151 Days Read online

  Most of us had been training all year, since we were varsity last year and planned on returning. Of course, up until last week it was unsure whether I was going to be able to play or not. I had broken two cardinal rules in high school baseball: I was gay, and I said I was gay out loud. Normally there wouldn’t even be the smallest doubt if I would play this year, but after the school board meeting and the passing of Kelly’s Laws—a name I know he would hate with an undying passion, by the way—the question went away. The school could no longer prevent students from playing sports based on their sexual orientation.

  I had Kyle look it up for me to make sure.

  On Thursday after practice, as we kind of crawled back into the locker room, I was more than a little shocked to hear Coach Gunn shout over the mumblings of the rest of the guys that I needed to come to his office once I was done showering. Well, this is where I get kicked off the team for good, I thought as I walked to my locker. The existence of Kelly’s Laws and the protection they provided evaporated the minute Coach Gunn’s voice boomed out.

  The stipulation I had to shower separately had gone away along with, supposedly, discrimination in sports based on sexual orientation. From what Josh Walker told me, Coach and some lady who was a member of the school board had asked everyone on the team if they had a problem with me showering with all of them. No one spoke up. And I started showering with the other guys again.

  So at least the guys didn’t think I was going to be some weird creeper trying to hump them in the showers.

  There are two types of guys in a team shower. There are the ones that are so weirded out by being naked in a room full of other naked guys that they feel the need to be loud and obnoxious to cover it. They make stupid jokes, ask asinine questions, and generally try to get everyone involved, like somehow that covers up the fact that we’re all buck naked and trying not to look at each other’s junk. Mostly everyone else is the quiet type. They go in, wash their hair, soap up, rinse off, and get the fuck out. They don’t make eye contact, spend a hell of a lot of time looking at their own feet, and try to make the entire process as painless as possible.

  I had always been a type two, since it made the whole being in a room full of naked athletes a lot easier if I never looked at them. I mean, everyone, and I do mean everyone, looked; it was just what you looked at and for how long that mattered. Guys like Kelly were the complete opposite. They went on the assumption that if they could walk around naked and have a conversation like nothing was wrong, then they were beyond suspicion. I always felt it did the complete opposite, since straight guys seemed to be more than a little squeamish when it came to other naked dudes. I had always done my best to be a rinse-and-run, but today I just stood there and stared at the wall in front of me.

  What was I going to do when he told me I was off the team?

  I suppose I could try to see if Granada had an opening on their team, but their tryouts were this week too, so the chance I could just walk onto their team was remote to none. They had Shayne Fuller this year, which meant they were all but guaranteed a trip to the playoffs. Also, I didn’t want to throw a fit and force them to take me on the team; it would just look like I was a little bitch who was whining ’cause I didn’t get my way. That wasn’t an attractive image at all. The worst part was going to be telling Kyle. The second he found out I was off, he would declare a jihad on the school that would most likely end up getting us both kicked out before graduation.

  I hadn’t even paid attention to how long I had stood there until I realized I was the last guy in the shower.

  “Awesome,” I muttered to myself. “So I am off the team and look like a gay Peeping Tom all in the same day.” I turned off the water and toweled myself half-dry at my locker. A lot of the guys had already taken off, knowing that if they even looked like they were trying to find out who made the cut before tomorrow, Gunn would have them running laps all night. I threw all the stuff in my locker into my bag since I wouldn’t be coming back to it and made my way to the office.

  Before I knocked, I took a deep breath and forced myself not to show one ounce of emotion.

  I knocked twice and heard his voice come from the other side.

  Gunn’s office was a shrine to all things baseball. He had played himself in college, and the rumor was he had been on one of those feeder teams for the Rangers for a while but had never been moved up to the show. His wall was adorned with pictures of every team he had coached, more of them winning seasons than losing. He had three state banners on one wall, a reminder to anyone who saw them that in Texas, where baseball was a religion, being in the same office as the coach was actually standing in the presence of, at the very least, a demigod.

  “Sit down, Greymark,” he ordered, sliding a chair over to me. His hand was full of player stats from the week, and it looked like he was trying to put them in some kind of order. Putting my bag down, I sat, waiting for the inevitable axe to fall. “You know we got some great players this year.” It wasn’t a question, but he waited for an answer nonetheless. I nodded. “Not a lot of guys are going to even get on the field, which is a shame, but there are only so many minutes in a game.” I felt my stomach start to sour and wished he would just get on with it. “So I have to make some hard choices, and no matter what I do, there are going to be some upset boys tomorrow.”

  There is at least one upset boy right now.

  “But you’ve played since you were a freshman, so you at least deserve to know what’s what.” He put the papers down on his desk and finally faced me. “So here it is.”

  I literally forced myself not to wince.

  “I am going to cut Flores, even though he is a faster runner than Walker. Josh has good heart, and I think this could be his year, but I need to know you agree with me on this and I need to know now. I am not going to start the season by arguing with the team captain right out of the gate.”

  He stared at me as I tried to decipher all the words he’d said.

  “Flores is a better hitter,” I answered automatically. “But I’d keep Josh too.”

  He nodded. “Good, I thought the same thing. You have any attachment to Freeman or Paulson? Because they aren’t making it either.”

  I shook my head. “Freeman is good, but he has no rhythm on the field.” Again the words spilled out of my mouth; I had no control over them. “And Paulson might be ready next year, but not yet.”

  The coach raised an eyebrow at me in surprise. “You’ve been paying attention. Outstanding—that will make this easier.” He tossed two files over to his out basket and then handed me a sheet of paper. “Anything on here you have a problem with, then?”

  I took it, still not sure what was going on.

  I read it, read it again, and then one more time. You know when you look at a word so much that it stops looking like English to you? Your brain is telling you the word is the word, but you are thinking, “Nope, no idea what that means.” I was stuck on one word and couldn’t get past it.

  “What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the offending word.

  He leaned over and stared at my finger. “Captain.”

  My face scrunched up in confusion. “What’s that mean?” I asked him.

  He paused and looked at me. “Team captain,” he elaborated.

  Shook my head. “Come again?”

  “Team captain,” he growled, getting upset. “You know what a team captain is?” I nodded. “Then what’s the question?”

  “Why is it by my name?”

  He sighed and took the paper from me. “Smart-ass. Tell no one, and try to seem surprised tomorrow morning.” He handed me a folder. “And begin to get real familiar with that. It’s your job to get everyone else to understand it.”

  I looked down at the folder and saw the words “Team Captain: Defensive Drills”

  Underneath that it said “Property of Brad Greymark.”

  I just stared at it. I’m pretty sure my mouth hung open in shock.

  “Any questions?” he asked whe
n it was pretty obvious I had no idea what to say or do next.

  “This is mine?” I asked him, the English language still not fully formed in my brain.

  He gave me a double take to see if I was joking or not and then tapped my name on the folder. “That’s you, right?” I nodded. “So then it’s yours.”

  Nope, still not sinking in.

  “But this is for team captain,” I tried to explain to him.

  Now he looked at me seriously, and his voice got dark with just the slightest touch of anger. “Are you saying you don’t want to be team captain?”

  “I’m team captain?” I asked him, sounding like the world’s dumbest guy, no doubt.

  He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Why did you think I asked you in here?”

  I didn’t even hesitate. “To kick me off the team.”

  Now it was his turn to pause and look at me stupidly. “Why would you think that?” he finally asked.

  “Um, because I’m gay?”

  And the lightbulb came on over his head.

  He sat down slowly across from me. For the first time in my life, I was staring at a Coach Gunn who had gone silent because he was at a loss for words. The one man who I would have bet money on wouldn’t blink an eye in an alien invasion looked like I had punched him in the stomach. His face had gone pale. He cleared his throat and tried to talk. “What you need to understand, Brad….” And then he stopped. “I mean, the truth is….” And then he stopped again. It was obvious he was struggling with his words, and it was killing me.

  So I tossed him a verbal rope to climb out of that hole with. “It’s okay, Coach. It’s cool.”

  He gave me such an odd look that I really thought he was pissed at me even, though I had no idea why. “No. No, it isn’t cool,” he finally said gruffly. “You’re team captain.” He stood up. “Study that book, and get ready to drill it into the others.” He turned back to his desk. “Now get out of here.”

  I’m pretty sure my feet didn’t even touch the ground as I flew out of his office before he changed his mind.

  THE NEXT day at school, I smiled like a fool because of the celebration gift Kyle had given me the night before and the fact the school was about to know I was made team captain.

  A bone-rattling howl of joy roared upward from the center of the group staring at the team roster. Josh leapt up and air pumped in victory. He pushed the rest of the guys out of the way and made a beeline toward me like he was ready to tackle me. I tensed up, not sure what was going to come first.

  So imagine my surprise when he hugged me around the waist and picked me up like I was made out of tissue paper. “You made captain!” he hollered as he spun us around in the middle of the hallway. Everything became a blur as he danced around in a circle with me in his arms. Last year if he had done this, it wouldn’t have registered as anything but another guy incredibly happy to make the team. Now all I could think of was that my crotch was way too close to his face for me to be comfortable.

  “Dude,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “Little space?”

  Josh dropped me and slapped my back a few times, his smile so big and genuine that it was infectious. “Come on,” he practically shouted at me. “A few months ago you didn’t even know if you were going to be on the team, and now you’re captain. That is epic!”

  I had to admit he had a point.

  “It is pretty overwhelming,” I admitted before giving in to the impulse to smile myself. A few guys congratulated me and themselves. A few others scowled at me and walked away pissed. There were never enough spots on the team for everyone who tried out; that was a fact of life. Those of us who made the team were good, and we knew it. The ones who didn’t make it were average and had no clue they were.

  I was riding pretty high at the moment, which is when, Kyle would have warned me, the bottom would fall out of it.

  “Of course they gave it to him,” Tony said, breaking through the din of our celebration. “His mommy would sue the school if he wasn’t made captain.”

  We all spun around to look at him. I was not shocked to see two guys I didn’t know from the football team flanking him. Josh used to be one of those guys until he pretty publicly quit the position during The Party over Winter Break. From the way the two of them were glaring at each other, it was obvious that neither one had let the anger go yet.

  “He got it because he is the best player we got, and you know it,” Josh fired back. “Something you agreed with last year, if I remember.”

  Tony took a step toward Josh. “That was before I knew he liked a different kind of balls.”

  “What the fuck?” I muttered as they argued about me without even looking at me.

  “So then in your redneck mind it would be better if we field straight guys who are shitty at the game rather than let the best player we got play because he’s gay? I’m curious—do you even hear the shit that comes out of your mouth, or are you stupid enough to believe yourself?”

  They really did look like they were going to come to blows. Though I would have loved to see Josh beat the shit out of Tony again, I stepped between them to slow everything down. “Josh,” I said but was promptly ignored. “Walker!” I screamed in his face. That got his attention. “Back off now.” When it looked like he wasn’t going to, I added, “You want to get kicked off for fighting before you play a game?”

  That got him to step back.

  I turned around and looked at Tony. “Any time you want to step out on the field and see if your superior heterosexual abilities can beat my pansy-ass gay ones, name it. Batting, pitching, catching, running—name a skill, and I will make you look like you’re in junior high.” He didn’t say a word. “Come on, Tony, name a day and time, and I will be there and show you what real baseball looks like.”

  He took a step back. “Fuck this.” He dismissed me with a sharp wave of his hand. “You aren’t worth my time.”

  “Fuck you, man” came from behind me. I assumed it was Josh again, but instead I saw Scott Baker break free from the crowd of guys and stare down Tony. “You want to talk all this shit, but you can’t back it up. You think he got on the team ’cause of his mom, pick a day and prove it, but if not, you’re just an asshole starting shit.”

  Tony moved with both hands balled into fists. “What did you say to me, you little faggot?”

  I was about to answer when half the guys behind me surged forward and began to scream back in Tony’s face. “We said bring it, jackass!” one of them called out. “You wanna come over here and call me that?” another snarled. I put my arms out to stop them, but it was obvious there was no way I could hold them all back.

  Luckily I didn’t have to.

  “Tony Wright.” An adult’s voice cut through the ruckus like a knife. “Did you just call someone a faggot?” Tony froze as Coach Gunn walked toward us. The other kids who had been watching us parted like wheat before a thresher. He grabbed Tony’s arm and yanked him toward him like the football player was a rag doll. “I asked you a question.”

  “I-I didn’t say nothing,” Tony sputtered as he realized his two wingmen had melted into the crowd.

  There was a silence just before the coach tore into him again, which was when Tony’s faint but recognizable voice came from the crowd. “What did you say to me, you little faggot?”

  Everyone looked over and saw Jennifer standing next to Kyle, her iPhone in hand. Her eyes got dramatically wide as she asked sarcastically. “Oh, I’m sorry, was I not supposed to record that?”

  Her finger hit the replay button, and the recording of Tony screamed at the crowd.

  Kyle looked over at Jennifer. “In his defense, ‘I didn’t say nothing’ does in fact mean he said something. So not so much a lie as just bad grammar.”

  Gunn began to drag Tony down the hall toward the office. “Congratulations, Wright, you just became the first student at Foster High to meet Kelly’s Laws. If you’re lucky, your name will go up on a plaque with the rest of the intolerant people that will come
after you. I’m sure your dad will be so proud.”

  I wanted to call to Coach Gunn that I didn’t want to get Tony in trouble since all it would do was piss him off, but Kyle came over and stopped me. “If we want the rules to be followed,” he explained, “then we have to let them dole out the punishment.” I could tell he didn’t want Tony to be suspended any more than I did, but like always, Kyle was right.

  An arm draped over my shoulder, and I looked over to see Josh leaning against me. “So, Kyle, how does it feel to be the boyfriend of the captain of the varsity baseball team?”

  For some reason his question made me blush, and I looked down in embarrassment.

  “I guess it means I have to start coming to games,” Kyle answered, which seemed to be the right answer.

  “To the Cowboys!” Josh shouted, looking at the rest of the team. “Future state champions!”

  The hallway erupted into cheering, which was deafening in the small space but felt good nonetheless.

  SO THAT Saturday we had our first real practice as a team, and it was brutal.

  Kyle had offered to come to watch, but I told him not to bother since all he would see would be Coach Gunn screaming at us no matter what we did. As I stood in the dugout drinking water, I was doubly glad that he hadn’t come to see us because it was embarrassing. You’d think by this time we would have learned that no matter how cocky we may have felt on Friday, we were going to have our faces pounded into the grass on Saturday.

  Last year I resented the hell out of it because I felt like it served no purpose whatsoever. Coach would just work us until we puked, but now as team captain, I understood the logic in it. If we started the season thinking we could walk on water, then it would take at least four to five games to actually get our heads in the game, which meant we’d have to play catch-up. This way Coach Gunn broke us down and got all that garbage out of our heads so we could actually concentrate on our first game instead of how good we looked in our varsity jackets.