The Connection

The next day, Avery walks directly to his locker.

And although he tries to walk with his head held high, his chin out, his eyes challenging; he can’t. Instead, he looks down at the indoor-outdoor carpet that covers the floor in uneven colors; his legs feeling shaky as a newborn calf and his heart beating a thousand times a minute. He looks up as he reaches his locker to find Kat standing there, as always.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise. I thought you were dead and your locker would be all mine.”

And Avery wants to snip right back, but Kat is smiling softly up at him. And he knows that he’s forgiven for being an idiot. Her shoulders covered in a hoodie that’s far too big to be her own, her hair hanging in frizzy, faded curls. Her eyes crinkled at the corners and the pale green bright and playful. He missed her; her mean words and her playful smiles. He rolls his eyes, shoving her shoulder gently with his own and thinks that, no matter what, Kat will always be there.

“I’d leave you my iPod too.”

“Hm. Sounds like a plan. Oh! And can I have your laptop?”

“You’ve got your own.” Avery snorts, twisting in his combination. Kat sighs dramatically.

“Yeah, but yours in newer. Why? You afraid I’m going to see all you’re explicit—“

In between, his joy at seeing Kat and their sassy conversation, he didn’t notice the bustling, always too loud shouting of his classmates still to a funeral like hush. But he does notice someone tapping him on the shoulder. He turns, casts his gaze upwards.

“G’morning.” Max says, holding a Styrofoam cup and wearing a small, shy smile. Avery can hear the stillness, the silence that precedes a huge fight. He feels his heart hammering in his chest at the feel of so many pairs of eyes glued to him. But Max’s smile is soft, hopeful. And the warmth that Avery felt in the middle of Archie’s the night before, when he and Max were bumping elbows on the same side of the booth and stealing fries off each other’s plate; and then again when they were sitting in his car, not kissing or trading hand jobs, but just sitting close, curled around one another at the first stars lit up the sky. It makes him feel braver, just knowing that Max is in front of him and Kat is behind him (and surely Cooper and Quinn aren’t too far away). He eyes the cup.

“What’s in the cup?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. The edge of Max’s mouth quirks higher his dimples showing themselves.

“Regular coffee, six sugars and a shit ton of hazelnut creamer.” He says, holding the cup out for Avery to take. And Avery does, the cup pleasantly warm and the aroma of hazelnuts and coffee wafting out of it.

“Thank you.” Avery says softly. Whispers have started now, buzzing a white noise sound of disbelief and wonderment. Max smiles softly, his hand coming up to lift Avery’s chin.

“Welcome. See you at lunch, ‘kay?” He says, his thumb stroking Avery’s cheekbone. Avery’s heart thrums; he knows what’s coming next.

“Okay.” He smiles, looking up at Max. Max smiles crookedly, and when he leans down to kiss Avery’s forehead, it’s soft and tentative. Not like the challenging display of affection that Max has given him before. This doesn’t feel like a claim, or a dare for someone to test. It feels like Max, gruff, emotionally inept Max is showing him more than the gaping spectators that he loves him. Avery can’t seem to keep the smile off his face or the happily embarrassed flush from creeping up his neck.

The quite thrum of hurries whispers and quizzical murmurings explodes. People aren’t screaming, or shouting that this must be the end; but they’re gasping and calling ‘no way’ and ‘holy fuck’ to others around them and down at the other end of the hall. Max pulls away, and Avery expects his cheeks to be redden or his mouth to be scowling. But Max is full of surprises today, because the quarterback only sniggers, his forehead dropping to rest on Avery’s.

“Wait ‘til I start to make out with you.” He says happily. Something about Max seems softer, more confident, actually happy. Avery isn’t so arrogant to think that he is the sole cause of it. No, but he has some inkling that the fact that Max has let go of social expectations, thrown the gauntlet down with all the swagger and confidence that he used to use when he bullied Avery has something to do with it. He also suspects that finding someone to love and that loves him back just as much is helping. He doesn’t wait for a response, just gives Avery one last soft peck on the forehead and saunters off, people not bothering to move out of the way, or too shocked to do so. Avery turns, his cheeks blazing to Kat. She’s laughing heartily, grinning like an idiot.

“Your face is priceless.” She comments, a grin stretched across her rosy cheeks. Avery rolls his eyes, but can’t keep the smile off his face, either. The bell rings overhead, but no one moves, or maybe they don’t hear it in between the chorus of disbelieving mutterings and none too subtle typing of a million new text messages. Kat punches him on the shoulder lightly.

“See you and Prince Charming at lunch.” Kat grins, and turns, shoving a gawking freshman out of her way. Avery rolls his eyes again, and smiles. He hikes his bag over his shoulder, and glances at the crowd. They stare right back, mouths open and eyes budging. Avery smirks and as he walks to class, the sea of spectators’ parts around him, their words a stunned hush.

And for the first time, he’s happy about it.
________

Avery is flipping channels when there’s a frantic knocking at his door.

He starts, dropping the remote on the floor with a muted thud. He’d been enjoying the quiet that usually eludes his house on Thursday nights. His mother and father are taking a small vacation for their anniversary; so naturally Quinn is also taking advantage of their absence and is out with her friends, mostly likely with some pilfered hard lemonades. Kat is enduring forced family time at a fancy restaurant for her mother’s birthday and Cooper and Max are having one last practice before the Vikings’ first game of the year. If Avery wasn’t afraid that a crazed murder or an even more crazed salesperson was on the other side of his front door, he would feel the warmth that’s been sneaking up on him all week.

Max has gone out of his way to make Avery feel like a prize rather than an ugly blemish on the face of his popularity. He and Cooper have officially moved their lunches of two to three cheeseburgers, large Gatorade bottles and even more food to Kat and Avery’s small lunch table on the other side of the cafeteria. Max either glowers or outright threatens anyone that comes up to their table to mock or plead with Max to ‘ditch the art faggot. Nikki’s looking for a homecoming date and she wants you’. Luckily, Coach Andrews merely waved a hand at Max’s new conquest/experiment (Like Avery’s a particular interesting cactus whom sprouts a flower that cures cancer), and told him, ‘I don’t give a damn what or who you do in your spare time, but you’ve still got a team to lead, boy. Remember that.’

Cooper, although not facing as much ridicule as Max and Avery, handles the members of the football team that come up and snicker about Kat’s weight or her general bitchy attitude, well. When people come up and laugh at Kat and tell Cooper that they’d date Kat, too, just for her massive rack; Cooper smirks.

He throws an arm protectively, rather than possessively around Kat’s shoulders (this also seems to still the snarl and threats that bubble into Kat’s mouth), and then launches into a long winded spiel about how Kat’s boobs are nice, but she, on her own, is wonderful. Smart and hilarious, kind and beautiful, tough and strong. He’ll keep talking until Kat’s almost purple with embarrassment and the taunting party is tired of being talked to death and slouches off rolling their eyes.

Avery rises from the sofa and approaches the door cautiously, as another series of hurried, booming knocks lands against his front door. When he opens the door, his cellphone in one hand and his other holding onto the knob, he doesn’t find a murder or a persistent salesman; but Max, still in the dirty white t-shirt and even dirtier pair of shorts that he wears for practice.

“I though you has practice until eight?” Avery asks, a mix of suspicion and relief flooding his veins. Without preamble, and without taking off his muddy shoes, Max stumbles into the foyer.

“It worked. Allie—she did it. Av, I got it. I got his number, address, everything.” Max babbles nerves and excitement coloring his usually calm and analytical tone. Avery stops; his brain spinning at a million miles per minute. He can’t breathe. Allie, sweet and timid Allie did it.

A few weeks ago, Max and Avery took Allie out to dinner with a plan. It was after Max and Avery’s burgers arrived and Allie’s chicken strips finally got their honey mustard that Max explained that they were going to find their dad. He explained it in a gentle tone, leaving room for Allie to complain or oppose. But Allie sat there dunking both her chicken strips and fries in the little pot of thick sauce, her eyes only leaving Max’s to reach for her drink. After Max was done explaining his few vague memories of their father to Allie, like the fact that he was a lawyer, and that he paid child support, and that he can remember him reading a newborn Allie and a four year old Max bedtime stories, both children cradled in his lap and their mother drank and partied.

Allie was quiet for a while, eating tiny bites and sipping from her water, while both Max and Avery’s burgers cooled. And then finally, as Max took a deep breath that would spill his refusal and apologies, Allie said in a voice stronger than Avery had ever heard her.

”I wanna meet him, too. What can I do?”

They spent the rest of that afternoon, talking into between bites of food, shooting ideas to each other and shooting them down. Finally, they picked a plan that would be so simple, yet so illegal that anyone could do it. They deiced that Allie, who sounded just like her mother, would call child support agency and make an inquiry about Jim Matthews. Allie would laugh softly, and tell them that she (silly her) had lost his address and phone number. That she wanted to give them theirs so he could send the kids birthday cards and such. They counted on the fact that the operator would be too tired and bored with their job to question it much. And it looks like it worked.

“Wait. Really?” Avery squeaks. Max nods frantically and brandishes a small piece of notebook paper, freshly torn from its brothers. Avery takes that hastily torn scrap and unfolds its. Tight, looping script written hastily as an operator reads the information quickly; floats like a bottle throw to sea on the page.

James Matthews. 1907 Silver Creek Rd, Peoria, Il 60098
Personal: (773) 309-2852. Work: (773) 696-3124

Avery reads the two lines over and over, processing each word slowly like their written in hieroglyphics rather than hasty-neat English. He looks up at Max, who looks down at him; eyes bright and wide, finger tracks dividing his sweat damped hair into three slick chucks of burnt honey messiness. Max blinks when Avery hands the paper back.

“Well? What do we do?” Max asks, his usually gruff voice betraying hints of his child like excitement, his deeply felt rejection, his panic. Avery cocks his head. We? Avery feels a small bubble of warmth at Max’s words. This is truly his plan, and however reluctant Max was before, now; with an address, a phone number, something seems to click for the quarterback. Max is scared, panicking about the possible ‘if’s’ and the second wave of rejection that might be heading his way. Whether consciously or unconsciously, he’s asking for Avery to carry this operation; asking for his help, his support.

Avery steps forward, standing on tiptoes and throwing his arms around Max’s sweaty neck. Avery’s face finds the crook of Max’s neck and places a small, comforting kiss there. The air of fear and anxiety seem to deflate from Max’s body and his arms find their way around Avery’s back, his nose buried in Avery’s messy hair. Max sighs; his breathe ruffling Avery’s hair slightly. When he speaks, his tone is stained with worry and discomfort.

“What should I do?” He says with all the confidence of a scared five year old, and then, “I don’t know what to do…”

Avery kisses his neck again. His kisses are without heat, without lust. Just a simple press of lips on sweet salty skin; a transfer of comfort and a lifeline for Max to grasp onto. He does, his arms tightening around Avery’s skinny middle.

“We’ll call him. Either you or I, and we’ll ask him to meet us somewhere. He lives near Chicago, so maybe somewhere there… or maybe somewhere in between. And then we’ll see if he can help us.” Avery explains gently, his thumb stroking the sweat curled hair at the nape of Max’s neck. Max seems to melt into the affectionate touch because his breathing slows, his muscles loosen. Avery ignore that fact that Max’s skin is too hot and smells too much like sweat and not enough like cloves or motor oil. He knows Max needs him right now, and nothing Max could do would push him away right now.

“Do… do you want me to do it?” Avery breathes; half hoping that Max won’t hear him. However, when Max pulls away slightly and rests his sweaty forehead against Avery’s (a position that Avery thinks is probably uncomfortable for him given their height difference, but Max seems to like it so he doesn’t say anything), he knows that Max has indeed heard him. Max breathes out a sigh, the breathe wafting over Avery’s nose is as minty as it was this morning.

“I need to.” Max says finally, his eyes closed. Avery nods, moving Max’s head along with his own. They stand in the foyer of Avery’s house, swaying slightly in each other’s sure hold. Avery not sure how much time had passed when Max finally opens his eyes and gives Avery a lopsided little smile.

“Were you gonna tell me I stink?” Max asks dryly. Avery chuckles, pulling father away, but so far as to step out of Max’s arms.

“Nope.” He smiles, only to have Max roll his eyes and flick his ear. Max kisses his cheek, and then the other and then on the lips.

“Then ‘m gonna go to the house and shower. And I’ll see you tomorrow.” Max whispers against Avery’s lips, and then hesitantly, “And you’re comin’ to the game tomorrow?”

“Mhm. And then you’re coming here after?” Avery counters, eyes still closed. Simply enjoying the plush, slightly chapped feel of Max’s lips against his own. Max huffs a laugh.

“Yep. And if we win—“ he smirks, tugging Avery’s bottom lip in between his teeth teasingly. Avery rolls his eyes and shoves Max’s chest lightly.

“Go home. You smell.” Avery laughs, shoving his glasses up his nose. Max smiles lopsidedly, and pulls Avery back into his personal space, his large palms cupping Avery’s sharp hipbones.

“Actually...” Max says, the playful smirking tone bleeding from his tone, leaving behind something raw, something genuine, “We could… if s’ not late… or like in the mornin’, we could… call him. See if he wants to meet on Sunday or… something.”
Avery smiles softly up at Max, cupping his stubbly cheek with his palm, his thumb rubbing gently across Max’s freckled cheekbone.

“If you want.” Avery responds softly, leaving Max room to wiggle, to run. To his surprise Max sighs, nuzzles into his hand like an attention starved cat. Max doesn’t speak, but he looks Avery dead in the eye; golden green boring into evening sky blue. No words pass between then, but a look. And like looking into a bold printed book instead of the frown lines, dimples and freckles of Max’s face, Avery can see all. Every thought, every feeing passing through Max’s head and heart. Avery rises on tiptoes to kiss Max’s freckles nose, cheeks, eyelids and finally his pink bow of a mouth.

Softly, without words or noises or even nods and frowns, they kiss. Avery holding onto Max’s face, Max’s arms circled around Avery, holding him stable, making sure he won’t fall on the hardwood floor. Committing to memory the lines that mar each other’s lips, the fillings in each other’s mouths, and the curve of their teeth, the feeling of being close and knowing. Knowing exactly what the other one wants, what they needs.

“Saturday after breakfast with Kat and Coop.” Avery agrees, his hands holding either side of Max’s face, both their eyes closed in the soft afterglow of their kiss. Max nods, pecking Avery once more.

“Okay.”
________

There’s so much yelling.

So much in fact, that Avery should be pissed. Actually, there are a lot of little things in the tiny Franklin high football field that should (and have before) cause Avery irritation. The yelling, everyone screaming for different things. Throw the ball here, not there, go father, now pull back. And also, Avery and Kat are sitting in the front row where all the other football girlfriends (“and partners slash boy toys,” Kat added helpfully, all the while snickering) and other’s socially privileged are sitting.

This wouldn’t be too terrible, if Avery didn’t feel the mascara crusted glares of all of Nikki Allen’s friends on him. Nikki herself, is standing in front of the field, waving her pompoms enthusiastically and flashing artificially white smiles Max’s way. Avery can’t tell with the helmet, but Kat tells him that Max hasn’t once looked at the cheerleaders, “But he’s been looking up here a lot. Still scared his Princess won’t come to see him show off.”

It’s mid-September and inexplicably chilly. Avery’s ears are nearly frozen, as are his cheeks and nose. But his arms and the rest of him is toasty warm under the Letterman jacket a blushing Max thrust into his arms this afternoon.

“Hey, hey, hey! Look!” Kat calls over the frantic screaming of everyone else, Cooper’s letterman jacket sleeve coming up to slap him across the face.

“What! What? What the hell is going on?” Avery calls back. Everyone is standing up to get a better look at the apparently impressive play on the field, and Avery dumbly stands up next to Kat, trying to peer over the tall frame of another football girlfriend. She shoots him a dirty look over her shoulder, taking extra care to flip her mousy brown hair into his face.

Kat growls in his ear at the display and moves forward to shoulder her out of the way. The girl yelps indignantly, stumbling into another equally wiry girl with the same style of hair, only hers is the color of dirty dishwater. The both hiss like cats, moving down a little, but not before each takes a turn to spit an insult; something the sounds vaguely like ‘fat bitch’ and over that ‘faggot.’ Kat rolls her eyes and flips them off, before shouldering them further out of the way.

“Look!” She calls, yanking Avery by his sleeve to look out into the pitch, “See that?”

“No? What should I be seeing?” Avery yells back. At the far end of the field, the ref has the whistle in his mouth, poised to blow. The other team, clad in dark green stand, ready to guard; the Viking’s clad in muddy navy blue are a mirror of the other team, all lined up and ready.

Avery squints, trying in vain to match Kat’s apparent enthusiasm (sometimes he wishes his dad made him watch football on Sunday’s as a means of bonding). All the teachings and lessons on football gameplay have slipped Avery’s mind in this crowed, cold and screaming place. On the field, number forty three shouts something in a booming baritone. The ref looks at both quarterbacks before giving a curt nod. The atmosphere is oddly quiet with what Avery can assume is the weight of the winning play.

And then a shrill sound pierces the chilled air.

All the navy clad players attack, trying to break through the line of emerald green. They all make little headway, other than number sixty two, whom pushes and pushes until there’s an opening for number forty three.

Max.

Suddenly, Avery is screaming as much as Kat. The whole lot of them are standing up and stomping and crying for Max to make it. Max, with Cooper’s and another’s help manages to dodge every emerald player smoothly. Max is surprisingly light footed, with just the right amount of shoulder to push away the players that Cooper and the other Tackle can’t. Avery and Kat are screaming themselves hoarse, jumping up and down and totally oblivious to the nasty stares they’re receiving. Max is almost there, his cleats pounding on the field, spraying chunks of dirt and grass and he goes. He’s almost to the in zone, only a few more feet and—

And then someone, a mountain in mud splattered green and gold, comes barreling toward him.

(“Kat! Kat, he’s not going to make it!” Avery screeches frantically, yanking onto Kat’s borrowed jacket,)

Max fakes left and then mountain moves with him, going to ram his shoulder into Max’s chest. But then out of nowhere, Cooper and the other Tackle slam into either side of him, knocking his bulking frame into the into the muddy lawn. Max bolts, dodging one last man before the buzzer sounds. He throws himself on the ground, cradling the football to his chest just as the screeching wail of the buzzer dies in the chilly night air. The ref blows his whistle, and his hands sliced through the air to call the end of the game. The silence is deafening.

Max’s upper body, along with the thoroughly abused football, are in the in zone

The entire stadium erupts.

They’ve won their first game.

People all around are hugging and stomping their feet. Cheering and slapping each other on the back. The teams on the field are shaking hands and then slapping their own on the back for a job well done. Avery feels like he’s going to cry. Which is stupid, but he’s just so happy for Max. He’s somehow become swept up in the post-game euphoria along with all the other girlfriends, all the other people besides him, his whole town. He’s sure, somewhere, Quinn and Allie are cheering as well, high fiving and hugging. He’s cheering along with everyone else, shrieking and stomping and calling for Max. He feels a tugging on his sleeve.

“C’mon! Boyfriends to congratulate!” Her voice is slightly muffled by the frantic cheering, but Avery nods and together, their hands laced, them and all the other girlfriends fill onto the field in one big gush of Lettermen jackets swaddled on too small frames. Some of the coaches wave their arms and tell them, mustaches aquiver to get back on the stands. But for the first time, the players with their hair plastered to their foreheads and their helmets on the ground, disobey. They too, run to meet their girlfriends, some just hugging, other sweeping them up off the ground.

Kat and Avery, still holding hands search for their boyfriends. When Kat screeches, Avery knows.

“Coop!” Kat screams happily. The Tackle, his long hair dripping with sweat and his uniform more mud brown than navy blue, grins at Kat and opens his arms for her. She bolts towards him, her frizzy hair trailing behind her as she tackles him. Grinning and laughing, they fall to the ground, Cooper’s arms firmly wrapped around Kat’s middle, her on top of him in the grass. Avery watches for a little while, his heart fills with joy at Kat and her Soul Mate. He’s never seen her unguarded like this, this blatantly joyous. Yanked from his thoughts, a voice; gruff and laughing calls his name.

Max is running towards him, smiling brightly, mud speckled on his cheeks like an extra set of freckles and black smears under his eyes. Avery feels his face break into a laughing grin. He opens his arms hoping Max will stop soon, but the quarterback has other ideas.

“Don’t!” Avery screeches, half laughing, half serious. He doesn’t get to see Max’s reaction before he’s swept up into the air, like a ragdoll. Instinctually, Avery clutches Max’s sweat slick neck, as the quarterback spins them. Max is laughing happily, holding onto Avery for dear life, like he can’t believe he’d actually be here. In Max’s nearly bone crushing gripe he whispers softly, almost so quiet that Avery can’t hear him over the cheering.

“You came.”

“Well, yes.” Avery laughs, still clutching onto Max who’s stopped spinning but seems reluctant to let him down, his toes dangling off the ground, “Were you worried I wouldn’t?”
Max rests his wet forehead against Avery’s.

“Maybe.” Max says so softly, he must hope that Avery can’t hear him. Avery rolls his eyes, pulling Max’s neck forward for a kiss. Max makes a muffled sound that may have been a laugh before he kisses him back. They only stop when someone punches Max on the arm. On instinct, Max drops Avery carefully, keeping an arm around his shoulder and pulling him into his side. In front of them, one of the Running Backs, Tyler something, is standing in front of them. One of the first guys to mock Max for Avery looks sheepishly at them. Max raises an eyebrow, as if to ask why on earth he stopped him from kissing Avery. Avery wraps his arm around Max’s waist, like an anchor. Who exactly he’s anchoring, he’s not sure.

“Uh… Good play, Max.” He says, his brown eyes darting from Max’s scowl to Avery’s apprehensive frown and then back again. Max shrugs.

“It worked.” Max says gruffly. The Running Back chuckle awkwardly, rubs the back of his glistening neck.

“Yeah, well. Coming to Nikki’s after party?” He questions brightly, ignoring the dark look that passes over Max’s eyes like a cloud. Max pulls Avery closer, shakes his head.

“Nah. Headin’ home with Av.” He answers, both of them bracing for him to complain or to pressure Max to come to Nikki’s house. Instead, the Running Back shrugs, his cheeks tinged pink.

“’Kay. See you Monday, then.” He glances at Avery, his eyes hardening. He nods curtly, and turns leave as if just being seen with Avery will rub off on him, “Reeves.”

“His name is Avery.”

The Running Back stops abruptly, staring at Max with a terrified expression. He glances at Avery, as if to ask for help. Avery himself is too stunned to say much, definitely unable to help out the Running Back. Avery feels something bright and warm in the middle of his chest that he’s come to associate with Max only. Wasn’t only a year ago that Max was the one sneering, and calling him Reeves? So used to hearing Max laugh and flick his ear and whisper ”Av…”, that he’s almost forgotten that this relationship is only a year old. New and fragile, yet seeming like a lifetime struggle. The Running Back, mouth agape, swallows and forces a bright smile. He shakes his shaggy head in a good natured gesture, sweat dripping all over.

“Right. Avery. Got it. Uh… See ya.”

He scampers off, his tail tucked between his legs. Max nudges Avery, who looks up.

“’m gonna shower, then I’ll follow you home.” Max says softly. Avery nods, before standing on tiptoes to peck Max’s sweat drenched, freckled cheek.

“I love you.” He says, and then blushes. He hadn’t meant to say that. He meant to say, ‘okay’ or ‘alright’ or anything but that. Max smiles, something soft and warm, wrapping around him in the chilly air like a fleece blanket. He turns them around and walks them both towards the locker room, their steps in time.

“I love you too.” He admits softly, and then is a playful; laughing tone, “Now, let’s go. I want my post-game reward.”

Avery snorts, punching the sniggering quarterback for good measure.