Page 32 of Finding Delaware

Me: You’re a dude. I’m a dude. We only smile at our phones for nudes.

That rhymed. I’m a poet, and I didn’t know it.

Suckslee: You’re so off base, it’s ridiculous.

Me: But I hit a home run, right? You are talking to someone?

He doesn’t respond, and I peek under my lashes to find him blinking at his phone. Joining the conversation with the guys, I wait for him to say something else, but he never does. So I text him again.

Me: Is it that Royce fella?

Instant response:

Suckslee: I don’t see how that’s any of your business, Taylor, just like who you suck face with in the middle of the cafeteria isn’t mine.

My stomach flips, thumbs flying over the screen.

Me: Saw that did you?

Suckslee: The whole lunchroom saw it. Get a room next time.

Me: Just admit that you were watching me, Huck.

Suckslee: Why? Because I'm gay so I'm always looking at you?

I shoot him an annoyed glance.

Me: No. I watch you too. It’s okay.

He reads it but doesn’t respond. I wait and wait, becoming engrossed in Matty’s discussion with Salem about their AP Psych class. By the time the lunch bell rings, Huck is gone. And I’m still left on read, surrounded by friends but feeling lonelier than ever.

Huckslee

Deep breath.

I inhale, expanding my lungs to total capacity before diving beneath the water. Pumping my legs, I glide from one end of the pool to the other before coming up for air. ‘Rain’ by Sleep Token reverberates around the quiet pool room from my Bluetooth speaker, keeping me focused while I swim my laps.

Winter break officially started today, and everyone’s gone home for the week. While some would feel spooked in an empty school alone, I find it calming and peaceful. It’s like the world has finally stopped turning for a moment, and all that exists is myself.

I’ve always felt more at home in the water than on a football field.

Once, during sophomore year, I begged my dad to let me drop football and focus on the swim team, but he shot medown. Said that football was more of a team sport and it would be good for me to learn how to cope in a team environment and learn to share. Like it was my fault he and Mom chose to homeschool their only child until the age of twelve. And it’s not like I’d been wholly isolated—they’d put me in tons of youth church sports. Really, I think Dad just thought that football looked better on a college resume.

Diving back down again, I swim another lap, pushing my body until I hopefully become so exerted that I’ll fall right into sleep the moment my head hits the pillow. The anxiety pills stopped working, so I’m trying something new, but the painkillers ran out. Not that I need them anyway; the latest x-ray shows good progress on my arm. It’s healing nicely enough that they took off my splint, but I still can’t lift or do anything to compromise the bone.

I just wish I could sleep. Something is brewing under the surface, steadily rising inside me each day. My mask is slipping. I snapped at Logan this morning, and the way he looked at me as if I’d lost my mind made me want to jab a fork into my neck.

It’s all because of Taylor. I’ve been hyper-aware of his presence since that night at the track—everywhere he fucking goes, I feel it. In the house, at school, in the gym, running drills. And even though he hasn’t messed with me in months, I find myself waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me. Like, I’ll wake up and find a severed horse head in my bed or something. It’s the type of apprehension I can’t shake anywhere but alone in the pool, knowing he’s home and not waiting around a corner to fuck with me.

Like kissing Salem in the cafeteria three days ago and then having the audacity to ask me if I’m talking to anyone. Like,what the fuck was that about? Which I am, for the record. And yes, it’s Royce. Though we’ve only hung out the few handfuls of times I could sneak out of the house. I usually meet him down the street in his car, and then he drives us somewhere to fool around. It’s been nice. He’s a fun and sweet guy. The only issue is, well...I can’t get myself to kiss him anymore.

Putting my mouth on his dick seems to give me no problem, but the thought of anyone else on my lips other than my fucking stepbrother makes me nauseous. Which is why the sight of him kissing Salem sent me spiraling. Cue the mental breakdown.

As the song on my speaker rises to a crescendo, the water ripples with a splash, startling me. I sense him before breaking the surface, and I come up for air in time to see Taylor’s dark head of hair swimming toward me. Pushing my goggles onto my forehead, I grit my teeth as he draws closer. His eyes lock onto mine, more green in the pool’s reflection, and he stops several feet from where I’m treading water.

“You’re not allowed to be here,” I clip, irritated that he’s invading the small space of peace I’ve found in months.

He scoffs, dipping down until the waterline touches his jaw. “What, like swimming is illegal now?”

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