When the video was over, Mom was wiping tears from her eyes. “I can tell that this means a lot to you.”

  “When I’m on the team it feels like being part of something bigger than myself. I can forget about everything except playing the best that I can. On the pitch, with all the guys around me, I feel invincible.”

  “And I think that’s what we’re afraid of. You’re not invincible. When we got the call last year that your school was in lockdown because of a threat to your life, we were so worried that something happened to you. Maybe we’ve been overprotective of you, but it’s only because we love you.”

  “But you’ll still love me next year. You can’t protect me forever.”

  Dad touched Mom’s arm. “Connie, maybe he’s right. He’s always going to be trans. Either we let him play, or we don’t. And the team really do support him. You should’ve seen them when I dropped him off for homecoming—” Dad stopped, realizing he’d messed up.

  “Yes?” said Mom, eyes narrowing.

  “I had to let him go. Justice came to get him in a suit and everything. I took pictures. The point is, we can’t hide him away forever.”

  “So can I see if I can rejoin the team?”

  Dad took Mom’s hand. “Yes, you can rejoin the team.”

  Spencer jumped into their arms, crushing them in a hug. While he had them on his side he sprang the next question. “Also, I know I’m grounded, but can I go to Justice’s house tonight for dinner?”

  Dad cuffed him gently around the ear. “I guess you remembered to follow your heart, huh?”

  * * *

  • • •

  When Justice opened the door, the smell of freshly baked bread and roast chicken wafted over Spencer. He stepped inside to the kitchen, where children’s drawings were hung up everywhere, hiding the peeling wallpaper.

  A woman stood in front of the stove humming to herself.

  “Spencer’s here for dinner, Mama,” said Justice. He stood back, almost shyly.

  Mrs. Cortes brushed her hands on her apron and took one of Spencer’s hands in both of hers. “I’m delighted that Justice invited you over to eat at our table. He’s talked about you quite a bit.”

  Spencer quirked an eyebrow at Justice, wondering what he could possibly have told his parents about him.

  “I haven’t talked about him that much,” mumbled Justice.

  Mrs. Cortes picked up a small bell sitting on the counter and rang it. Seconds later, footsteps pounded downstairs.

  Steadfast tore through the kitchen until Mrs. Cortes stopped him. “Say hello to our guest.”

  “Hi.” He reached for the breadbasket on the counter, but Mrs. Cortes batted his hand away.

  A little girl entered the room next. “Piety, will you help Steadfast lay the table, please?” asked Mrs. Cortes.

  Everyone burst into action, each knowing their role. “Is there anything I can do?” Spencer asked Mrs. Cortes, wanting to be helpful.

  That earned him a smile. “Here.” She handed him the basket of warm rolls. “Take this to the dining room.”

  They moved to the table. Spencer took the seat next to Justice. Like Steadfast, Piety also had long, fair hair. Hers was braided down her back.

  Just as Mrs. Cortes came back, another boy arrived at the table. His features were closest to Justice’s, but elongated, as if Justice had been stretched through a taffy machine.

  “Justice, why don’t you introduce your friend,” Mrs. Cortes said, taking a seat.

  “Oh yeah. Everyone, this is Spencer. Spencer, you already know Steadfast. That’s Piety and that’s Noble.”

  “Now, who wants to say grace?” asked Mrs. Cortes.

  “I will,” said Piety.

  Noble groaned. “Someone else do it, please? Otherwise the food will be cold by the time we eat.”

  Mrs. Cortes must have agreed with Noble, though, because she said, “Thank you Piety, but Justice, why don’t you lead us, since you have a guest?”

  Justice reached for Spencer’s hand, making him jump. Piety waited on his other side with her hand outstretched on the table, so he took it. Around him, everyone bowed their heads and closed their eyes. Spencer looked down at his own plate, his palms growing damp with sweat. He was relieved everybody had their eyes closed. Otherwise, they’d see how much he didn’t belong there.

  “Dear Heavenly Father,” began Justice. “We thank you today and every day. We ask that you bless those who are less fortunate than ourselves and provide them with the same physical and spiritual nourishment as you have us. Also, thank you for bringing Spencer to our table to share this meal. Amen.”

  A chorus of amens echoed around the table, then the room was filled with chatter of “Can you pass the chicken?” and “Would you like some gravy?”

  Spencer didn’t have to worry about carrying a conversation because with all the kids in Justice’s family, he struggled to get any words in. He was also struck by how fast they ate. Noble went in for seconds before Spencer was halfway done with his first.

  After they had finished eating, Justice nudged Spencer’s shoulder with his own and whispered, “Do you want to go upstairs?”

  Spencer nodded.

  Photographs lined the staircase showing Justice and his siblings as they grew up.

  He followed Justice into a small bedroom with a twin bed on either side.

  “Sorry it’s messy. I share it with Noble.” Justice closed the door behind them. On Noble’s side of the room there were football trophies on shelves, and a picture of him in uniform. On Justice’s there was the same poster of Rafi Sisa that Spencer had on his own wall at home.

  “No way, he’s my favorite player.”

  “Mine too.”

  Justice picked up a guitar in the corner, sat on his bed, and started strumming.

  “Will you teach me something?” asked Spencer.

  “Now?”

  Spencer nodded and lowered himself next to Justice on the bed.

  “Sure.” He passed Spencer the guitar, which settled heavily into Spencer’s lap.

  “Um, let’s start with the C chord. Put your index finger on the first fret of the second string, put your middle finger on the second fret of the fourth string, and put your ring finger on the third fret of the fifth string.”

  Spencer moved his fingers to where Justice had said.

  “Now strum.”

  Spencer strummed the guitar with his right hand. It made a dull, buzzy sound.

  Justice chuckled. “Here, let me help.” He shifted closer, curling his fingers around Spencer’s, and pressing them down on the fretboard. “Now try,” he said softly into Spencer’s ear.

  Spencer strummed again. The guitar vibrated against him as if it were alive and the chord reverberated around the room.

  “I did it!” He twisted his head to face Justice and froze at how close they were, and the feel of Justice’s hand still wrapped around his own. He stood hastily, shoving the guitar back to Justice.

  He circled the room, pretending to examine books lined on a shelf willing the heat to fade from his face.

  “Spencer, can you sit down? You’re making me nervous.”

  “Sorry.” Spencer wiped his sweaty palms on his legs, suddenly very aware that they were alone. He sat next to Justice again, this time leaving lots of space between them, and sticking his hands between his thighs to stop from fidgeting.

  Justice began finger-picking a melody. His head was ducked over his guitar, a lock of hair framing his face.

  Then he surprised Spencer by singing. Spencer recognized it as an Elvis song. Justice was concentrating on playing the guitar, which gave Spencer the perfect opportunity to watch his fingers dancing across the strings. When he got to the chorus and sang “I can’t help falling in love with you,” Spencer couldn’t take his eyes off Justice’s face. They were sitting so close that Spencer could make out a freckle in the corner of his upper lip. Suddenly, Justice pressed his palm against the strings, muffling the sound.

  “Why did you stop?” said Spencer, voice strained.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” said Justice.

  “What do you mean? Should I go?”

  “No, stay.” Justice put the guitar down and twisted back to face Spencer, brow furrowed. “I want to tell you something, but don’t say anything until I’ve finished, okay?”

  Spencer didn’t say anything.

  “You can say ‘okay.’”

  “I wasn’t sure if you had started saying what you’d wanted to say.”

  Justice’s mouth quirked upward. “I’m about to.” His hand inched closer to Spencer’s so that their pinkie fingers were touching. Spencer felt an electric shock go up his arm. “You know at homecoming when you were dancing with Grayson?”

  “While you were off with Dagny, then glared at me for dancing? Yeah, I recall something like that.”

  “What did I just say about not talking?”

  “Sorry.” Spencer mimed zipping his lips.

  “Well, I wasn’t glaring at you. I was glaring at Grayson because he knows something about me that nobody else knows. I thought he was going to tell you before I got a chance to tell you myself.”

  Justice stopped talking for a moment and looked down at the floor. He took a deep breath. “Here’s the thing: I’m gay.”

  A million thoughts rushed into Spencer’s mind. At first, it didn’t add up. Justice couldn’t be gay. Could he? But then Spencer remembered the sleepover and how Justice didn’t seem to mind him sleeping on him. Then again, the whole team was affectionate with each other. And why would Grayson know? Unless . . .

  “Please say something,” said Justice.

  Spencer swallowed hard. “So you and Grayson are a thing, then?

  “For someone so smart, you’re really bad at reading signals.”

  “No need to be rude. If you like Grayson, you should go for it.”

  “Spencer! I don’t like Grayson. I like you.”

  Spencer’s heart leaped into his throat. “Wait, what?”

  Justice didn’t respond. Instead, he reached toward Spencer, pressing his palm against Spencer’s cheek. His eyes closed, his dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks.

  Before their lips could touch, the door opened and Noble barged in. They jumped away from each other.

  “Papa just pulled in,” said Noble.

  “Thanks.” Justice waited for the door to close, then stood up and stretched awkwardly.

  Spencer felt light-headed. Had Noble seen them? And if he had, would he tell someone?

  Justice wiped the back of his hand against his mouth. “We should go down,” he said.

  “Wait,” said Spencer. Justice stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “If you’re not together, why does Grayson know?”

  Justice turned around slowly. “Because we sort of were together, last year.” He rubbed his chin. “We were in biology and he kept getting annoyed at me winding up the teacher about evolution and stuff, so he confronted me about it and one thing led to another . . .” Justice trailed off, letting Spencer’s imagination fill in the rest. Which it did, in vivid detail.

  “Oh,” said Spencer. Knowing that Justice had experience with a boy, and a cis boy at that . . . Spencer suddenly felt inadequate.

  “It was over really quickly,” said Justice.

  Spencer cracked a smile. “I’m not sure that’s something to brag about.”

  “No, not that. We didn’t even have—I mean, our relationship, or whatever, didn’t last long. You know the finals against Harlow? He broke up with me just before that because I wouldn’t go public. I was pretty upset. My head wasn’t in the right space before the game. That’s why we lost.”

  “I don’t think you can blame yourself for that,” said Spencer. “Soccer’s a team game. You win as a team, you lose as a team.”

  “Yeah, maybe,” said Justice.

  Spencer got the feeling that he didn’t believe him. He heard the opening of the front door and saw Justice’s shoulders tense.

  “Anyway, we should go meet my dad. Ready?”

  After hearing about him from Grayson, Spencer wasn’t sure he was. But the tall man with a sharp jawline removing his shoes in the hallway was a bit of a letdown. He seemed normal.

  Spencer stood behind Justice on the staircase as Mrs. Cortes bustled in from the kitchen. “You’re home later than I thought you’d be.” She took his shoes and tidied them away in the closet. “Piety, go and heat up Papa’s plate.”

  Mr. Cortes waved his hand. “That can wait. Let me inspect the troops.” Spencer watched him go through a sort of ritual: tugging one of Piety’s braids, chucking Steadfast under the chin, clapping Noble on the back. Next to him, Justice’s hand squeezed the banister tightly until Mr. Cortes’s gaze settled on him. Justice released the banister, flexing his hand as he went down the stairs. Spencer followed behind.

  Mr. Cortes grabbed the back of Justice’s neck and shook him, almost as if he were a misbehaving puppy, then his eyes found Spencer, who felt his knees buckle under his intense stare.

  “You’re not one of mine.”

  “I’m Spencer.” He put out his hand. Mr. Cortes’s grip was so tight, Spencer felt his joints rub together.

  Awareness dawned on Mr. Cortes’s face. “You’re the one with the killer left foot.”

  Spencer shrugged. “I guess?”

  “No need to be modest. You made quite the impression at soccer camp. Are you thinking of coming back?”

  Justice cut in before Spencer could respond. “He’s pretty busy with the team.”

  “What a shame,” said Mr. Cortes. “We’d love to share more of the Good News with you.”

  “The good news about what?” asked Spencer.

  Mr. Cortes laughed and ruffled his hair. “You’re funny.”

  Spencer wanted to jerk his head away. Though Mr. Cortes was smiling, it felt false, and his hand still twinged from the handshake.

  “It’s getting late,” said Justice. “Probably time to get Spencer home.”

  “I’ll take him,” said Noble. “Give me a chance to get out of this house.”

  Spencer wasn’t looking forward to sharing an awkward car ride alone with Noble. What would they even talk about? Luckily Justice offered to come as well. He practically shoved Spencer’s shoes in his arms, pulling him out the door so fast, he barely had time to thank Mrs. Cortes for dinner. Spencer put on his shoes in the back of the car. Justice climbed onto the passenger seat while Noble fiddled with the radio dials.

  A man’s voice blared from the speakers. “You can call me politically incorrect, but why shouldn’t we arm our own children with the word of God?”

  Then the radio host said, “Surely you’re not suggesting that we use children as soldiers in a religious war.”

  “Children are already being used by the enemy, even on our own soil. Take schools for example. You can’t imagine the filth that our children are exposed to there. They’re giving special privileges to homosexuals; they’re allowing males to share bathrooms with females. It’s disgu—”

  Justice switched off the radio. Spencer privately cheered that small act of rebellion.

  “I was listening to that,” said Noble.

  “Just leave it, okay?” said Justice. “I don’t know why you listen to this crap.”

  “He’s speaking truth,” said Noble. But he kept the radio off.

  Spencer swallowed back his disgust. So this was the type of crap that Justice had to listen to. No wonder he found it so hard to come out. They continued the ride in silence, except for Spencer giving Noble directions in a shaky voice.

  When they pulled up to his house, Spencer was all too happy to get out of the car. Justice got out too and walked with him to his front door.

  “Wait,” he said, before Spencer could open it. Justice looked at the ground sheepishly. “I’m sorry about all that.”

  “It’s okay,” said Spencer.

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Yeah, it’s not. But . . . I get it,” said Spencer.

  “Thanks for coming over.”

  “Thanks for inviting me. It was fun.” And it actually had been up until the end.

  Justice pulled Spencer into a half-armed hug, then moved back quickly. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, tomorrow.” Spencer opened the door and went inside.

  Dad’s voice came from the living room, “Is that you, Spence?”

  He found Dad sitting on the couch. The TV was on in the background with the volume turned low. “You’re watching Star Trek without me? Dad, you’re such a blerd.”

  “A what?”

  “A blerd. Black nerd.”

  “If I’m a blerd, what does that make you?”

  “I probably got it from you.” Spencer collapsed on the couch next to him, resting his head on Dad’s shoulder.

  “It was nice of Justice’s parents to give you a ride home.”

  “Actually, his brother drove me,” said Spencer.

  “And dinner was good?”

  Spencer shrugged. “Yeah, but something happened on the drive back.”

  “What?”

  Spencer lifted his head off of Dad’s shoulder and told him about the radio station Noble was listening to.

  “If you ever find yourself in another situation like that, give me a call and I’ll come get you. No questions asked. I won’t even tell Mom.”

  “You’re not going to tell her about this, are you?” asked Spencer, his voice rising in panic.

  Dad glanced around the room as if Mom might pop out from behind a bookshelf. “I don’t think so. You know what she’s like.”

 

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