Superhero (3 page)

To be honest, while I thought the cheerleaders were hot, they scared the shit out of me. They were so bitchy and cliquish and way too pushy. Emily didn’t know who I was, or if she did, she was unimpressed. I liked that. Maybe I was just the kind of guy who wanted to be the chaser rather than the chasee. Besides, if there was a secret way to my heart, it was Jordy.

“Yeah, Jordan… he’s amazing,” I said
enthusiastically. “You should see the comic work he does. You know, he has over five thousand followers on tumblr.”

“He does? What’s the URL?” Emily was all over it. I gave her the info.

Then it hit me—where I’d noticed Emily before. “Hey, you’re one of those spelling bee kids, right?”

She got all cold and tight again, like I was going to make fun of her. “Yeah, so?”

I shrugged. “You got to travel a lot with that, huh? That must have been fun.”

She looked wary. “We went to Montreal and New York City.”

“Nice! That’s one of the things I really like about wrestling.”

She looked at me dubiously.

“So… that must mean you’re a really good speller.”

She snorted. “Wow. Brilliant deduction. You’ve got it going on for a jock.”

I just laughed. “What I mean is, Jordy and I do this comic called
Pin Man and Pencil Boy.
That’s what we post on tumblr. He draws it and I write it, but I kind of suck at spelling and grammar. We could use an editor.”

“Seriously?” Emily’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, if you want. It’s sort of a satire. Superhero stuff. You might not be into it,” I warned her.

“That’s fine,” she said. “I like pop satire.” I could see she was thinking about how maybe she’d get to be around Jordan. She couldn’t care less about being around me. Which was way cool.

My best friend was coming into his own lately, and I was happy for him. In the past year, Jordan’s body had changed so fast his mother complained she couldn’t keep him in clothes. The dude ate 24/7 just trying to keep up with it. At the start of eighth grade he was a few inches shorter than me. But now he towered over me by a good half a head. His face had gotten larger, and his chin squarer. He still had dark, shaggy hair and big brown eyes, of course. But his sort of boy-band cuteness was becoming more mature. He was still more pretty than butch—at least compared to the guys in wrestling. And his slim physique was even slimmer now that his body had shot up. His shoulders had broadened and were almost as wide as mine, but he was super slender. I’d seen him without a shirt plenty of times, and you couldn’t count his ribs or anything, but the guy had no fat on him whatsoever.

Personally, I envied his body. Coach was always on me to add more muscle mass. We’d discussed me going up to the 182 weight class, and I’d probably do that next year, which meant even more bulk. Jordan had no reason to bulk up, and he didn’t like working out. When I did at home, he’d spot me and just yack, sometimes swing around a light barbell or something just goofing off. He really didn’t need to work out. He was so lean he looked good in anything. And the way he wore his hip-rider jeans so low you could see his underwear—it was way cooler than most guys. I could never pull off a look like that.

“I can introduce you to Jordan if you want,” I offered.

“Yeah?” Emily looked at me critically. “Do you think he’d go for me? What’s his type?”

My face heated. By now, Jordy’s type was a given, at least when it came to the most important bit. He got issues of
GQ
magazine from the library—the dude was a total clothes horse—and sometimes he’d point out male models he thought were really hot. And sometimes I’d point out girls and ask what he thought. He’d say things like “Nah, she looks like a bitch,” or “You can do better,” or “Yeah, you should go for it.” But it was always clear he himself had no interest
at all
. But it wasn’t my place to tell Emily or anyone else what wound Jordy’s clock.

“Hmmm. Honestly, uh, I don’t think you’re his type,” I stammered lamely.

“Oh.” Emily’s face fell. She pursed her lips and got kind of a strange resignation on her face. “
Oh
. Damn.”

“But you’re really pretty and smart. I’m sure there are lots of guys who would go for you.” I was almost surprised to find that I meant it.

She looked at me quizzically for a moment and then she checked me out. No kidding, she looked me up and down with no subtlety whatsoever. When she got back up to my eyes she smiled.

Jordan

F
IRST
match of the wrestling season, sophomore year. Boo-yah. Owen had asked me to sit with Emily, show her the ropes. I was really thrilled about that,
not
, but I couldn’t say no. Now that we were in high school, and Owen was such a freaking star, the home matches were a zoo—all the bleachers packed and people crowding the gym doors. It could be a little intimidating. I’d told Emily in e-mail that it was customary to dress as ridiculously as possible. I, myself, always wore three gold streaks across each cheek, a gold school shirt, and special gold Converse tennies. I also had gold glitter bouncy balls on a headband which I let Emily wear since she was not yet equipped with the appropriate amount of team spirit.

We stopped to say hello to Owen’s mom and dad and about ten of his cousins. His mom hugged me and then hugged Emily, which made me a little annoyed since I’d been around forever and she’d only been around a few months but, whatever.

We squeezed into a space on the third bleacher.

“Is it safe sitting this close?” she asked worriedly.

“It’s not like there’s a ball that can hit you,” I said. “Though you might get flung with some sweat if you’re really having a bad day.”

“Oh.” She looked vaguely disgusted.

“I’m kidding, Emily.”

The team came out. As usual, Owen was announced last of the sophomores. When he came out the crowd went nuts. We stood up and screamed with everyone else.

She grabbed my arm and leaned in. “Damn! He’s really popular,” she said, her eyes wide.

I looked at her in disbelief. “Emily, do you have
any idea
who you’re dating?”

She looked a little dazed and didn’t answer.

The first round of bouts was never that exciting since they were between the lower-ranked athletes. But Emily watched the boys trying to out dominate each other with a kind of mute fascination. I couldn’t see Owen very well—he was sitting down—so I idly looked over the other athletes on the floor.

Emily whispered in my ear. “So which of the Altoona wrestlers do you think is the hottest?”

I choked on my Coke, causing several people in our vicinity to give me the hairy eyeball. She pounded my back.

“What did you say?” I finally gasped.

She rolled her eyes. “Please! Like I don’t know. Did you know that I actually liked you first? And I asked Owen about you, and he was all, like, ‘well, er, um, er, I don’t think you’re his type.’” Her imitation of a bashful Owen was priceless. I had to laugh.

“Are you serious? You liked me first?”

“Oh, yeah. I had a big crush on you all last year. You’re totally cute, and jocks aren’t normally my thing. But, ya know, it’s kind of hard to argue with
that
.”

She pointed to where Owen was now standing on the sidelines. Our high school singlets were gold and scooped low in the back. Owen’s back was broad and strong, sculpted with muscle. It V’d to a tight waist and a luscious bubble butt, thighs thick and round with muscles and shapely calves. Add shoulder-length blond hair and blue eyes, and I seriously could not imagine anything on Earth more perfect.

“Fuck, yeah,” I said breathily. It just came out. I looked at her to see if she’d be pissed or shocked, but she just snorted in amusement.

“Sheesh, Jordan. Thank God he’s not gay, that’s all I can say. But hey, it’s totally cool with me that you are. I think it’s awesome to have a gay friend. And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

She really did seem fine with it, which was kind of perplexing. The only person who knew I was gay was Owen, but I worried a lot about what other people would think when they found out.

Then again, Emily could afford to be generous. She got Owen.

“Number seven,” I said, nudging her arm. Across the gym floor, in a white singlet, number seven was strutting back and forth wearing his head protector. He wasn’t huge like some of the guys, just muscled and tight. You could count his six-pack through the Lycra. He had sandy blond hair that stuck out from around his head gear. Maybe I’d draw him into our next issue. I could picture him as a Silver Surfer type, only a real California surfer dude. My fingers itched for a pencil and paper.

“He’s totally hot,” Emily agreed. She looked him over, and her eyes grew wide. I knew what she was staring at. Even from across the arena, you could make out the size and shape of his package. “Christ, that’s
obscene.”

“Clearly, this is your first wrestling match,” I said dryly.

“But… why don’t they wear something underneath?”

“Owen says it’s a macho thing. Guys who wear straps or cups are considered lame. I guess it’s like gladiator mentality. Burp, fart, sweat, let it all hang out.”

She blinked as if trying to clear the smut from her eyes. “God, Jordan, how can you stand it?”

“Disassociation,” I said archly. “I’ve trained myself not to think about it. I am in control at all times.”

She looked at me with an arched brow,
oh really
?

I coughed and looked away. “And, uh, it helps to wear long T-shirts.”

She snorted as she glanced at my lap where my long gold JEFFERSON T-shirt was doing its duty as emergency backup. I didn’t always get hard at wrestling matches anymore, but when I did, I preferred to hide it under 100 percent cotton.

“TMI, but… yeah, okay. I guess there are certain advantages to being a girl,” Emily said.

I looked at Owen and thought, with not a small amount of bitterness,
now
that’s the fucking understatement of the year, sweetheart
.

I honestly tried not to think about making out with Owen all the time. For one thing, it was pathetic, and for another thing, it was needles-in-your-eye torture. We spent so much time together, and most of the time I didn’t let my head go there. But I was crazy about him, and the fact that he was so gorgeous didn’t help. When I was alone jerking off, I let myself imagine things. I’d spun that one kiss in the pool into so many variations I could probably claim a Guinness World Record for Most Exhausted Fantasy. I didn’t make things any easier on myself, I guess, but it was hard to resist the temptation. And now I was sitting next to Owen’s girlfriend. Good times. With every fiber of my being I wanted to hate Emily, but I had to admit she was actually pretty nice and sort of funny.

Owen had an important bout tonight. He was going up against a wrestler who was ranked third in the state in Owen’s weight class. The guy would be gunning for Owen, and if Owen lost it had the potential to knock him down in the year-end rankings. I could see that he was intensely focused as the time came closer for his match. He didn’t pace on the sidelines like some wrestlers. Instead he stood still and turned inward. I could see his face and shoulders set, his fists flex. He was building himself up to the kind of tenacity he was known for. Pit bull Nelson.

They called the match, and the crowd stood and cheered for both wrestlers. Owen went out immediately with his focused-killer look, and in a moment they were on the mat. There was silence except for the squeak of their shoes on the gym floor when they dug in for purchase. It was so quiet, you could hear Owen and his opponent’s heavy breathing. Emily clutched at my arm, giving me a nice half round of fingernail impressions. I’d probably need a tetanus shot, but what the hell. The bout was intense. I grabbed her back.

Come on, Owen. Come on, Owen. Come on, Owen.
It was my lucky mantra, and I kept chanting it over and over in my head.

He had the advantage, starting on top. But after several long minutes of struggling to get the guy off his hands and knees, his opponent reversed and flipped him. Owen landed on his side and scrambled for his knees, barely avoiding going onto his back. The guy was on top of him but Owen
heaved
with all his strength and lifted the guy completely off the floor. When he came down he managed to slip his left arm out of the guy’s grasp, do a cutback and get out from under. A few minutes later, the guy was down and then—pinned.

The place went crazy as the ref took Owen’s wrist and held it up. Owen was still completely focused, but he shook his head and managed to give the crowd a smile and a fist pump.

Emily looked at me, her jaw dropped open.
Oh my God
, she mouthed in total disbelief.

I looked away and did a two-finger whistle for Owen, jumped up and down and waved to him energetically. He looked right at me and gave me a grin.

That
, Emily Abrams, is who you—apparently beloved by the gods—are dating.
That
is my hero.

W
E
STAYED
in our seats while the bulk of the crowd filed out. I always waited for Owen to shower and change. As usual, he was going to spend the night at my place. Emily stayed, too, and Owen’s parents came down and stood with us.

Owen came out, damp and crazy happy.

His dad slapped him on the back. His mom hugged him. Owen hugged Emily and gave her a quick kiss. I looked away.

“Great match, son! You did great! Loved that cutback.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“We’re so proud of you! We’ll see you after school tomorrow, alright?” His mom kissed him good-bye.  She turned to me. “And good night to you too, Jordy.” She kissed my cheek.

I appreciated the fact that she made it a point to include me as always.  “Bye, Mr. and Mrs. Nelson,” I said. 

Owen’s folks left.

“My mom’s going to pick me up by the sign,” Emily said.

“I’ll meet you back at my place,” I offered. I figured they needed some alone time, and I liked seeing the two of them together about as much as I liked slamming my finger in my locker.