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Ricky watched as Diego trapped the ball beneath his foot. He didn’t kick it again or move toward the goal. Diego continued to stand there, swiping at anyone who dared to get close to him.

“Stop fucking around, Gomez!” the coach growled from the sidelines.

Diego didn’t seem to hear him.

“How many laps around the school do you want to run today?” the coach hollered.

Diego still didn’t respond, but the glare implied he was listening. Ricky was getting cold standing around, so he ran up behind Diego and kicked the ball free, passing it to someone on the opposite side of the field.

“Hey, we’re on the same team!” Diego snarled, stomping in his direction.

“You were going to get in trouble,” Ricky said, turning to face him.

“Yeah,” Diego grunted. “So what?”

He was in Ricky’s face now. There was a waft of warm breath that smelled like beer. Was he drunk? At school? Not to mention that it was only second period.

“I want to play,” Ricky said, refusing to back down. “If you don’t, stay out of the way.”

Diego’s lip curled as he lunged forward.

Ricky took a step back.

“Focus on the game,” the coach said after blowing his whistle. “Or you’ll both be running laps.”

Ricky ran toward the ball. Diego could tackle him from behind if he wanted. With the coach watching them, he’d probably get suspended. Nothing happened though. The rest of the game went fine. Ricky’s team managed to win, despite Diego’s behavior. Although when they returned to the locker room, it was obvious that his problems weren’t over.

Diego usually went to take a shower. Today he sat on the bench, still wearing the school-issued gym shorts. His elbows were resting on tree-trunk legs that were spread wide. Diego had his back to his own locker so he could stare at him. Ricky hurried to get dressed—feeling less vulnerable in his usual clothes—while bracing for an attack.

“How about ten bucks?” Diego said.

The locker room was starting to clear out. Ricky glanced over his shoulder.

“Instead of five,” Diego said when their eyes met.

This again? Ricky clenched his jaw and spun around. “For what?” he challenged. There was no way in hell that Diego would say it in front of the other guys. Or so he thought.

“For a blowjob,” Diego said. “That’s all fags are good for, isn’t it?”

The other guys laughed. While looking at Ricky! What the fuck? Some asshole was asking for a blowjob, and that madehimsound gay? Of course he actually was, but they didn’t know that.

“Shut up,” Ricky said before slamming his locker closed.

A couple guys sucked in air, like they expected him to get pummeled. A shadow rose from behind him, blocking out the light. Ricky turned around. Diego was standing menacingly behind him while glowering. Then he shrugged.

“Whatever,” Diego said before finally turning toward his own locker.

Ricky moved farther down the aisle before he sat to put on his shoes. He was lacing up the second one when sweaty shorts smacked him in the side of his face. He glanced over in time to see Diego pulling up his boxers, but even the brief glimpse of butt cheek couldn’t quell his anger.

“Would you fucking stop!” he snarled.

Which was a mistake, because he saw they were alone now. Well, aside from a scrawny kid whose eyes were like saucers before he hurried for the exit. Ricky was tempted to do the same.Instead he tossed the gym shorts at Diego and said, “Leave me alone.”

While he finished tying his shoes, some wadded-up bills were thrown at him next. One hit his shoulder, the others missed and skidded to a halt on the floor in front of him.

“That’s twenty bucks,” Diego said. “Take it or leave it.”

Ricky stood and picked up the money with a trembling hand.