Swing for the Fences
by Little Buddha
Chapter 4
Classes had only just started, but I already felt like I'd stumbled into a different universe.
Gone were the rows of plastic desks and droning lectures of public school. At Harrison West, students sat around large oval Harkness tables – real wood, polished smooth, with enough space for everyone to be seen and heard. The teachers didn't just talk at us; they asked questions and expected responses. Real ones. Opinions. Arguments. Defenses. Everything was a discussion, even math.
I wasn't used to it. I still hesitated when called on, voice soft, cheeks flushing when everyone turned to look at me. But no one laughed or rolled their eyes. They just... listened. I figured I'd get more comfortable eventually. For now, I just took copious notes and tried not to fidget when I spoke.
I was surprised by how much I liked the challenge.
The reading, though, was intense. My backpack was already filled with books and thick packets, and my planner – color-coded and neat on day one – was rapidly becoming a mess of arrows, crossed-out pages, and margin scribbles. Every teacher seemed to think their class was the only one assigning homework. But I didn't mind too much. There was something thrilling about it, about working hard in a place that felt like it was built for it.
Still, it stung that I hadn't seen Noah in any of my classes. Or Jack. Just Emery in my Mandarin class.
The first few days had passed in a blur of syllabi, icebreakers, and early assessments. Then, on Wednesday, just after Mandarin, I stepped into the courtyard and spotted Noah, waving me and Emery over.
We settled beneath one of the big oak trees, its canopy casting dappled light across the grass. The break was only twenty minutes, but it felt like a small island in the day. I peeled the wrapper off a protein bar and sat close to Noah – closer than I probably needed to. Our knees brushed lightly, but neither of us moved.
Emery was animatedly retelling how his math teacher had veered off course for ten solid minutes, rambling about the Fibonacci sequence – spirals in sunflowers, seashells, galaxy formations. He even gesticulated wildly with his hands, as if summoning sacred geometry out of the air.
Noah, sitting cross-legged with his back against the trunk, sipped from a water bottle and said, "At this point, I'm convinced your teacher's just trying to unlock a portal to the underworld."
Then, turning to me with a straight face, he added, "By the way, I've been considering slipping caffeine pills into your water. Just to see if you start vibrating at a different frequency."
"Please don't," I laughed. "I'd either transcend or combust."
"Honestly, same result either way," Noah muttered.
The three of us just kind of… stayed there. Talking about nothing. Emery shared a weird fact about octopus dreams – apparently, they change colors in their sleep – and Noah launched into a whole theory about how they were probably plotting to take over the planet.
The conversation was light and easy, laughter breaking through in bursts. No pressure to be interesting. No one trying to impress anyone. Just three guys killing twenty minutes under a tree, feeling – if only for a moment – like we belonged somewhere.
I didn't say much. I didn't need to. I leaned back on my palms, legs stretched out, just listening, breathing in the warm late-summer air and enjoying the presence of Noah and Emery, everything chill and easy.
Noah nudged me with his shoulder. "You good?"
I smiled. "Yeah. Just… kind of can't believe this is real."
Noah cocked his head, curious.
I looked down at our knees, still barely touching, and then back up at the sky, bright and cloudless through the rustling green canopy. "I've never really had this before. Friends. Or whatever this is. I wasn't exactly 'Mr. Popularity' at my public middle school."
Noah didn't tease. He just smiled – gently, a little sadly. "Well, now you have friends. And you're already 'Mr. Popularity' with us. We like you."
Emery nodded his head enthusiastically.
I let the words settle in the space between us, warm and fragile. A part of me wanted to ask if he really meant that, to assuage my endless self-doubt, but I didn't. It was enough to just sit there in the grass, our water bottles sweating beside us, the air still soft with late summer.
For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was starting to belong somewhere. I was settling into my classes, I was slowly but surely making friends. I wasn't feeling as homesick as I was before. Maybe I really did make the right decision in coming to Harrison West.
I leaned back again, my eyes half closed, and let the moment hold me.
It would not last.
The sun was still warm on my skin when I rounded the corner toward Linden Hall, tennis bag slung over one shoulder, shirt clinging damply to my back. My forearm ached from too many cross-court drills, but it was the good kind of ache – the kind that made me feel like I was doing something real and productive, getting my body in better shape after a summer of laying on the couch and eating nothing but potato chips, string cheese, hamburgers, and bologna sandwiches.
Another boy from my dorm that I had met at tennis practice, Anwar, walked beside me, tall and angular, his glasses slipping down his nose as he recounted a physics podcast he'd been listening to between matches. I didn't understand half of it, but Anwar's enthusiasm made me smile.
"...and the guy said time might not even exist the way we think it does, which is just—"
A loud crash, followed by screaming.
I froze.
The sound had come from my floor – my room.
I dropped my bag and ran.
"Nick?" Anwar called after me, alarmed. But I didn't answer. My heart was pounding now, hard enough to drown everything else out. As I bound up the stairs, the hallway came alive with murmurs, doors cracked open, faces peeking out.
When I reached my room, the door was ajar.
And inside – it was chaos .
Sheets torn from the bed. A chair overturned. Books scattered like leaves in a storm. Jack's sketchbook torn to shreds. Clothes ripped out of the closets and strewn everywhere. Jack stood at the center of it all, flushed crimson, chest heaving, tears streaking his cheeks. His knuckles were raw, one hand curled so tightly around a handful of crumpled paper that his fingers were trembling. There was a gash across the side of his jaw, red and angry like he'd scraped it against something sharp, and blood was slowly trickling down his face. The boy who once seemed too "cool" and "aloof" for everyone else had just lost it, in the most dramatic way possible.
I stood in the doorway, stunned. "Jack?"
Jack didn't look at me. He didn't even seem to hear. His face was twisted in something raw, like pain or rage – or both. He grabbed a pillow and tore it at the seams, foam stuffing raining onto the floor like snow, then threw what remained of the pillow angrily at me. What did I do?!
I thought we'd made significant progress in our friendship in the last couple of days, so what the hell happened? Was I the target of his anger or was he just angry in general? I was so confused!
"Jack," I said again, quieter this time. But my voice felt paper-thin.
I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
I'd never seen anything like this – never imagined this version of Jack, unrecognizable in his fury, his despair. It was like a tornado had touched down right there in the middle of our room.
And then—
"Move!" Mr. G's voice, loud but calm.
Our house parent swept past me and into the room, arms out. "Jack. Hey. I'm here. I've got you, buddy. I've got you."
Jack thrashed as Mr. G grabbed him, trying to twist away, his elbow knocking against the desk with a loud bang . But Mr. G held firm, strong arms wrapped around him in something like a hug and a restraint all at once.
"You're okay. You're safe. I've got you. Breathe, Jack. Just breathe, little guy. We're gonna get you some help."
Jack collapsed forward, a sob catching in his throat. His body shook as Mr. G rocked him gently, whispering reassurances. The fight drained out of him, slow and heavy, like air leaking from a balloon.
I hadn't moved. I didn't know how to move.
Behind me, more boys were gathering, drawn by the noise.
"Back to your rooms," Mr. G said over his shoulder, still holding Jack. "Now."
There was a rustle of feet retreating.
Mr. G glanced at me. His voice softened. "It's okay, Nick. Everything's going to be alright."
But I couldn't believe it, not with the room completely torn apart. Not with Jack trembling and broken in the arms of the only adult who seemed to know what to do.
I just stood there, frozen – heart racing, ears ringing – watching as Mr. G helped Jack to his feet and led him slowly out of the room.
To the infirmary, he'd said.
The door shut behind them.
I was alone now.
I didn't know what to do or how to help – didn't know what to say or how to fix any of it. Jack's breakdown had left me shaken and helpless, standing in the wreckage of someone else's pain. The only thing I could think of doing was to start cleaning. Cleaning and organizing always calmed me down. I moved slowly, almost on autopilot, picking up overturned chairs, straightening scattered books, and folding the blankets Jack had yank\ed off the bed. A cracked picture frame lay face-down on the floor; I hesitated when I noticed it was a picture of a younger Jack from apparently a happier time – a little surprised that he would have that on his desk – then gently set it aside. The air still felt heavy, like the room hadn't quite exhaled after the storm. As I worked, I wasn't just cleaning up the mess – I was trying to make the space feel safe again, for both of us.
When I returned to Linden Hall after dinner, the sun had nearly set, leaving the campus washed in the pale, purplish light of early evening. The walk from the dining hall had been quiet, my tray of barely eaten food still sat heavy in my stomach. I hadn't been able to focus during dinner, barely said two words to Noah, Mark, or Emery. They'd tried to talk to me, to ask questions, but I hadn't had the answers. I still didn't.
As I reached the top of the stairs, the hallway felt eerily still. My hand trembled slightly as I opened the door, not knowing what might be waiting for me behind that door. Maybe Jack was back already?
Instead, Mr. G was waiting for me.
He sat on the edge of Jack's bed, his hands resting loosely on his knees. When I stepped in, Mr. G looked up with a calm, concerned expression – gentle, but serious.
"Hey, Nick," he said.
My heart was already hammering, and I needed some answers. "Is Jack okay?"
Mr. G raised a hand. "Before we get into that – how are you doing?"
I blinked. I hadn't expected that question.
"I—uh—I don't know," I admitted. "I guess I'd feel a lot better if I knew what happened. If Jack's okay."
Mr. G nodded slowly and stood. "He's alright. He'll be back shortly."
I felt something in my chest loosen. I hadn't even realized how tight it had gotten.
"You care about him a lot, don't you?" Mr. G asked.
My initial reaction was to scream "duh!" at him, but I eventually responded, "Yeah, I mean, he's my friend."
"He cares a lot about you, too, Nick," Mr. G said, patting me gently on the shoulder. "I think he's really embarrassed that you had to see that. Probably afraid he's going to lose you as a friend."
"Will you please just tell me what happened?" I asked, more abruptly than I probably should have. But I needed some answers. Was my roommate – who I was really starting to like – crazy? Was I safe?
"I can't share too many details, you understand. Privacy rules," Mr. G continued. "But I can tell you this: Jack's struggled with emotional regulation and anger since he was a kid. He was in a pretty bad place back then. They put him on some medication and he's been doing better for a while now. But something today must've triggered him. I don't know what that was. Do you have any idea?"
I racked my brain. I couldn't think of anything. I hadn't seen him since we woke up that morning and everything seemed fine.
He sighed. "Well, we couldn't get much out of him at the infirmary. He was too worked up. They gave him a sedative. He's calm now, and they'll keep him on that for the time being until his doctor checks in to adjust his usual meds."
I nodded, swallowing hard. "So… he's coming back tonight?"
"Yes. In a little while."
Mr. G looked at me intently now, his voice low and kind. "Jack's going to need a friend, Nick. Someone patient. Someone who won't push. I know you two haven't known each other long, but… I think it would mean the world to him. Just keep an eye out, alright? And if anything – even the smallest thing – feels off, I want you to come get me. Doesn't matter what time it is."
My answer came without hesitation. "Of course. I'll do whatever I can."
Although I had to wonder if Jack would ever even want or accept my help.
Mr. G nodded, a flicker of relief in his eyes. "Good man."
"I also see you cleaned up the room. I really appreciate that, Nick, and I'm sure Jack will, too. When he gets back, he's just going to need to rest, and I don't think he'd be able to deal with the chaos that was in here."
Then he gave me a small, fatherly pat on the head and left, closing the door behind him.
Alone now, I stood for a moment in silence.
The room still felt… off. The air heavier than usual. I looked at Jack's bed – remade now, thanks to me – and exhaled slowly. I sat at my desk, opened my Mandarin workbook, and tried to focus on something. I thought about calling my mom to tell her what happened, but I didn't want her to worry or throw a fuss about switching me to another room. I wanted to stay with Jack. I had a feeling our story wasn't over yet, and I wanted to see how it was going to end.
I continued to stare at the same page for ten minutes, rereading a single sentence over and over. Every few seconds, my eyes flicked to the door. I tried switching over to a different subject, but that didn't help improve my focus.
Then, finally – quiet footsteps in the hallway. The door slowly creaked open.
Jack stood there, slouched and pale, dark circles under his eyes. His hair was damp, probably from a quick shower at the infirmary. Mr. G followed close behind, a steady hand on his back.
"Back in your nest, buddy," Mr. G said gently.
Jack didn't reply. Just walked to his bed and sat down heavily, like his body had used up everything it had left.
Mr. G smiled warmly at Jack. "Nick is gonna take care of you for a while, look out for you, make sure you're okay and you have everything you need. Is that gonna be okay, bud?
Mr. G looked at me. "He's good for now. He's gonna feel kinda groggy and 'out of it' for a while from the sedation. You know where to find me if you need anything."
"Yeah, fine," Nick mumbled, still noticing that Jack wouldn't make eye contact with me at all.
I gave a small nod, and Mr. G left us in silence.
I stood slowly. "Hey," I said. "You okay?"
Jack rubbed his face with the heel of his hand. "Just tired."
He collapsed backward onto the bed, peeling off his clothes in jerky motions until he was left in nothing but his boxers. With his earbuds in and his eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling, he looked so far away – even though he was right in front of me.
I walked over slowly and sat on the edge of his bed, careful not to startle him. "Hey," I said gently, trying to keep my voice as calm and steady as possible. "If you need anything – anything at all – just let me know, okay? Or if you just want me to give you some space and leave you alone, that's fine, too."
"You can stay," Jack replied, barely above a whisper. "Just try to keep the noise down and I really don't wanna talk about what happened."
I extended my hand toward Jack and said softly, "Friends?
Jack cracked a rare half-smile and shook my hand. "Friends," he agreed.
For few more moments, he didn't say anything else. Then his eyes flicked toward mine, just for a second, and he whispered so quietly I almost missed it:
"I'm really sorry, Nick. I wasn't mad at you; I was just mad."
That was a relief to hear, although I figured there was probably a lot more to what happened than just being "mad." Heck, I got mad all the time and never tore rooms apart. But now wasn't the time or place to get into all of that. I just wanted Jack to get better, and I would stay here to make sure he did.
I went over and sat down on my bed again, then pulled out my phone to text Noah about our plans for the evening:
Hey, can't hang tonight. Jack's back. Need to stay w/ him. See you in the morning? —N
Noah replied within seconds.
Totally. Let me know if you need anything. <3
The little heart made me smile, just barely. I tucked my phone away and tried again to focus on homework, but the same restless energy had returned. My eyes kept drifting to the other side of the room. I wanted to tell Jack that I cared about him, that our friendship meant a lot to me, even in the short time we'd known each other, and I wanted to tell him that I would take care of him. But I couldn't do it. I knew I'd just sound like a dork.
Jack was still lying there, eyes fixed on a spot on the ceiling. The faint hum of music leaked from his earbuds, but he hadn't moved a muscle in what felt like forever. He wasn't just still – he was vacant . And that emptiness in him stirred something deep and raw in me, something I didn't quite have a name for but couldn't ignore.
He'd skipped dinner, so I gently asked if he wanted me to grab something for him. To my surprise, he nodded. He even tried to hand me money, but I waved it away without a word.
The Grab-N-Go was quiet, and I lingered longer than necessary, unsure what he might be in the mood for. I ended up buying a little bit of everything – an egg salad sandwich, a tuna sandwich, two personal cheese pizzas, a couple bags of chips, and a couple of pops. It felt excessive, but I figured I could always eat whatever he didn't want while half-watching some random movie later.
When I got back and laid out the spread like some sad little buffet, Jack actually sat up. He chose one of the pizzas, the tuna sandwich, a bag of chips, and a pop. His "thank you" was so quiet I barely caught it, but he looked me in the eyes when he said it. That alone felt like progress.
And he ate—fast. He was clearly starving. Watching him polish it off, I felt something I hadn't felt in a while: compassion.
Around ten o'clock, I slipped into my bed, dragging the covers up around me. I stared at my tablet for a while, scrolling mindlessly through the movies on my watchlist. I wasn't necessarily planning to watch anything. I just needed something – anything – to fill the space.
But the silence across the room gnawed at me.
I looked at Jack again. Then back at the glowing screen.
"Hey," I said, my voice soft. "Wanna watch something with me?"
There was a long pause.
Jack pulled out one earbud. "Sure."
I blinked. I hadn't expected him to say yes.
I folded the blanket back and gave the bed a gentle pat. Jack got up slowly and crossed the room, head down, eyes shadowed. He climbed onto my bed without a word and sat next to me stiffly, unsure. He wore nothing except a pair of boxers, which made me feel a little …awkward. But if that's how he felt comfortable, it was fine with me.
Then, gradually, he leaned in – rested his head on my shoulder.
My breath caught.
Jack's bare skin was warm where our arms touched, and I could feel a faint tremble still running through him. His hair, still a little damp, brushed against my neck. Slowly, hesitantly, I wrapped an arm around him and gently pulled him closer to me. Not too tightly. Just enough. And he practically melted into me.
It was like holding something fragile, like an authentic Ming Dynasty porcelain vase.
I didn't know what I expected – that Jack would shift away, change his mind, brush it off with one of his strange, flippant jokes.
But he didn't.
He just stayed there, cuddled closely together, and running his fingers lightly across my chest. The whole situation was incredibly intimate – I'd never experienced anything like it before – but, surprisingly, my body didn't react in the way I feared it would, and thank God for that, because what I was feeling for Jack in that moment was pure, innocent, and … loving ?
The movie started, but I wasn't watching. My attention was caught on every tiny sensation – the weight of Jack's body against me, the softness of his breath, the warmth radiating from his bare shoulder, his fingers gently caressing my chest.
There was a quiet hum in my chest, a strange blend of tenderness and grief. And it felt so natural to be with him like this. Like this was where we belonged in this moment.
"Are you OK, Jack?" I asked him quietly.
"Yeah, I'm good," he answered.
"Are you comfortable?"
"Yes, very," he sighed, and squeezed me just a little tighter.
"Good. Me too."
I didn't understand it. Not fully. But the ache in my chest was real. And the need to protect Jack – to be there for him, to stay – ran deeper than anything I'd ever felt. Whatever happened today and tonight was serious. It felt like a major turning point in our friendship, but I wasn't sure how it was going to play out. I was sure, though, that we would end up being a lot closer in the end. I hoped that would be the case. I needed a best friend in my life, and I was hoping Jack could be that for me.
At 10:30, a soft knock at the door broke the stillness. Mr. G stepped in, holding a small pill bottle and a paper cup of water.
When he saw the two of us curled together under the covers, he didn't blink. Just smiled gently, warmly.
"Here we go," he said, walking over to the bed. "This will help you sleep tonight."
Jack sat up just enough to take the pill and drink the water. Mr. G took the cup, ruffled his hair with a tenderness that made my throat tighten, and whispered, "Don't stay up too late, boys. And it's already past lights-out, so keep the volume down."
I nodded. "We won't."
The door clicked softly shut.
Jack eased back down beside me, leaning into me again without hesitation, wrapping his arms around me tightly.
And so we watched.
Quiet. Close.
I didn't say a word. I didn't want to break the spell.
Jack's body slowly relaxed into me, and I could feel the moment the sedative began to pull him under – his breathing deeper, slower, until his weight settled more fully against my side.
I tilted my head, looking down at him. He was so beautiful, and he looked so peaceful, finally.
The boy who'd screamed, sobbed, and torn our room apart just hours ago was now asleep against my shoulder. And I felt something break open in my chest.
I didn't know what Jack had been through.
But I would know. I'd find out .
And I would be there for him.
Virtus in Arduis .
Courage in adversity.
I closed my eyes and held him tighter.
I woke to the soft, insistent buzz of my alarm.
For a few seconds, I wasn't quite sure where I was. Then I realized I wasn't lying in my own bed.
I was in mine, yes – but not alone.
Somehow, during the night, I'd taken off my t-shirt and ended up curled around Jack from behind, my arm draped loosely over his waist, our legs tangled beneath the covers. His back was warm against my bare chest, and I could feel the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing.
I froze.
Everything from yesterday – the chaos, the quiet, the movie, the weight of him asleep against me – rushed back like a tidal wave of emotions. But this… this was something else. I hadn't meant to fall asleep like this, wrapped around him like we belonged to each other. And yet… we had.
Carefully, I started to shift away.
Jack stirred, then reached back and grabbed my wrist. "Just a few more minutes," he mumbled, his voice thick and groggy.
My heart flipped.
"Okay," I whispered.
So, I sank back down and let myself hold him a while longer, trying to memorize the moment – the feel of his soft skin, every freckle on his face, the faint peach fuzz about his upper lip, the quiet warmth, the rare stillness between us. For a few minutes, it felt like time wasn't moving at all.
Eventually, though, the day intruded. We both stretched, blinked against the morning light, and began the silent shuffle of getting dressed and ready for school. Jack didn't say much. Neither did I.
At exactly 7:00, there was a knock at the door.
"Yo, Nick," Noah called through. "Breakfast?"
I glanced at Jack, who was sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling on mis-matched socks like they weighed a hundred pounds.
"Wanna come with us?" I asked Jack. "Just for a bit?"
He shook his head. "Gotta stop by the infirmary. Meds. And… I've got stuff."
His voice trailed off, eyes fixed on the floor, except for a quick, unreadable glance at Noah. His face was blank, but there was something there – a flicker of sadness maybe? Or maybe I was just imagining it.
"Jack," I began. "Last night really meant a lot to me. It was really cool." I didn't really know what else to say without sounding like a moron.
Jack just nodded and gave me a sheepish grin. I kind of hoped it wouldn't be the last time he crawled into bed with me.
"Okay," I said softly. "I'll see you later?"
He gave me a vague nod.
My stomach growled, and I hated how guilty I felt for wanting to leave. But I did. I needed food. I needed to see Noah. I needed to feel normal again, if only for half an hour.
When I stepped into the dining hall, the others were already there. I sat down across from them, the noise of clinking trays and chatter providing a kind of strange comfort.
"How's Jack?" Emery asked, not unkindly. "I heard he had kind of a rough day yesterday."
I shook my head. "I don't know. He's… quiet. He said he had to take care of some stuff. That's all."
Mark gave a small nod. "Poor guy. Let us know if there's anything we can do. Us artists stick together."
"I still don't know what even caused it," I said, pushing scrambled eggs around my plate. "One minute everything was normal, and then…"
Noah leaned in a little. "Some things don't need a reason. Not a clear one, anyway."
I nodded, though I wasn't sure I understood. Or maybe I just didn't want to.
We moved on to lighter topics – classes, homework, someone in our dorm who apparently sharted in his bed last night – my mind stayed split. One half here, smiling and laughing. The other half was back in that room, still wondering about the boy who had collapsed and cried and curled into me like I was the only safe place left in the world.
If just the first few days at Harrison West had already brought this much intensity and drama… I couldn't imagine what came next. I did not want my life to turn into one of those young adult gay novels .
And yet, a part of me was already certain:
Whatever it was, I wasn't walking away from it.
But could I handle it?
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