I snicker and lead him out of the bathroom…past the showers, which he stares at the whole way, then through to the storage room. My skates are always kept on the top shelf, far right. I grab them and then search for a pair that will fit Chris’s stupidly small feet.
I find an out-of-commission pair on the floor in the back corner and pull them free. Brushing the dust off, I grab some spare socks and lead Chris out to the rink.
“It’s cold.” He rubs his arms, air puffing between his lips.
Shrugging out of my jacket, I throw it at him. He pulls it on, looking even smaller and more pathetic. I avert my gaze, annoyed by the tug I feel. Is it sympathy?
Yes, it has to be.
Because it can’t be anything else.
I’m not gay.
I love girls—their curves, their scent. I like making out with them, watching them move on a dance floor. It turns me on. I’ve gotten hot and heavy with plenty of them. Being at an all boys boarding school hasn’t stopped me from hooking up with chicks on the weekends. I know how to have a good time, and I’ve never once felt any kind of attraction to any of the guys in this place.
Chris Lorden is no exception.
I do not find him attractive! I don’t!
Just because I want to look after the guy doesn’t mean anything. I’m being a friend, that’s it.
He sits opposite me and puts on his skates, taking forever to lace them up. By the time he’s done, I’m already on the ice, gliding across the smooth surface and feeling my heart relax.
Mom was the one who taught me how to skate. Dad taught me hockey and for twelve amazing years, we were a happy family.
But then the fire happened.
I build up speed, shooting around the top of the rink before firing past Chris. He’s standing on the sidelines, looking at the ice like it’s a storming ocean.
“Just get on!” I shout before skidding to a stop in front of him.
His head bobs, erratic and shaky. Still gripping the edge, he stands on the ice and clomps along.
I roll my eyes. “Glide.” I push off with my back foot and sail past him.
He gives me a tentative frown and then sniffs, lifts his chin and pushes off the side. He’s great for about two feet before he starts acting like a newborn giraffe.
I spin and skate over to him, catching him before he hits the ice too hard. Hauling him back up, I then take a breath and start at the very beginning.
I have to keep reaching forward and balancing him as I talk through the basics of position, bent knees, inside and outside edges of the skates. He then attempts a few glides and once he’s done three without assing over, I make him pick up the pace.
Time kind of disappears on me and although I’ll admit this to no one, I’m having a really good time. Chris has a great smile. The pride beaming from his face when he manages to skate from one side to the other without falling is awesome. He didn’t say too much to start with but as his confidence grows on the ice, so does his voice. We talk about meaningless stuff like how he likes to play Madden and his favorite band is Against the Current. I haven’t heard of them. I tell him I prefer punk rock like Knuckle Punk, Green Day and Good Charlotte. He smiles at that and then starts singing “The Anthem.” I chuckle and look to the ice, kind of embarrassed that the guy just randomly started singing. He really is weird, although I like that he knows one of my favorite songs.
I start skating circles around him, yeah, showing off a little. He hassles me for it and we strike up a quick banter that has us both laughing.
Until the rink doors slam open and a voice on the ramp starts hollering.
“What the hell are you guys doing on the ice unsupervised? It’s five-thirty in the morning!” Coach Baxter’s voice is rough and gravelly. “You should be in your rooms!”
Oh, shit. My heart starts thrumming. This can’t be my third strike. If he tells the dean or the headmaster, I’m totally screwed.
Chris wobbles beside me, nearly falling on his butt. I steady him under the elbow and have to resist the urge to wrap my arm around him and pull him to my side. Protect him.
What the hell?
He’s not a girl.
And I’m not gay.
At least I don’t think I am.
Coach slaps his hands on the side of the rink and glares at me. “You should know better, Calloway.”
“Sorry, Coach. I was teaching Lorden how to skate. He doesn’t want anyone seeing how useless he is.”
Chris glares at me but bobs his head, backing up my bullshit.
“How the hell did you even get in here?”
“The door was unlocked.” I shrug, trying to play it cool.
“No, it wasn’t. I just opened it up.”
Chris answers for me. “We locked it behind us.”
Coach glances at him, then back to me. Skeptical. His glare is hard and unrelenting.
“I’m sorry, Coach. Really. But come on, give us a break. It’s not like we’re damaging school property or anything. We were just skating.”
“Dean would haul your butt over the coals for this.”
“No, he’ll kick me out of school. I’m on my third strike and he’s desperate to give it to me.”