Page 44 of Blitz
“For you,” he whispered. “Watch for me.”
“Always.”
“Trick?”
“Yep?”
“I like you a lot,” Tom said.
I smiled. “I like you, too.”
“But do youlikelike me?” Tom asked, and I could hear the smirk in his voice.
“Go win a game, asshole!”
He chuckled, and after we hung up, I stood in my kitchen, clutching the phone to my chest like some lovesick teenager. The enormity of what Tom had done today hit me again—not just coming out, but doing it on his terms, with his head held high. Meanwhile, I was still hiding, still afraid.
I glanced at the clock. Three hours until game time.
Pulling open my closet, I pushed past my Railers gear until I found it—Tom’s blue and gold Pumas jersey,FULKOWSKIemblazoned across the back. I’d worn it only in private but tonight felt different. Tonight, I needed to be close to him, even if only in spirit.
My phone buzzed again—Rebecca this time, from the burner I’d made her get. I still hadn’t told her that messaging Noah’s father meant there was now security following her every movement—probably best that I left that for a while because I can guarantee that is going to blow up in my face.
Secrets.
Until I figured things out.
Rebecca: Tom Fulkowski came out! It’s all over social media.
Trick: I saw.
In a moment of madness, I wanted to share my pride with Rebecca. I wasn’t sure how to italicize text and stared at my phone momentarily before deciding asterisks were okay.
Trick: I’m so proud of him and also, I think I * like * like him.
Rebecca: Wait.
Rebecca: What?
Rebeccas: Is he the guy? YOUR guy?
Trick: Yeah. He is.
Three dots appeared, disappeared, and appeared again.
Rebecca: Holy shit, Trick. Wow. You okay?
Trick: I think so. I’m watching his game tonight.
Rebecca: You going to buy his jersey?
She added a winking emoji, and I sent back rolling eyes.
Trick: Already wearing it.
Rebecca: You want company?
I felt immediate fear—that my father knew where I was staying, that he’d see Rebecca arrive, and he’d ruin her life, but then it hit me, she was in Pittsburgh, I was in Harrisburg.
