Swing for the Fences
by Little Buddha
Chapter 6
I woke up to sunlight warming my face and a heavy sense of relief in my chest.
Saturday.
For the first time since I got here, I hadn't woken up to an alarm blaring at the ass crack of dawn. No drills, no class bells, no tightly scheduled anything. Just a gloriously late 9:30 and the first real breath of freedom since arriving.
My first thought was that the weekend had finally arrived.
My second, groggier thought was that I wasn't alone in bed.
Jack was pressed up against me – warm, soft, still asleep. We were tangled together like always, my arm wrapped loosely around his waist, his back pressed into my chest.
Our bare skin touched in a hundred places, and I could feel his slow, even breathing.
I stayed like that for a moment, not moving.
It felt... good. Too good. Which made it confusing. Which made it dangerous.
But Jack looked so peaceful. His face – usually guarded or contorted in some form of inner frustration – was soft in sleep. Almost angelic.
I wondered what it would be like if he always looked like that. If this version of him – the one who curled into me without hesitation – was the real one, and the rest was just armor.
Eventually, I shifted a little, gently brushing my lips against his shoulder. When he didn't react, I got a little more courageous and pressed my lips against the soft nape of his neck.
"Hey," I whispered. "Jack. Wake up. Breakfast."
He stirred slowly, blinking a few times before turning his head slightly toward me. His voice was thick with sleep.
"Morning."
A sleepy smile. Small. But real.
It made something ache in my chest.
"Do you want me to get you some breakfast from the dining hall before it closes?" I asked.
He hesitated, then gave a tiny nod. "Yeah. Okay."
I wasn't expecting that. Not after everything. Not after everything that happened yesterday.
"You want to come with me?" I asked carefully. "Sit with my friends?"
He looked uncertain. "I don't know…"
"Just breakfast. That's all. No pressure."
Another pause. Then he nodded again. "Okay. I'll try."
Maybe he really was trying.
We got dressed quietly, moved through the usual morning stuff – brushing teeth, pulling on hoodies and sneakers. It was still strange, how normal it all felt. How we could sleep wrapped around each other like something out of a romance movie, then wordlessly fall into our separate routines again like none of it meant anything.
Or maybe it did this time. I still didn't know.
Until, just as we were about to leave our dorm room, he pulled me to him and gave me a long, meaningful hug, his face buried in my neck and his hands rubbing my back. I wasn't quite sure how to react, but I liked this new "side" of Jack … a lot. So, I just let him hug me and I hugged him back, and it felt so right.
The walk to the dining hall was quiet. The air was brisk, but the sun was out, and for a moment, everything felt like it might be okay.
We made our way through the buffet line, piled our trays with eggs, sausage, chocolate-chip pancakes, a bagel with lox and cream cheese, and I could tell Jack was already second-guessing coming. His shoulders were stiff, eyes flicking around the room like he was looking for an escape route.
But when I motioned toward my usual table, he followed.
Noah, Mark, and Emery were already there. They looked up as we approached, and I cleared my throat.
"Hey. Uh… this is Jack. My roommate."
"Hey, man," Mark said with a casual nod.
Emery gave a polite smile. "Nice to meet you."
Jack muttered something close to "hey," then looked down at his tray.
And then – Noah.
He met Jack's eyes across the table, and something passed between them. I couldn't name it. Tense. Wary. Not quite hostile, but definitely not warm. Jack's jaw tightened slightly. Noah's expression didn't change, but he stopped smiling.
The entire table went kind of quiet after that.
Mark and Emery tried to keep the conversation going, half-heartedly talking about the movie outing later and some prank involving a tube of Icy Hot and a violin case, but it didn't quite land.
Jack barely touched his food, even when I tried to feed him, which was definitely not "normal" for two male "friends." But at least he took a couple more bites.
Noah barely spoke. In fact, he kind of glowered, and I couldn't blame him.
And me? I just sat there in the middle of it, wondering what the hell was going on and trying to pretend that all of this was normal.
This wasn't how I pictured it going.
Still, it was something. A start. A very awkward, uncomfortable, painfully quiet start.
But at least the afternoon movie trip was still ahead, although I had to wonder if this morning's breakfast scene had squashed any hope for a real "date" with Noah.
After breakfast, I tried to convince Jack to come to the movies with us. Probably not the best idea since this was supposed to be a "date" with Noah, but I was just trying to include Jack in more things, help him meet people and make friends.
I figured he might be into it. It was the new Marvel movie – loud, chaotic, full of explosions and emotional melodrama. It felt like something he'd roll his eyes at but secretly enjoy.
But he wouldn't budge.
He sat at his desk, pencil behind one ear, hunched over a sketchbook filled with half-finished figures and restless, jagged charcoal lines. He didn't even look at me.
"I've got stuff to do," he muttered. "Homework. Art project."
"It's Saturday," I said. "You can spare a couple hours."
Jack shrugged. "I don't really feel like being around a bunch of people."
Even Mr. G stopped by to nudge him. "Come on, Jack. Stretch your legs. Fresh air. Free popcorn. You might actually laugh once."
But Jack didn't flinch. "I'm good here."
He wasn't. But I gave up. It was back to "hot" and "cold" Jack, apparently, which was insanely frustrating.
Part of me felt guilty – leaving him alone all afternoon. But another part of me, the part that was still reeling from last night and barely holding myself together, was relieved. Maybe it was selfish, but I needed this. A break. Something light.
Jack was… Jack. My roommate. My friend. A boy I had held for three nights in a row, who now wouldn't meet my eyes.
But Noah? Noah was something else.
Maybe.
By noon, two yellow school buses were rumbling out front, and about twenty-five of us boarded. Mr. G was among the chaperones, clipboard in hand, sunglasses like a secret agent. Noah slid into the seat beside me, our knees brushing. He didn't say much, just tapped his fingers against his thigh in a slow, steady rhythm. I stared out the window, trying not to think about how close our arms were.
The mall in town was small – low ceilings, weird lighting, more empty storefronts than not. But it had a movie theater and a food court. That was enough.
We hit the food court first. Taco Bell for me, Noah, Emery, and Mark. The usual mindless eating, fast conversation, and chaos of boys who'd just been let off their leash for a few hours.
Mr. Baldwin, drinking some kind of neon smoothie, wandered around handing out the movie tickets like he was dealing blackjack. When he gave me mine, he winked.
We shuffled into the theater together, popcorn buckets in our arms, oversized pops sloshing, and a box of cookie dough bites (my favorite).
The theater smelled like warm fake butter and ancient upholstery. The air was thick with salt and sugar and something vaguely sour that clung to the back of your throat. The floors were sticky in that classic, unloved way – every step came with a faint shlk of shoe meeting syrup (or, God forbid, bubblegum). Popcorn was everywhere. Scattered along the aisles. Piled in corners. Like no one had ever bothered to sweep up after a movie ended … in the 1990s.
We found our row. Noah sat beside me.
The lights dimmed.
My heart sped up for no reason at all.
The trailers rolled – one after another, loud and booming and absurd. But I couldn't focus on them. I was too aware of the way Noah's shoulder brushed mine every time he shifted in his seat. But part of me really wished Jack was there, too. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get him out of my mind.
Then, just as the movie started, Noah leaned over.
"I've been waiting for months for this," he whispered, barely audible over the opening score.
I turned, catching a whiff of his shampoo, his gum, something warm and sweet and unmistakably him . "Yeah?"
He nodded, his smile a quick flash in the dim light. "Watched every trailer. I've got opinions."
I grinned. "I bet you do."
He laughed softly, and we turned back to the screen.
Ten minutes in, I felt it.
His arm, shifting slightly on the shared armrest.
Mine was already there, still, fingers curled loosely. Then – his knuckles brushed mine.
Barely.
My breath caught.
He paused.
I didn't move.
Then, almost imperceptibly, his pinky finger nudged mine.
Tentative. Testing.
My chest felt like it might explode.
I didn't look at him. I couldn't. Was this really about to happen?
Then – his pinky curled around mine. Gentle. Unbelievably soft. Like he was asking a question without words.
My heart pounded so loudly I was sure someone would turn around and shush me. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe.
It was the smallest gesture.
Yet it was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to me.
We stayed like that – just our pinkies linked – for the rest of the movie. In a dark, half-cleaned theater that smelled like butter and spilled pop and detergent-soaked carpet, while the world exploded in CGI on screen, I sat next to Noah with one tiny part of my body wrapped in his.
He didn't say anything. Neither did I. But it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
When the credits rolled and the lights came up, we slowly pulled our hands apart like we hadn't just been holding on for dear life for the past two hours. He stood up and stretched like it was nothing.
But it wasn't nothing.
Not to me.
I followed him into the aisle, heart racing, thoughts spinning, every nerve in my body buzzing.
That had to mean something.
Didn't it?
I practically jogged back from the bus, my body buzzing, not from the caffeine in the jumbo pop, but from something else entirely – adrenaline, anxiety, and teenage angst churning together in one chaotic mess.
Noah's pinky had curled around mine. That actually happened , and it was no accident.
And we just… sat there. Together. For over two hours. Like it meant something. Like I meant something to him.
Now my thoughts were tangled beyond recognition. I couldn't breathe without replaying it, couldn't blink without wondering what it all meant.
I wished I had someone to talk to. Someone I could tell – really tell – how I felt. Someone who could help me make sense of the swirl in my chest that wouldn't quiet down.
But I couldn't tell Mark or Emery. They were friends with Noah. And I hadn't told them I was gay. I hadn't told anyone. Not even Noah or Jack (although they'd have to be pretty stupid at this point to not have figured it out).
The only person who might've been left – God help me – was Jack.
But that obviously wasn't going to happen.
So, I was stuck inside my own head, trapped with the thoughts and insecurities I couldn't say out loud, and feelings I didn't have the tools to unpack.
What am I even doing? What does he think that meant? Am I imagining it? Did it mean more to me than it did to him? Am I just stupid?
When I reached the room, I tried to exhale the tension out of my body before opening the door.
Jack was sprawled out on his bed, earbuds in, one arm behind his head, the other tapping against his stomach to the beat of whatever he was listening to. His sketchbook was open beside him, a page covered in dark, dramatic lines.
He actually looked… calm.
And then, to my complete surprise, he pulled one earbud out when I walked in.
"How was the movie?" he asked.
I blinked. "Um… it was fine."
"Just fine?"
I dropped my backpack and sat on the edge of my bed. "I barely remember most of it."
He snorted. "Figures. Superhero movies are kind of lame."
I gave a weak smile, still dazed from everything I couldn't say. "You might've liked it, actually."
"Doubt it."
There was a pause, and then Jack said, almost offhandedly, "That kid you hang out with – Mark? He's in my art group."
"Oh yeah?" I said cautiously.
Jack nodded. "He's about as gay as a sparkly pride float doing a death drop in Times Square, but he's really nice and a talented artist"
My breath caught.
I glanced at him. "Is that… a problem?"
Jack raised an eyebrow cautiously. "Is what a problem?
"That Mark's gay," I said, matter-of-factly
Jack turned his head to look at me, with an incredulous look on his face. "Obviously not."
Obviously not. I didn't know what to do with that.
I didn't know what to do with him .
But for the first time in days, we actually talked. Not a lot. Not deep. But enough to fill the air with something other than tension.
It was almost friendly.
Almost normal.
I was still riding the emotional rollercoaster of earlier – of that hug at breakfast, Jack's "hot" and "cold" behavior, and my confusing feelings for him – but the fact that Jack was asking questions now, engaging, not shutting down – it felt like something, when just a few hours ago, he had shut down again.
"Hey," I said after a beat. "You thinking of going to game and movie night tonight?"
He shrugged. "Maybe."
It wasn't a yes. But it wasn't a no either.
"Well, dinner's in twenty," I offered. "Want to go together?"
Another pause. Then a small nod. "Sure."
I had to give him credit
He was trying.
Later that night, I made my way down to the common room, not expecting anything in particular. I figured I'd just sit around, maybe watch part of a movie, pretend to be normal for a while. I didn't think Jack would come.
But then, just as I collapsed onto one of the overused couches, Jack meandered in, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, and without saying a word, sat down right next to me. "This is gonna be so lame," he muttered. "I hate 'group activities' with a passion."
I blinked. "Didn't think you'd show up."
He shrugged. "Didn't have anything better to do."
That was… progress?
Before I could say anything else, Noah walked in.
He scanned the room once, and when he spotted me, he made a beeline toward our couch. He sat down on the other side of me, close – his leg brushing mine like it had in the movie theater, like he knew exactly what it was doing to me. I glanced at Jack and he had noticed. He did not appear thrilled.
Which meant I was now pinned between Jack and Noah. If teenage angst were a pressure cooker, I was ready to explode.
Someone broke out a Risk board and started roping people into a game. Naturally, we got sucked in.
It started out fine – some friendly trash talk, a little strategy. Alliances started to form.
Jack was cold and calculating, building up slow and steady, completely silent while the rest of us made noise. Mark jumped into alliances too fast and betrayed them even faster. Noah joked his way through every decision, somehow managing to dominate half the board while keeping a pop balanced on one knee.
At one point, Emery shouted, "That's a war crime!" after Jack steamrolled his forces in Africa. Someone else declared a "temporary truce," only to break it two turns later and trigger a shouting match about dice odds.
There were no friendships by the end – only shifting alliances and betrayal.
And through it all, I sat between Jack and Noah, feeling like I was occupying the emotional buffer zone between two nations with a fragile truce.
When the game finally ended – Noah victorious, because of course he was – someone turned off the overhead lights and turned on Netflix. A dozen boys settled onto couches and bean bags as someone just had to queue up Young Royals , which felt like some sick, cosmic joke. I'd probably already seen it a dozens time but would happily watch a dozen more.
I was still wedged between Jack and Noah. My whole body buzzed with leftover adrenaline. And confusion. And something I didn't even have words for.
About ten minutes in, Noah leaned toward me and whispered, "You wanna get out of here?"
My stomach flipped.
"Uh… sure," I said, too quickly.
I turned toward Jack and leaned in. "I'll be right back."
He barely looked up. "Cool."
That was it.
Outside, the night air wrapped around us – cool and just damp enough to smell like earth and fresh-cut grass. We walked in silence at first, headed instinctively back to the same cluster of trees we'd found the other night.
It felt different this time. Not tentative. Not casual. Like we both knew what we were doing, even if we weren't saying it out loud.
We sat down, side by side, close enough that our arms touched right away.
Noah looked up at the stars and let out a slow breath. "Much better out here."
"Yeah."
We talked for a long time. About stupid things. About real things. He told me more about New York – about the endless parties and pressure, the "Gay Mafia," and the way everyone seemed to have a script to follow. He talked about his dad, a big-shot lawyer who didn't even remember his own son's birthday, and his mom who had an Instagram account for her poodle but hadn't asked him about school the whole first week. It seemed like most of the boys here had serious issues with their parents. I counted myself lucky.
Curious, I asked more about the "gay scene" in New York City, since the only "gay scene" I really knew anything about (and not even that much yet) was just what we had here at Harrison West.
Noah exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on the floor. "You know, people act like the New York gay scene is this glamorous coming-of-age playground. But for kids like us? It's not glitter and pride parades – it's older guys sniffing around like wolves. It's kids lying about their age just to feel wanted, crashing on couches they shouldn't be on, getting drinks handed to them by men who know better."
I nodded, stomach twisting. "Yeah. Like, they call it freedom, but it's more like free fall."
Noah gave a bitter laugh. "Exactly. Nobody talks about how lonely it is. How fast you learn to fake confidence. How quickly you have to grow up just to stay afloat. And if you say anything, they act like you're ruining the dream. But the dream already chewed up a bunch of kids and spit them out. And that's not even saying anything about the huge amount of drugs they do – heroin, coke, meth, G, Special K, benzos, Oxy. Anything and everything. They even have what are called 'chem sex' parties. It's all pretty gross."
I listened as he talked, clearly pessimistic about New York's gay scene. And every time our hands brushed, I told myself it was just an accident.
Until it wasn't.
Noah's hand slid over and wrapped around mine – gently, but firmly.
Just like that.
No warning. No big gesture. Just fingers curling around fingers like it was the most natural thing in the world.
We didn't stop talking. We didn't even look at each other differently.
We just held hands and kept on talking.
Like two boys who were finally too tired to keep pretending they didn't want to. And I no longer wondered whether Noah was gay or not. He clearly was. And the odds were very good that he liked me.
I didn't want to ever let go, but eventually, I glanced down at my phone.
It had been almost two hours!
"Oh crap," I muttered. "We should probably head back."
Noah hesitated – just long enough that I knew he didn't want to move either. Then he nodded, slow and reluctant, and we stood up.
We didn't talk much on the walk back. We didn't need to.
But my mind was already spinning ahead.
Did this mean that Noah and I were "boyfriends" now?
What is Jack going to think?
Because I told him I'd be "right back."
How was I going to explain what I'd been doing the last two hours?
When I got back to the dorm, the lights in the hallway were dim, casting long shadows across the floor. My hand hovered over the doorknob for a second before I pushed it open, trying to brace myself for whatever version of Jack I'd find on the other side.
He was in his usual position – laying on his bed in nothing but his boxers, sketchbook balanced on his knees, one arm flung behind his head. His legs were tangled in the sheets like he'd been there a while. Charcoal smudged his fingers, his ribs faintly visible in the soft light from his lamp.
I'd seen him like this before. Slept beside him like this more than once.
But for some reason, tonight, it hit differently.
Maybe it was because of Noah. Maybe it was because I'd just come from something that felt like something , and now I was standing in this room again, reminded of the other boy who lived inside all my questions.
I felt a flutter in my chest. And, embarrassingly, one lower down.
"Hey," I said, cautiously.
Jack didn't look up. "Hey."
"How was the movie?"
He flipped a page. "Boring and lame."
I felt exasperated. "It's about a prince who falls in love with a commoner boy … at a boarding school! How could you think that was 'boring and lame?' It's so romantic!"
Nick just rolled his eyes and turned to face the wall.
I let out a quiet breath of relief when he didn't ask where I'd been for the past two hours. No questions. No glances. Just silence – calculated or indifferent, I couldn't tell. Maybe he knew not to ask. Or maybe he didn't want to give me the satisfaction of thinking he cared. Or maybe – most likely – he cared too much and didn't know how to show it without cracking. Jack was, without question, the most guarded person I'd ever met. He never said what he was feeling, at least not directly. Everything was a puzzle, a deflection, a test. It was exhausting. And infuriating. And still, somehow, I couldn't look away.
I grabbed my towel and shower caddy, muttered something about rinsing off, and ducked into the bathroom.
The shower helped. A little.
The rush of hot water gave me something to focus on besides the swirl in my brain – the low, steady hum of adrenaline I still hadn't shaken, the ghost of Noah's hand still lingering in mine, although that couldn't compare yet to the feeling I got sleeping next to Jack and cuddling him all night long. I was really in a bind.
When I came back, Jack was still sketching, earbuds in now. I dried off, pulled on clean boxers and a t-shirt, and climbed into bed.
Mr. G popped his head in for a quick check-in, offered his usual warm "All good, boys?" and got two half-hearted nods in return before closing the door behind him.
I turned off the light, pulled up my tablet, and queued up a movie. Something dumb I'd seen a dozen times. Just background noise. My thoughts were already louder than anything on-screen.
I lay there, staring at the soft glow, trying to make sense of everything.
The movie. The hand-holding. The way Noah had sat so close under the trees, like there was no question between us.
Most people – normal people – would say it was obvious. All the signs were there. Some would even say the same about Jack, although he was infinitely harder to read.
But I wasn't most people.
I kept second-guessing everything. Replaying it all. Trying to rationalize it, decode it, convince myself I hadn't imagined it.
Normal friends who are both boys don't hold hands like that.
But then… normal friends who are both boys don't sleep next to each other like you and Jack have, either.
I stared up at the ceiling, chewing on the edge of my thumbnail.
And despite the high I was still riding from being with Noah – despite the way my heart kept replaying every little touch – I realized something else.
I was hoping Jack would crawl into bed with me again.
I didn't know what it meant.
I didn't even want to think about what it meant.
I just… didn't want to be alone.
But he didn't move.
Didn't look up. Didn't shift.
Eventually, he turned off his lamp. Rolled over. Faced the wall.
I lay there, alone in the dark, the glow of my screen flickering over my face.
More confused than ever.
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
