Out of the Pocket by Bill Konigsberg Read Free Book Online Page B

stairwell side by side and took two steps at a time. “Good. It is what it is, right? He’s hurt. He’ll get better and the recruiters will watch him play again.”
    We hurried down the steps to the main fl oor.
    “Looks like the Gay-Straight Alliance is having a dance,” he said, pointing to a pink fl yer on the wall in front of us.
    I laughed. It was just a reflex reaction. Not that Rahim had ever made antigay jokes, but I wasn’t used to my friends using the word gay without some sort of negative twist. Not Rahim, but a lot of the guys were always saying things were “so gay.” And that wasn’t a good thing.
    When Rahim didn’t laugh, too, I stopped. “Cool,” I said, struggling to swallow.
    48
    • • •
    I found Austin in the cafeteria at lunchtime and headed over to the counter, where he was buying a plate of pasta to go along with his brought-from-home protein shake. He saw me and smirked. “Oh, you’re gonna pay,” he said.
    “Yeah, for your lunch,” I said. He shrugged, putting away his wallet. I paid the woman, and when she gave me change, Austin grabbed it out of my hand.
    “Wow. Free pasta and forty-five cents, this is my day!” he said as he carried his tray to a free table. I didn’t have food yet, but figured hanging out with my best friend was more important at this moment.
    We sat down and I waited until he settled himself and began to eat, really fast, as usual. There was a lot to talk about, and I didn’t know where to start.
    “Austin, I’m really, really sorry, dude. How are you feeling?” I asked.
    “How are you feeling, how are you feeling?” He mimicked me, slobbering pasta. “Screw you. I’m fine, you moron. Get over it. It’s football. You still owe me big-time.”
    “Well I’m glad you’re okay,” I said, boiling a bit about how he made me sound.
    “Yeah you are, or else I’d be kicking your ass right now, kid,” he said, and I smiled, knowing that it was all words.
    “Of course,” I said. “I’m scared to death of your amazing strength.”
    He laughed, continuing to eat. “Dude. Injure me and then talk trash. Real nice.”
    I laughed, grateful to hear him sound like my buddy again. As awesome as he was about things, since coming out to him a week 49
    earlier, I felt like the connection had gone down or something, like a bad cell connection, cutting in and out and suddenly it was hard for us to relate.
    I got up and bought myself lunch, then rejoined Austin. Dennis had arrived and was busy devouring two heaping plates of rigatoni.
    “Hey, Dennis, what’s going on?” I asked.
    “ ’ Sup,” he said. Dennis’s communication skills were lacking.
    When he wasn’t being funny, he was busy showing us how the world isn’t cool enough for him.
    His dirty-blond hair fell in wisps over his forehead, and I tried to imagine what girls saw in him. He did nothing for me.
    “What are we hating today?” I asked Dennis. Getting him on one of his rants was one of my favorite things, but it could be hard to do.
    He was either there, or he wasn’t. No middle ground with Dennis.
    “You, if you keep asking questions,” he said, grumbling.
    “Problem solved,” I said, turning to Austin to speak. Austin interrupted me.
    “Don’t look now, geek reporter approaching, nine o’clock,” he said. I turned to my right and saw Finch Gozman loping over.
    I cursed myself for not removing the remaining chair at the head of our table. Gozman took it as an invitation to join us.
    “Hey, guys!” he said, and I had to suppress laughter, thinking of Dennis’s imitation of Finch, which started with the same line. “Hey, guys!” Dennis would say when he saw us in the hallway. “Hey . . .
    hey . . . wait up!” And then he’d start following us, his arms out in front of him like Finch, his eyes scrunched up, looking like a serious nerd.
    It was mean, but pretty much right on target.
    “Hey, Finch,” I replied, not looking at him, hoping the lack of excitement at seeing him