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“No exclusions around here, boys! Be who you are! Be proud! Treat each other like family.”
“A good heart doesn’t need a reason; take care of people the way you’d want them to take care of you,”
Sebastian gets distracted observing his surroundings. He’s not actively searching for anyone… Which is a total douchebag lie, so he can’t blame his eyes when they zone in on a table in the corner.
Nope, it’s his thoughts—and Emir’s defeated voice in his head, to be exact. “Can’t you do any better?” Sebastian’s quite intimate with that voice and those words. They’re the same words Sebastian heard when he was younger and the world gave up on him, back when he wasn’t good at anything, until soccer came along.
Is that what it’s like having a crush on someone who doesn’t want you back? It steals your light?
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.
Humor is always good medicine for unhealthy thoughts.
Some exes are just a sentence in the story of life, not the defining chapter with all the drama and awesome climax.
“No, but… I’m the only one who watches over them,” to his feet. He’s not embarrassed but sometimes saying the truth out loud makes it sound worse than it is.
He’s no good to anyone when his mind is drifting, lost at sea without a buoy.
He should tell her. Hands down, being bisexual is the one part of his life Sebastian hasn’t had to think about. It’s also the one thing he hasn’t had to be great at, not the way he’s had to try to be a good friend, to be a perfectionist on the pitch, to make an impact. It’s scary, coming out to his parents. When it comes to being anything other than straight, it seems there’s a fine-print clause: a penalty for full disclosure when you belong to the LGBTQ community. Sebastian doesn’t get it. It shouldn’t matter if he falls for a girl or boy. Love is supposed to be a happy, comforting emotion,
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Why the hell isn’t working through feelings a class offered to middle school kids? As soon as puberty hits, all of a sudden people find reasons not to like you: weight, height, acne, sexuality, race, parents’ income, whatever. Confidence is earned by how many flaws you can find in someone else.
“I never noticed what people said about me when you were around.” Emir smiles at his knees. “That’s the thing. I spent so much time caring about you, I didn’t know anyone else existed.”
“People dislike other people for the wrong reasons,” Emir says. “Doesn’t mean we should act like them.”
to blindly hate a race, religion, sexuality, gender, or whatever is the purest form of prejudice.
“Guys are beautiful. And girls are handsome. Words aren’t gender-specific. Don’t be some jock asshole about this.”
Sebastian’s shoulders slowly lose tension, and his chest inflates freely. At his side, his fingers wiggle. It’s as if Emir is at the core of his whole world, pushing the edges wider.
“Isha’a,” Emir repeats. “It’s the last of the salats, daily prayers we do as Muslims.”
Acceptance has an amazing effect on people who pretend they don’t need it.
Sebastian refuses to call this this sulking, despite humming Bon Iver and Crowded House, the music of the sulk people. It’s introspection. A bit of reflection is good, in doses.
“I’m supposed to lead this team, but I can’t even convince them to like Emir. I can’t tell them that I like Emir.” He glares at the smooshed grass near his cleats. “We talk about acceptance, but it’s different when you’re in the position of telling these guys how to be men.” “You’re not teaching anyone about manhood,” Coach says. Then, in a calm, firm voice, “And you’re sure as hell more than just your sexuality to them.”
“I should tell all of you more often why I make this team a safe place for anyone who’s considered different.” “We know.” Coach shakes his head. He’s talking about more than just Sebastian, more than Willie and Mason. It’s anyone who gets stamped with a label, who’s predicted to fail because of society’s rules, because of a stereotype.
“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.”
You are not defined by who you love.
Sebastian can see, in vibrant Technicolor, the one thing that’s missing for him: respect. Not acceptance. Because that would mean Sebastian wants people to approve of him. Of his affection for Emir. He’s not searching for that brand of recognition. He wants people to respect him regardless of who he falls for. “I
Why do people let things so precious to them turn into dark, unbearable secrets?
Sometimes it’s okay not to be the perfect best friend. Sometimes it’s okay for your friends to take care of you.
Whatever vicious spring has been tightening in his chest finally uncoils. Then his eyes get a little bleary, but he doesn’t wipe away the tears. These are happy ones, so it’s okay. He doesn’t care if crying’s not considered manly. Who writes these stupid definitions of manly, feminine, beautiful, or handsome, anyway?
“How is counseling going?” Sebastian blinks, then says, “Pretty good.” After the Carl incident and Coach’s speech, Sebastian knew it was time to talk to his parents. Maybe not about everything, but some of his ghosts. It wasn’t easy. When is telling your parents about your insecurities easy? But they were patient, understanding; that helped. Carly’s calls helped. And the counseling helps, too.
“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.”
“Just because people create rules doesn’t mean those are your rules. I don’t follow those rules; neither does your dad.”
Sebastian gets it. Everything about today is exciting. It’s terrifying and so big that they all need a way to escape for just a few minutes. That’s the thing about life: The biggest, most thrilling moments can make you wish they wouldn’t happen at all.
And that’s the thing, life is sometimes just another day, and sometimes it’s moment after moment after moment that only paralyzes you if you let it.
The future is only grim because people see it that way. It’s unpredictable. Life is a summer storm of insecure thoughts. There’s an umbrella of precautions to prevent insecurity, but it doesn’t always keep the rain out of your face.
It’d be unrealistic for me to write a story that didn’t feature characters who weren’t from different backgrounds when, for most of my life, my friends and coworkers and classmates have all been from diverse backgrounds. It’s time we normalize diversity in books, films, and TV. It needs to be the standard rather than the unique occasion. Q:
