"You're off the hook from detention. I liked your performance this week; stayed out of trouble and seemed more settled in. Good job," he says.
“Thank you, sir!" I exclaim, my voice ridiculously excited as I nearly bounce up and down. I can feel an absurd grin spreading across my face.
"I always ask for feedback, and the kitchen crew spoke highly of you. They said you were funny, polite, and did things right. I'm proud of you," he adds, nodding at me, then turning to Ethan. "And you too, Ethan. Good job for keeping him in line for a week," he says.
You can’t say stuff like ‘I’m proud of you’ and expect me to act normal. Not when I’m the neediest person alive.
We’re all eating together at the table. Ethan flashes a rare genuine smile. He cares a lot about his record.
Griff doesn’t say anything else; he only gives me a look that’s all ‘proud dad’. Then he moves on, and I let myself collapse back into my oatmeal with a little exhale.
"Jesus, Liam, you want to shine his shoes too?" Harry says. Harry doesn’t hang out with us very often, but Jack thinks he’s determined to make me his client while he can.
"Liam's a teacher's pet now. Who'd have thought?" Jack teases. “Ethan’s a good influence on you.”
Harry rolls his eyes and scoffs at that. Ethan pretends he didn’t hear anything.
"Never, I'm just glad to not need to scrub dishes anymore," I say, stabbing my oatmeal with my fork, but I can't make my face go back to normal. I feel so stupidly proud, all warm and floaty. Ethan leans back, crosses his arms, and fixes me with a mellow look. Not his usual ‘are you about to screw up’ stare, but something different, and it all feels good for a second.
When breakfast is over, Jack elbows me in the ribs and jerks his head toward the far doors. “Let’s get out to the court before the jocks take it all,” he says.
“I’m in,” says Harry, stretching so hard his back cracks. “If I don’t get to run around soon, I’ll die of boredom before lunch.”
Finally, I'll get some fun, after being good for so long.
“Are you joining us?” Jack asks Ethan. Harry doesn’t look so happy that Jack has asked Ethan, maybe he wants to have a moment alone with me to offer me drugs again, but I’m glad.
Ethan looks like he wants to object, of course he does, Mr. Fun Police, but then grimaces, grabs his tray, and stands. “Half an hour,” he says, “I have admin work.”
“Sure, boss,” says Jack. I laugh, but Ethan only shrugs, like he knows nobody will respect that deadline.
Miles is still on dish duty, so it’s just the four of us. On the way out, the sky’s a hard, faded blue, and the wind is being an asshole with my hair. Every time I feel the wind on my face, my heart rushes and I feel so, so alive. This has happened ever since I was a little kid, and the same thing when I feel rain falling on my face or the sun warming up my hair. I don't even mind that I'm locked up; I'm so excited.
The basketball courts are inside an old gym. Two orange rectangles with sad nets in pieces around them. The only ball is this ancient orange thing, half-deflated and tattooed with Sharpie penises. Jack grabs it, spins it on his index finger, and grins at me.
“You play?” he asks.
“You bet,” I say, knowing well I’m trying to sound cocky, but my blood sugar’s already crashing from the carb bomb of a breakfast, and I know I'm not the best player, but I’m not enough of a fucking loser to admit it. Fake it till you make it, that’s what I always do.
“Teams?” Harry offers.
I look at Ethan, expecting him to pick Jack, but instead hejerks his chin at me. “You’re with me, rookie,” he says. We never talk about what happened, the spankings, the way we almost kissed. We pretend nothing happened, but it's so fucking clear that's not the case, it's almost comical. When he picks me, my stomach drops like the first second of a roller coaster. I have to stop myself from saying something too stupid.
We square off. Jack is fast and Harry’s arms are too long, but I’m not too bad, and Ethan is a stone wall on defense. He barely even jumps for the ball; just blocks with his shoulders and that cold green stare.
After a few minutes, my lungs are burning, but the competitiveness in me ramps up to the max. I manage a lucky three-pointer, and I raise my arms, jumping in place. “Eat that!” I yell. Ethan actually laughs. He high-fives me, rough, and I stupidly want to feel his hands again all over me.
We play for what feels like hours. My knuckles get scraped, and Harry hits me in the face with his elbow at one point, but I don’t care. I haven’t had this much fun since… since before. Just before.
By the time we’re done, Jack’s shirt is glued to his body with sweat, his hair wet too, and he looks really good. Harry is panting, doubled over, his glasses sliding from his nose. Ethan looks barely tired, even though he’s covered in sweat. I wonder what his cock tastes like, and even I’m grossed out by this thought. I'm such a fucking pervert.
He glances at his watch, then at us.
“You fucking pricks, I told you I could only stay for thirty minutes,” he says, but he doesn’t look mad that we’ve played for almost two hours.
We walk back together, and I keep sneaking looks at Ethan, the way the muscles in his arms flex, how he squints into the wind. I’m not subtle, I know, but I can’t help it. It’s not just howhe looks. It’s the way he moves, like he’s always in control of every part of himself.
I almost drool. I’m fucked.
