Let's back up a bit: 3 months ago I'm helping a friend out. He's a track coach at one of the local high schools. He needs help working one of the meets on a Saturday. I am loathe to give up one of my Saturdays but he's a good friend. Says he needs help writing down times, handing out waters, keeping head count, etc. So, at 6am we are all packed on a school bus, barreling down the PCH towards one of the beach cities. The kids are talkative but not noisy. A few sleep. One sits a few rows behind me and stares at me. Tony (the coach) and I are seated up front. He takes up one row of seats and I take up the opposite row (one of the benefits of helping a friend out--I don't sit next to kids). I sit with my back against the cold metal wall of the bus. I can turn my head 90 degrees and see the entire team.
The boy is tall and thin. He definitely has a runner's body. His blonde hair is long, a bit emo-ish, and hangs down his forehead. He looks very close to him. He is very quiet--one of the few who sit in silence. He sits towards the back but even then I can feel his stare on me. The few times I have caught him looking at me he smiles weakily and looks away. He's wearing only a tight white t-shirt, some tight blue sweats, and his running shoes.
We get to the school and for the next 4 hours I hand out water, cheer the kids on, write down times, and make sure they don't get into trouble. When it is all over my buddy and I go out for drinks.
Flash forward to now: I walk out my front door and there is a note stuck in the screen. It is plain white paper. In precise computer type he tells me how much he wanted to come up to me at the meet and talk but that he's really shy. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about me. He says he's heard about me from some friends but wouldn't say anything more about that. He gives me a link to his Facebook page. Wants to chat soon (again, his words). I wonder how he knows where I live. I look around to see if anyone is watching. The street is deserted and quiet.
I boot up the computer and check out his page. I remember him instantly. It's hard to forget a kid that has a bubble ass that is shown to perfection by his tight blue sweat pants. His page is typical but not as annoying as all the other twinks who tell you everything about themselves. His name is Joey. He's 16. And a sophomore.
The note leaves his phone number and an email address. Instead, I send him a very brief, non-commital message via Facebook. I tell him I remember him from the track meet and that Tony has said some very good things about him. I leave it at that. Better for him to come to me. Especially since he's only 16.
We'll see.
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