Strike (Cake) [Completed] (#Wattys2017)

7: The Game

Luke arrived fifteen minutes early to the game on Thursday, hoping to see Calum out on the field warming up. He walked past the railing of the stadium, looking down at the benches and water coolers and towels and first aid kits. He took a seat four rows up.

Both teams were out doing drills, Northside in some intimidating black uniforms with thin yellow stripes, a big contrast from the light blue shirts of Calum's team. Luke spotted Calum fairly quickly. He was as tall or taller than the other boys, but he wasn't as big at the guys his height. He took his turn in the drill and ran back around behind the others, saying something to another guy—a bit shorter with glossy chestnut hair and a bandage above his eye. Luke briefly wondered if that was the friend Calum had been talking to over the phone. Probably.

Luke opened the water bottle he'd brought, taking a sip. After a few minutes, the teams were called to their respective sides by their coaches. They huddled, were given their pep talks and initial instructions. And Luke watched as the first-stringers went onto the field to set for the first half of the game. He noticed that Calum, amazing star player that he was supposed to be, was not there. And, on that note, neither was his friend. What?

Luke shook his head, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. This wasn't right. Calum had been training hard and working to keep his grades up for this. Clearly he cared. So why wasn't he out there?

Luke realized suddenly that it was all about who Calum was, not as a player, but as a person. Calum had said that there was a problem because the "team dynamic" would be messed up because he was gay. Luke felt like going down there and smacking his coach. What the fuck did that have to do with anything? That didn't change who Calum was. That was who Calum was. And Calum was wonderful.

Luke chewed his lip, angry and feeling for Calum. He could imagine him sitting down there on a bench right now, steaming because he wasn't going to play.

Calum and Peter sat on the bench while the first-string seniors and juniors—Chad, 12, 7, and the like—all went out to get set for the coin toss and kickoff. Peter leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. Calum crossed his arms. He knew he wasn't going to be in at the beginning but still...he was pissed. He took a deep breath and let it out.

"How's your head?" he asked Peter.

Peter shrugged. "Good enough. Not that I'll be playing anytime soon."

Calum shook his head. "Should be. Both of us."

"Tell me about it."

"Hood," their coach called from the side. Calum looked up, and his coach waved him over. He stood and went.

"Yeah?"

"Listen. I talked to them. They know you're not going to be off this team, and they know that there are going to be some serious consequences if anything like this ever happens again." Should have been this time, Calum thought, but he didn't say anything. "But that won't stop them from ragging on you. Do what you can, okay? Lucky for you, that's a hell of a lot."

"I just need a chance to actually do it."

The coach nodded. "You'll probably be in around, oh, halfway through the second half." Great. Calum shook his head, knowing protesting wouldn't do anything to help. "I know," the coach said. But it was basically decided. "How's Peter?"

Calum shrugged. "All he wants is to play."

The coach clicked his pen against his leg. "Yeah."