When the storm gathered, and the rains drummed their greetings upon the roof of the gym, and it was announced that we wouldn't be playing tag football, running through pelting rain and streaks of lightning, but playing dodgeball in the safety of the gym instead. Preferring dodgeball, one of my favorite games, I was elated. A smile of sinister satisfaction touched the corners of my mouth before I caught myself and smoothed my face back into a nonchalant look, in case any one of the hopeful boys looking to bash into one another on the field should notice.
Only someone did notice. Grady was standing in the middle of the basketball court with a small group of guys, clearly attempting to plot a strategy to hog tie Mother Nature and gain control of the weather in an effort to putting an end to this madness. Only half listening to the rantings of his fellow men in arms, he tried to use them as a shield so he could watch me without my noticing. The ruse failed. I pretended not to notice in case my acknowledgement of him might encourage him to approach me. As unnerving as it was to have someone stare at you, it was better than having to take on a full-fledged conversation with them, especially when that someone was a guy you recently found yourself physically attracted to.
Ever since I openly admitted to Grady that I was gay, and he accepted it in a matter of fact way, we began hanging out a lot more. The better I got to know him, the more interested I became in him. Before I knew it, I was fantasizing about him when I beat off at night. I was still crazy hot for Tyler, but increasingly found Grady a suitable substitute. Our conversations at lunch were often interrupted by girls trying to catch his attention, all but throwing themselves at him. His attention to them confirmed time and again that he was straight, and I had no better chance of getting together with him than Tyler. Lately, not wanting to get hurt, I tried to put some distance between us.
The coach named Cooper and Grady as team captains who began the dreaded process of choosing their teams. Hearing Cooper call my name was heartbreaking. As much as I wanted some distance between us, I also didn't want to face him in dodgeball. I tarried until coach insisted I take the lead out. Apparently, Grady had to wait until I was standing with Cooper until he could make his choice. I glanced at him as I approached, expecting to find him scowling at me, but found disappointment instead.
When the teams were formed, we lined up on our respective sides of the gym, informed of the rules and where out of bounds lay, then Coach emptied the big net bag of balls in the middle before scurrying out of the line of fire. The balls were snatched up with caution, then torpedoed at any player too slow to retrieve one before his opponent could take aim. I found my place near the middle of the excursion, not too far back that I should accidentally cross the out of bounds line, and not so close as to make me easy prey. I stood there, motionless, watching as Grady and his team picked off the weak and taunted the more combative of my team. Focusing my attention on the body language, allowing me to deduce who had taken notice of me and who was still distracted by the dwindling numbers on my side, the noise around me began to blend and soften, the movement came to a slow crawl, as if the room had begun to move in slow motion, even as I was aware of the speed of the balls in flight and the heart pounding agility of the opposing team.
One of the guys zeroed in on me, but was easily evaded. His frustration was noticeable as he lunged for another ball, I ducked beneath a ball coming from another. Soon, I'd have to become the aggressor, but their numbers were too great, and my side of the court still had a few good players. I bided my time, evading their attacks until I only had three pawns in play. A ball came my way, it was a good, direct hit, so I caught it. One out, five more to go. I watched the players, stalking them with my eyes, then lunged forward, releasing the ball at one, distracted in his retrieval of an errant ball. Another came my way, which I ducked. I knew I couldn't catch every ball that came my way. I wasn't very good at catching them. I was better at avoiding them. My only chance of catching a ball was determined by the other player's ability to throw straight at me.
With another catch, another player. I dropped that ball, catching it under my foot. I noticed another player lining me up and turned just as he released his throw, catching it in the chest, but embraced it in a catch. He left the floor disgusted with himself. With two opponents left, and Cooper, the last of us, taken out with a strike to the leg, I realized I was up against Grady and another fellow more powerfully built. These balls would be tough to catch and I knew it. Grady stood still, watching me, smiling to himself. The other guy rushed the line and threw the ball with such force I wondered if he had a personal grudge against me. Coach's whistle started and we looked at him in wonder. "Out of bounds!" he yelled, motioning with his thumb for Grady's only companion to leave the floor.
It was down to Grady and I. I noticed, if no one else did, that the balls began to roll to his side of the court, as the corners of hiss mouth rose slightly into a sinister smile of satisfaction. There was something about that smile, though, that made me fearful, causing the core of my body to tremble. I couldn't put my finger on what it was, exactly, that shook me up until he ran his tongue up along the top lip. It was the look of a predator. He was hungry, and I was the only thing on the menu.
