Page 4 of Totally Opposed

“Grab a mic. You’re our Britney.”

“I’m what now?”

“We’re doing the remix song by Britney Spears and Elton John,” I say, expecting it to spark realization, but he looks even more confused.

“You have heard of Elton John, right?”

He laughs. “I’m just messing. I’m a gay guy in the world. Of course, I know Britney and Elton.”

“Phew,” I reply, wiping the imaginary sweat from my brow. “I thought we were going to have to revoke your queer card for a minute.”

“You got a card?” he asks, looking me deadpan in the face.

“Shut up and just sing,” I say, and Dennis points towards the mic beside his speaker.

“Both of you up there, in the stands, about two sections up, one on each of those rows. Sit on the aisle seat, and when the music starts, you stand and sing. Phillip, copy Alan’s strut down the stairs and do that thing again on the chorus, but after that, I want you to be at the cross-section between the rows, and that’s when you come together, hold hands and then climb onto the back of the seats and step down them towards the front that way.”

“Won’t people be in them?” Phillip asks as we head up to our starting places.

“No, I’ll have ushers move them to the stairs for the opening. Fans never seem to mind, and we’ll give them a bag of swag to make up for the inconvenience. Okay, are you ready?”

“Ready,” we reply, and Dennis hits play.

Phillip is good. Really good. He matches my strut perfectly and even pulls out his hair tie and does a hair flip when we meet in the middle. I hold out my hand, and his huge fingers clasp over mine, and then we turn and step up on the first chairs. They are strong, and can easily hold our weights, not that I weigh all that much.

“Great, now as you step down, keep singing and looking back at one another, then to the front. Yeah, like that,” Dennis calls.

Voices come from down below, and the Funky Monkeys start jogging out to the field. Now that we are in the League, our training times overlap more than ever, and when Ryan flashes that freaking adorable smile my way, a flutter hits my gut, blood rushes to my face, and then I lose my footing.

I swear I catch his smile turn to a look of shock before I clench my eyes closed, waiting for the smack of the ground against my face, but it doesn’t come.

“You okay?” Phillip asks, and I open my eyes. His large hands hold me tight.

“Fuck, that was close,” I manage through heavy breaths. “Thanks.”

“No worries. You good to stand on your own now?” he asks, and it’s only now I realize I’m not standing at all. He’s holding me completely off the ground.

“Yeah, sorry again,” I say, and he lowers me down. My attention moves to the field, and Dennis, who’s just standing there watching, and he has that look on his face that he gets when he’s trying to work out a new routine. Ryan is still there, too. I should smile and wave at him, let him know I’m okay. But what if he doesn’t even care? What if I wave and just end up looking like a total idiot? More than I just did then.

“Again,” Dennis calls.

“Do you think we should reconsider the seats?” Phillip asks, still holding my hand as we step down between them.

“No, I think you should do it exactly like I asked you to do it, but this time, when you get to the bottom seat, I want you to lift Alan into your arms, step those long legs over the rail, then jump down, without dropping him, and then continue the rest of the song on the field.”

There it is, the thing Dennis was working out when he should have been worried about the two-B who almost face-planted the cement.

“Is that a good idea?” Phillip asks, and I actually see Dennis’s eye twitch a little.

“It’s fine. I’m good,” I say, slipping my hand free from Phillip’s.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t watching what I was doing. I’ll be more careful. Let’s go again.”

He nods, and we head up to take our places. On my way, I glance back to where Ryan had been standing, only he isn’t there, he’s jogging over to where his team is warming up.

Come on, Alan, focus. Sure, he’s the only guy you’ve been interested in for ages, but he’s into guys like Harry, big and buff all over, and he’s a total ten. We’re a six, maybe seven on a good hair day.While I’m pretty fit especially in my arms, my legs seem to struggle to put on any real mass and my skin shows the years growing up on the ranch in the sun, his fair complexion is only marked by the deep dimples that form in both his cheeks when he smiles. And he smiles a lot.

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