Am I G@y?

The Game Begins

It's three days since I said I'd play basketball this weekend. Three days of obsessing over every little detail of it.

I find myself visualizing it — not the game itself, but how I'll interact with Adrian when I see him next. What I'll do. What I'll wear.

Is it weird that I wore three different shirts this morning, just to see which one flatters my arms? I never used to be like that. I never used to care about impressing others like that.

I even searched for, "What does it mean when you can't stop thinking about someone?" like Google was going to tell me whether I'm just lonely or absolutely losing my mind.

Spoiler: the internet says I’m probably in love.

Love.

That feels too big for what this is.

And yet… it doesn’t.

The days leading up to the game have been torture. Every time my phone buzzed, my heart leapt, hoping it was my brother giving me more details about the game.

Yesterday, he casually mentioned, “Oh yeah, Adrian’s definitely coming. He said he hasn’t played in a while but he’s excited.”

Excited.

That word's been stuck in my head since.

Why would it mean so much that he's stoked? Why does it make me grin like a moron when nobody's there?

Today's game day.

I woke up earlier than I needed to, my stomach roiling with fear. I barely ate breakfast. My brother wasn't paying attention — he was too busy psyching himself up for the game, deciding who's going to defend who.

Me? I was just considering whether or not I'd even be able to grip a ball without shaking.

I took five minutes standing in front of the mirror before I headed out the door.

"Relax," I reminded myself. "It's basketball. It's just a game."

But I knew better.

This was the first time I would be alone with Adrian outside the confines of the gym — outside the guise of a workout to distract my eyes and focus my mind.

This would be real.

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The court was already abuzz when we got there. I could hear balls bouncing, sneakers squeaking across concrete, the guys' laughter as they warmed up.

And then I saw him.

Adrian.

He stood close to the middle of the court, twirling a ball on one finger as if it were no trouble at all. The sun reflected off his hair, highlighting its lighter tone than what it had in the gym.

His face broke into a smile when he saw me.

"Hey!" he shouted, beckoning me over.

I stopped for a half second, then made my legs move.

"Hey," I said, trying to sound as relaxed as humanly possible under the feeling that my chest was folding in on me.

"You play?" he asked, tossing me the ball.

I caught it — barely — and nodded. "A little."

"Awesome," he said with the same relaxed grin. "You're on my team."

I swear I came close to forgetting how to breathe.

Being on his team would mean we'd be close. Passing the ball, covering for one another, maybe even high-fiving on a good play.

My brother was shouting for everyone to get into position, but I didn't pay much attention.

Because all I could think was that Adrian had chosen me.

Me.

We assumed our positions, the game about to start. My hands were sweaty already, but today I didn't care.

As Adrian was standing right beside me, smiling as if he was genuinely happy I made it.

And on the brink of the game ready to begin, he leaned in slightly and whispered, "Let's win this."

The ball bounced off the concrete, and the game began.

I took a deep breath and told myself to focus — to remember how to play, how to move, how to act as if I weren't falling apart. But it wasn't easy with Adrian next to me.

He called out for the ball and tossed it in my direction in seconds.

"Go!" he shouted, his voice crisp and encouraging.

I dribbled down the length of the court, trying not to trip over my own feet, and passed it back. He shot — and scored.

"Nice!" he grinned, running backward trying to get into position to guard.

My heart was beating too fast. Not from the running — but because I couldn't help staring at him.

The game went on, a blur of shouts, bouncing balls, sneakers squeaking against concrete. I wasn’t the best player on the court, but Adrian didn’t seem to care. Every time I passed him the ball, he gave me a quick nod or a grin, like we were actually working together.

And every single time, my chest tightened just a little bit more.

By the time halftime arrived, I was drenched and gasping — but not just from the exercise.

Adrian walked over, handed me a water bottle, and said, "You're playing great. Didn't think you'd play this well."

I stared at the water bottle in my hand as if it were some sort of valuable treasure.

"Thanks," I managed to say.

He chuckled, wiping sweat from his forehead on the edge of his shirt. My eyes darted away before it could linger too long on the flash of skin.

God.

Why did that look so threatening?

The second period started, and this time Adrian was calling plays. "Cut left! I got you!"

And when he said I got you, it didn't sound like mere ball talk.

When the game was over, we were down by one point. Adrian glared at me, determination in his eyes.

"Open?" he asked.

I nodded, my pulse pounding.

He approached me and fed me the ball. I shot — and somehow, by some miracle, it went through.

Our team erupted in cheers. Adrian ran up to me, grasped my shoulders, and laughed.

"Awesome shot, man!" he shouted, clapping me on the back.

It was nothing. Just a friendly gesture.

But I swear my whole body radiated from the touch.

The game was over within a few minutes. We'd won.

Everyone was laughing, clapping each other on the back, already thinking of a rematch next week.

I was still vibrating — not with the win, but with Adrian's grin as he high-fived me a last time.

"Good game," he said, his voice softer now that the noise had died down.

"Yeah," I croaked, my throat dry. "You too."

He wrapped his towel around his neck and glanced at the group. "We're all getting some grub, right?"

"Yeah," my brother answered. "There's a diner down the corner."

Adrian looked at me then, like he was waiting for an answer.

"Come on?" he said.

For a second, I couldn't talk.

"Yeah," I said finally.

As we all walked to the diner, my heart just kept pounding — but this time it wasn't from shooting hoops.

This was different.

Bigger.

Scarier.

Because now, I wasn't just standing beside him on a court or throwing him the ball.

I was going to sit next to him.

Talk to him.

Be close enough to smell the sweat that still clings to his skin, be close enough to notice every detail of his laugh, his smile, his eyes.

And I wasn't sure I was ready for that.

The diner was redolent of fried food and coffee, and warm and cozy after the chill of the courtroom.

The men jammed into a booth near the back, arguing and teasing each other about the game — who had been the team's leader, who had almost lost it for them.

I came in last, and so I ended up on the inside of the booth — with Adrian wedging himself in next to me.

The table was crowded, shoulders clashing together every time someone moved. I tried to listen in on the conversation, but every time Adrian leaned forward to chat with someone across the table from him, his arm brushed against mine.

Nothing. Completely ordinary.

But I could barely breathe.

He caught me staring at my menu for too long again.

"Starving?" he asked, looking over at me.

I jumped up a little. "What? No — I mean, yeah, I'm hungry. Just deciding."

He smiled. "Get the burger. Trust me, it's good."

I nodded as if he'd just given me life-changing advice.

While we waited for food, conversation ranged to school, summer vacations, random rumors. I smiled along with everyone else, but my mind was actually on Adrian — on how comfortably he got along with all of them, on how easily he fit into the crowd.

He slumped back one time, looked at me, and said, "You're quieter than I expected."

I blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno," he shrugged. "You were concentrated when you were at the gym. But today, even after shooting that game-winning shot, you're still kinda. in your head."

I froze where I was.

Because he was right. I was in my head. And the fact that he'd noticed it — out of all people — twisted something in my chest.

"I guess I'm just tired," I blurted out too quickly.

He leaned in, looking at me for a moment before he nodded. "Fair enough. You played well, though. Most people will choke under pressure, but you didn't."

"Thanks," I said softly.

For a moment, our eyes met — really met — and I had to glance away before he saw too much.

The food came, saving me from speaking any further. The table got raucous again as everyone dived into eating, but I barely managed to savor my burger.

I was too aware of Adrian sitting next to me, how close we were seated, the timbre of his laughter when someone cracked a joke.

Someone made a joke about relationships at some point, and my brother groaned.

"Don't even start," he said to me. "This guy hasn't been on a date since Miriam."

He gave me a head jerk.

I could feel my face heat up as everyone looked at me.

Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Miriam?"

"Ex-girlfriend," I growled.

"What happened?" he asked casually, sipping his drink.

"She dumped me," I said in the hopes of moving the conversation along.

"Her loss," he said nonchalantly, turning back to his food.

Two words.

But they hit me like a punch to the chest.

The group was getting up to leave when the sun began to set, tingeing the sky with orange and gold. Everyone was still laughing and talking, but my head was spinning.

Adrian walked with me as we all proceeded towards the parking lot.

"Going to the rematch next weekend?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied before I could stop myself.

"Good," he said, smiling at me in a way that made breathing hard. "Wouldn't be the same without you."

After I got home, I almost ran up the stairs to my room, locked the door behind me, and retrieved my diary.

Dear Diary,

I have no idea what is going on with me.

I do not know whether I am reading too much into things or if today meant something."

But I just can't help re-living how he looked at me when he muttered, "Her loss."

As if he really meant it.

As if maybe — possibly — he looks at me the way I'm starting to look at him.

And if that's true…

I have no idea whether I should be frightened or thrilled.

My phone beeped a while back.

It's a text message from Adrian.

Just four words: "Next time, just us?"