Like Real People Do (Breakaway #1)

by E.L. Massey

“Any of them hot?” he asks, opening his plastic packet of cutlery. Cody groans. “Only all of them. It’s terrible.” “You poor thing. What a trial.” “Listen. Hockey asses are a thing, and they are glorious. Except when you have to share a locker room with them.”

“I thought you might like some company tonight after that hit. I even got the recipe for Cody’s Mawmaw’s get-well-soon casserole and tweaked it a little so Sonja doesn’t kill me. It’s in the oven.” “I’m injured,” Alex says grumpily, “not sick.” “You better be appreciative of my efforts, or I’ll be making a funeral casserole, Mr. Price.”

“You do ballet?” Alex interrupts. He’s holding his fork halfway to his mouth and looks like maybe his brain has just short-circuited. “Yeah? Not at a superhigh level or anything, but it’s good for figure skaters. I go to a class through the dance school two times a week on the mornings we don’t have skate.” Alex makes a pained noise. “That’s cool,” he says weakly. “Alex loves ballet,” Jeff says. “He went to The Nutcracker four times in three different cities last year.” “I hate you,” Alex says. Eli is charmed.

“And me!” Kuzy continues quickly. “I’m Dmitri Kuznetsov. Team name Kuzy. But Eli calls me ‘Sweet Potato’ because I’m most favorite.” “I do not,” Eli says. “You do!”

The past is a powerful force, though, because Alex did love James once. Loved him in the way young, lonely people love—too fast and with too much of themselves, and Alex remembers. And remembering hurts.

“Yes, cousins. But they’re not cousins. I’m see, sometimes, they hold hands in the house, on the couch—where no window. Touch hip. Touch neck. Soft. Like normal thing. Sleep in the same room. I’m not see kiss, ever, but I know what love looks like when it have to be secret.” Eli feels like he might cry. “I think it’s bad,” Kuzy continues gently, “not fair. But I’m not—it’s secret. I promise. Don’t worry.”

“And on the eighth day,” Cody intones, eerily similar to the pastor at Cody’s church back home, “the Lord made hockey asses. And Eli felt one. And it was good.” “Hallelujah,” Eli agrees.

“Finals are only two weeks away, and I need to start studying this weekend.” Alex winces. “Okay. Do you think we have time to make out for a couple minutes first?” “I dunno.” Eli pretends to look at the nonexistent watch on his wrist. “I’m pretty strapped. No more than five minutes.” Alex nods seriously, reaching for his phone. “I’ll set a timer.”

“Oh my god,” Eli says, wiping his spitty hand on Alex’s shirt. “Are you twelve?” “Twelve inches,” Alex says. “I’m pretty sure that’s not true.” “It’s not,” Kuzy and Jeff say simultaneously.

“Calculus is homophobic,” Eli mutters. “What?” Alex says. “How?” “I’m gay, and it inconveniences me.”

Eli swallows and tries to console himself with the thought that, now, at least, Alex has Jeff. Alex has Kuzy. Alex has Rushy. Alex has him. Alex has him. Or. Eli has Alex? They have each other.

“Oh. Oh my god. Please tell me there’s a goat named Jeff Cooper.” “There used to be,” Cody says. “But he was kind of a dick once he hit puberty, so they sold him.” “That,” Alex says fervently, “is the best Christmas present you could have given me.”

“There’s a sweaty half-naked man on my bedroom floor,” Eli muses, leaning in the doorway. “My fifteen-year-old self would be screaming if he could see me now. Or, I guess, if he could see you now.” “You should come kiss me for his sake,” Alex says seriously and, well, who is Eli to argue?

“I was so lonely before you. Except I didn’t even realize I was lonely. I thought that was the way I was supposed to be.”