Page 52 of Most Valuable Player
I hope my parents can see how happy I am. He’s always bringing me gifts and spending time with me. Saving me from their bullshit.
He likes when I say I love him. He says he’s waiting for the right moment to say it back.
Journal #5—April 28
Fuck me. We got drunk when my parents were out. I remember most of the night but apparently he told me he loved me. Did I black out? He says it was when we were in bed but I swear I remember every moment until he fell asleep. He was kissing my neck for a long time. Is that when he said it?
He’s upset. He’s been waiting for the right moment to pop the L-word and when he does, his boyfriendignores him and then FORGETS?? I’m a dick. I’ll make it up to him somehow.
15 is close enough to 16, right?
EDIT!:
He didn’t let me touch him but I still made it up to him.
?
Chapter Sixteen
Cam
“Try not to be annoying,” I plead, eyes wandering between my parents as they clean up and prepare dinner.
“You’ll find that I’m quite average, son,” Dad says at the stovetop, flipping the vegetarian lemon chicken slabs sizzling in his massive pan.
“You look like the son of a Mafia boss.”
“But I have the cuddly personality of a koala.” He pops open the oven to peek at the cheesy scalloped potatoes. “Ask your mother. She was disappointed to discover I’m not the mysterious, dangerous bad boy I appeared to be.”
Mom gives a wistful sigh from the living room, where she’s fluffing couch pillows. “He ended up being perfectly levelheaded,” she says solemnly. “Not a single toxic quality for me to fix.”
If they’re bantering like this before dinner, they’re about to be insufferable. “Just don’t show him baby pictures or start making out to make me uncomfortable,” I snap.
“We’d never, Cammy.” In the corner of my eye, I notice her tuck a giant binder under the couch. Predictable.
“What’s got you so nervous, anyway?” Dad smirks as he hands me a collection of plates to set the table. “Could it be because this is the first time in years that you’ve invited someone over to dinner? Friend orotherwise?”
“Mason is coming to eat a balanced meal and then I’m showing him his workout regimen,” I say shortly. “It’s to pay him back for tutoring me. Not because I want to see him.”
Then I remember that smile, and I realize I’m a dirty fucking liar. Christ, why am I so obsessed with that little asshole’s teeth?
Except it’s not just that, is it? I’m anticipatingallof him. It’s the dry wit, the calming atmosphere, the cutting jabs meant to insult me but mostly fluster me. It’s his swooshing hair meant for tousling and cute hands meant for holding. It’s those tiny moments where he feels comfortable enough to crack the ice fragments sealing him from head to toe, allowing me glimpses of someone much warmer, much happier.
I readjust the kitchen chairs for the fifth time. “You’re sure that’s fake meat?” I ask Dad.
“Ask me one more time, boy, and I’ll tattoo my face on your ass cheek while you’re sleeping,” he growls, his annoyed eyes piercing through my face.
I scoff, turning to Mom and gesturing at him. “Not a single toxic quality, huh?”
She looks ready to console me for the verbal threat uttered by her husband, but then the doorbell rings, and she beelines for it. Who else could it be but the water boy, who’s dressed in a knitted pumpkin-orange turtleneck and matching beanie, looking as cute and cuddly as always?
“Ah,” Mom says. “This must be my son’s failed conquest.”
Oh. My fucking God.
Mason’s pallid face colors, and his dark eyes flit over her shoulder to see me, slack-jawed and ready to careen out of the nearby window. “I…Hello,” Mason says, extending a tense hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs.Morelli.”
Mom fans a palm over her heart, finding this endearing, apparently. “What a sweet, polite boy. Much sweeter and politer than mine. I’m sure that’s why you rejected him, hmm?”
