SOULMATE(s) - 3. What People Saw

By the middle of the second week, the school day had begun to settle into a rhythm Nick could almost trust.

He arrived each morning with Leah, Will, and Tobey, though Will occasionally disappeared toward the music room before the first bell. They separated at the staircase, met again at lunch, and traded complaints about homework while walking home together. Mr. Daley continued wearing ties decorated with mathematical symbols. Mrs. Greene had already assigned a novel none of them had finished reading. The cafeteria pizza remained unchanged in every way except temperature.

Nothing terrible had happened.

Nick understood that this should have reassured him. Instead, he found himself waiting for the moment when the calm proved temporary.

The previous year had trained him to distrust uneventful days. A quiet hallway could become dangerous as soon as a familiar laugh rose behind him. A trip to the restroom could turn into ten minutes trapped near the sinks while someone demanded to know which boys he found attractive. Even a teacher stepping out of a classroom at the wrong moment could leave enough space for Jack and his friends to transform ordinary movement between classes into another performance.

Most of the cruelty had been verbal, but not all of it.

Nick remembered one afternoon in the locker room several months after Jack had outed him. PE had ended late, and most of the boys were rushing to change before the bell. Nick had already stopped showering at school by then. He wore his clothes beneath his gym uniform whenever he could and changed with his back to the wall, his movements quick and careful.

That day, Jack noticed him trying to leave early.

“Where are you going, Anderson?”

Nick pretended not to hear.

He had almost reached the door when someone struck his shoulder from behind. It was not hard enough to knock him down, but it sent him sideways into a row of metal lockers. The door nearest his head rattled from the impact.

When Nick turned, Jack stood a few feet away with an innocent expression.

“What?” Jack asked. “It’s crowded.”

The locker room was not crowded. Most of the boys had already left.

Nick tightened his grip on his backpack and stepped toward the exit again.

Jack moved into his path.

“You don’t have to run away every time we come in here. Nobody wants to see you naked.”

One of the boys near the benches laughed.

Nick tried to pass on the other side. Jack caught the strap of his backpack and pulled him backward hard enough that the material bit into his shoulder.

“Relax. We’re kidding.”

“Let go.”

Jack released the strap with a shove between Nick’s shoulder blades. Nick stumbled forward, managing to catch himself against the wall before he fell.

The laughter had been louder that time.

Not everyone joined in. Some boys lowered their eyes and continued dressing as though they had seen nothing. Others watched with the uneasy interest of people relieved that someone else had become the target.

Luke Finley had been among them.

Nick remembered seeing him near the benches, halfway through pulling a sweatshirt over his football shirt. Luke had stopped moving when Jack shoved Nick. For a second, his blond head remained hidden inside the fabric, and then his face emerged, his hair falling untidily across his forehead.

Their eyes met.

Luke did not laugh.

He did not say anything either.

Jack told Nick to learn how to take a joke. One of the other players added that Nick probably enjoyed being pushed around by boys. Luke stood several feet away with his sweatshirt bunched around his waist, watching in silence until the bell rang.

Then he left with the others.

Nick had remembered that silence many times afterward. It was not the same as Jack’s cruelty, but it had not protected him from it either.

That memory returned on a Thursday morning as Nick approached Algebra Two and saw Luke standing outside the classroom with Jack.

Jack leaned against the lockers while Luke spoke, one hand moving as he described something that had happened during practice. Both wore their football jerseys beneath open jackets because the team had a game the following evening. Jack’s number stretched across his broad chest, while Luke’s jersey hung more loosely over his leaner frame.

Nick slowed before he could stop himself.

Luke noticed him first.

His expression changed—not dramatically, but enough for Nick to see the shift from whatever he had been saying to the quiet recognition that had become familiar during math.

“Morning, Nick.”

Jack turned his head.

The warmth in Luke’s greeting disappeared beneath the awareness of being watched. Nick’s body prepared for a comment before Jack even opened his mouth.

Jack only looked at him.

His gaze moved from Nick to Luke and back again, one corner of his mouth lifting as though he had discovered something mildly interesting.

Nick continued walking.

“Morning,” he answered, directing it toward Luke without looking at Jack.

He entered the classroom before either of them could say more.

His hands felt colder than they should have.

By the time Luke joined him a minute later, Nick had opened his notebook and copied the day’s instructions from the board. Luke dropped into the chair beside him with his usual lack of urgency, placing his backpack beneath the desk and pulling out a pencil.

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Nick could sense Luke glancing toward him, but he kept his attention on the equation written across the board.

“You okay?” Luke finally asked.

Nick looked at him.

Luke’s voice was low, stripped of the easy humor he normally carried into class.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then why are you asking?”

Luke turned the pencil between his fingers.

“You looked uncomfortable out there.”

Nick almost laughed, though there was nothing amusing about the observation.

Jack had made him uncomfortable for nearly a year. Luke had been present for enough of it that the answer should have been obvious.

“I’m fine,” Nick said.

Luke studied him for another moment, then nodded.

He did not apologize for Jack. He did not ask what had happened between them or pretend not to know. Instead, he faced the front as Mr. Daley began class, leaving the question between them unfinished.

Nick should have been relieved that Luke let it go.

Part of him resented him for it.

The contradiction had followed Nick through every math lesson since the first day. The Luke beside him in class was easy to like. He made quiet jokes without turning Nick into the subject of them. He thanked Nick whenever he explained a problem and never behaved as though receiving help from him was embarrassing. Sometimes he arrived with two cartons of chocolate milk from the cafeteria and placed one on Nick’s desk without explanation. When Nick asked why, Luke said the machine had given him an extra, though Nick had never seen the vending machine make that particular mistake for anyone else.

Yet the Luke Nick remembered from freshman year remained fixed near the locker-room benches, watching Jack shove him and saying nothing.

Both versions belonged to the same person.

Nick did not know which one he was supposed to believe.

That morning, Mr. Daley introduced a new set of equations that involved factoring expressions Nick understood after the first example. Luke did not.

Nick noticed the struggle gradually. At first Luke copied the work from the board, his brow furrowed in concentration. Then Mr. Daley erased the example and asked everyone to complete three similar problems independently.

Luke stared at the first question.

He wrote something, crossed it out, and began again. The pencil moved more slowly than usual, leaving deep marks in the paper. When Mr. Daley reached the opposite side of the classroom, Luke lowered his voice.

“I have no idea what he just did.”

Nick looked at Luke’s page.

“You need two numbers that multiply to give you twelve and add to seven.”

Luke frowned at the equation.

“Three and four.”

“Right.”

“So I just write that?”

“No. You use them to split the middle term.”

The frown deepened.

Nick took his own pencil and, after a brief hesitation, pointed to the equation on Luke’s paper.

“Seven becomes three plus four. Then you group the terms.”

Luke followed the explanation, but when he reached the next line, he stopped again.

“I feel like you skipped something.”

“I didn’t.”

“You definitely skipped something.”

“I thought you knew how to factor out a common term.”

Luke looked at him. “That sounds like an accusation.”

Nick felt his mouth move before he could suppress the smile.

“It’s something we learned last year.”

“Last year was difficult.”

“You were a sophomore.”

“I had other responsibilities.”

“Football?”

“And maintaining a rich social life.”

Nick turned back to his own worksheet. “Then your rich social life can help you pass Algebra Two.”

Luke laughed beneath his breath.

Mr. Daley looked in their direction, and both boys lowered their heads over their papers.

For the rest of the period, Luke attempted the problems alone before quietly asking Nick to check them. He made mistakes that seemed careless at first, but Nick gradually realized Luke did not lack intelligence. He simply missed steps and tried to compensate by guessing what came next. Once Nick slowed the process down and explained why each part mattered, Luke could usually follow.

The final problem took nearly ten minutes.

When Luke reached the correct answer, he stared at it suspiciously.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“It looks too simple.”

“That’s because the work is above it.”

“I don’t trust it.”

Nick gathered his papers into a neat stack. “You don’t have to trust it. It’s still right.”

The bell rang before Luke could reply. Chairs scraped back, conversations rose, and students crowded into the aisles.

Nick placed his notebook inside his backpack. He expected Luke to join the boys waiting near the door, but Luke remained seated.

“You’re good at this,” he said.

“At factoring?”

“At math.”

“I’m not that good.”

Luke gestured toward his completed worksheet.

“You made that make sense in ten minutes. Daley talked for half an hour, and I thought he was performing a ritual.”

Nick zipped his bag.

“He explained it fine.”

“Then maybe my brain only understands your voice.”

The sentence landed strangely.

Luke appeared unaware of it. He leaned one forearm against the desk, still looking at the worksheet as though it had personally offended him.

Nick stood.

“You just need to practice.”

“That’s the problem. When I practice alone, I practice being wrong.”

“You could ask Mr. Daley.”

Luke looked toward the front, where Mr. Daley was erasing the board with sharp, irritated movements.

“I think he already regrets my existence.”

“He probably regrets everyone’s existence.”

“Exactly. I don’t want to make it worse.”

Nick adjusted the strap of his backpack.

Luke hesitated, and for the first time since they had begun sitting together, the confidence in his expression seemed less effortless.

“Would you help me?”

“I already do.”

“I mean outside class.”

Nick stared at him.

Luke continued before Nick could answer.

“Not every day or anything. Maybe once a week. I’ve got practice most afternoons, but weekends are usually easier unless we have an away game.”

“You want me to tutor you?”

Luke winced slightly. “I was hoping we could avoid that word.”

“What word would you use?”

“Academic assistance.”

“That’s tutoring.”

“Collaborative learning?”

“Still tutoring.”

Luke smiled, but he did not withdraw the request.

“Fine. Tutoring.”

Nick looked toward the door. The classroom had nearly emptied, and Jack was visible through the narrow window, waiting in the corridor with two other football players.

The answer should have been easy.

No.

He could say he was busy. He could say he did not want the responsibility or that his parents would not allow it. Luke had no right to expect anything from him.

Instead, Nick heard himself say, “I’ll think about it.”

Luke’s expression brightened.

“That’s not a yes,” Nick added.

“I know.”

“You’re acting like it is.”

“It’s better than no.”

Nick stepped into the aisle.

“I said I’ll think.”

Luke stood and slung his backpack over one shoulder. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Jack tapped the classroom window with two fingers. Luke glanced toward him, then back at Nick.

“Let me know tomorrow?”

Nick did not agree to that either.

He left the classroom with the weight of Luke’s question following him into the hallway.

Jack’s attention moved to Nick as he passed. There was something knowing in the look, though Nick could not imagine what Jack believed he knew. Luke joined him a moment later, and their voices faded as Nick turned toward English.

By lunch, Nick had considered at least seven reasons to refuse.

Luke was Jack’s friend. Luke had watched while Jack bullied him. Luke was a popular football player whose private friendliness might vanish the moment it became inconvenient. Agreeing to meet him outside school could give Jack another opportunity to humiliate him.

Those were not unreasonable concerns.

The problem was that Nick could not imagine saying any of them aloud.

Their usual table was crowded with trays, notebooks, and Will’s collection of guitar picks, which had somehow spilled from a small tin inside his backpack. Tobey was helping him gather them while Leah ate fries one at a time and watched with little sympathy.

Nick sat opposite her.

She looked at his face and immediately stopped chewing.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Something almost happened, then.”

Will found a green pick beneath Nick’s shoe and held it up.

“Can we define what kind of happening we’re talking about?”

“Luke asked me to tutor him.”

The pick slipped from Will’s fingers.

Leah put down her fry.

Tobey remained crouched beside the table for another second before straightening slowly.

“He asked you to what?” Leah said.

“Help him with math.”

“I heard the words. I’m questioning the motive.”

“His motive is that he’s bad at math.”

Will returned the picks to their tin.

“How bad?”

“He understands once someone explains it. He just misses steps.”

Leah narrowed her eyes.

“You’ve already assessed his learning style?”

“We sit beside each other.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It is exactly an answer.”

Tobey settled into his chair. “Where does he want you to tutor him?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Did he ask you to go somewhere alone?” Leah said.

“He asked whether I could help him outside class. That’s all.”

“And what did you say?”

Nick opened his lunch bag.

“I said I’d think about it.”

Leah leaned back as though he had confirmed her worst suspicion.

“Nick.”

“What?”

“It sounds like a trap.”

“Why would anyone create a trap involving Algebra Two?”

“Because Jack is involved.”

“Jack wasn’t involved.”

“That you know of.”

Will looked between them. “To be fair, it would be an unusually elaborate prank.”

“That doesn’t mean they wouldn’t do it.”

“What happens in this trap?” Nick asked. “I show up, and they force me to factor polynomials?”

Leah’s expression did not soften.

“You know what I mean.”

Nick did.

He also knew she was not imagining danger for the pleasure of it. Jack had spent months finding ways to catch Nick alone. He had pretended to ask questions, offered false apologies, and once sent a message from another student’s phone asking Nick to meet behind the gym. Nick had ignored it only because Tobey recognized the wording as something Jack would say.

Trusting people had become complicated because Jack had made suspicion necessary.

Still, Luke was not Jack.

At least, Nick did not want him to be.

“He hasn’t done anything to me,” Nick said.

“He just stood there while Jack did,” Leah replied.

The words struck more cleanly than Nick expected.

Will looked down at the table. Tobey’s expression remained calm, but his gaze sharpened.

Nick peeled the label from his water bottle.

“I know.”

“Then why are you defending him?”

“I’m not.”

“You kind of are.”

“I’m saying I don’t know what reason I’m supposed to give him.”

Leah frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“What’s the reason for saying no to him?” Nick asked. “That he’s friends with Jack? I can’t say that to him.”

“You don’t owe him a reason.”

“I know, but he’ll ask.”

“Then tell him you’re busy.”

“That would be a lie.”

Leah opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Nick looked at the tabletop rather than at any of them.

There was another reason he had not immediately refused, but he did not want to admit it. Luke’s smile had become something he expected each morning. He liked the way Luke lowered his voice when speaking to him during class, as though the space between their paired desks belonged only to them. He liked seeing Luke’s face change from confusion to understanding when a problem finally made sense.

Those feelings were inconvenient enough without Leah identifying them.

Tobey spoke before the silence could become uncomfortable.

“You could suggest meeting somewhere public.”

Nick looked at him.

“The library,” Tobey continued. “Or a café. Somewhere you can leave easily.”

Leah considered this.

“That would be less terrible.”

“I didn’t say I was doing it.”

“You’re going to,” Will said.

Nick turned toward him.

Will shrugged.

“You’ve been arguing for five minutes about why you can’t say no.”

Nick disliked how accurately that described the conversation.

“I haven’t decided.”

Leah reached across the table and placed her hand over his wrist.

“Just be careful.”

The fierceness had left her voice, replaced by something quieter.

Nick nodded. “I will.”

The subject faded only after Leah made him promise to text them before, during, and after any tutoring session. Will offered to call halfway through with a fake emergency. Tobey suggested that might be unnecessary unless Nick stopped responding.

They were treating the situation as though Luke had invited Nick into an abandoned warehouse rather than asked for help with mathematics.

Yet when Nick returned to Algebra Two the next morning, he carried their concern with him.

Luke was already at the desk.

He had placed a carton of chocolate milk on Nick’s side.

Nick sat down and looked at it.

“The machine again?”

Luke glanced up from his phone.

“It’s very generous.”

“Only to you.”

“We have a connection.”

Nick placed his backpack under the chair.

For several seconds, Luke waited without mentioning the tutoring request. That restraint made the decision harder rather than easier.

Finally, Nick sighed.

“I can help you tomorrow morning.”

Luke’s phone lowered.

“Really?”

“For an hour or two.”

“Okay.”

“And we’re actually doing math.”

Luke raised both hands.

“That was the plan.”

“Where?”

“My house is probably easiest. My parents will be there.”

The last detail sounded deliberate, as though Luke understood without being told why Nick might need reassurance.

Nick hesitated.

Luke noticed.

“Or the library,” he added. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

The offer eased something in Nick’s chest.

“Your house is fine.”

Luke smiled.

“Ten?”

“Ten.”

He wrote his address on the corner of Nick’s notebook before Mr. Daley began class. His handwriting remained terrible, and Nick had to ask whether one number was a four or a nine.

“It’s obviously a four.”

“It looks like a chair.”

“It’s artistic.”

“It’s illegible.”

“You understood it eventually.”

“That doesn’t make it good.”

Luke watched Nick copy the address more clearly beneath it.

“Tomorrow, then.”

Nick nodded.

The arrangement was made so simply that the anxiety surrounding it began to feel almost foolish.

Throughout the remainder of Friday, however, he found himself thinking about it. Not constantly, but often enough that Leah noticed him checking the time during lunch. She demanded Luke’s address and made Nick send it to the group chat. Will offered again to create an emergency call. Tobey told Nick to leave immediately if Luke’s friends appeared unexpectedly.

Nick agreed to everything because resisting would only prolong the discussion.

Chemistry offered him a temporary escape.

Kit was already seated when Nick entered, his notebook open beside a worksheet Mrs. Abrams had distributed before the bell. He looked up as Nick approached.

“Hey, Nick.”

The greeting had become routine over the past two weeks, yet it still affected him in a way he did not fully understand.

“Hey.”

Kit shifted his backpack so Nick could place his own beneath the table.

They did not speak much during the lesson. Mrs. Abrams lectured about atoms and elements, then assigned a page of questions to be completed in pairs. Nick and Kit worked well together, exchanging answers without unnecessary conversation. Kit had a habit of tapping the end of his pen against his lower lip while thinking, and Nick had begun noticing it far too often.

The first time Kit greeted him outside chemistry, Nick assumed it was because they had just left the same class. The second time happened the following morning near the cafeteria. Kit had been walking with Kent and Ken when he raised a hand and said, “Morning, Nick.”

The twins greeted him too, but Nick heard Kit’s voice longest.

After that, the acknowledgments continued.

Sometimes it was only a nod across the corridor. Sometimes Kit said his name while passing between classes. Once, they reached a doorway at the same time, and Kit stepped aside to let Nick through first. Their shoulders brushed as Nick passed, a contact so brief it should have disappeared immediately.

Instead, Nick thought about it through half of English.

He understood how ridiculous he was becoming.

Luke spoke to him every morning, teased him gently, and now wanted him at his house on Saturday. Kit barely exchanged more than a few sentences with him, yet every greeting produced a nervous movement somewhere beneath Nick’s ribs.

Two straight football players.

Two entirely different kinds of trouble.

When chemistry ended on Friday, Kit waited while Nick finished putting away his papers.

“You going to the game tonight?” he asked.

Nick looked up.

It was the longest question Kit had asked him outside their assignments.

“I don’t know.”

“You should.”

Nick closed his binder. “Are you asking because you need more people in the stands?”

Kit smiled.

“We’ve got enough people. I just thought you might like it.”

Nick nearly said that he had attended games before. He had watched Kit play more than once, though he usually stayed near Leah and avoided the areas where the football players gathered afterward.

Instead, he said, “Maybe.”

Kit lifted his backpack onto one shoulder.

“If you come, sit near Kent and Ken’s parents. They’re loud, but they’re friendly.”

Nick smiled.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“See you later, Nick.”

Kit left for practice.

Nick remained beside the table, staring at the doorway through which he had disappeared.

He did not attend the game.

He told himself he had homework, though he spent most of the evening watching a movie with Will and checking the group chat whenever the score updated. Saint Gabriel’s won by eleven points. Kit threw two touchdown passes, one of them to Luke.

Nick watched the clip three times after someone posted it online.

On Saturday morning, Nick nearly canceled.

He stood in front of his bedroom mirror wearing dark jeans and a gray T-shirt, wondering whether he looked as though he had made an effort. Then he wondered why that mattered and changed into a black shirt instead. The black shirt looked even more deliberate, so he changed back.

His mother noticed him checking the time during breakfast.

“Are you meeting Leah?”

“No. Someone from school.”

“Will?”

“No.”

She waited for more information.

Nick concentrated on his cereal.

“I’m helping someone with math.”

“A girl?”

He nearly laughed.

“No.”

His father looked up from his coffee but did not ask anything.

Nick left the house at nine twenty with his backpack over one shoulder and Luke’s address saved on his phone. The neighborhood was farther than he expected, though still within walking distance. The morning air was cool enough to make the trip pleasant, and the streets grew quieter as he moved away from the center of town.

Luke lived in a two-story house at the end of a tree-lined road. The front lawn was neatly trimmed, and a basketball hoop hung above the garage, even though Luke played football rather than basketball. Then again, a jock was a jock, Nick supposed. A dark SUV was parked in the driveway beside a smaller car.

Nick stood at the gate for several seconds before walking up to the door and ringing the bell.

Luke answered almost immediately.

He wore gray sweatpants that left little to the imagination and a plain white T-shirt, his blond hair messier than Nick had ever seen it at school. Without the football jersey, jacket, and surrounding group of friends, he looked less like the popular junior everyone knew and more like an ordinary seventeen-year-old who had only recently woken up.

“You came.”

Nick frowned. “You invited me.”

“I know. I just thought you might change your mind.”

“I almost did.”

Luke stepped aside.

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

The house smelled faintly of coffee and toasted bread. Family photographs covered one wall of the entrance hall, including several of Luke in football uniforms from different ages. In one picture, he could not have been older than eight, standing beneath an oversized helmet with both hands resting proudly on his hips.

“My mom’s upstairs,” Luke said. “My dad went to the hardware store. We can work in the kitchen.”

Nick followed him through the hall.

The kitchen opened onto a small living area with wide windows overlooking the backyard. Luke had already arranged two notebooks, a textbook, and several sharpened pencils across the table. There was also a bowl of chips, two bottles of water, and a plate of cookies.

Nick looked at the setup.

“You prepared.”

“I’m taking my education seriously.”

“You bought snacks.”

“My education requires fuel.”

Nick placed his backpack beside the chair.

For the first several minutes, the session felt awkward only because Nick had expected it to be. He remained alert for footsteps, laughter from another room, or the sudden arrival of Jack and the rest of the team.

None came.

Luke’s mother called down once to say hello. Luke introduced Nick as someone from math class, and she replied that she was grateful somebody had finally convinced her son to study on a Saturday. Luke complained that this damaged his reputation.

Then they began working.

Luke struggled with the first worksheet exactly as he had in class. He rushed through the early steps, lost track of negative signs, and attempted to solve parts of the equation in his head rather than writing them down.

Nick stopped him each time.

“You skipped a line.”

“I knew what happened in the line.”

“Then write it.”

“It takes longer.”

“It takes longer when you have to start over.”

Luke stared at the page.

“You sound like Daley.”

Nick gathered his notebook as though preparing to leave.

“Take it back.”

Luke laughed and caught the edge of the notebook before Nick could lift it.

“Fine. You sound much younger and less emotionally exhausted than Daley.”

“That isn’t better.”

“It’s the best I can offer.”

The awkwardness faded.

Luke listened more closely than Nick expected. He asked questions without pretending to understand when he did not, and when Nick explained something clearly, Luke repeated it back in his own words until he was sure he had it. Within an hour, he completed three problems without help.

He pushed the worksheet toward Nick.

Nick checked the answers.

“They’re right.”

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

Luke leaned back in his chair, satisfaction spreading across his face. “I think you might be a genius.”

“I think you might finally be paying attention.”

“That too.”

They took a break after the second worksheet. Luke poured two glasses of soda while Nick looked through the photographs on the refrigerator. There were pictures of family vacations, football games, and a younger girl Nick assumed was Luke’s sister. One photograph showed Luke standing beside Jack and several other players at the lake, all of them shirtless and sunburned, their arms thrown across one another’s shoulders.

Nick looked away before Luke returned.

By noon, they had covered everything Mr. Daley assigned and several problems from the next section. The session had gone so normally that Nick felt embarrassed by how nervous he had been.

Luke did not invite anyone else.

He did not make jokes about Nick’s sexuality or ask intrusive questions. He did not behave differently when his mother walked through the kitchen and offered them more cookies. They were simply two boys studying math at a kitchen table.

When Nick checked the time, it was nearly twelve thirty.

“I should go.”

Luke glanced at the clock.

“Already?”

“We said an hour or two.”

“I guess we did.”

Nick began packing his notebook and textbook. Luke remained seated, turning his pencil slowly between his fingers while Nick zipped the front pocket of his backpack.

The quiet changed.

Nick sensed it before Luke spoke.

“So you’re really gay, aren’t you?”

Nick’s hand stopped on the zipper.

For a moment, the kitchen seemed to narrow around him. The harmlessness of the morning slipped away, replaced by the old awareness of being observed.

He looked at Luke.

Luke was not smiling. There was curiosity in his face, but Nick could not tell whether anything else rested beneath it.

“You already knew,” Nick said.

“I heard things.”

“Everyone heard things.”

Luke looked down at the pencil in his hand. “I wanted to hear it from you.”

Nick slowly lowered his backpack onto the chair.

“Yes,” he said. “I am.”

The admission felt different from the first time he had spoken it to his friends. He was no longer confessing something he could barely name, yet the words still left him exposed whenever he said them to someone whose reaction he could not predict.

Luke nodded once.

Nick waited.

When no response came, his unease sharpened into defensiveness.

“Do you have a problem hanging out with a gay boy like me?”

Luke looked up. “No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Because your friends might think something.”

“What would they think?”

Nick let out a short breath.

“You know exactly what they’d think. That there’s something going on between us. That you invited me here because—”

He stopped before finishing.

Luke’s expression shifted. Not quite amusement, but something warmer and more deliberate. He rested one arm across the table and leaned slightly forward.

“No one needs to know every detail,” he said, his voice quieter than before. “We’re just classmates helping each other with math.”

The words should have reassured Nick.

Instead, something in Luke’s tone made his chest tighten.

Luke held his gaze for a second longer than necessary. A faint smile touched one corner of his mouth, subtle enough that Nick could not decide whether it was playful, secretive, or simply his imagination.

Nick lifted his backpack.

“Right.”

“Same time next Saturday?”

“I don’t know.”

Luke’s smile grew.

“That means you’ll think about it.”

“I might be busy.”

“With your rich social life?”

Nick stared at him.

Luke laughed softly. “Text me when you get home.”

Nick left before the strange warmth in his face became visible.

Outside, the quiet street felt brighter than it had that morning. He adjusted the strap of his backpack and began walking, though his thoughts remained inside Luke’s kitchen.

So you’re really gay, aren’t you?

Nick could not decide why Luke had asked.

Perhaps it had been simple curiosity. Perhaps he wanted to establish boundaries before the tutoring continued. Perhaps Luke had been worried about what Jack and the others might think and disguised that concern beneath an easy smile.

But then there had been the way Luke leaned toward him.

The lowered voice.

No one needs to know every detail.

Nick replayed the sentence until it began to sound different each time.

He was halfway through the neighborhood when the low rumble of a car approached from behind. Nick moved closer to the edge of the sidewalk, expecting it to pass.

Instead, the car slowed beside him.

A dark-blue sedan rolled forward several feet before stopping. The passenger-side window lowered.

Nick bent slightly to look inside.

Kit O’Connell sat behind the wheel.

For a moment, Nick wondered whether the morning had become some kind of elaborate test of his ability to remain calm around attractive football players.

Kit wore a faded green T-shirt, one hand resting at the top of the steering wheel. His reddish-brown hair looked slightly damp, as though he had showered not long ago. He wasn't supposed to be driving. At fifteen, he didn't even have his permit yet, but his dad had been teaching him for months, and this wasn't exactly the first time he'd taken the car farther than the end of their street.

“Nick?”

“Hi.”

Kit glanced toward the road behind him, then back at Nick.

“Hi. What are you doing around here?”

Nick shifted his backpack higher on his shoulder.

“Just hanging out with a friend.”

“A friend who lives in this neighborhood?”

“Yeah.”

Kit studied him for a moment, though his expression remained relaxed.

“You walking all the way home?”

“It’s not that far.”

“I think it is.”

“You know where I live?”

“Yeah. And it’s pretty far.”

“I walked here.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to walk back.”

Nick felt the first nervous movement beneath his ribs. He glanced toward the car, then back at Kit.

“Wait. You drove here?”

Kit paused. “Yeah.”

“Aren’t you fifteen?”

Kit gave him a sheepish look. “I know. I’m not supposed to drive by myself.”

“Then why are you?”

“I’m practicing,” Kit said. “My dad’s been teaching me. I don’t go far or anything. Just around the neighborhood sometimes.”

Nick stared at him.

Kit smiled awkwardly. “I’m about to drive straight home anyway. It’s not like I’m going across the state.”

“That doesn’t make it legal.”

“I know,” Kit admitted. “Which is why you’re not going to tell anyone.” He leaned across the center console and unlocked the passenger door. “Come on. I’ll drive you.”

Nick looked toward the road ahead, as though a reasonable excuse might be waiting somewhere along it. Getting into Kit’s car should not have felt significant. They were classmates. Kit was being kind. Nothing about the offer suggested more than that.

His heart disagreed.

Nick opened the door and lowered himself into the passenger seat. The interior smelled faintly of laundry detergent and the pine air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. A gym bag rested on the back seat beside a pair of football cleats.

“Thanks,” Nick said as he pulled the door shut.

“No problem.”

Kit waited until Nick fastened his seat belt before easing the car away from the curb.

For the first few seconds, neither spoke. Music played quietly through the speakers, something with an acoustic guitar and a voice Nick recognized but could not immediately place. Kit tapped one thumb against the steering wheel in time with the rhythm.

Nick looked through the passenger window, trying not to appear as nervous as he felt.

The car reached the end of the street.

Kit glanced toward him.

“I live near your house, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know that.”

“Well, now you do,” Kit said with a chuckle. “So… which friend were you visiting?”

Nick’s pulse stumbled.

He could have answered with Luke’s name. There was no reason not to. Kit and Luke played on the same team. They were friends, or at least teammates, and Nick had done nothing wrong.

Still, something made him hesitate.

“Someone from math.”

Kit’s eyes shifted briefly toward the rearview mirror.

Behind them, Luke’s house had nearly disappeared between the trees.

Kit’s hand tightened slightly around the steering wheel.

“That was Luke’s house, wasn’t it?”