“Yes. Oh. indeed. And as much as I enjoyed the short time we spent together, since we will now be in frequent, professional contact, I would greatly appreciate it if what occurred last night, and what I’ve told you today, could stay between us.”
Thoroughly chastised, Cory lowers his head and nods. “Of course.”
“Excellent. Perhaps it’s best if we go do that cool down now?” Lord knows we both need it.
In the Amazing Spider-Man #141, a hangry Peter Parker, AKA Spider-Man, uses his web slinging ability to pluck a man’s McDonald’s right out of his hands as he strolls down the street. It was a low act, proving that even the greatest of heroes can be absolute jerks.
Is it comparable to what I did to James? I dunno. Probably not. But a week on, as I sit alone, reading fanfic and eating my un-stolen lunch, I feel weighed down with remorse. The pain in James’ warm honey eyes, the aura of grief surrounding him as shared his family tragedy, hasn’t left me.
I don’t think it will anytime soon. Hmm. I wonder if Spidey felt the same way as he chowed down on that lifted sub?
Outside of cordial yes/no replies or directions at practice, the man that I accused of being the worst kind of person, hasn’t spoken to me, let alone let me apologize. True, he’s only with the Bears three days a week—more once the season starts—so there hasn’t been a lot of opportunity to get him alone. But the awkwardness is still there. Even when I’ve seen him around campus.
Thanks to my trusty glasses-hoodie or cap combo, he hasn’t seen me as I leapt into the closest available bush. But that uninterrupted viewing time has given me perspective, a few boners,andforged a fierce curiosity that is now a burgeoning obsession.
Through observation and a little shady digging, I’ve discovered James Plum is indeed the brother of professor Faith ‘Faithy’Plum and seems just as uppity and seriously grumpy. Like all the time. No progress has been made in regards to his brother, so I can’t say for sure if that was a bullshit excuse or not. Everyday he has his homemade lunch here with Faith, which he carries in a Marvel lunchbox. HOT. Normally it’s a PB&J sandwich, sometimes with chips, sometimes with juice. And finally, according to our NYC-bound center, Sam Bailey, the man can loosen a hamstring with the flick of his wrist.
Other than that, I’ve got nothing. Hence the convenient position of my regular launch jaunt, which allows me to hide from people, and stake out his sister’s office. I’m not sure what I think I’m going to get out of it, especially when I’ll see him again at practice this afternoon. But all I can say with absolute certainty is that I need to know more about him, I’m borderline stalking, yet I can’t seem to stay away.
Lucky for me, I’m Mr. Invisible.
“Cubby, is that you?”
Fuck.
A firm hand grips my shoulder, twisting me until two sets of blue eyes lock. “It is you. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Hey, Brades. Everything’s fine, why wouldn’t it be?”
“Ahh, because you’re lurking outside the admin block that houses the scariest professors in BC. Most students avoid this place like the plague. Is everything okay with your grades? Are you in trouble? Are you …” With each hypothetical, Brady’s blush intensifies. “Shit, student health services are next door. Are you sick, or?” He pauses, glances around and leans in. “Do you have an STI?”
Looks like I’m not the only one with an active imagination.
“No, I don’t have a STI.” I don’t think. “I’m just … I don’t have any friends, okay? I’m a loser who avoids social interactions by hiding in plain sight amongst the teachers. Happy now?” Shit. Where did that come from?
His eyes soften, then crinkle at the edges. “What do you mean you don’t have friends? You have me and Quinn. And what about the team?”
“The team?” I scoff. “I guess friendship sign-ups for the new guys were held on day one, ‘cause everyone’s buddied up without me, and even when I am invited along, I feel … out of place. And you’re the last of last years crew, so unless I want to be the pathetic third wheel around you and Quinn?—”
Brady’s face contorts in concern. “Cubby, that’s?—”
“Not your fault. I get it. You’re grossly in love and want to spend all your time together. I’m happy for you. I am. But it just means there’s no one left for me.” I know I could talk to him about James too, but make an impulsive decision to exclude it. While I’m more than happy to own my loser status, Brady knows about what went down at the apartment. I can’t give more details and risk Brady putting two-and-two together. Outing James as the hook-up, is something I’m not prepared to do.
Seems my partial confession is enough anyway. Pity colors Brades' eyes. “Why didn’t you say something before, ya duffa?”
I tilt my head to the side. “And a duffa is?”
“Oh, a silly sausage. A silly Billie, a?—”
“A dickhead, right. Got it.” I rub my hand down my face to buy some time … and conceal my embarrassment. “You’re right. I should have said something but I’m supposed to be the captain. A leader of men. Life of the party. BC legends on and off the ice like Noah and Shane. When in reality, I’m this closeted queer nerd that hates socializing, and that no one recognizes without a stick in his hand. No pun intended.” Hands on knees, I bend at the waist and pant like a dog. Holy shit! What started as bullshit, is ending with me almost hyperventilating.
Has all this crap been lurking inside me all along? “How can the team go from them to me? I don’t think I can do it, Brades.”
Dropping his backpack, Brady sighs and plops beside me. “Look, I know Noah and Shane left big shoes, and egos, to fill. But personally, I don’t think being Mr. Big Guy on campus is a requirement. Coach made you captain because you’re a leader where it counts—in the locker room and on the ice. If you want to change the friend situation, Quinn knows everyone and everything. She can totally hook you up with the right people. And you can always come sit with us between classes. But like I said, that’s if you want it.”
“What if I don’t know what I want?”
With a huffed laugh, Brady slaps my back, almost sending me hurtling off the bench. “Well, Cub. I guess that makes you like me, and ninety-nine percent of the student body.”
