Running with Lions

by Julian Winters

He didn’t love Sam. Sebastian isn’t sure what love looks, feels, or sounds like. Lately, he’s been imagining it’s something stupid, ridiculous, and utterly confusing—like Katy Perry songs. He’s not ready to venture to the dark side of comparing his feelings to Katy Perry music.

Sebastian grins as though he can taste it—freedom. Nothing stands in the way of a perfect summer getaway with his teammates, nothing except that gnarly little rumor from a few days ago: “Did you hear? Emir Shah joined the soccer team. The coaches gave him an invite to the training camp.”

Sebastian’s parents can’t afford an Ivy League school with a good athletic program where he can strengthen his soccer skills. And Sebastian isn’t the best in the field; that’s Mason, by far.

Coach decided to change the system: Sexuality in sports became a nonfactor. Whom you were attracted to off the field didn’t matter. If you could get the ball to the goal without falling, you were in.

“A good heart doesn’t need a reason; take care of people the way you’d want them to take care of you,”

Willie believes soccer is his one great contribution in life, a thought all the players share.

“Yeah,” Emir replies with sheepish eyes. “Gay. Me. That’s what… I’m gay.”

Alcohol camouflages the scars from his youth, but strength isn’t measured by a guy’s ability to drain a six-pack and not cry.

Zach isn’t what Sebastian would call fragile, but anyone’s entire universe can be shattered when it involves approval from family or someone you’re attracted to.

Why is coming out to loved ones like giving a speech in your campaign for President?

They burst into laughter. And then Sebastian kisses him. It’s so quick, their mouths just smack.

Should he apologize for kissing Emir? Ask him to keep practicing? Sebastian doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything, and that’s not the worst part. He grits his teeth and stares at the sun. He’s hoping for clarity, but the light just makes him see spots. Eventually, he dribbles the ball back to the Hot Box. He leans against it, face pinched. It’s hot, but Sebastian’s brain sticks on how much hotter it was with his fingers holding the back of Emir’s neck when they kissed.

“After I did my Fajr prayer—” “I’m sorry, what?” A wrinkle appears between Emir’s eyebrows. He says, exasperated, “The Fajr, the dawn prayer we say as Muslims. You don’t remember?” He waits. Sebastian nods slowly because he does, vaguely. He’s only seen Emir’s parents praying on those mornings when he sneaked over to wake Emir. But they were so young, and Sebastian was clueless about the religious terms used by the Shahs.

“I’m used to having to explain my religion to everyone,” Emir continues. “People talk about my skin color, my accent, my faith.” His cold and fragile tone shakes.

“That’s the thing. I spent so much time caring about you, I didn’t know anyone else existed.”

And then, Emir’s breath hitches and that’s all it takes. It just happens.

To the left of Sebastian, Coach smiles, as if he’s impressed with Sebastian’s speech or his decision-making skills, or maybe he’s just trying not to laugh at Sebastian for picking a very green Emir.

“Just do it.” Emir grabs the front of Sebastian’s drenched hoodie and pulls at the fabric. “Do something,” he growls. Gray eyes dance in the dark, but Emir’s cheeks are red and his nose is scrunched. “What?” “Stop…” Emir’s voice dies off. Sebastian gazes at the wet corners of his eyes. Emir’s breath catches before he says, exasperated, “Stop, and do something to me.”

“Maybe we should—” “Shut up.” Emir’s tone is betrayed by a stray smile. It confirms one thing for Sebastian: If Emir isn’t going to kick him out, Sebastian doesn’t plan to say a damn thing about it. The rest, well, he doesn’t care right now.

What kind of future captain wouldn’t want to sit shoulder to shoulder with his troops? Sebastian’s doesn’t know. Are all teens this emo and undecided? Sebastian hangs back, letting his mind cool down before he turns and disappears into the trees.

Life decides to knock Sebastian on his ass by denying him that moment.

The kiss isn’t frantic, but it’s feverish. Emir’s hands are on his shoulders. Sebastian’s mouth parts, gasping, teased by Emir’s tongue. It’s thrilling and purposeful, and Sebastian’s heart is erratic. Emir’s lips could convince someone to kill dragons. They’re leaning into it, so, so willing. His fingers rub the nape of Emir’s neck, constant and sure.

Sebastian remembers: Emir, with me, in the shower. Hesitation flees, and they stumble into the steam.

“Rooming with a Muslim offended his family,” Emir confesses. “He’s a dick,” Sebastian says, scowling at Emir’s shoulder blades. “And his parents are too.”

“People dislike other people for the wrong reasons,” Emir says. “Doesn’t mean we should act like them.”

“It’s tough, mijo, being as good as you are,” he says, gruff and serious, but also kind. “I hate to be the bad guy, but we depend on you. Your teammates, the coaches, all of us. You’re our rock.”

Obviously, they each have their own issues with the whole “right words to say” thing.

Every word in his head is “Bastian the Trashcan” in those haunting bullies’ voices. Why?

“Hey,” Emir cuts in. “Guys are beautiful. And girls are handsome. Words aren’t gender-specific. Don’t be some jock asshole about this.”

Sebastian is almost ninety-eight percent certain that teenagers should be banned from making decisions during the summer, especially teens bored out of their skulls at night, like him.

“Isha’a,” Emir repeats. “It’s the last of the salats, daily prayers we do as Muslims.”

Sebastian’s a teenager, a virgin with guys, and stuck at summer camp for thirty days with very little alone time. Curious is an understatement. All their fooling around has never quite gone there.

“Things are,” Sebastian pauses, “interesting.” Mason raises his eyebrows but doesn’t interrogate Sebastian. He respects the bro code.

Sam made the first move on him. Sam told him she was his girlfriend. Sam said, “I love you” first, words she didn’t mean. Sam broke up with him. First by text and then in person. His reference points when it comes to dating are pretty messed up, so he’s not sure how to approach discussing this with Emir.

Acceptance has an amazing effect on people who pretend they don’t need it.

Emir’s wearing Sebastian’s jersey, the one he keeps hung up in his locker. Nothing has ever been so poorly-fitting and arousing at the same time.

Emir’s hazy in Sebastian’s peripheral vision: a mix of sepia skin and dark hair. Sebastian strains to get a better view. Emir’s eyelashes flutter every few breaths, but he’s mostly still and content. Obviously, Emir isn’t affected by the fact that they just had sex. So why is Sebastian sweating the small stuff?

Before he walks away, Willie flicks Sebastian’s forehead. “But next time, put a sock on the door. You know the rules, man.” He waves a hand at Emir. “Seriously, things could’ve gotten really weird if I walked in on that.”

“So, being different isn’t allowed on this team anymore?” Sebastian says, glowering. “Because Hunter is black. Gio is Hispanic. Oh, and Emir is Pakistani.” He steps forward, leaning into Carl’s face. “And Willie is gay, if that’s a problem.”

Grey clears her throat. “Coach—my dad has been nothing but supportive of me since I was a kid.” Her voice start to rise. “He’s always made sure I had what I needed, and he tells me all the time to go after what I want, no matter the cost.”

Grey lifts her foot and presses it lightly against Mason’s chest. “I don’t want a date, Mason. I just want you to know that I accept that I’m young and I’m a weird girl.” Then, she hovers closer. “Also, you just got owned because I’m young and a weird girl.”

Coach chuckles, wistful, and then he’s serious again. “He questioned himself when he was kicked off the team. He hid away. He didn’t want to be out and proud or even acknowledge his sexuality.” Coach sniffs, and Sebastian gives him privacy by not meeting his gaze. “For the first time, my nephew was unsure who he was.”

“I should tell all of you more often why I make this team a safe place for anyone who’s considered different.”

“It isn’t easy being the one coach in the district who stands up for guys like Xander,” says Coach, chin lifted. “I don’t let one kid walk away from my team without a chance to be himself, whether it’s gay or bi or trans or whatever. I get shit too.”

“I made a change, kid,” says Coach, sighing. “I wasn’t doing enough to make sure my nephew, or anyone, knows this life isn’t defined by who you fall in love with.”

“I do this for Xander. It’s the right thing to do.” Coach’s arm drops from around Sebastian’s shoulders. He reclines, hands supporting him, and says, “I’m not searching for sainthood. This is about people like you who need to know you’re much more than you realize.”

Why do people let things so precious to them turn into dark, unbearable secrets?

“If you’re watching Scooby Doo and think of someone because it’s their favorite cartoon. If you’re allergic to flour but still eat someone’s burnt pancakes. Or if you hate the color green but you wear it because it reminds you of a person’s eyes just before you kiss them—well, it might be love.”

Emir has become a monster on the pitch. He’s every attacker’s, including Mason’s, worst nightmare. He outruns everyone and has a good read on a player’s next move. He protects the penalty box as if it’s his, as if he’s determined to keep people away from Sebastian. It’d be flattering, but they’re still not talking.

“Just because people create rules doesn’t mean those are your rules. I don’t follow those rules; neither does your dad.”