Page 28 of Beautifully Devoted

“How the hell should I know? We could throw a dart at the map for all I care. The point is wherever the next stop is we go there together. None of this ripping the Band-Aid off and going our separate ways bullshit.”

“Even if it means I have to freeze my balls off cause you get drafted by some lame ass Midwest team?” Mention of his balls makes mine feel full for reasons I can’t even begin to dissect.

“Especially then. But houses are cheaper there so we’ll get a place with a giant fireplace and a hot tub and even a sauna so you can sweat your balls off instead.”

He’s silent for a moment, swinging his leg in a lame attempt to kick mine, which he can’t see since he’s staring at the ceiling. “Is it fucked up that I actually believe you?” he asks softly. “Even though it’s a pipe dream?”

“No, Camelot. It’s not fucked up. You know I can dream big enough for the both of us.”

Cameron

“Way to use that Rectus Abdominis,” Jagger smacks Bennet on the butt as he jogs back to the huddle.

“Did he just say I have a nice ass?” Bennet asks me as we trot behind him at a much slower pace, milking the comparatively lax intensity of summer practices to the fullest.

“He’s saying you did a good job keeping your balance while you were trying to stay in bounds.” It really was impressive, the way Bennet seemed to run on a tightrope along the sideline after a catch, gaining over a dozen additional yards. Especially since we aren’t in pads, and wearing only our helmets makes us look like bobbleheads that should be top heavy instead of nimble.

“What does my ass have to do with that?”

“Nothing. But the ab muscles you use to keep your balance are called Rectus Abdominis.”

“The fuck?” Bennet stops mid-stride to gape at me.

“I know, it doesn’t make sense. That’s why Jagger’s going overboard on the clinical terms. He figures if he uses them enough, they’ll stick and he’ll ace his test next week.”

Despite only being six days into the summer semester, we’ve already got a mid-term to study for. Technically, the test is falling just after the quarter mark, so I don’t know why it’s called a mid-term, but I guess the label doesn't matter when it counts for a third of your grade. Since we’ll be expected to know all the major muscle groups, that’s a lot of information to accumulate in a short timeframe, and Jagger’s pulling out all the stops to ensure he’s ready.

His methods for learning have always amused me. As kids it was flashcards, which wasn’t all that unusual except that he claimed using different colors helped him see the words better in his mind. In middle school he’d make up silly songs to help remember things, and in high school he experimented with rhyming as a way to recall facts. That one was a bust though and he ended up remembering the rhyme instead of the fact it was supposed to help him recall.

Now, he’s hoping repetition will be the key to remembering different parts of the human anatomy, and even though he sounds ridiculous, I secretly love the creative way he’s come up with to study.

“How come you’re not speaking Spanish?” Bennet asks.

“It’s Latin,” I correct.

“Shut your Orbicularis Orbis,” Jagger gives Cruz a playful shove, shaking his head and laughing at whatever was said between them.

“Shut your mouth,” I translate.

“I was gonna go with pie hole, but I get your meaning.” Bennet shoves his mouthguard back in as we wait for our quarterback, Nate, to tell us the play we’re running.

It’s basically the same route Bennet just ran, but with Jagger slated to catch the ball since Coach wants each of them to be able to run this route in their sleep. It’ll come in handy when we’re running two-minute drills that require us to move the ball long distances in a short amount of time, with the ability to get out of bounds quickly to stop the clock if needed.

We break the huddle and line up, and since the play requires Jagger to run along the sideline instead of over the middle, I’m tasked with giving our quarterback time to throw instead of creating an opening for him to squeeze through.

Once the ball leaves Nate’s hands, everyone comes off their blocks and watches the ball soar through the air. Although there’s a defender in the area, he’s more of a placeholder, serving as a reminder that in a real game Jagger will have the sideline and another body working against him. A few months from now, when we’re in pads, the ball will be up for grabs. Right now, the goal is to work on timing and position, so Jagger only has to concentrate on catching the ball.

His arms pump furiously as he runs downfield, biceps flexing with the effort. Yet despite the obvious exertion, his stride is fluid. Graceful. I never get tired of watching it.

He swims the same way.

As kids, our parents made us join the swim team just to burn some of our energy, and I remember Jagger repeatedly beating me even though it looked like he was taking a leisurely lap. I would circle my arms furiously and still be seconds behind. In or out of the water, his body just knows how to move efficiently, so his speed is actually a thing of beauty. It looks especially elegant today, though I can’t say why that is. Maybe the angle of the sun that seems to make him glow.

As the ball drops in altitude, he stretches up an arm, getting just enough of a grip on it that he can pull it off course, driving it right into his chest.

“Fuck, he makes that look pretty,” Cruz says the exact words I’d been thinking.

“High Thenars!” Jagger’s voice carries downfield as he holds his hand up to slap those along the sideline. The gesture makes it clear he’s asking for high fives since I’m not sure our teammates realize thenars are muscles in your hand.

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