Ryan
Under the Friday night lights, the bleachers were packed with fans wearing light blue and white, waving flags and cheering. Back in high school, Ryan would have been charged with adrenaline from those sounds, but here in college he wasn't the team captain or the star quarterback. He was just a third-stringer who had yet to see any actual game time.
Tonight was the homecoming game, which made it all the more frustrating as the clock wound down and Ryan remained on the sidelines. His roommates had all come out to the game to support him – he was so disappointed in himself that he hadn't even tried to look for them. The score was nearly tied, and it was nearing the end of the fourth quarter. Ryan stood away from his teammates, wishing for the good old days of high school.
Then the unthinkable happened: the quarterback's call, the clash of football pads crunching on the field and suddenly a hush from the crowd. It was hard to see, but players huddled around a figure on the ground, and Ryan's throat closed up. It was the second-string quarterback, a junior named Jax.
"Sullivan," the coach barked. "You're in."
Ryan floated onto the field as a stretcher carried Jax away. "Don't worry, it's just a sprain," Jax said. "You got this!"
As Ryan took his place behind the offensive line, he glanced up into the stands. There, leaning against the railing, stood a familiar dark-haired figure in a black hoodie and ripped jeans. Time slowed as Jacky grinned at him.
Ryan smiled back. In high school he'd always been able to count on Jacky being there. It was like a game, trying to figure out who Jacky was sitting with. Sometimes it was Nina and Haylee and Cody, other times it was Darius and some of the other guys on the soccer team. Sometimes Jacky sat by himself, once he came with his mother. Ryan had joked about it being like "Where's Waldo," and at the next game Jacky had come wearing a red and white striped scarf. He always played better when Jacky was there.
"Head in the game, Sully!" said the center guard, and Ryan snapped back to the task at hand. Jacky was here. He was going to win.
He called the play, the center handed him the ball, he shuffled back, then launched the ball to the wide receiver, who caught it and two steps later was in the end zone.
The roar of the crowd overtook him. His teammates rushed him, and everything was a blur of commotion and celebration. He kept looking for Jacky. Where was Jacky?
Then Jacky was there, and Ryan brushed off his teammates and grabbed Jacky's face and kissed him. The cheering intensified. When Ryan finally pulled back, he saw that it wasn't Jacky at all. It was Charlie. He looked up into the stands, searching for Jacky.
"I knew you didn't really want me," Charlie said, and they were crying in Ryan's arms. "No one will ever want me."
Ryan launched awake and nearly fell out of bed. His phone clattered to the floor.
On the bunk above, Pete snorted and muttered, "Shit, what was that?"
"Dropped my phone." Ryan swung his legs out and bent over. The moment his thumb brushed the screen, it became obvious that there were more cracks in the screen than before. "Shit."
The display was completely busted. He couldn't even type in his passcode.
"Oh, man, that sucks," Pete mumbled.
"Yeah," Ryan agreed softly. Getting his screen repaired would cost at least a hundred dollars, money he definitely didn't have. But if he didn't get his phone fixed, how would he ever talk to Jacky again?
Jacky
After another sleepless night, Jacky dragged himself out of bed. He thought his conversation with Ryan had been going well. But after his last text, Ryan never responded, and now Jacky was second-guessing what he'd sent. Of course Billy had chosen to hook up with someone last night and never came back to the room, meaning Jacky had stayed up late watching more Friday the Thirteenth movies.
Coffee. Coffee and a shower would get him through his morning classes.
He got undressed, put on the shower shoes and robe his mother had forced him to bring to college – and thank god she had – and headed down to the bathroom with his towel and shower caddy.
Until he pushed open the bathroom door, he'd almost forgotten about avoiding Braedyn. The sound of a shower running reminded him, and he almost turned back to his room.
Who am I? he asked himself. He'd never had a problem confronting people in high school. Then again, in high school he went home at the end of the day. He'd had a doctor's note to avoid the gym locker rooms. Here, at college, he could confront people all he wanted, but he still had to live with them and see them every day.
Jacky took a deep breath and entered the bathroom, determined to look for the closest empty shower stall. Luckily, the stall right in front of the bathroom door was open, and while it was the worst one (a gust of cold air came in every time the door opened), it meant he had a quick way out after.
This early in the morning, the water was steaming hot, and Jacky felt his muscles uncoil and relax under the spray. Unfortunately, this made him feel sleepy, and he stood there with his eyes closed letting the water wash over him.
Distant sounds of laughter from the hallway suddenly blared loud when the bathroom door opened.
"Yeah, whatever, dude!"
The door slammed shut before Jacky had recognized the voice as belonging to Brandon, and then there was a squeal of rubber tread slipping on water and a different voice said, "Whoa!"
The frame of the bathroom stall shook with another squeal, and before Jacky knew what happening, the door to his shower stall crashed open and a body stumbled through, hitting the plastic curtain.
Jacky staggered back and hit the tiles hard on his left side. His vision went black for a moment, and when it cleared he was pinned to the floor under the shower curtain, shower rod, and a body. Braedyn's voice kept saying, "Oh God, oh God, oh God."
"...the fuck offa me," Jacky managed to gasp. The shower was still running, and he couldn't open his eyes for the water pelting his face.
The weight lifted, and he was able to suck in a few breaths.
"Fuck, I thought you were dead. Or dying." It was definitely Braedyn's voice.
"I wish," Jacky coughed. He tried to roll toward his arm.
"Okay, um, let me turn the water off."
Jacky grunted through Braedyn crawling off of him. Finally the water stopped and he could move his arm and wipe the water away. Slowly, he tried to get up.
"Are you okay? Maybe you shouldn't get up too fast? Oh God. I should go find Steve."
Braedyn got up, but he didn't go anywhere. He stared at the stall door for a long moment before slamming it shut on its broken hinges. That was when Jacky saw the feet under the door. Multiple sets of feet. Someone said, "Whoa."
"Fuck man, what happened?" That was Brandon.
He was aware that he was only covered by a clear sheet of plastic, and yet he didn't care.
"You just wanted to shower with me, huh?" Jacky said bitterly. The guys on the other side of the door thought that was funny. Several of them made a low "Ooooooh" sound, while a few guffawed. Schadenfreude bloomed in his chest at Braedyn's stricken expression. "You didn't get enough the other night?"
Braedyn shut his gaping mouth. Then he blinked hard and tore open the broken door, shoving his way through the pack of onlookers.
"You're welcome to stay if you like what you see," Jacky snapped, pushing himself off the floor.
"You need some help?" Brandon asked. When Jacky glared up, Brandon held up his hands. "No homo. You just – uh – look like you could use a hand. Fuck. I mean, Brae did a real number on this stall."
Jacky could taste the bitterness on his lips. "I'm good."
"Cool, man, okay. I'm gonna go grab Steve." Brandon was gone before Jacky could stop him.
Slowly, Jacky got to his feet. He still had soap in his hair, but he wrapped himself in his robe and rubbed his towel over his head, then shuffled back to his room.
He locked the door behind him.