Page 93 of The Lineman

I resisted the urge to groan louder than the football guys whining about exams.

I nodded. “Of course. Have a seat.”

He sat down, gripping the edge of his desk like it might keep him grounded. For a moment, he just stared at the floor, his knee bouncing under the table, likely against a field of bubblegum that petrified back in the eighties.

“You ever feel like you’re living in someone else’s house?” he asked abruptly.

The question threw me.

“You mean at home?” I asked carefully.

“Yeah.” His fingers drummed against his knee. “It’s like . . . I still live there, technically, but I’m not really there, you know?”

The weight in his voice made my stomach twist.

“Jamie,” I said gently, “are you safe at home?”

His head shot up, eyes wide.

“Oh—yeah,” he said quickly. “I mean, my dad’s not—he’s not like that. He just—” His voice trailed off. He looked away. “He just doesn’t talk to me anymore.”

A quiet, heavy pause.

“And when he does,” he added, voice lower, “it’s like he’s talking to a stranger.”

The words settled between us like stones, and I felt something tighten in my chest.

“What about your mom?” I asked.

His lips curved into a small, sad smile.

“Mom’s great,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Too great, actually. She overcompensates, like she thinks if she loves me twice as hard, it’ll cancel out the fact that Dad won’t even look at me at dinner.”

His voice was casual, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his grip on the desk tightened, knuckles whitening.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and I meant it.

Jamie shrugged. “Yeah, well. Could be worse, right?”

“That doesn’t mean it’s easy.”

He let out a soft, bitter laugh. “I guess I should be grateful. I mean, some kids get kicked out, right? All I’m getting is the silent treatment. That’s basically the clearance-sale version of homophobia.”

The joke was sharp and hollow, and something inside me clenched.

“Jamie,” I said quietly, “that’s not nothing. And it’s not fair to you.”

His smile twitched, like he wasn’t sure if he should let himself believe me.

I leaned forward slightly. “Do you have anyone else to talk to about this?”

Jamie hesitated, then shook his head. “Not really. I mean, I have a couple of friends, but none of them really get it.”

His fingers tapped against the desk again.

“There’s no support group or anything at school?” I asked.

Jamie let out an incredulous laugh.

---