Page 8 of Reaching Avery
Chapter Three
Maverick
Popularity was fickle in high school. You could be on top of the world—or on top of the social ladder—one moment, and be old news the next. It all depended on how people could use you that determined your worth.
The only reason people liked me was because of things that didn’t even matter in the bigger picture.
Like, yeah, I was a damn good athlete and I never failed to get the starting positions in both baseball and football. That was an amazing advantage for people who wanted to do sports for the rest of their lives, but I didn’t. It was fun, but not something I was passionate about.
The guys liked me for that reason, only seeing me as some big trophy and golden boy.
And the girls liked me for my looks, even though they all knew I was gay. For some reason, that fact made them like me even more, as if I was a challenge and they all tried toconvertme.
I wished people could look past my outward appearance and see that I was so much more than that. I had dreams and aspirations outside of sports, but people only cared about how fast I could pitch and how far I could throw, or how hot my ass looked.
Even so-called friends couldn’t see the real me. There were only a select few people who did: Sarah, my mom, and Mrs. Brown, my science teacher. Some of my baseball buddies understood me to an extent, but I doubted any of them reallygotit.
As I arrived at school that Monday, kids called out to me.
“Hey, Mav!”
“You on the team this year? We need you, man.”
“Looking good, sexy.”
Some girl even saidrawrand curled her fingers like claws, making the face to go with it.
I saidheyto them to be polite and kept walking. The bell had already rung, so I needed to get to class. Being late never sat well with me, even though the teachers were pretty laid-back.
Well,mostwere, with the exception of Mr. Davis, the algebra teacher. He put the“ass”in “associative property.”Okay, perhaps that was a corny math reference, but whatever. You get my meaning. The guy was a jerk.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to go to my locker beforehand because we hadn’t received our textbooks yet, so I went directly to the history classroom. There was a new teacher that year, and as I entered the room, I saw him standing at the front of the class, crossing his arms as he leaned against the whiteboard.
He smiled at me, and I went to one of the empty seats up front—which were usually always open because not many people liked to sit that close. Right as I sat down, the second bell rang, signaling the start of class.
“Good morning, class,” he said, uncrossing his arms and stepping forward. He was younger—and way more attractive—than I’d expected for a teacher. His dark skin paired amazingly with his hazel eyes, and he wore a nice button-up shirt that was rolled to his elbow. “I’m Mr. Jones. I hope you all had a great summer break.”
As he started in with the introduction to the class, I looked around. It was difficult to see many people without completely turning around in my seat, but I caught the eye of a few friends and smiled.
“Okay, I have the roster here, so I’m going to take attendance,” Mr. Jones said as he walked to his desk. “And then we can talk more about the plan for this year.”
He called off each name, which was followed by a less than enthusiastichere, and I recognized every name. That is… until I didn’t.
“Avery Kinkead?” At first, there was no response, and Mr. Jones asked again. “Is Avery here?”
“Um. Yeah,” a quiet voice said from the back of the room. “Here.”
Naturally, all heads turned—including mine—and when I saw the guy who’d spoken, my cheeks heated. He was the same one I’d run into the other day.
Avery slumped lower in his seat and looked down at his desk, clearly uncomfortable by the attention. His black hair curtained in his face and could’ve probably benefited from a trim, and his clothes looked a bit worn and one size too big for him.
Mr. Jones nodded and continued down the roster.
For the remainder of class, my focus stayed on the teacher as he discussed the syllabus, but my mind was at the back of the room with Avery.
Something about him caught my attention. Not necessarily in anI want to bone himway, but it was more like a weird urge to reach out to him. I didn’t know anything about the guy, but the sadness surrounding him was palpable.
When class ended, I shoved my history book and syllabus into my backpack before standing up. Avery was the first one to leave the room, and I caught a glimpse of the back of his head before he disappeared around the corner.
