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crap. Show ’em who you are.” As the third quarter got under way, it seemed as if the game had turned round. Jason freed Corey up to get three shots, but then Jason missed a layup.
    “Get with it,” Dwayne hissed. “Stop playing like you’re gay.”
    Jason disregarded the taunt, more angry at himself for messing up than at Dwayne. Nevertheless, the comment rattled him. And during the next play, he lost the bal .
    Dwayne shouted, “Man!” and elbowed him in the side. That was too much. Jason spun around, shoving Dwayne. The referee blew his whistle.
    Corey intervened, thrusting his arms between the boys.
    The coach yel ed, “What the hel ’s the matter with you two?” He shot Jason a disappointed look, as if Jason had let him down, and ordered both boys to the bench. In the stands the crowd booed.
    Jason hung his head and stared at the floor. It was the first time in his career he’d been benched for an altercation. To make matters worse, Whitman lost the game.
    In the locker room afterward, amid the shouts and lockers slamming, Coach cal ed Jason and Dwayne aside. “Al right, you two, what the hel In the locker room afterward, amid the shouts and lockers slamming, Coach cal ed Jason and Dwayne aside. “Al right, you two, what the hel happened?”
    “I didn’t mean to bump into him,” Dwayne whined. “I don’t know why he got so upset. He’s so . . . sensitivel” Jason strained every muscle not to strike the jerk.
    “That’s crap!” the coach told Dwayne. “I don’t know what’s with you two, but I won’t tolerate it, understand? I want to see each of you Monday.” Jason nodded, too angry to think beyond the present moment. Quickly he undressed, hurrying to cool off in the showers.
    Not even Kyle and Mr. Meeks, who were waiting eagerly for him, buoyed his spirits.
    Al weekend Jason racked his brain, debating what to tel Coach. He knew he’d let Coach and the team down by getting into it with Dwayne.
    But he was sick of the name-cal ing, sick of rumors, sick of hiding. The fight wouldn’t have happened in the first place if Dwayne weren’t such a homophobe.
    He should simply be up-front with the coach. Even though Coach yel ed al the time, he’d always been fair with Jason. And it was thanks to him that Jason had the scholarship to Tech. Except. . .
    This was different from missing practice or screwing up a reverse. He’d heard Coach himself use the word “fag” enough times. How could Jason admit to being one?
    Monday morning at school Jason headed toward Coach’s office—one moment stepping quickly, determined to come out, but with the next step slowing, as his resolve flagged.
    Turning the hal way corner, he saw Coach. In one hand he carried a steaming coffee mug, captioned WORLD’S GREATEST DAD. With the other hand he hauled a nylon bag of kickbal s.
    “Hi, Coach,” Jason said, his voice quavering.
    “Carril o, give me a hand with these.”
    Jason grabbed the mesh bag and fol owed the coach to his office. On the wal hung photos of Coach standing proudly by past years’ teams, alongside a picture with his wife and kids—known to Jason from the times Coach and his wife had the team to their home for dinner.
    Coach took the bag of kickbal s and placed it by his gray metal desk. “Close the door, Carril o. Take a seat.” Jason thought back to the last time he’d sat in the low vinyl chair, only a few weeks earlier, when Coach handed him the scholarship offer from Tech.
    “Smith was here earlier,” Coach said, bringing Jason back to the present.
    What had Dwayne told Coach? Jason wondered. Had he mentioned the GSA meeting?
    “Carril o ...” Coach cleared his throat. “What the hel happened the other night?” Jason shifted his feet, glancing down at his sneakers. “Wel , first Dwayne said something, then he jabbed me—”
    “Carril o!” Coach brought his hands together, cracking his knuckles. “I don’t want to get into this who-started-what, as if you were a couple of