The Sound of Ice

29

I pick at my sandwich wrap, not hungry. The cafeteria is loud with the squeaks of chairs and loud bursts of conversations.

Ethan, Luke, and Ollie are talking about hockey. We have a home game in a couple nights that everyone is freaking out about. Apparently.

"Dude." Ethan shoves my shoulder and I blink up from my sandwich. "Are you listening?"

"No."

Luke rolls his eyes, and Ollie shoves an orange slice in his mouth.

"We asked if you think there'll be more fans at the games," Ethan says. "Since you're back from World Juniors."

"Maybe," I say. "I don't know."

Ethan makes an annoyed face at Luke and Ollie.

"He's just tired," Ollie says, nodding at me. "Cameron, you need more sleep."

"Tell me about it." I haven't been sleeping well.

Ethan goes on about the game, and I glance over my shoulder. Sam is sitting beside Trina, and they're pouring over a thick textbook, underlining and circling things. Trina's eyes catch mine and I turn back around.

I feel jittery all the time now. The word sits like a rock in my stomach. Gay. I don't even like saying it. How could I be that word? For Sam, it's so easy. I don't understand. It itches at my skin uncomfortably.

Luke is squinting at me, chewing on his sandwich slowly.

"What?" I ask.

"Okay, I'll just ask what we're all thinking here," he says, sighing. Ollie and Ethan are looking at him. "What was the deal with Matthew in the locker room a few days ago?"

Now all eyes are on me. I shrug. "It wasn't a big deal."

"Dude," says Luke. "You were... crying."

I shrug again. "It was... I was tired. Just... some family stuff."

"We just want to make sure you're okay," says Ollie warmly.

"Yeah," chimes in Ethan, shoving my shoulder less aggressively than usual.

"I'm good," I say. "Just tired."

Am I good? I pick up my soggy sandwich wrap and take a bite.

~

Sam comes over and we study. His lips are so pink and his eyes are so blue and his freckles are so faint and his eyelashes are so long and the skin around his eye is still a faded shade of purple. I want to kiss him. But when he reaches out and touches my shoulder, I flinch. And then I don't want to kiss him.

"Cameron," says Sam softly after I've flinched for the third time. He pulls his hand away and tucks it into his sweatshirt sleeve. "What's wrong?"

My eyes flicker towards the closed door. Mom is on the phone, and her voice drifts through the thin walls.

Sam follows my gaze. "You want to tell her?"

I sigh. "I don't know. I don't think I ever want to tell her."

"Why not? I can be there with you, if you want. She was fine with me."

I make my eyes meet his. "It might be different this time," I say, and for some reason, my voice is a whisper. "It's different when it's your own son."

"Is it?"

"You wouldn't understand."

Sam's eyes widen.