Page 22 of Tutoring Mr. Hotshot

I respect him enough to keep myself in line.

For now.

Andry:Where are you? I want to see you today.

My Little Genius:I am heading to the library for a bit, then I’m free.

Andry:Perfect. I have to get to my workout now. We can do a lunch later. Just us. No friends allowed.

My Little Genius:Do you meanYaz? I wouldn’t invite her anyway. She’s probably still drowning her sorrows over the girl. She falls hard and fast, sadly.

Andry:And you? Do you fall hard and fast?

My Little Genius:Not typically.

I stare at the words for far too long. Other students move around me, the campus starting to wake up as it grows later in the morning. I tuck my phone away since more texting will only delay our plans.

Coach is waiting outside the locker room when I walk up. “I’ve had four texts asking if I really do support you being queer, Rykov. Did you have to break the news so goddamn early in the morning? I wanted to sleep in.”

Shaking my head, I move past him. He follows, his arms folded as he waits for an answer.

“I didn’t plan to, but the guys gave me shit over the party last night.” I pause, wondering if I should have even told him that much. Does he know the team acts up the night before a game? “They mentioned me and some girls. I told them I don’t do that with them. Then they were mad.”

He rubs his hand over his face. I can tell he doesn’t know what to do about this whole situation. There aren’t many out players in general, much less on college teams. I only know of two: Gabriel Nagy in Phoenix and Adrian DeLuca in Cali.

People think being out means you won’t get drafted.

Fuck that.

If I don’t get drafted, it’s because I’m a bad player. I refuse to live in secret anymore. It’s too much. I want to be happy. To have a family.

“Fine, kid. I get you were merely correcting them. Next time, give me a heads up, ok?”

“I don’t have your number, Coach. How would I?”

He blinks, then pulls out his phone and hands it to me. “Put your number in and text yourself. I need to be in touch with you more than anyone else on the team right now. Your safety is important too.”

As I open his text app, I see the names of the guys who messaged him. Liam is at the top of the list. It’s clear he had the most to say about who I fuck.

Is he jealous? Could there be a closeted queer kid beneath all that hate?

I didn’t think that was the case.

Maybe there was a different reason behind it all? I didn’t have the time or energy to find out.

Coach leaves me to my workout after I give back his phone, his voice carrying across the room. “These fucking players. Bunch of walking hormones. Maybe it’s the heat. Should have gone up to Vermont. Bet Caldwell doesn’t have these kinds of problems.”

I put on some music, then put in the hard work needed to stay at the top of my game. With each stretch and mobility movement, I feel my body loosening. It’s as if I’m reversing all the soreness from normal practices with my personal time. I’m going to crush this game tonight.

By the time I finish, I have multiple texts from Rodney.

My Little Genius:I’m about to be done here. Where did you want to have lunch?

My Little Genius:If that’s still something you want.

My Little Genius:Or we could reschedule if you’re busy.

The messages are all about a minute apart from one another. I smile, wondering if he was holding his phone waiting for me to reply. That would explain the flurry of messages back-to-back, each sounding more panicked.

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