Senior/High School – Four Years Ago
“Sarah asked me to prom last night,” Morris bragged, lacing up his cleats. “Her prom-posal was too good.”
I couldn’t help but feel envious. I always did. Morris got every girl he ever wanted.
No one ever wanted the skinny, lanky kid with zits that covered seventy percent of his face. How could anyone ever want that?
“A little early for a prom-posal,” I said, keeping the bitterness at bay. “How’d she ask?”
He sat in silence for a minute with the biggest smile on his face. I could tell he was thinking about it, about her. Only in my dreams could I envision feeling that way towards someone; only in my dreams would those feelings be reciprocated.
“She showed up to my house in this itty-bitty lingerie set, and she –”
“Wait what?” Connor piped up, throwing on his jersey. “How’d your parents not freak out?”
“They weren’t home, dumbass,” Morris said, throwing a sock at his face.
“How the hell was I supposed to know? Got pictures of her in it?”
“Watch your fucking mouth McCook,” Danny interjected, curling a barbell with his right arm.
My eyes hovered longer on Danny’s build. I looked down at my own. I let out a sigh.
“Sarah’s Cumberland’s woman, Danny. Why you so worked up?” Connor jested. “Got a crush?”
“Want me to throw this at you?” Danny waved the weight like it was a feather.
If only, I thought. If only.
“Why so glum, Boland?” Morris’ voice called out to me. “You still got the year ahead of you.”
I continued tying up my laces, looking down. I didn’t say much to anyone. Silence was the best option. Silence didn’t start arguments. Silence left no room for vocal judgement.
“I’m sure Tatiana will prom-pose to Jace,” Connor started. “They’d look great together.”
The room erupted in laughter. It was my worst nightmare.
Tatiana Orelwall was well over the average weight that any 5’1 girl should be at seventeen. She had a thing for porcelain dolls (she carried them everywhere) and her face was covered in cystic acne. We had that in common.
Danny was the only one not laughing, but he wasn’t defending me either. No one really defended me. I barely defended myself.
Coach blew the whistle and everyone was on their feet. Everyone except me. I felt the sting of tears, but I didn’t let them fall. No one should know me like that. I was already seen as weak enough.
A Gatorade bottle was tossed onto the floor in front of me. Max, I think his name was, sauntered over with a stoic expression. Max never smiled, never frowned either. He was just… Max.
“Pick it up, man. It’s yours,” he said.
“Pardon?”
He kicked the orange bottle to my feet. “For practice. I had an extra.”
I didn’t know what to say, I never did. So I snagged it and nodded a thanks. Thankfully, Max didn’t mind. He kept walking past me onto the field.
That was the day that solidified the value of silence, at least for me.
Max didn’t laugh at me.
Max blended in.
Max wasn’t popular. Nor was he a loser.
Max was fit, but he wasn’t jacked.
Max probably didn’t care what other people thought of him.
I wanted to be like Max.
