Strike (Cake) [Completed] (#Wattys2017)

4: A Call

                 

The following four days went by in a blur.

            Football continued to come easily to Calum. The coach continued to be impressed, and decided that if it stayed this good, he would bump Calum to that position he deserved come Thursday before the game.

            Peter continued to watch Chad and the tenures. The tenures continued to watch Calum. The situation did not improve.

            Luke continued to think of things he could say to Calum, ways he could challenge him to think. He continued to be nervous that Calum wouldn't need him anymore. He continued to consult with Ashton, but he had yet to mention the elephant sitting on his chest to his best friend. Maybe because he couldn't see it yet, only felt it.

            Calum continued to play football, play bass, write lyrics, and listen to music. His grades continued to improve in all of his classes. He continued to enjoy debate, and to think of things he could say to Luke. He continued to worry that he might not impress Luke any further—that he would peak and drop. And of all things involving his teammates, he continued to be oblivious.

...

And then Tuesday's class was suddenly here.

            Calum had moved up two more rows. Now he was only four rows from the front. He noticed Luke noticing. And if the other kids were looking at him weird, so what? He could sit where he wanted. This was where he wanted.

            He took his notes and listened, watching Luke move lithely across the floor, watching Luke's shirt come slowly more and more untucked as he reached higher up the board to write.

            At one point Calum tasted copper. He frowned and ran his tongue over his lower lip and realized he'd been biting it to the point of breaking the skin. Two reasons he did that: focus and interest. Well...he must have been really focused.

            Luke put down the white chalk and picked up blue. "All right, everyone. Bring this in on Thursday for me." He began to write an assignment in the lower right corner of the board.

Is class over already? Calum thought. He swore they got shorter and shorter every time. Maybe because he was enjoying it now? He looked at the clock on the wall. No, Luke was ending class eight minutes early. Just as Calum was thinking he was disappointed, his brain came up with another explanation: eight minutes subtracted from class time meant eight minutes added to office time. But that probably wasn't it. No. He was delusional. He wrote down the assignment.

"This one's a bit more structured than your last, yes?" Luke said, packing up. "You can still write about anything you want, but I want you to actually give me the pros and cons of each side. Don't bullet them; I want full paragraphs. But don't write me ten pages either." He glanced up at Calum. On reflex, Calum pouted out his lower lip a little—But I want to write ten pages!—then wondered why he'd done it. Luke cleared his throat and shut his bag. "Uh...write like you're actually debating. But again, any subject—appropriate, please—is fine. You don't have to rebut yourself or anything. Really, I'm getting you to be able to see both sides of a topic, because when we start debates, sometimes you get to choose your side and sometimes you don't. Have a good day. See you all Thursday."

And the hall began to empty once again. This time, Luke waited in an obvious manner at the front of the hall. Calum didn't need the hint. He was already walking against the stream of like-minded tadpoles eager to get out of the water, and all he wanted to do was sink deeper into

(Those ocean-blue eyes)

this ocean that was the academic world.

"Sure is funny we ran out of material so long before class was supposed to end, huh?" Calum said.