All American Boys

21. Tamar

All American Boys

Chapter 21: Tamar

Sure, I liked Isaac and he felt the same towards me. But that didn't mean we could walk around holding hands or steal kisses behind lockers. For one, Isaac didn't want to risk being outed to his father, but more importantly, I couldn't lose Cyril.

So we just stuck to text messages. Throughout the week, he'd wish me good night, and he'd text me in the morning as well. It would be sweet and I'd honestly would've be more relaxed about it if Cyril wasn't doing the exact same thing. So I resorted to not naming any names when I texted. No Cyril, no Isaac.

Just 'baby'.

Cyril loved it. Isaac, eh, not so much. But I'd rather irritate Isaac by calling him baby than calling Cyril Isaac.

I'm not cheating. I'm just sharing myself.

Talking about Cyril, he seemed to get more intimate with me recently. It felt encroaching, but I let it be. He'd always try to sit with me whenever he had the chance, and at lunch I noticed he would inch himself closer towards me until our thighs rubbed against each other. Isaac would shoot an occasional glare at us, but he could do nothing.

I already told him how I truly felt about Cyril, but I guess he couldn't help being jealous. I suppose it was natural.

After what happened on the beach, Isaac seemed to deliberately avoid mentioning any of his problems. Conversations with him were always very superficial. What did he do today? What did he eat for breakfast? It was tiring, honestly. I wanted to talk about it, but I knew he'd just shut me down again. Truth be told, I was worried.

"So," Cyril asked me on Friday after lunch as I took out my math textbook from my locker. "I was wondering what's your schedule today?"

"Oh, nothing much," I told him. "I have tennis practice but after that I'm free."

"Cool, cool," he replied, nodding his head. "Hey, uh- do you wanna meet after your tennis? I have football practice but I think it ends around the same time."

"Sure," I said to him. "I'll see you then."

We waved goodbye and made our way to our own classes. In fact, I actually did have plans with Isaac. He was coming over to spend the night before we set out tomorrow for the military base. But at the same time, I haven't been with Cyril for a while, so I guess I'd have to try to make some space for him.

Sneakily taking my phone out as the teacher rambled on and on about algebraic formulas, I texted Isaac and asked him if he was cool with coming over a bit later in the evening.

A few minutes passed by before I received his reply: he agreed. Great.

I didn't really do much for tennis practice, just the usual warmups and some rounds with Emily. Honestly, hitting the ball and watching it bounce as it hit Emily's side of the court was therapeutic. That was one thing I liked about tennis – there was a pattern to it. Sure sometimes it can get frantic and pace gets faster than a bullet train but the movements were all consistent. Hit the ball, the ball bounces, the ball gets hit, the ball bounces, then it goes back to hitting the ball. It was predictable.

With Isaac, it was totally different. He was so different from anything I'm used to. I couldn't read him, and he was always full of surprises. In a sense, I felt insecure because I didn't feel in control. I always had to tread around my words or think up of things on the spot. He thrust me out there, far from my comfort zone. And I liked it, but it also worries me.

I knew it wasn't my place to talk about the abuse. I knew I shouldn't insist on talking about it if he doesn't. Because at the end of the day it wasn't about me. It didn't matter if I wanted to talk about it, or if I was more than willing to be his shoulder to cry on. If he didn't want to talk about it, if he prefers to just shut it out then it was his prerogative.