Page 86 of Attractive Forces
The ride homeon the team bus is raucous. No one stays in their seats. My teammates sing the school song, butchering it almost beyond recognition. Then Smithy does a reenactment commentary of my last try, making everyone laugh.
I try to join in the laughter. I should be celebrating. One more win, and we’ll make history.
Instead, that hollow feeling has returned.
When we get back into town, I shake off the invitation to hang out at Adam’s house, claiming I'm too tired. I head straight home.
When I walk in, Mum is sitting at the kitchen table sipping a cup of hot chocolate.
“Dad’s in bed?” I ask.
“He wanted to wait up to talk to you about the game, but then it got too late. You know your father.”
I do know my father. He goes to bed at ten o’clock every night like clockwork. He’s someone who loves routine.
“You want some hot chocolate?” she asks.
I hesitate. I really just want to be alone. But there’s something comforting about the smell of her hot chocolate that reminds me of when I was a kid, and everything could be made right by a hug from my mother.
And I could use some comfort right now.
“Sure,” I say, sitting down as she bustles around, making me a cup.
When she hands it to me, I wrap my hands around the mug, feeling the warmth seep through the ceramic.
“So, you’re close to being repeat champions,” Mum says.
“Yeah,” I say. I take a sip of the hot chocolate. It's too hot. It scorches my tongue.
“It’ll mean a lot to this town,” Mum says.
I stare down at the hot chocolate. She's put a marshmallow on the top, and it's starting to melt: a messy death by drowning. “I know.”
“Is it the pressure that’s getting to you?” Mum asks.
I snap my gaze up to her. “What?”
She shrugs, but her eyes are worried. “You’ve seemed pretty down in the last week. I just wanted to know if you’re under too much pressure.”
Jake’s face surges into my mind. I stick my burned tongue to the top of my mouth, trying to distract myself with the pain.
Actually, Mum, I’m upset because I broke up with my boyfriend, and it’s getting to the point where I think I’d prefer to give up an arm or leg than be apart from him.
Misery clogs my throat, making it impossible to say anything.
“Oh, Logan.” Mum comes over, putting an arm around me, pulling me close. For a second, I lean my head against her shoulder.
“You shouldn’t do this to yourself. I know your father places a lot of pressure on you, but we’ll still love you whether or not you win the championship.”
Her words echo in my head.
Can I extend that concept? Would they still love me if they knew the truth?
For a second, I imagine telling her. Saying the words, having them fall out of my mouth.
I’m gay.
But then I’d see her reaction. I’d see her opinion of me change.
