so it made sense that they’d all be here. My friends were all busylooking at the cheerleaders, which was great because it afforded me the chance to stare my fill at Ryan, all under the guise of watching the game.
Though he looked sad, it wasn’t an unusual look for him. That was just his face. Sort of long and drawn out, he looked like he belonged on the front of aHelp Your Depressed Teenagerpamphlet. There was part of me that knew he was here against hiswill. What I wouldn’t give to know where hedidwant to be.
As his brother completed a pass, Ryan’s dad clapped him on the back. I watched them briefly as they exchanged a few words. Though that wasn’t an entirely accurate depiction. His dad spoke. Ryan listened, nodded, and then continued to sit there twiddling his thumbs.
But even despite the sadness darkening his face, he was still strikinglygorgeous. Full lips, high cheeks, perfectly imperfect hair, messy but somehow still styled, it all worked together so impeccably that I couldn’t peel my eyes away from him. His broad shoulders filled out his black T-shirt and because he was leaning forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, a small patch of his back was visible, as was the waistband of his boxers.
My dick twitched.
Damn teenagehormones.
Damn him for… for…
I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew that there wassomethingabout Ryan, not just thoughts of sex, that made me want him.
The crowd roared once again as Ryan’s brother passed for the first touchdown of the game. Everyone stood—everyone except Ryan. He sat there, shoulders slumped, head down in his hands. I’d love to know what he was thinking.
So when hegot up from the bleachers and walked over to the concession stand, I excused myself from my friends and walked over to join him. “Hey,” I greeted, standing behind him in line.
The look on his face when he turned around was one that I could only categorize as shock. Was he really so lonely that the simple act of someone saying hello to him shook the ground beneath his feet?
He looked me up anddown as if he needed to take stock of who I was. “Oh, hey,” he replied finally. Then he turned right back around without so much as another word.
Not one to back down from a challenge, I figured I’d better move the conversation forward, because he sure as hell wasn’t going to. “So your brother’s pretty good.”
“Yep.” He didn’t even turn around.
Okay, pick a different topic.
“You play any sports?”I asked even though I already knew the answer.
He laughed humorlessly, shook his head, and once again, didn’t turn around.
Topic number three it is.
“Music?” Everybody liked music. It was a simple equation. You were alive. You liked music.
“Not really,” he answered over his shoulder before ordering a hot dog and a Coke.
What the hell?
Fine then. Regular small talk clearly wasn’t going towork. “So then you’re a robot?” That got him to turn around. A small blip of laughter fell from his lips and then he smiled.
My god, his smile.
The words I needed to describe it didn’t exist, but all I could think was how lucky I was to be one of the few people to see it.
“No, I’m not a robot,” he answered, stepping to the side with his food. “Feels like it most days, though,” he added as Iordered the same thing he held in his hands.
After taking my order, I tipped my head to the set of benches next to the stand. We sat across from each other, his back to the game. I didn’t want to prod and ask more questions for fear I’d scare him away. I had a feeling opening up to people, hell even just talking to them, wasn’t something he was used to. We sat in silence, eating our hot dogs,drinking our sodas, listening to the dull roar of the game going on around us. In an odd way, it felt as normal as breathing, like it was something we both did all the time. I wanted to ask him a million questions, but I bit my tongue, hoping he would lead the way.
“Metallica mostly.” We’d been sitting in the relative quiet for so long his voice took me by surprise. But it was a sound I knewI’d never get tired of hearing. Sure there was something sad about it, low and kind of rumbly. But there was also something hopeful, some positive lilt shading his words. And I wanted nothing more than to hear more of them.
“That’s cool,” I lied in response to his late answer. “Never really listened to hard rock.” At least that was the truth.
“They’re pretty good.” After crumpling up his napkinand tossing it in the garbage pail next to us, he looked back at me across the table. “You might like it.”
There it was. The chance I was looking for. “Stranger things have happened, I’m sure. How about you bring some music over to my house tomorrow and we can get started planning that team project for woodshop.”
It wasn’t super obvious to anyone who wasn’t paying careful attention to his deepbrown eyes, but when he twisted in his seat, casting a glance up over my shoulder, back into the stands where his parents sat, I was dying to know everything about him, about his relationship with them, with his brother. So when he said, “Yeah, sure. Whatever,” I found it close to impossible to conceal my excitement.
Without much more conversation, we exchanged phone numbers and I sent him myaddress. Now all I had to do was sit on the proverbial edge of my seat for him to knock on my front door.
