MOLTEN NUGGETS

Like I said, I’d never been to a high school party before.

I had envisioned some sort of Level Seven Debauchery, with dried-out red Solo cups and used joints and people passed out on every flat surface.

Instead, there were twenty of us crammed into a half-finished basement, sitting on folding chairs or sprawled on the floor, using pillows from the living room couches to cushion us from the cold smooth concrete.

A few of the other guys had invited their girlfriends, and everyone was smiling and laughing and happy we’d won another game.

Christian’s parents were upstairs, swapping out batches of pizza rolls and popcorn chicken in the oven, and talking with some of the other team parents.

And there was no alcohol. We drank Gatorade, and took turns playing FIFA on Christian’s PlayStation, which was hooked into a tiny projector that James—who was a theater kid in the off-season—had managed to borrow for the weekend. It was pointed at the blank drywall, and we could barely hear the tinny built-in speakers over everyone’s talking.

Landon and I sat on the floor against the wall, cuddling and watching it all play out. We leaned our heads against each other and occasionally kissed, but not too often, because every time we did one of the guys would start whooping and clapping at us.

It reminded me of being at an Iranian wedding, where the married couple would have to kiss whenever people started clinking their glasses with their forks and shouting “Shoo-loo-loo-loo-loo!”

“You good?” Landon’s hair tickled my lips as I spoke into his ear.

“I’m good,” he said.

“I’m gonna grab another drink.”

I untangled my limbs from his and went upstairs to pull another purple Gatorade—the best flavor—out of the fridge. A few guys were upstairs, hovering in the kitchen or sprawled out in the living room playing on their phones.

The door to the patio was wide open, to circulate some air and relieve the overwhelming smell of pizza rolls and tightly packed boys.

Chip was outside, talking to Trent Bolger, who had somehow rated an invite to the party. They were arguing, as best I could tell.

“—ditched me again, dude,” Trent said.

“I don’t complain when you have football practice.”

“Why are you playing soccer anyway? It sucks.”

“I like soccer. I told you football wasn’t for me.”

Trent grunted.

“Yeah, well, what about Monday? You were supposed to text me when you got out.”

“I told you I was sorry. I kneed Darius in the balls. What was I supposed to do, leave him on the side of the road?”

Trent snorted at that. “I wish I’d seen it.”

“It was awful. You don’t even know.”

“I didn’t know you were so desperate to get to third base.”

My ears burned.

Chip mumbled something I couldn’t catch, but it made Trent laugh again.

“Whatever.” Trent rounded the corner and saw me holding my purple Gatorade up to my lips without drinking. “What’s up, D-cheese.”

That was a new one.

Objectively speaking, Trent had said worse. Dairy Queen was at least a Level Three Homophobic Insult.

But D-Cheese offended me more.

I had excellent personal hygiene, and that hadn’t been a problem for me since I was like twelve.

Not that I could tell that to Trent Bolger.

I never wanted to discuss my penis with Trent Bolger.

“Be cool, man,” Chip said. “Hey, Darius.”

I took a sip of my Gatorade. “Hey.”

The burning in my ears had spread down to my neck.

I looked from Trent to Chip and back to Trent. He had this smirk on his face, like he knew what I was thinking.

I didn’t like it.

Behind me, the oven beeped, and I heard Christian’s mom call from upstairs. “That’s the pizza rolls!”

“I’ll get them!” I hollered. I put on an oven mitt and pulled the sheet of molten nuggets out while Trent grabbed Chip’s shoulder.

“Come on.”

Chip gave me a little closed-lip smile and followed his friend downstairs.

I turned off the oven and tossed my Gatorade in the recycling bin. The sound of Trent’s hyena laugh echoed up from the basement.

I went upstairs to use the bathroom.

---

     

I didn’t actually have to pee.

I mean, I did pee, but I didn’t actually have to.

I just needed to get away.

I washed my hands and sat on the edge of the bathtub with my phone. I read an article Coach Bentley had sent out to the team about post-game recovery, sent Mom a text to let her know the party was fine and Christian’s parents were home, took a quiz to find out Which Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Supporting Character Are You?

I thought about hiding in the bathroom for the rest of the party, but someone knocked on the door.

“Just a sec,” I said, and flushed the toilet again, so they wouldn’t know I’d been hiding. I washed my hands again too.

“Thanks,” Gabe said, and closed the door behind him.

I found Landon in the kitchen, drinking a bottle of orange Gatorade.

“Hey. Sorry.”

“No worries.” He pulled me in for an orangey kiss. “You good?”

“Yeah. Just needed a second away from the crowd.”

Landon’s arms slid down to my hips. He kissed me one more time, then pulled me toward the living room. I settled on the corner of the big beige couch, and Landon sat on my lap, his knees on either side of my hips and his butt resting on my thighs.

“Hey.” He kissed my nose. “You were awesome today.”

“Yeah?”

He kissed me again, on the corner of the mouth.

“Yeah. I loved watching you play.”

“Really?”

“Really. Have you seen yourself in those shorts?”

I couldn’t breathe.

“You like them?” I squeaked.

Landon’s eyes twinkled. “I do.” And then he kissed me again, and his tongue slipped into my mouth, and I decided breathing wasn’t all that important anyway.

I’m not going to lie: With all the kissing, I got an erection pretty quickly.

And I couldn’t tell for sure, but I thought Landon had one too. It was either that or his belt buckle rubbing against me as he rocked back and forth on his hips.

“Is this okay?” he whispered.

“Um.”

What Landon was doing felt good.

Really good.

If he didn’t stop, I was facing a containment breach of an entirely different sort.

Landon’s hands were wrapped around my love handles, and I couldn’t breathe because I was keeping my stomach sucked in.

And the whole team was downstairs.

Chip and Trent were downstairs.

“Wait.” I rested my hands on his hips to stop his rocking.

“Too much?”

I nodded.

“Sorry.” He smiled and kissed me again. His kisses trailed from my mouth to my neck, and then down to my collarbone, which felt weird. I giggled.

“What?”

“Sorry. That tickles.”

He sat back, biting his lip, and glanced down at my lap.

I wished I had worn jeans instead of my joggers.

“Do you want to go somewhere less . . . exposed?”

“Um.”

My heart thundered.

The idea was exhilarating.

And terrifying.

Sweat beaded on my forehead.

Before I could answer, though, the sound of footsteps drumming against the basement stairs echoed up to us.

Chip poked his head into the living room, with Trent right behind him.

“Oh. Hey dude,” Chip said. He wasn’t grinning. Instead, his brows were scrunched up. “Landon, right?”

Landon cleared his throat. “Yeah.” I loved how red his cheeks were.

“Don’t let us stop you,” Trent said from behind Chip. “Dairy Queen could use some breaking in.”

My own cheeks reddened.

“Shame no one’s broken you in,” Landon muttered.

I snorted, and Chip grinned, but Trent said, “What?”

“Come on.” Chip dragged Trent away, mouthing sorry at us as he disappeared into the kitchen.

“Assholes,” Landon said.

“Trent is the worst,” I agreed. “But Chip’s not so bad.”

I don’t know why I felt like I had to defend Chip.

I was kind of mad at him too.

But I didn’t want Landon to be.

“Isn’t he the one who hit you in the balls, though?”

I winced.

“He’s nice, though. Usually.”

Landon stared at me for a long moment, biting his lip.

And then he let out this tiny sigh. “Hey. I better head home.”

“Already?”

“Yeah. I’ve got rehearsal tomorrow morning.”

“Oh.”

Landon kissed me and got off my lap.

Our encounter with Trent and Chip had removed any barriers that might have previously hindered that maneuver.

I waited in the kitchen with Landon until his ride showed up.

“You sure everything’s okay?” I asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Just checking.”

Landon kissed me on the cheek, zipped up his puffy coat, and left.

And I got this feeling. Like I had done something wrong.

Behind me, Chip cleared his throat.

“Hey. Sorry about all that.”

“Yeah. Well.”

I didn’t know what else to say.

I really did like Cyprian Cusumano, but he would never see Trent Bolger for who he truly was.

“I convinced the guys to switch to Mario Kart. Wanna play?”

“I guess.”