There’s more scrawling on the board, and the boys nod their heads, their pre-game liveliness returning.
“Okay, let’s do this, Sharks!” Darius shouts.
The team calls back “Go, Sharks!” and they skate out onto the ice.
I don’t remember standing, but I’m next to Darius, leaning over the ice, watching the boys take their places as the referee blows his whistle, and they take off in a gust. I do my best to keep my focus on Johnny. He’s smaller than everyone else on the ice, but when Benji hurls the puck at him, he manages to keep it away from the Otters—mostly because, just as Darius instructed, Craig and Nicholas skate circles around anyone who comes close, diverting them from stealing the prize.
When I glance up at the clock, it flashes twenty, and the loud, obnoxious buzzer that ended the first two sessions is imminent. Johnny seems to know it’s now or never. He skates across the ice, passing about fifteenfeet from the goalie, who tracks him with his mask-covered face.
Johnny pulls his stick back, about to shoot, and the goalie falls on his knees, holding his armored hands high, ready to block—but nothing happens. Johnny skillfully maneuvers the puck forward, deceiving the goalie with a swift move before effortlessly propelling it into the other side of the net.
Screams fill the air as the boys go wild, jumping and piling onto Johnny, making it impossible for me to see him anymore.
“Fuck, yes!” Darius screams, and I hope the boys don’t hear their PE teacher and coach using such foul language over the roar in the rink.
“He did it. He fucking did it!” Darius grabs my shoulders and pulls me into a huge embrace, lifting me off the floor and tossing me back and forth like a rag doll. I’m lightheaded, and I’m not sure if it’s from being off the ground, the shaking, or being plastered against Darius’s frame. Even through his track jacket, the firmness of his chest sends a jolt of intensity through my body.
The boys chant, “Coach, Coach, Coach,” and Darius lowers me. For a split second, my face comes closer to his than I expect, his warm peppermint breath blowing the curls off my forehead before he turns and joins his team on the ice.
I remain on the safe, non-slippery ground, experiencing a surge of gratification as I witness the team surrounding him with affection. A smile bursts across my face, and a sense of pride swells within me. Contrary to everything I’ve believed my entire life, maybe sports aren’t so bad after all.
3
HARRY
After a celebratory mealat the local pancake and waffle establishment where the team carb loads while Darius makes a face at my Cobb salad with low-fat dressing on the side, we finally arrive at the Vacation Inn. We aren’t vacationing, and it barely resembles an inn, so I don’t have high hopes for a luxury spa or mints on my pillow.
Darius heads to the counter to check us in, while I hang back in what I think is supposed to be a lobby with the boys and the few parents who have joined us.
Everything is mustard yellow or some horrid shade of brown, but these ten-year-old boys don’t seem to care about such things. Filled with elation from the tie that ensured the Sharks’ continued participation in the tournament, and having indulged in heaps of pancakes and an assortment of sweet desserts for dinner, they’re a content, albeit rowdy, group.
The school reserves rooms with two queen beds, and three to four boys will be in each. The few parents thatdrove separately will provide help. Darius and I will share a room, and I’ve brought my eye mask and noise-canceling headphones to give myself some semblance of privacy from him making straight guy noises in the other bed. After the wink, embrace, and too-close-for-comfort encounter at the rink, I ponder splurging for my own room, but then I remember the forty-seven dollars in my checking account and realize the two beds will have to suffice.
“All set,” Darius says, walking over to join us. He hands me a paper with the room numbers listed and a stack of key cards.
“I’ll take the left, you take the right, and we’ll meet back in our room.” He winks, and no, sir, we will be having none of that.
After I make sure the eight boys assigned to me are settled in their two rooms, I head to the end of the hallway to 309. The door is ajar, and when I walk in, I’m smacked in the face by the king-sized bed resting in the middle of the poorly appointed room.
“Yeah, so they only had four doubles and a single, and I figured it made more sense for us to take this room than ask four boys to share a bed. You’re cool with that, right?”
Without unzipping it, Darius pulls his Sharks hoodie over his head, the T-shirt underneath coming off with it . . . and within two minutes, we’re sharing a bed and he’s shirtless.
“Um. Sure.”
Darius Hill, who reminds me of the boys in middle school who called me a fairy before I knew I was one, stands half-naked before me. His chest,firm but not overly muscular, with only a dusting of soft brown hair that matches the longest strands on top of his buzzed head, taunts me. The movement in my khakis alarms me because I’m not supposed to be here. And yet, somehow I find myself in a distant state, far from home, with an almost undressed Coach Hill.
“Cool. I’m going to take a quick shower. You don’t need to wait up.”
He turns around and pulls his pants and underwear off in one fell swoop before adding, “Unless you want.”
His ass, like two perfect globes, sways back and forth as he heads into the yellow-and-tan bathroom. What is it with the Vacation Inn and earth tones?
Okay—we’re sharing this bed. He’s naked—you kind of need to be for a shower. I give myself a quick sniff. I’m clean enough. I did little but sit on a bus and then a bench. I casually throw my bag onto the worn-out chair near the old desk, and its creaking echoes through the room. Knowing we’d be sharing a room, I brought pajamas. There’s no way I’m sleeping in my usual undershirt and boxer briefs in the same room as Coach Darius Hill, let alone the same bed. Maybe I should’ve rented a suit of armor—and a chastity belt. You know, just in case my evening plans involved a jousting tournament or attempting to keep my quickly growing erection hidden.
Removing my books, clothes for tomorrow, and toiletry bag, I procure my pj’s from the bottom of my small duffel. It’s fine. I can put some of the extra pillows I spied in the closet in between us and hug the edge of the bed. I’m guessing Darius will be asleep in minutes, and I’ll just pop my headphones in and listen to theMobyDickaudiobook. Or maybe another classic would be a better choice.
I quickly undress down to my underwear and pop on the soft poly-cotton blend shirt. As I’m pulling the pants on, I hear Darius from behind me.
