Nathaniel Jean's Senior Year

6: Nathaniel Jean's Link

The next Monday marked the beginning of the second quarter of the school year. Report cards were handed out in fourth period; I watched as students' faces lit up or fell, as friends high-fived or tried to offer each other comfort.

I didn't dwell too long on mine. It sucked, but I'd been expecting that. Besides, I had other matters on my mind.

Like the fact that I had absolutely no idea what to do about Lucas.

Our eyes met once, when I was heading from lunch to sixth period. He smiled at me. I'm not sure what I would have done—smile back, scowl, avert my gaze—had Tyler Fiero not opened his big mouth to loudly say, "Yo Nate, the queer's got his eyes on you! Ha!"

    Lucas looked away then, and so did I. Tyler nudged me with his elbow, as if he was waiting for me to acknowledge his joke. So I chuckled half-heartedly and said, "Nah, man, I think it's you he's got eyes for."

     Tyler laughed and made a face. "Dude, that's, like, nightmare fuel."

Late October temperatures were perfect for soccer—the summer's heat and dryness subsided, making practice more refreshing than torturous. The cold stung a bit, but it was better than melting into a nasty, sweaty puddle.

That said, anytime Lucas Morgan looked at me, the temperature in the air turned to 100 degrees Fahrenheit on an arid day. Extremely torturous.

I was half-dreading our conversation in the locker room, because I still had no inkling of a clue how to approach him. He wanted to be friends, and though I wouldn't admit it, I did, too. But could a guy like Lucas and a guy like me ever really be friends? We were in two different worlds.

Nevertheless, the time eventually came when the boys finished their chatter and the locker room cleared out, when I was alone with Lucas. I didn't so much as look at him—I was trying and failing to formulate some sort of game plan in my mind—until we were both ready to go and I had no choice.

He leaned against the wall next to the exit and raised an eyebrow at me as I approached. "You're being weird. Stop it."

"I'm not being weird," I said defensively, pushing open the door and stepping past him.

Lucas snorted. "Oh, you're being so weird. C'mon, I thought we were past this."

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, frustrated with myself. "I did, too," I admitted.

     Lucas used to be someone I both genuinely hated and really liked at the same time. Over the first quarter of my senior year, he'd managed to dissolve any traces of the hate I'd felt, leaving me with only the sweeter, much scarier feelings for him that I'd spent so long trying to avoid. Now, I just really, really liked him. Here he was, trying to be friendly with me. And I was acting like a freak.

Lucas seemed to realize that something real was bothering me, because he smiled reassuringly and said, "Whatever's freaking you out, ignore it. The world won't end if we're friends. You don't have to commit social suicide and, you know, talk to me in front of your dude bros or anything. Just relax."

Maybe I should have felt guilty for it, but his words did make me feel better. I didn't know what I'd do if the boys starting asking questions about why I was suddenly friends with Lucas, if they began spreading rumors.