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Sebastian startles. Hunter and Willie have stopped their random geeky ranting to turn their attention back on him. Willie’s expectant face means the question was obviously for Sebastian.

“Emir?”

Willie rolls his eyes. “Well, not for them.” He points to the gaggle of freshmen doing passing drills—badly. They are no doubt headed for the reserve team at the end of camp. Or, as Mason appropriately calls it, soccer limbo.

Hunter says, “I don’t know if he has it in him. But defense is definitely his strong point.”

“Yeah,” Willie concedes. “Definitely defense.”

Sebastian can teach Emir to be a great defender.I’m the team goalie; defense is in my blood. And he trusts Willie and Hunter’s judgment, even if they’re now arguing about who’d be the better soccer player, Mario or Luigi. At least they’re interested in Emir’s success. Now, if Sebastian can convince Emir that he isn’t helping because Emir’s a charity case.

On the sidelines, Coach Patrick is talking to Emir; his thick hand squeezes Emir’s bony shoulder. Judging by his stance, Coach’s giving one of his famous pick-me-up speeches, something he doesn’t often do publicly. When a player is struggling, Coach pulls him into the office, shuts the door, and recites everyRockyquote possible. It’s repetitious, but Coach never lets anyone feel like a failure.

When Coach walks away, Emir kicks at the grass and mumbles. Most of the guys steer clear of him. His tightly-wound shoulders don’t invite company; nor does his otherworldly frown.

Sebastian bounds down the squeaky bleachers. His heart hammers triple-time; a black hole gapes in his stomach. Willie calls after him, but Sebastian’s feet keep pounding on wood that’s sure to snap. The other guys might crack on him later, but he doesn’t stop.

“Wait up.”

Emir spins around with an annoyed sigh. “Please, don’t do this.”

“But—”

“Don’t.”

Sebastian shakes off the chill spreading through his body. He rubs Emir’s shoulder; the sweat makes Emir’s shirt stick to his skin. Oddly, it’s not gross.

Emir lowers his eyes. “You don’t have to—”

Sebastian cuts him off with, “Meet me here after dinner,” as if Emir wasn’t speaking.

“What for?”

Sebastian raises his brow. “Do me a favor and meet me here, okay?”

Emir nods, whispering, “Okay” with little fight in his voice. It’s progress.

The sun, warm and bright, beats relentlessly. Emir’s a siren drawing Sebastian in with his face rather than his voice. Sebastian, realizing he’s doomed, snatches his hand away to shake off whatever that was.

Emir’s mouth goes soft. Sebastian is hit with the thought of kissing Emir, which is just horrible. It’s difficult to resent someone while wanting something more.

“Hughes, lunch! I’m starved, bro!”

Sebastian’s appreciation for Mason’s whiny voice is immeasurable. He steps back, still breathless, needing to get away from Emir and unsure he’s cool with that. “Okay,” he says, too low, then jogs toward his friends. They’ve lagged just enough that Sebastian doesn’t have to run.

“Pasta time,” Hunter says, piggybacking Willie with Mason to his left. Sebastian flanks Mason’s other side, keeping his head lowered. He doesn’t say anything.

At least in the dining hall, Sebastian can escape Emir. Too bad there’s nowhere in his head to retreat from the thought of sliding his mouth over Emir’s.

A true tragedy.

9

From the edge of thepitch, the sun skids across the sky like a red cannonball rolling toward nothing. It leaves only purple and orange bruises from a war between light and dark. In the evening glow, Emir is soft, approachable. Without a beanie, his hair is fluffy. A thrift-store T-shirt and loose sweatpants compliment his cozy appearance. Granted, Sebastian’s view of Emir lately has been nothing but rough, so maybe he’s simply appreciating the moment.

Emir, humming to himself, juggles a ball between his feet. It escapes, but he chases it down, finally moving freely. When no one’s watching, pressure doesn’t exist; it’s like dancing in the dark. But Emir can’t control the ball for long.

Cicadas hum their nightly hymns, but underneath them Emir sings Michael Jackson. Music was always like magic for Emir. Eight years ago, it was all Emir needed to be himself around Sebastian.