Brandon. Yes, THAT Brandon.

Well, Better Start Somewhere

"Ok. I just... really want to quit football. I can't stand the way I'm disrespected, you know? I'm a joke." Well, that's the first time I admit that out loud.

"But you're so good! I thought you loved it. I mean, that's how we became friends... who disrespects you?" Conner asks worriedly, his big eyes authentically bothered by my confliction. Everyone disrespects me, I think to myself.

"I'm just sick of busting my ass and getting no enjoyment out of it. I don't have the same passion for it, Conner," I sigh. He looks genuinely concerned for me, but is there something else? He seems... offended. Like I kicked him or something. As if me quitting football would really mess his experience up.

"You can't quit. You don't quit things. What are we supposed to do without you? You're amazing," Conner pleads. Yea, right. We have a girl, Cill Clay, who starts. Yes, our team is good, great even, but really. Priscilla Clay is better than I am. "At least finish the season. You're a great player."

"Eh--"

"Really. At least you're not on Varsity because your Mom works at the bank," Conner huffs. He finally gets to cutting the athletic tape off my thumb and wrist. Ugh, he has such gentle fingers. Every time I flinch, he flinches as well, as if he's hurting me somehow. Once he realizes I'm teasing him, he throws me one of those Looks. I ruffle my fingers in his dark brown, wavy hair. He practically leans into my hand like a puppy before I pull away.

"That is the worst reason ever, " I chuckle. "You're the only freshman on varsity because you're actually a damn good quarterback. Right up there with Derek Furst. He's just older than you."

"Coach Troy hates me," Conner sing-songs.

"No he doesn't," I sing to mock him. "If he hated you, you wouldn't play." Then I remember that Conner hasn't played in our big games so far and my cheeks flush. "Psh, the only reason I play is because I'm 6'3" and have some muscle on me." I try to make up for it but Conner is giving me a hurt look. Something is bothering him too. Something else...

I always say he thinks too much. "Hey, freshman year was tough for me, too. I'm a junior and I still don't fit in," I say softly. Not for reasons like Conner, being a freshman. But other reasons. Like the way I stare at my psych teacher, Mr. Arabell. Or when my eyes linger too long in the locker room.

"You don't really want to quit, right?" Conner asks mousily. I sit on the storage room table with a sigh.

"I know if I stop, I'll regret it. But if I stay where I'm at, I'll be... I don't know. Doing myself wrong." Damn Conner and his perfect, smooth skin and pink, full lips and bright, blue eyes and innocent freshman face. The way he's looking at me... oh I'm being dramatic.

"What do you want to do?" he asks and stands in front of me. I swallow harder than I intend.

"Both. But I don't think I can."

"Well you can play without getting caught up in it. You don't have to be a dick like--"

"Mitch," we both say at the same time. I'd never end up like Mitchell Kern. We both laugh in a nervous way. I unknowingly run my hand through my own hair. "I don't know what I want."

"Maybe you do, but you won't admit it," Conner says in almost a whisper. My eyes dart away from his and focus on my shoes again. I wish he wouldn't do that. Oh, god, I wish he--"You're not talking about football anymore," Conner says quietly.

What else would I be talking about?

I feel my best friend's breaths on my cheek. My mind is blank for a moment and I come to when Conner's lips are on mine.

* * *

Conner notices my hesitation almost before I do and pulls away quickly. The look in his crystal blue eyes is pure horror. "Oh my god, Brandon I-I-- I'm sorry that was so stupid. Please I'm so dumb--" Conner tugs at his hair and then his shirt. My lungs are caught in the middle of a storm, unmoving and useless. "You gotta believe me, I w-wasn't trying to fuck with your head, really--"

"Conner," I finally manage to breathe.

"No, no-- I've been trying to avoid it for a long time and--"

"Conner--"

"I'm so sorry I had no right to do that and I probably ruined everything--"

"Will you just--Christ, let me think." I cut him off. I'm not crazy. I'm not imagining things. This is real. Conner Trial just kissed me. He kissed me and I let him.

When we finally make eye contact, I can feel my pulse in my ears, pure adrenaline.

"I--" he begins. Before my mind can even fathom what's happening, I'm dragging Conner in for another kiss. He and I both relax into it. It doesn't seem to matter that we're in the storage room of our school gym. Where do I put my hands? Conner has it all figured out and he places my hands on his waist. His lean fingers tangle in the shortest hairs on the back of my head as I draw him in even closer to me. My mind runs a marathon and can't seem to settle at the realization that I'm kissing my best friend.

It hurts how much I've wanted this, too.

My hands soon travel to the curve of Conner's butt, which in turn gets me cute, soft gasps from him. The warmth of his tongue is more inviting than anything I've ever experienced. His small hand travels down my torso and abs in some unknown pattern to me. I can' t take it anymore. I stand up and lift all 5'8" of him, pushing him against the cold, brick storage room wall. It's like he expected it. Like he's done this before with other guys. Other guys... Conner is a boy.

I'm...a boy.

I stop trailing kisses on his neck and realize he's inched his fingers in the band of my denim jeans. "I'm...I'm not--"

Conner seems more offended than ever. His mouth tilts downward repeatedly after I let him down, like he might even cry any second. "Conner, I'm not gay," I say softly. We stare at each other for a long time, blue eyes locked into blue eyes. Seconds seem like minutes as I try to catch my breath and my sanity.

I'm not gay I'm not gay I'm NOT gay and just because I kissed him doesn't mean anything. It doesn't have to mean anything if I don't want it to. I can forget about this. I can forget this ever happened and we'll pretend it's a big fat joke. After football is over and it's wintertime we'll look back on this and joke around. In the spring when school is about to get out we'll look back on this and joke around. I'm not gay. I'm not I'm not.

"Guys don't just kiss other guys, Brandon," Conner cracks, which is exactly opposite of what I need to hear. I'm not gay.

What if Conner is?

I want to just tell him how I'm so conflicted. How I think I've liked him for a long time but I'm not sure. I have to be sure. I want to tell him that I have noticed the way he lights up when he looks at me. I've known for the three months we've hung out so far and have pushed, shoved it so far in the back of my mind because I'm not--

"Conner, I'm sorry. I can't... everyone already thinks--"

" Since when do you care what other people think?!" Conner shouts.

"Hey, you gotta calm down--"

"No!" Conner stomps. His eyes fill with tears instantly. "Don't act like you're so much better than what you are." Conner storms out of the storage room and slams the door. My body aches as I keep standing there, using all I have to not chase after him and throw a vat of messy, useless explanations at him.

I'm not...

I might be...