Page 5 of Antidote

I nod.

“I can be Green.” He grins. “If you’ll be Blue.”

I smile back, then gesture at him to sit with me on the ground. “I’d like that.”

We spend the next few minutes in silence, watching the fish and the whale sharks. I look at him, really look at him, and realize he’s pretty—for a boy. His eyes are big, his cheeks pink from the cold, and his lips are big and pouty. He’s staring at me just as intently, like he’s trying to put together a puzzle, but the pieces are scattered everywhere. I’d help him find it if he told me what he was looking for, though I have a feeling I will want to help him with a lot of stuff from now on.

“Ollie,” he starts, and my stomach flutters with tiny little butterflies. No one ever calls me that. “Do you play any sports?”

“Soccer.” I nod. “But I’m not that good at it.”

“So what are you good at, then?” Hunter asks me, and I don’t have to think about it at all.

“Painting.” I shrug. “Drawing.”

He chuckles, “I suck at that. But maybe you could draw me?”

“Sure.” I tell him then, because it’s rude not to ask, “What are you good at?”

“Hockey.” His green eyes light up, looking brighter than they were just a moment ago. “And anything else I set my mind to. Just not art.”

“That makes sense.” And it does. He seems like the kind of person who would be good at everything. “I can teach you whatever you want to know about art.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head and pushes me playfully. “I’ll leave that one to you.”

We smile at each other, gazing into each other’s eyes, and I swear I could hear something click into place.

I think…it’s my heart.

11 YEARS OLD

I’ve been feeling weird lately.

School just started a few weeks ago, and now that I’m eleven, I’m in sixth grade. Hunter and I stick together when we can, and our parents even make sure we’re together for all our classes. The one thing I have noticed is that he doesn’t stay with me during recess anymore. He goes with the kids who play sports, and I stay with the kids who play Pokémon cards. I miss him all the time, except there’s no way I can tell him this bothers me. It would come off weird.

What am I supposed to say? Hey, Hunt, can you please never leave my side again?

Instead, I’ve been spending all my time with Ian. He’s not Hunter, but he kind of looks like him with his pretty green eyes and brown hair. His lips are thinner, and his nose is bigger, but if I squint my eyes, I can almost pretend he’s my brother. Except with Ian it’s different, because he actually wants to spend time with me. There’s no one else he’d rather be with during recess, which makes tiny butterflies scatter in my belly every time I think of him.

My mom has pointed out that the older I get, the more handsome I become. I’m starting to believe her, especially since one of the girls at school asked me to be her boyfriend. Considering our age, I think that’s a bit soon, but I also can’t deny that I don’t find her pretty enough to be with. If I’m being honest, I don’t think of any girls that way. I can see the girl is pretty, but I have no desire to actually hang out with her or any of them, for that matter. I don’t want to hang out with them or get to know them. Instead, I seek out Ian. Pretty, sweet, Ian.

I’m not stupid; I know what this means. My dad has always talked about his celebrity crushes, one of them being Jessica Alba. Even my mom talks about her own crushes, which are obviously men. Hunter never comments, and then there’s me—too afraid to tell them since I’ve never had a celebrity girl crush. It’s always been boys. Even when I watch cartoons, it’s boys. Batman and Superman, especially.

I’ve been hearing the word gay floating around at school. Some of the kids are being targeted and shunned, which is why I’m very careful not to look at Ian for longer than necessary, even if I love the way his green eyes sparkle as we look into each other’s eyes. I guess, if I need to get my fix, I have Hunt at home—who I can look at without feeling weird about it. I’m trying my best to not draw attention to myself, but at the end of the day, I like what I like. Can I even control that? I’m not sure.

All I know is that I need to try.

13 YEARS OLD

Life has been crazy lately with hockey practice. The older I get, the more demanding the team becomes. I practice every day at five in the morning, which seems a bit excessive for a thirteen-year-old, but my mom doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, she’s glad to take me. I’ve always told her my dream is to play in the NHL, and she’s been supportive of that. She does what she can to make sure I can achieve that dream. Whether that’s working overtime to afford my season and gear or waking up every day at four in the morning to get me ready for practice and then school. Some parents leave and then return to pick up their kids, but not her. She stays on the bleachers with her computer and answers emails.

“Lilo and Stitch,” the movie, is playing on the TV, and my eyes burn as I try to continue to watch it. Ollie is draped over my lap, his head resting comfortably on my chest. I’m bigger than him now, probably from all the food I constantly eat. I’m always hungry after playing hockey, and even though he’s not small, our size difference is becoming more noticeable.

My arms wrap tighter around him, and I shut my eyes momentarily. I must twitch or something because Ollie immediately chuckles and pulls back. His blue eyes are wide and dilated as he looks at me, and I smile. He looks so pretty, with his dark hair tousled all over his head, and I tear my gaze away as my stomach clenches painfully.

Why does that only happen with him?

“Are you tired?” Ollie asks me, his voice barely above a whisper.

---