Swing for the Fences
by Little Buddha
Chapter 3
When I opened my eyes, Jack was already gone.
His bed looked slept in, messy. One pillow askew. A shirt draped over the chair. But no Jack.
I checked the time — 6:30 a.m.— swung my legs over the edge of the bed, heart already ticking faster than it should. Today was the real start. The first day of classes. The first schedule. The first chance to screw up and embarrass myself.
I got dressed slowly, dragged myself to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, ran a comb through my messy hair—twice—checked my backpack again even though I hadn't added a thing, and finally headed for the dining hall.
The walk was quiet, the light just starting to warm the trees around the quad. The sky was a washed-out blue, and the air had that crisp, early-day bite to it.
Inside the dining hall, the chaos had already begun.
Trays clattered. Shoes squeaked. Conversations buzzed everywhere. I joined the line, half-awake and overwhelmed by how many people already looked like they belonged, like this was an old routine for them. I still couldn't decide whether eating alone in the dining hall might be worse than having to shower in front of all the other boys. Both were humiliating.
At the buffet, I filled my tray with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, home fries, and some delicious-looking little dim sum dumplings, piling it a little higher than I meant to. I was hungry. I was always hungry. Yet, still, I couldn't gain any weight. I wish I had the stamina and dedication to go the protein shake and weightlifting route, but I was too lazy, and I was bound to somehow make a fool of myself. So, no thanks.
Now came the hardest part.
I turned toward the crowded rows of tables, scanning for any familiar face, not that I really knew anyone other than Jack, but he was nowhere to be found.
Nothing.
No one from my floor.
Just clusters of boys laughing, already immersed in whatever new inside jokes had been born overnight, or planning "the greatest prank Harrison West has ever seen" on some unsuspecting freshman (hopefully not me).
My stomach flipped.
Then I spotted a table near the windows – three boys sitting there, with plenty of empty space around them. I vaguely remembered their faces from the game the night before, but I didn't remember their names.
Still, it was better than sitting alone.
I approached slowly, balancing my tray. "Hey – uh, mind if I sit here?"
One of them – freakishly tall, rust-colored hair, with long arms and a kind smile – looked up first and gestured to the spot beside him. "Of course, have a seat!" he said cheerfully.
I sat quickly, relief flooding through me.
"I'm Nick Kincaid," I said.
"Mark," said the tall boy. He was striking – freckled, a little gawky, with a slightly effeminate grace to the way he moved and spoke. "This is Emery – don't expect much conversation until he finishes that chapter."
I glanced at the boy across from me. Emery was Asian – or maybe a half-Asian, half-Caucasian mix – soft-featured, with neatly combed black hair and a dreamy look in his dark almond eyes. He gave a quiet "Hey" and glanced back down at the open book in front of him. There was something delicate and careful in his posture – something quietly feminine, but not in a "girly" kind of way. He had a kind countenance and was also ridiculously beautiful (if you could call a guy "beautiful").
Mark elbowed the last boy gently. "And that's Noah Langley. Don't let the crucifix earring fool you."
I turned – and stopped.
Noah was a little shorter than me, with pale skin, short dark curls, and lips that looked like they'd been tinted by rose petals. His eyes were a sharp, silvery gray – focused, curious, like they were always scanning for hidden meaning. A single gold crucifix earring dangled from his left ear, catching the morning light just as he turned to look at me. He was beautiful. No – beyond beautiful. He was effortlessly, dangerously gorgeous. And for a split second, I wished – hard – that he'd been assigned as my roommate this year instead of Jack. That would've made things … complicated. But definitely interesting.
"Hey," he said, casually, with a slight smile.
"Hi," I managed, a little too softly.
The four of us ate in comfortable, intermittent conversation – well mostly Mark talking, Emery reading with one hand and eating with the other, and Noah dropping the occasional deadpan remark like he was on his own personal stand-up circuit with a two-joke minimum.
As I was peeling an orange, Noah deadpanned, "If you need help undressing your fruit, I charge by the hour." Then he wiggled both eyebrows.
I almost spit out my coffee.
Then he leaned over conspiratorially to a kid at the next table over who was eating a banana, and said, "Careful. If you make eye contact while doing that, it counts as foreplay."
I couldn't help laughing out loud at that one. Talk about personality, another trait which Jack certainly did not have.
When Mark prodded the sausage patty with his fork and grimaced, "This feels like something that fell off a truck," Noah replied calmly, "And got run over a few times for good measure."
A minute later, Emery reached for a napkin, knocking over his water glass in the process. Noah didn't even blink, just threw up his hands in defeat.
"Hydration is chaos," he murmured, as if quoting ancient wisdom.
When a freshman across the room yelled out, "Bro, I swear I saw a raccoon in the dumpster yesterday!" Mark made a face.
"God, I hate this place sometimes."
Noah popped a tater tot into his mouth and said, "We're just one mutated rodent away from becoming a Marvel origin story."
Even Emery looked up at that, smirking over the top of his book.
Noah wasn't trying to be the center of attention – he just had this uncanny way of slicing through the noise with a line so crisp it made everyone pause. Nothing was forced. He was just observing life through his unique perspective. He didn't even smile when he spoke. He just watched, waited, and let the moment find him. And somehow, it always did.
The conversation continued like this for most of breakfast, and I found myself becoming more and more obsessed with Noah. He was funny, clever, cool, and he seemed real . And, of course, he was probably the most beautiful boy I had ever seen in my life.
I didn't say much. But no one seemed to mind. I was just enjoying the back-and-forth banter.
When we finished, they gathered their trays and slung their bags over their shoulders. I stood too, unsure whether to follow or disappear.
Mark gave me a small smile. "See you around."
Emery nodded, already sliding his bookmark back in place.
Noah gave me a look – half a smile, maybe. "Later."
They disappeared into the crowd, and I headed toward the quad, still half-floating. Something had shifted. Just a little.
I had almost reached the path to my first class when I heard running behind me.
"Nick!"
I turned.
Noah jogged up beside me, a little out of breath, curls bouncing slightly as he slowed.
"Hey," he said. "You wanna hang out later? After classes or something? Maybe get a coffee and tell me your first impressions of this place?"
The words hit me like a surprise gust of wind. He was way more forward and outgoing than I could ever hope to be.
"Yeah. Sure. That'd be… great."
He nodded. "Cool. I'll find you."
Then he was off again, disappearing into the stream of students crossing the lawn.
I stood there, tray long forgotten, heart buzzing like it couldn't figure out what to do with itself.
Maybe – just maybe –
This year wouldn't be so bad after all.
After dinner, prep began promptly at 7 PM.
Everyone in Linden Hall was expected to be at their desks for two full hours – no wandering the hallways, no earbuds, no distractions. Every so often, a hall monitor would poke their head into a room, clipboard in hand, asking if we had questions or needed help.
Jack and I sat at our desks, backs straight, notebooks open.
For a while, the only sound was the scratching of pens and the occasional turning of a page. I dove into my history reading, then flipped to the next chapter in English. It felt good to be busy. To have purpose. And I even liked the regimented schedule. It kept me focused and on-track.
That silence of prep lasted maybe twenty minutes.
Then Jack spoke – quietly, not even looking up.
"Do you think ghosts ever get embarrassed about the outfits they died in, or do they just haunt people in, like, bloodstained Crocs forever?"
I looked up from my notebook and turned around, seeing Jack's mischievous smiling face directed right at me.
"I… guess I've never thought about it," I said.
"Hmm."
He went back to underlining something in a tattered spiral notebook. A few more minutes passed.
"If I got cursed and turned into a chair, would you still sit on me – or would that be, like, a boundary issue?"
I paused, highlighter in midair. "I guess it would kinda depend on what kind of relationship we had."
Jack smirked slightly, still not looking at me. "Yeah. That tracks."
The rest of the hour passed like that – short, strange observations and questions, followed by silence.
Sometimes I wasn't even sure if he was talking to me or to himself.
Suddenly, I had to ask. "Jack, do you talk like this … weird … with all your friends?"
"Don't have any," he answered.
"You don't have any what? Friends" I asked, surprised.
"Nope. Not for me. Not a big fan of humans, exactly."
As weird – and mildly unsettling – as it all was, I had to admit: I was starting to understand Jack a little better. Or at least his… sense of humor ? If that's what it was.
I hesitated, then asked quietly, "So… you wouldn't be friends with me either?"
The silence that followed stretched longer than it should have. I could feel my pulse in my ears. After everything it took to even attempt this conversation – awkward, chaotic, and borderline deranged as it was – I figured I at least deserved an answer. Something to let me know where Jack stood. Where we stood.
Jack didn't look at me right away. He scratched at the edge of his sketchbook, then finally glanced up with a faint, crooked smirk.
"I mean… if I had to be friends with someone, I guess you're not the worst option."
He paused just long enough for me to wonder if that was the whole answer.
"But don't get weird about it. I'm still fundamentally anti-people."
Then, more quietly, almost like an afterthought:
"You might be an exception."
I wasn't quite sure how that made me feel. I mean, I really did want to be friends with Jack. You were supposed to be friends with your roommate, after all. And despite his aloofness and weirdness, he could make me laugh, which was a huge mark in the "plus" column, but was it enough to get past his many, many other idiosyncrasies? If he didn't have any friends, would he really even know how to be a friend? In the end, though, I decided that it wasn't like I was just looking for one friend to fill out my social life, so it wouldn't hurt to give it a try with Jack. And there was still a lot that I wanted to get to know about him.
At 9:10, I'd just closed my Mandarin phrasebook when there was a soft knock at our open door.
Noah.
He leaned against the frame, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes bright and curious. "Hey. You wanna hang out in the common room for a bit?"
I stood so quickly my chair legs squeaked. "Yeah, definitely. Just give me a sec."
As I slipped on my sweatshirt and grabbed my phone, I caught Jack watching us out of the corner of his eye. He didn't say anything, but something about the way his pencil stopped moving made me pause.
It wasn't annoyance.
It wasn't anything I could name.
Just… a shift in the air.
I followed Noah out into the hallway, feeling the weirdness of the past two hours slowly start to fade behind me.
The common room wasn't crowded.
Just a few boys scattered across couches and beanbags, a muted baseball game flickering on the TV in the corner, and the low hum of conversation blending into the sound of the old radiator clicking in the wall.
Noah took a seat on the couch near the window and motioned for me to join him. I sat beside him, trying not to overthink how close we were.
We started with easy things – how classes went, what electives and sports we picked. Noah was on the swimming team, which made sense. He moved like someone used to water: relaxed but always in control. He also probably looked good in a speedo.
After a pause, he asked, "What shows are you into?"
I hesitated. "I mean, I guess I'm a little basic. Game of Thrones. "
Noah nodded. "Good choice."
"And…" I shifted in my seat, lowering my voice slightly. " Heartstopper. "
He turned toward me with a grin. "I love Heartstopper. Charlie's the sweetest."
Relief rushed through me like air after a deep breath.
"I also like Abbott Elementary, " he added. "And old episodes of The Office. My mom had all the box sets. It was, like, our thing when I was little."
"I've never watched Abbott, but that sounds kind of perfect," I said. "My mom was more of a Grey's Anatomy fan, being a doctor and all. Go figure."
"Fitting," he smirked.
We drifted into other topics – music, teachers, what we missed about home. Noah mentioned he was from the Upper West Side in Manhattan, casually, like it was no big deal. He didn't brag, but the details slipped through: a penthouse apartment, a doorman who fed his cat when they traveled, summers in the Berkshires. Still, he said things weren't great with his family. His tone made it clear I didn't need to ask why. He was also an "old-timer" at Harrison West, having been here since middle school. I figured he must know Jack then.
I told him a little about my mom, about losing my dad when I was younger. Not the whole story, just enough. There wasn't pressure to say more than we wanted – just this steady, honest back-and-forth that felt surprisingly natural. Like we both knew what it was to keep things close but still wanted to be seen.
After a while, Noah suddenly asked, "Hey, weren't we supposed to get a coffee too?"
I shrugged and he zipped up his jacket and told me to follow him. We ended up walking to the Grab-N-Go and got a couple of café mochas. They weren't very good, to be honest, but it was worth it just to spend a little more time with him. I probably would have bitten off the head of a live octopus like one of those Fear Factor challenges just to get ten more minutes alone with him.
Eventually, Noah checked his watch. "I should probably crash. It's been a long day. But hey…"
He stood from the chair he was sitting on outside of the Grab-N-Go, lingering at the edge of the table. "I think you're really cool."
I blinked. Heat flushed up my neck. "I… I think you're cool too."
He gave me a smile – real and warm – and we headed down the pathway back to Linden Hall before lights out.
"See you in the morning?" he asked, as he held the door to the dorm open for me.
"I'll be ready."
"Cool."
And, just like that, he was gone.
I stood for a second in the soft hum of the common room, unsure if I was more nervous or hopeful, then made my way back to the dorm.
The lights were still on when I stepped inside.
Jack was in the room – sprawled out at his desk, still in just his boxers, reading The Catcher in the Rye . His feet were propped on the bottom rung of his chair, and the spine of the book arched in his hands like he'd read it a dozen times.
I froze in the doorway for half a second.
"That's one of my favorites," I said.
He didn't look up. "Yeah. Mine too. Holden's kind of full of shit, but that's what makes him work."
I smiled faintly. "Exactly."
Suddenly, Jack looked up and made eye contact. "Are you a phony , Nick?"
"I hope not," I answered, a little surprised and confused by his question.
"Good," he said, seemingly satisfied, then turned his face right back to his book.
I shut the door gently, changed quickly into my t-shirt and mesh shorts, and climbed into bed. I'd already showered before prep, and the only thing I wanted now was to collapse under the covers and maybe queue up something soft and familiar to watch on my tablet.
A few minutes later, Mr. G passed by the open door. "Lights out, gentlemen."
"Yes, sir," I called back.
Jack raised a hand in acknowledgement without speaking.
I turned off my desk lamp, slid under the blanket, and propped my tablet against my knees. The glow of the screen cast soft shadows across the ceiling as I scrolled through my downloads.
Just as I plugged in one earbud, Jack's voice cut through the quiet.
"Good night, Nick."
It stopped me – more than it should have.
Not sarcastic. Not sleepy. Just… sincere.
I turned slightly, surprised. "Good night, Jack."
And then I pressed play, the flicker of the movie washing over the walls, my thoughts tangled and buzzing.
Because for the first time since arriving,
I didn't feel like I was totally on my own.
It seemed like I was finally making friends!
The alarm buzzed at 6:30 sharp, slicing through the quiet like a chainsaw.
I blinked up at the ceiling, heart thudding from the jolt. Across the room, Jack groaned and slapped at his phone, sending it clattering to the floor. A muffled curse followed. For a minute, neither of us moved. We just lay there in the heavy stillness of early morning, cool air brushing over our skin, the soft gray light of dawn sneaking in through the cracked blinds.
By seven, we were up – dressed, teeth brushed, clutching our coffee like it was medicine. Jack's hair was a disaster, sticking out at odd angles, and his eyes were barely open as he stared into the void and sipped. I didn't say anything. I wasn't sure if small talk was safe yet. So, I kept my mouth shut and tried not to stare at the slope of his bare calves… or the way his oversized t-shirt slipped halfway off his shoulder like it was nothing.
Then came a sharp knock at the door.
"Yo! Nick?" Noah's voice – muffled, but bright and unmistakable.
My heart did this weird little skip. I moved to open the door, but as I did, I caught a flicker of something on Jack's face. Not quite annoyance. Not quite curiosity. Something guarded, something unreadable, hiding just behind the rim of his mug.
"Hey," I said, stepping aside as Noah walked in.
He gave me that easy, practiced smile of his. "Ready for breakfast? I'm starving. Let's beat the crowd."
I nodded and grabbed my lanyard and phone. "Yeah. Let's go."
The door swung shut behind us. As we walked across the green, I kept sneaking glances at Noah – his clean-cut profile, his swimmer's build, the little bounce in his step like he had someplace better to be. There was something reassuring about him. Like he'd already figured out exactly who he was and was just waiting for everyone else to catch up.
Halfway to the dining hall, a flicker of guilt tugged at me – maybe I should've asked Jack to come with us. Things between us had actually been getting… better. Warmer. Like we were finally figuring each other out. But the truth was, I wanted Noah all to myself. Just for a little while. There was something about him – his attention, his ease – that made me feel seen in a way I wasn't ready to share. So, I attempted to push my thoughts of Jack aside and kept walking.
By the time we got to the dining hall, the buffet line was already forming. I went straight for the carbs—eggs, sausage, bacon, home fries, biscuits & gravy, and two muffins for later.
Noah glanced at my tray and gave a low whistle.
"Hungry much?"
I flushed. "Uh, yeah. I eat a lot."
"Good," he said with a smirk, grabbing cereal and avocado toast. "I need a breakfast buddy who can carry his weight."
We sat down with Mark and Emery, who were deep in some heated algebra placement debate. Emery gave me a polite hello – his voice soft, pleasant. There was something about him: the smoothness of his skin, the quiet confidence, the kind of prettiness that didn't try too hard and didn't need to.
The conversation drifted – first-day nerves, bad dreams, the weird smell in the second-floor hallway. When I mentioned Mandarin, Emery perked up.
"I speak Cantonese with my grandparents," he said. "But I wanted to learn Mandarin too."
I looked over at him, genuinely impressed. "So, you're bilingual?"
"Sort of. It's messy. Cantonese at home and when we visit Hong Kong, English at school. Mandarin is like the 'official' version my dad wants me to learn so I can destroy the competition when I become a billionaire Chinese business tycoon."
I smiled. "Still. That's really cool. And you're going to become a business tycoon?"
Emery laughed. "I bet that's what my parents would want, but I'll probably just do the stereotypical lawyer or doctor thing."
For the first time in days, I started to feel it – that faint, cautious warmth of maybe belonging. I was in a conversation. I had people to sit with. It was… something.
Then I glanced up.
Jack was sitting alone, a few tables over, hunched over a mug of coffee. His tray had a couple fried eggs and a couple pieces of bacon on it, untouched. He wasn't looking at us. Not exactly. But he wasn't not looking, either. His face was blank, expressionless. But his eyes – those dark, stormy eyes – were fixed right on our table.
And I suddenly felt that wave of guilt wash over me again.
I looked away fast, a lump settling somewhere in my chest. I didn't know what it meant.
But it hurt.
After we ate, we dropped off our trays and headed back out into the sun. Just as we reached the path toward class, I felt Noah's hand on my shoulder – a quick squeeze.
Gentle. Nothing more.
But it lingered.
I still felt it as we walked through the breeze-tousled trees. As we joked about how lost we were going to get trying to find our classes. As I turned back, just once, toward the tall windows of the dining hall.
Jack was still sitting there.
Still watching.
And a small part of me wished that it was his hand on my shoulder.
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