Fine

Chapter 8

"You kissed him?!"

I nod helplessly. Jordan looks excited about this, and I hate that in another second he's going to know-

"Wait... what did you do?"

I look away, feeling awful.

"Nate, what did you do. You didn't reject him, right?"

I open my mouth, then close it. Jordan sighs.

"You told him you're not gay, didn't you?"

I meet his eyes again, biting my bottom lip.

"Nate, why would you-"

"I have no idea," I groan, falling backwards onto Jordan's bed. He's in his desk chair, interrogating me. "It just came out. I don't know why I said it, I don't know why I said anything."

"Nate- can I ask you something?"

I look at him.

"Why are you so set on not being gay?"

I take a deep breath. I've never told Jordan about my parents. I've never really needed to tell him anything. We can read each other easily enough that it pretty much gets rid of any need for us to actually talk. But he couldn't guess something like this. So talking it is. "I- Jordan... you can't tell anyone, okay?"

He's frowning now, concerned. "Yeah, I promise."

I take a deep breath. "My parents are homophobic."

He blinks, his expression blank. I can tell he doesn't know what to think.

"I'm not- of course- but they are, like, really are, and... it's a lot easier to live in a house with them as a straight kid. Even if..." I have no interest in girls.

Jordan takes a careful breath. "Alright. I can see that. But why not just tell Levi that, instead of-" he sees my face and stops. Just by my expression, I'm sure he can tell that this is not something I like thinking about, much less talking about. And besides that- I need to be straight, not making excuses as to why I can't be kissing a boy. Because I shouldn't want to be kissing a boy.

"That sucks," Jordan murmurs, and I nod a little. "But... your parents are pretty nice besides that, do you think they'd really hate you if you-" Again, he's cut off by my expression. Because I'm relatively sure that if I told my parents I was anything but straight, they would throw me out of the house as fast as possible. So I have to be straight. I don't have another option.

We just look at each other for a few moments, me feeling miserable and him looking sympathetic, both of us trying to convey something that can't be effectively conveyed through expressions alone. A moment later, his arms are around me, enveloping me in a tight hug. I loosely return it, needing his support more than he needs mine. We don't say anything, because we don't need to. He already knows.

I remember when I first met Jordan. When I first joined the football team. He wasn't quite as buff as he is now, but he was well on his way. I spent a pretty decent amount of time checking out his big, toned muscles. It would have been very, very hard not to. And then he caught me, and our friendship blossomed from there.

I stare at him. Today, his arms are the focus of my gaze (I alternate, like he probably does in his workout routine). His biceps flex and triceps bulge as he moves. We're in the locker room, so maybe I shouldn't be blatantly staring at him (people will get the wrong idea) but it's so hard not to. He pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his chest, and pauses as one of the guys says something that makes him laugh. My eyes flicker to his abs- his chest is flawless.