Page 36 of Hits Different

Summit is an incredible facility. But the food? Come on. I eat healthily. I’m not as dumb as I look. I know abs are built in the kitchen. But seriously, would a pack of chips derail a week’s worth of training?

Still, I guess you gotta have faith in the process. Every time it gets to me, I catch sight of a framed jersey on the wall. The gallery of successful players who graduated Summit after completing a program just like mine.

One day, my jersey will be hanging up there, too.

If I don’t die of starvation first.

“Gretchen”, I collapse into a sweaty heap on the grass as she clicks her stopwatch. “Please. You gotta help me out here. Would a twinkie really be too much to ask?”

“No sugar”. Gretchen shakes her head. “You want to heal ready for next season? We must remove all inflammation”.

“Message for you from the front desk”. Ivan hands me a slip of paper.Richard Crawley called.My heart skips a beat. What does he want? He doesn’t normally approach me directly.

I don’t have time to think about it because Gretchen makes me do another 3 laps, dribbling a ball the whole way. I don’t know what good she thinks this is doing my shoulder, but it’s shot my morale straight to hell.

I wish Freddie was here. I’ve never been a big cardio fan, but we used to tell each other dad jokes to lighten the mood. It’s weird to be laced up on the pitch without him.

I should just shoot him a text, but Coach’s words linger in my brain. Summit is a big deal. Maybe Freddie’s mad at me for getting this opportunity. Or he’s having the time of his life on tour, and he’s forgotten all about me.

Can anyone say insecure?

I’ve always suspected, deep down, that being one of the boys came with an expiration date. Once they settle down, guys like me become surplus to requirements. And Freddie’s on the fast track to a white picket fence life. Best if I leave him to it.

I’m still not over the last time I lost a good friend.

Gretchen finally remembers that she has a whistle, and I skid to a halt. She ignores my histrionics and tosses me a towel, returning her attention to her clipboard.

Across the field, Parker strolls towards me.

Holy smokes. He’s got that just-out-the-shower freshness about him, wearing a crisp navy Summit polo tucked into smart grey slacks and white leather sneakers. He removes his shades as he squats down next to me.

“There’s a vicious rumour that the new player is demanding a twink be delivered to him”. He isn’t even bothering to hide his amusement. “Now, we’re an open-minded community but this is a professional setting, Carter. You can cruise for dudes on your own time”.

He hands me an ice cold soda. There’s condensation on the can, and our fingers lightly touch as I take it from him. Jesus Christ.

“Twinkie. Noun. A tasty snack. Much like myself”. I take a swig. It’s cool and delicious. And also diet. For God’s sake. “Twink. Also a noun. A tasty, fresh-faced slender young homosexual. A little like myself”.

“Noted”.

“Tell me that you didn’t research gay subcategories on your work computer just so you could make fun of me”, I continue. “Because there’s a handy SBF Starter Pack that I’ve been working on solely for your benefit”.

“And SBF means?” Parker takes the drink back and has a sip. Not bothering to wipe the rim. And I don’t notice. Not one little bit.

“Straight Best Friend”.

“So that’s what I am. Reduced to just another label”.

“The objectification of the straight white male is criminally underdiscussed”, I agree solemnly. He laughs at that too.

“I’ll tell you what isn’t being underdiscussed”, he looks serious for a moment, “And that’s your loud, some might sayincessant, complaining over the lack of junk food. Seriously. This is a health facility. Keyword, health. And you’re here to recover”.

“I’m not looking to hot wire an ice cream truck or anything”, I protest, “But a guy really can’t get a greasy ass slice of pizza as a reward for surviving Captain Gretchen’s dirty ass cardio drills?”

He rolls his eyes so far back in his head that it looks like he’s having some sort of seizure.

“You know I can’t function properly without my snack supply”, I remind him. Back in high school, our study group had two rules: There had to be snacks, and they all had to be for me.

The look on Di Rossi’s face tells me that he remembers the rule in painful detail.

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