Guyliner Page 9

  “Ouch.” Kayla pursed her lips. “Jennings is going to be ticked.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. With the time to set it up and aim, and with no one between you and the goal, penalty kicks usually score, even up against good goalies. Players hate it when they actually get blocked. It’s like missing a free throw in basketball.”

  Conversation stopped for a while as they focused on the field.

  “I was going to ask,” Kayla said later as the halftime break wound down. “Does your school have a Gay-Straight Alliance? We’ve been trying to get one set up at Jasper, but we keep getting stonewalled. We’re looking at other smaller schools to see what they have in place for LGBTQ students.”

  “LGBTQ?” What on earth was she talking about?

  “You know, Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual—”

  He cut her off. “I know what it means. I don’t think we have anything like that at GV. I’ve never paid it much attention.”

  She goggled at him. “How do you not know?”

  “Do you know every club in your school?” Connor couldn’t figure out why she seemed so shocked.

  “I know the ones that pertain to me. I figured that since you were gay, you’d at least know about the club, even if you weren’t a member.”

  Connor’s throat spasmed. “What?” He glanced over to make sure Marc was still occupied. He was, thank God. He turned back to Kayla, his whole body tight, ready to spring.

  “Oh no. You’re not out, are you? I don’t think your friend heard me.” She bit her lip and looked toward Marc.

  “I’m not gay,” he bit out. “Why would you say that?”

  She blanched. “No? But I thought… aren’t you and Parker an item? I thought… the way you watch him, even when the ball is on the other end of the field….” Her voice trailed off.

  “Jesus, we’re friends. That’s it. You can’t go around saying stuff like that. People will get the wrong impression. I’ve got a girlfriend.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said a little uncertainly. “Really, I’m sorry.”

  “Let’s drop it and watch the game.” He turned away, but instead of the game, he replayed Kayla’s assumption. He wasn’t gay. He couldn’t be. Gay didn’t fit into his plans. And gay sure as hell wouldn’t make Dad happy.

  Chapter 12

  IT WAS a hard-fought battle, but in the end Green Valley won. The single goal scored in the first half ended up being the only goal scored during the entire match.

  “Hey, Con. We’re thinking of heading to Applebee’s. What do you say?” Marc got to his feet and held his hands out to help Cindy and Amanda up. They’d been flirting through the game. None of the three had paid any attention to what was happening on the field.

  Distracted from his search for Graham, Connor agreed without considering. Which was how he ended up squeezed around a table with Marc and three girls from Jasper, twenty minutes later. Marc made a few lame attempts to engage Connor in the conversation, but the two girls still occupied Marc’s attention. And after their earlier conversation, things were a little awkward between Connor and Kayla. He’d never been so thankful in his life to feel the buzz of his phone in his pocket. He whipped the phone out and saw Graham’s name on the display.

  “Hey,” he said to Marc as he stood up, “I’m going to take this outside. If I’m not back by the time the server comes, order me the bacon cheeseburger, okay?”

  Marc acknowledged this with a wave of his hand while he continued his conversation—was he really talking about Star Trek?—with Cindy and Amanda.

  He pushed the button to take the call while he walked to the exit. “Hey, give me a second, okay?” He heard Graham agree. Connor pushed his way through the heavy doors and found a place to sit against a half wall covered in potted plants. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I hate it when people talk on cell phones in restaurants, so I needed to get outside.”

  “Where are you?”

  Connor could hear the sounds of players chattering and traffic rushing down the highway.

  “Marc and I are at the Applebee’s in Terre Haute. He picked up a couple of girls and wanted to hang out with them a bit longer. They’re Jasper girls,” he added in a melodramatic voice. “Marc’s consorting with the enemy. Great game, by the way.”

  “A couple of girls? As in more than one?”

  “Yeah, Marc’s a total stud. Two of the girls are falling all over themselves to be with him.”

  “Two of them? I saw you at the match. There were three girls, right? Is the other making a play for you?”

  “Hardly.” Connor laughed. “I’m not her type.”

  “She prefers brunets?”

  “She prefers girls.”

  “Ah. I can see how that might be a problem. It’s all good, though. You’ve got a girl, right?”

  “Allyson,” Connor confirmed.

  There was a pause.

  “I didn’t expect to see you at the tournament today. Not too many people outside of family come to the away games and tourneys.”

  “Yeah, well, you know, we didn’t have anything better to do. Marc and I decided to have kind of a road trip.”

  “I didn’t think soccer was your thing.”

  “I actually enjoyed it. I’m even beginning to understand it, a little. Which reminds me. I was going to ask you—do you guys get a lot of scouts at these things?”

  “Scouts? At some of the more important meets, sure. College scouts, club scouts, and even Major League scouts.”

  “Major League? Baseball?”

  Graham laughed. “No. There’s Major League Soccer too.”

  “How could I have not heard of that?”

  “It doesn’t get the same coverage as baseball, which sucks, but it’s growing.”

  “Cool. I don’t know if you’re supposed to know about it or not, but I sat next to a scout during your second game. He had a file on you.”

  “Really?” Excitement colored Graham’s tone. “Do you know who he was, who he was scouting for?”

  “No—” Connor was interrupted by a rumbling conversation on the other end of the line. He overheard Graham tell someone to give him a minute, that he was on the phone.

  “Sorry about that.” Graham came back on the line.

  “No problem. I was saying that I didn’t get a chance to find out who he worked for. I’m not sure I was supposed to even know that he was a scout.”

  “I’ll ask Coach if he knew who was expected to be there today. Speaking of Major League, I have a question for you.”

  “Shoot.” Connor watched an elderly couple walking down the sidewalk hand in hand.

  “My parents have a business-related thing in a couple of weeks in Chicago. They’ve got tickets to a Cubs game and said I could invite a friend. Do you think your parents would let you come to the city for a weekend?”

  “I can ask. Why me, though? Isn’t there someone on the soccer team you can invite?”

  For a second Connor thought the connection had been lost. Then Graham said, “Probably, but you’re the first one I thought of who would enjoy a baseball game.”

  “I’ll run it past my parents, for sure. I would like that. I’m not sure I can afford it, though. Money’s a little tight.” He forced the words out, trying to ignore the wash of shame. He kicked at a loose rock and watched it ricochet off the brick wall of the restaurant.

  “You don’t have to worry about that. It’s all covered. Besides, you’d be doing me a favor. I’m not looking forward to schmoozing with my dad’s colleagues. If you come along, I won’t look rude if I ignore them.”

  A trip to the city and a Major League Baseball game sounded awesome. Family trips were few and far between in the Fitzpatrick household, so the only time Connor had seen anything except Indiana farmland had been on away baseball games and the odd weekend with Marc’s family. “If you’re sure. I don’t think it will be a problem.”

  “Cool. I’ll give you details next Saturday! I’d better go. Coach stood up to make some kind
of speech.”

  Connor stared at his phone long after they’d disconnected. He looked up when someone pounded on the restaurant’s window. Marc stood there, waving at him to come in. Connor slipped the phone back into his pocket and went inside.

  Chapter 13

  CONNOR OPENED the door to his house on Sunday morning after a late night of video games and talk about sports and girls—not necessarily in that order—at Marc’s. Once again, chaos reigned. Becca tried to keep a wriggling Abby still so she could slip shiny shoes on Abby’s tiny feet. Kory pounded down the stairs, complaining bitterly about not wanting to go to church. Kaleb followed, buttoning up his Sunday shirt. Mom shouted from the kitchen that they were going to be late.

  “Oh good, you’re home.” Mom rushed into the living room, her purse slung over her best blouse. “Are you going to go to church with us?”

  “Why does he get a choice?” Kory glared at Connor. “If he doesn’t have to go, I don’t have to go.”

  “You’ll do as you’re told.” Connor’s dad walked into the room. He, apparently, wasn’t going to church. He had the newspaper folded under one arm and was wearing his rattiest sweatpants and one of his dozens of grease-stained tank shirts.

  “I think I’m going to stay in and push through my homework. Besides, I’ve got to shower and change first.”

  “To the car.” Mom shooed the rest of the kids to the door. “Kory, you are not taking the game with you. Put it down.”

  Kory scowled and put the handheld video game on the coffee table and slumped out the door behind his twin.

  In the rare silence that followed their exit, Connor made for the shower. He wasn’t lying when he’d mentioned he had a lot of homework to do.

  “Connor.”

  His footsteps stopped when his dad said his name.

  “Yeah?”

  “Come into the kitchen. I want to talk to you.” His dad headed to the table.

  Uh-oh. Not a good sign. His dad wasn’t one to talk. Talk was code for lecture. Connor couldn’t think of anything he’d done lately to earn a lecture. “Ah… okay.”

  “Have a seat.” Dad leaned back in his chair and the wooden backrest creaked in protest. He lifted his coffee cup to his mouth and watched Connor over the rim. “So, how’s that project you’ve been working on? You guys almost finished?”

  Connor’s mind blanked. Project?

  “You’ve been working on it for several weeks now. I don’t think you said. What exactly are you doing?”

  At that moment Connor couldn’t even remember what classes he took. This was why he didn’t like to lie. When put on the spot, he panicked. “Ah, it’s a research paper for Civics,” he finally managed to say.

  “It’s a group thing, right?”

  “Partners.”

  “Who’s your partner? Anyone I know?”

  Connor swallowed. “You wouldn’t know him. He’s new. His name is Graham Parker. His family moved here from St. Louis. He’s on the soccer team.” And now he was babbling. Could he be any more of a freak?

  Dad nodded and put down his coffee. “Guess who came into the shop yesterday?”

  The change of topic threw Connor for a moment, but it took him only a second to connect the dots. His dad knew something about the detention. Connor tried to make his knee stop bouncing—a nervous habit he’d had forever.

  “Neil Baxter.” His dad ran his finger along the rim of his coffee cup before spearing Connor with a sharp gaze.

  “Coach Baxter?”

  “Yeah, seems his old Chevy is giving him some trouble. He came in, and while we were finishing up the paperwork, he commended the good work you’ve been doing at the school on Saturdays. I assumed he was talking about whatever project you’ve been working on.” Though he didn’t make the motion, Connor could practically see the air quotes around the word “project.”

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  “Excuse me?” His dad leaned forward and gripped the edge of the table. “Do you really want me to add cussing to the list of things I’m pissed about?” Gone was the placid, almost genial expression he’d been wearing. Now there were brackets around his mouth from how hard he was clenching his jaw.

  “What did he say?”

  “Why don’t you tell me what he said? And don’t lie to me this time.”

  Knee bouncing again, Connor crossed his arms over his chest. “It was a stupid misunderstanding, that’s all.”

  “What, you lying about a project was a misunderstanding?”

  “No, me getting detention. It was stupid.”

  “Fighting, Connor. You got in trouble for fighting. That’s not stupid. That’s so far beyond stupid, there isn’t a word for it.”

  “I wasn’t fighting! You should know me better than that.”

  “I thought I did know you better, but I also never thought you’d lie to me.”

  “Fine.” Connor explained about running into Graham in the locker room and about Roy and Clint tattling to Baxter. “And then Baxter gave us the choice to work on the equipment shed or get suspended for fighting.”

  His dad sighed and rubbed his eyes. “You could have told us. Why would you lie about it?”

  “Would you have believed me? When you criticize everything I do? I figured it would just be proof that I’m screwing up or fighting, or whatever. I wanted to avoid more of your disapproval.”

  “What’s going on with you, Connor? This isn’t like you. You’ve been short-tempered lately, and secretive for months. And now you’re lying? Don’t you think we have enough to worry about without having to worry about you turning into some kind of punk? We rely on you to be a role model for the other kids.”

  Connor didn’t say anything.

  His dad pushed away from the table. “Go take your shower and do your homework. I’ve got to go to the shop. You’re grounded for the next week. If you’re not at school or practice, you’re here or the shop. No Marc. No Allyson.”

  Connor’s guts twisted as his dad left. It wasn’t the grounding—outside of school, practice, and work, he didn’t really have a life, so the punishment wasn’t much of a hardship. It was his dad’s defeated look that made him nauseous. Despite the tension between them the last couple of years, this was the first time he’d seen such a wounded expression on Dad’s face.

  Chapter 14

  IT HAD been two weeks since his dad found out about the detention. He hadn’t wanted Connor to go to Chicago with the Parkers, but his mom had stepped in. He didn’t know what she’d said to his dad, but he’d finally agreed to give Connor the weekend off work, with only one lecture about not wasting all his money. Even Coach Baxter didn’t object to them skipping their Saturday in the shed.

  He expected that someone was going to jump out at the last second, shouting “Just kidding!” So when the Parkers pulled up to the drive on Saturday morning, he didn’t waste any time. Connor slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and left the house to his mom’s shout of “Have a good time!”

  The sleek, silver Escalade looked out of place in his family’s pitted and cracked driveway, next to his rusted-out Neon and his dad’s ten-year-old Ford. Graham and his parents stepped out of the Escalade and walked toward him. One look was all it took to confirm that Graham took after his mother. She was tall and lean with a spiky cap of black hair. Most telling of all, though, were her arctic-blue eyes.

  She stepped forward, extending a hand. “You must be Connor. I’m so glad you’re able to make it. I know Graham will enjoy the weekend a lot more with a friend along than with only us.”

  Connor shook her hand, conscious of the thin, elegant hands. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”

  “Graham tells us you’re on the baseball team at the school.” Graham’s father shook Connor’s hand too, his movements brisk and professional. Mr. Parker was one of the only people Connor had met who actually looked rich, even though his clothes were casual. He was wearing jeans and a polo shirt, completely appropriate for a day at the ballpark, but something
in the way he carried himself practically shouted money.

  “Yes, sir,” Connor said. “I’m the catcher.”

  “Wonderful,” Mrs. Parker said. “I’ll have to depend upon you to teach me. I’m afraid I don’t know a lot about baseball. If it weren’t for Philip and Graham, I wouldn’t know anything about sports at all.”

  “Don’t let her fool you.” Graham leaned into his mother. “When she goes to my matches, she’s a complete nightmare soccer mom.”

  “Nightmare soccer mom?” Connor asked.

  “Well, it’s soccer and she’s a mom, but she spends the whole time yelling at the refs and shouting instructions to the coaches and players. She probably knows the game better than the coaches.”

  She grinned at her son, humor and personality breaking through her elegant demeanor.

  During the exchange, Connor noticed that Graham looked different than usual. It took a minute to figure out why. Then it hit him. Graham’s hair wasn’t artfully tousled or spiked, no makeup accented his eyes. His clothes, while still expensive, were basic jeans and a long-sleeved screen-print T-shirt. Connor found he kind of missed the eyeliner and punkish hair.

  Mr. Parker handed an envelope to Connor. “Here’s some contact information and the name of the hotel we’ll be at in case they need anything.”

  “Oh, thanks. I’ll run this in to my mom.”

  “Let me take your bag,” Graham said before Connor could head to the house.

  “Thanks.”

  When Connor turned toward his house, awareness of how grungy the place looked hit him. Abby’s tricycle sat cockeyed along the cracked walk, the twins’ bikes leaned against the porch, and the paint on the house was peeling. Overgrown grass—no one had time to mow lately—added to the unkempt image. Connor hurried, hoping he was quick enough to keep the Parkers from getting a good look.

  “What a great idea,” his mom said when he handed her the envelope and explained its contents. “Why don’t you invite them in? I think I’ve got some tea we can offer them.”

  “No!” The denial burst out before Connor could stop it. “I mean, we’ve got to get going if we’re going to get to the city in time for the game.”