For, Elliot

5

Elliot practiced with me for hours, days, weeks. My stamina is in top condition right now. Not only did Elliot play soccer with me, but he did running workouts with me on the field, even doing some abs to strengthen our core.
I have my leagues game today. My parents are watching, and for once it's exciting enough that my mother isn't staring at her phone the whole time.
We won our game, the score 5-2, and I scored 3 out of the 5.
My father even gave me a pat on the back when I passed by him.
The team and I celebrated with a late lunch, having a lot of food at a restaurant and making speeches.
By the time I got home I was exhausted, and the night was slowly creeping in. My phone was blinking suddenly, and I realized that I got a message.
It was Elliot.
He's never messaged me before, and it's been forever since we had a real conversation.

Nice win. Want to celebrate?

I pause. My dreams have been reoccurring, eating away at me day by day.
So what if I actually hung out with him other than soccer practice. I practically owed him much more than I gave.

What time? I type.

His message is almost instant.
Well. Now. When else?

I quickly grab my car keys and throw a light jacket on, my parents watching the television as I pass by them.
They don't care where I go as long as I go to college and hold a reputation.
I drive off to the address he messaged me, and I'm soon parked in front of a small blue house.
I ring the doorbell, nerves taking over suddenly. What if his parents see me and they think I'm gay? They must know Elliot is gay, right?
Elliot opens the door thankfully, and he grins before ushering me inside.

"Nice house." I comment awkwardly. I shrug my jacket off and Elliot takes it, hanging it on the rack as I shuffle out of my shoes.

"Thanks. I built it." Elliot says before leading me into a small living room.

"You built this?" I ask surprised. I run my eyes over it, the house simple and bare.

"Well, yeah." He says, and I turn to see him holding a bottle of beer out for me.

"Alcohol?" I ask eyeing the glass bottle. I take it though, the cap already off.

"Aw come on. You've had to have had one before." Elliot grins, he takes a small sip.

"I wouldn't expect getting alcohol from you of all people." And the words come or more judgmental than I mean it to.

Elliot grins even more, brushing away the harsh words like always.
"Are you disappointed?" He asks then.

"About what?" I ask

"That I'm not who you thought I was."

I ignore him, not wanting to talk about whatever this is with him. I change the subject. "Your parents home?"

"Does it seem like it?" Elliot says quietly, bitterly.

My eyes widen at his snappy remark, but he doesn't seem fazed by it, just sips on his beer.

"I don't care." I whisper. I quickly down a quarter of the bottle, wiping my mouth with the end of my sleeve.

Elliot raises an eyebrow. "You don't care about what?"

"What everyone says about you." I mumble quickly.

Elliot let's out a dry laugh, "hard to believe since you're one of the people saying those things."

Ouch.

I swallow. It's true. I've said some bad things here and there, but I've also heard plenty of things about him that I haven't said, things I've been dying to ask him at every practice he's coached me in. Though I'm not dumb, I've learned to keep my mouth shut.

"No" I mutter defensively.

Elliot lets his lips twist into his signature smirk, and he steps closer to me, making me back up in surprise.

"So you don't care that people rumor how I'm some lovesick fag. It doesn't bother you that I'm banging every guy I see at school." He laughs. "Or at least that's what I've heard here and there."

The image of Elliot draped around another guy flashes across my mind, and the sheer idea of Elliot being with another person like that makes my guy twist.
In disgust?
No.
Fear?
Jealousy?
I push the thought down.

"Is there something you want from me?!" I ask, my hand tightening on the neck of the bottle I'm holding. I finally set it down when Elliot glances worried at the bottle about to shatter.
I set it down on the table next to me, but my hands don't stop shaking.

Elliot pauses, smiles. He sets his bottle down too.
"Maybe I want us to be friends."

"Why?" I ask defensively.

"Because I think you're a good kid. You've got potential. You're going to go to college with a scholarship that is already yours, even though you haven't been offered one yet. You can choose any college you want, you'll get in. All because of your talent. You can push yourself. You can pick yourself back up. You can face a challenge."

"What are you getting at Elliot?! Stop talking in riddles!" I demand now. It's been annoying me ever since he came here. I hate the way he talks like he knows everything, I hate the way he smiles when people are clearly hurting him, I hate the way that he can't leave me alone.

"You act like you don't care what other people think of you. Issac Silverman, the star soccer player who's been captain for the last three years and getting his tuition paid for on a silver plater." Elliot steps even closer, so close that his nose touches my own.

I flinch, my eyes turning hard and cold.

"When in reality..." Elliot murmurs, "you care so much about what people think of you. You want them to cherish you, to respect you, to understand you."

"Shut up." I hiss back, "you don't know anything about me.

"Maybe I want to. Maybe that's why I want to be your friend." Elliot sighs.

I scoff, rolling my eyes.

"Stop obsessing over me, and get a life." I sneer before shoving him away.

Elliot takes a few steps back, his eyes trying to size me up again. They're not full of hatred or surprise, just...questioning. Soft. Sad.

"I'm leaving." I say quietly. Then brush by him, grab my jacket, slip on my shoes, and head for the door.

Elliot follows behind slowly, and I regret turning around to face him. He stands close to me and the doorway, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Maybe I want to be your friend because I like you."

I grit me teeth, tighten my hand on the door.
"I'm not gay, and there is no chance that I'd ever date a guy like you."

The door slams shut.

I quickly slide into my car, drive home silently. I call Adam when I get home.

"Hey, man." Adam says after the fifth ring.

"Hey."

"You okay?" He asks then.

"Um. Yeah. Can we just talk about our next upcoming game? I want to do the lineup a bit differently this time."

"Yeah. Of course." Adam says. He falls silent for a moment. "I'm serious. Are you okay? Are your parents getting all up in your business?" He asks.

I bite my lip.

"Yeah." I lie.