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Thierry

T hierry, eight years old...

Pope is so cool.

He’s the goalie for our hockey team. He’s saved every shot, and he’s super funny.

Best of all, we’re best friends. More than that, he chose me to be his defenseman.

Me, of all people. Everyone thinks I’m a nerd because I get amazing grades or because I own tons of Pokémon cards and Lego sets, but it’s what I like.

My favorite subjects are science and history. But what I love about school is P.E..

When we’re outside, Pope and I, we do everything together.

I get super excited when I see him step out of his classroom and walk toward the gym.

Stupid rules say we can’t join our friends on the way to our next class.

We had to stay with our class. That’s boring.

We’re not babies. If it wasn’t for that rule, I’d be right by his side.

Once we were done changing and doing our stretching, though I hightailed it to my best friend.

We talked about our hockey practice later and what game we’d play over the weekend.

But sometimes we were interrupted.

Pope had more friends than I did. So, sometimes, his friends like to be mean to me except for one—Wes. Pope and Wes never let the others slide, either. He always told them to apologize and more than once, I’d seen a few of them sporting black eyes if they refused.

Pope always had my back.

And I always had his.

We made a pact; him and me.

No matter what, we’d always be friends. If we were lucky enough to play in the NHL one day, we’d try to be on the same team, even though the odds weren’t in our favor.

Then if the league forced us to be on opposite teams, we’d be rivals, which meant being at the top of our games, respectively.

We’d never give up, and we’d strive to be the best in the league.

Forever.

“Hey Pope, where’s your puppy today?” One of his friends laughed. “Did you finally throw him in the dump?” Two more laughed at the first. I hated them so much. They didn’t know how cool Pope really was. Or how incredible he was on the ice and in the goal.

“Shut up,” Pope said, smacking them on the back of the head at the same time. “Quit being idiots.”

Both boys rubbed their heads while hissing in irritation. I never remembered their names because, to me, they were inconsequential. In ten years, Pope would be in some prestigious college while they were flipping burgers or whatever it was, they wanted to do.

“Why do you like Thierry so much, anyway?” the boy on the left asked, his brows furrowed, wrinkling the freckles across the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah,” the boy on the right chimed in, balling up his fists—as if he’d been ready to hit Pope. Or worse, me.

“I don’t answer to you.” Pope pivoted, facing both boys with his arms crossed, looking way cooler than anyone else I knew. He scowled at them. “You’re not my mom.”

“You don’t even have a mom,” one boy said.

I winced. Not cool.

Everyone knew Pope’s mom passed away from cancer two years ago.

His father wasn’t doing good, so he lived with his grandparents off and on.

They, along with his dad, put Pope into hockey.

Pope said it was better for him and cheaper than therapy.

(Whatever that meant.) I couldn’t tell you whether I agreed or not.

I’d never been. Although, if I ever lost my mom, I’d be broken hearted, too.

“What did you say, asshole?” Pope snarled, grabbing the kid by the collar of his shirt.

“Let James go, Pope,” the second boy said, trying to pry Pope’s hands off the kid.

Stupid . Pope had the best hands in school. It was why he’d made an excellent goalie. He never dropped anything and had amazing reflexes.

I don’t know what made me rush to Pope’s side that day. Or why I thought I needed to intercede on his behalf, but I realized in a split second, if he got caught, Pope wouldn’t be able to play hockey, and my one and only best friend would be gone.

So, I guess you could say I was being selfish.

“Hey Pope,” I said, hurrying to his side while keeping a close watch of our P.E. teacher out of the corner of my eye. “Thanks for waiting for me. Sorry I’m late.”

He turned those obsidian eyes on me, and my stomach lodged in my throat.

Pope’s grip tightened, turning his knuckles white with strain.

He looked so angry. Like he was ready to pummel the kid before I stepped in.

Even his pupils blotted out the color of his irises.

His mouth was twisted up in a vicious snarl, and I knew right then, I’d made the right choice. He was going to pulverize James.

Pope leaned into James. “You’re lucky.” Then let him go.

James wasn’t going to tell. If he did, he was stupid.

Once the teachers learned the kids bullied others about their parent’s dying, they didn’t care what came after.

James was toast if Pope told anyone. “Looks like your puppy saved you.” James barked like a rabid dog as he ran away, laughing as if he’d won.

Heat filled my cheeks. Embarrassment roared to life within me. I hadn’t meant to make Pope look weak or whatever, I’d only tried to help. “Sorry.”

“They’re pricks,” Pope said, glancing in James’ direction. “Besides, can’t mess up my hands before the big game.”

I grinned. “I still can’t believe we’re in the championship game.

It’s going to be epic.” A lightness settled within me along with excitement and anticipation.

We were playing for the 8U title this weekend.

Best part, we were playing in the practice facility the Nashville Thunderbirds used before their games.

“I’m getting a picture with Tomas Vokoun,” Pope said. “From what I read; the Thunderbirds are going to be there after the game. So, I’m going to go find him before we leave.”

“That’s really cool. I’m going to ask my parents if we can watch them warm up before the game,” I replied, shoving my hands into the pockets of my P.E. shorts. “We should totally do a sleepover. Or ask my parents if we can stay for the game.”

“You don’t want to go to the pizza party afterwards?” Pope tilted his head.

“Nah. That’s for babies. If we’re going to be champs, we should act like it.” I puffed out my chest. “Crack open a cold one” —aka a soda— “and watch the game.”

Pope chuckled. “You’re on. We’re going to win the game then we’re going to watch the Thunderbirds kick major ass.”

Thierry, age fourteen...

I don’t know what happened. No, that’s a lie. I promised I’d never lie about anything. More importantly, the feelings inside of me said I had to tell the truth, no matter the consequences. No matter what it cost me in the end.

I kissed Pope.

That unsettled feeling welled up in my chest last night while we were watching movies together, again.

We had practice with our youth team and came back to my house for a little horror movie marathon.

Just like old times, you know? Only something changed.

I liked seeing Pope now. There was an indescribable flutter in my stomach.

An ache in my chest. The feeling of freefalling on a rollercoaster while also being so excited, I thought I’d pass out.

More than the rush of adrenaline the second I stepped out onto the ice.

Like always we joked and jabbed at each other while we stripped out of uniforms and pads before hopping into the shower.

Pope was changing. He was growing—everywhere.

So was I, but he filled out. We weren’t kids anymore.

The realization dawned on me when I cut my gaze in his direction while he laughed at some joke Vance made.

My heart was racing.

I had to play it cool.

I’d always known I was different, and I thought Pope suspected it, but never said a word.

As tension radiated through me, I tried my level best to calm down and shower.

The quicker I finished, the better off I’d be.

No one wanted to be that guy who got his first boner in a shower full of guys, right?

My attention continued to pull toward Pope.

That ache I felt in the middle of my chest when we first met returned.

I couldn’t name the feeling exactly, other than my world was brighter when he was around.

Heard some of the adults talking about the Boom and what it meant.

Reckon that could be what I was feeling.

But should I be?

Did this so-called Boom include people like me?

I hadn’t met many people who felt the way I did, though I had heard the cruel things adults said about people like me.

They really hated us. I guess it’s why I never felt comfortable telling my mom and dad.

I was worried they’d disown me. Same went for Pope.

If I acknowledged what I thought he might know, he might hate me, and I didn’t know what I’d do if that happened.

Still, sitting in the basement, a box of pizza, a six-pack of soda, and two bowls of popcorn surrounding us, my palms were sweaty, and my breathing picked up.

I couldn’t stop looking at him, like this was a do or die mission or something.

He was so... pretty. Handsome. Ugh, I don’t know what to call it, but I liked the shape of his face.

His lips. I knew how many times he’d broken his nose and how he got the cut on his chin.

The color of his eyes were so dark they were like broken pieces of the highest quality obsidian.

Most importantly, I coveted the fact he was my best friend.

“You okay over there?” Pope glanced at me. “You look a little nervous. Is the movie too scary?”

I swallowed hard. “Nope. Just fine.” I grabbed a piece of pizza, then laughed. “You’re so weird.”

Pope snorted. “You’re weirder.” He gave my shoulder a playful shove before grabbing a slice, too.