Chapter One

Miles ignored the lean stomach that was suddenly exposed as his best friend pulled off his t-shirt and wiped his forehead with it.

“It’s so goddamn hot out here,” Ryan said loudly, not paying attention to Coach Cavalier behind him.

“Lap for the language, Helton,” said the sharp, barking voice of the coach.

Ryan rolled his eyes at Miles and took off for his lap around the track. Coach Cavalier was particularly adamant about not cursing, and Ryan never took it seriously. He did at least three laps every practice for cursing.

Coach Cavalier winked at Miles and nodded his head toward the dugout, his universal signal for Miles to follow him. The two sat down on the bench, and Miles grabbed a Dixie cup. He pushed the lever on the water dispenser and gave himself a generous amount of the liquid.

“You want to try pitching tomorrow?” Coach asked Miles just as he took a particularly large mouthful of water.

Miles nearly choked in his attempt to say, “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Coach said quietly, “Your buddy running the track over there can’t pitch any more games this week. There’s a rule about overworking him.”

“But what about Brad?” Miles asked, putting the cold paper cup to his forehead in an effort to cool down.

“Went home early from school today with strep,” Coach said solemnly, “No offense, but we’d probably be going with him if he wasn’t sick. But you know we can’t make him play.”

“None taken, and yeah,” Miles said slowly, knowing full well that Brad was almost as good a pitcher as Ryan. Of course Coach would have gone with him first.

“You’re good, Miles,” Coach Cavalier said earnestly, “But we try to go with the strongest players first.”

“I know. I just don’t want my arm to get injured,” Miles said, massaging his shoulder.

“Look, dislocating your shoulder was… It was unfortunate. If you’re afraid to do it-”

“I’m not afraid!” Miles said quickly, crumpling the cup that was still in his hand, “I just don’t want to screw myself over. It’s only the beginning of May…”

“I should make you run a lap for that, but practice is going to end in a couple of minutes. I’ll let you slide,” Coach Cavalier said in reference to Miles’s cursing, “But anyway, we’ll see how you feel tomorrow. If you don’t want to pitch, I’ll put in Sal and you can go to third like you normally do. If you want to pitch, Sal will go in at third. It’s your call. Just let me know.”

“Thanks, Coach,” Miles said, getting up from the bench and throwing away his cup. Just as he got up, Ryan came jogging up beside him and threw an arm around his shoulder.

“How’s it going, baby?” Ryan asked, dragging Miles off to the locker room.

“Fine,” Miles said carefully, “Coach wants me to pitch tomorrow.”

Ryan stopped dead, nearly tripping Miles. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Miles laughed slightly.

“Are you ready for it?” Ryan asked, knowing full well Miles’s concern.

“I just don’t… You know.”

“You’re afraid of dislocating your shoulder again?” Ryan asked, almost reading Miles’s mind.

“Yeah,” Miles said, shaking his head, “I’m just being a baby. Sorry. Forget I said anything.”

“Look,” Ryan said, beginning to lead Miles back towards the locker room again, “It sucked when it happened, okay? Especially since it was early in the season. You know… If I hadn’t come out early, you wouldn’t have-”

“Don’t,” Miles said suddenly, “Just don’t. I don’t need to hear it. And I don’t want to.”

The two reached the locker room, and they changed in silence. Miles slung his sports bag over his shoulder and finally asked Ryan, “Want a ride?”

“If your dad doesn’t mind,” Ryan shrugged.

“Dude, how long have I known you? My dad thinks you’re the son he never had. You’re the son he wishes he had.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that,” Ryan said, shuffling his foot, “Your dad’s been really great to me. And your mom’s been great too.”

Miles studied his best friend for a moment before saying, “Screw it. I’m not into this heart-to-heart bullshit. Let’s go.”

Ryan followed his friend out of the locker room and into the hallway of their high school. They walked in silence down the hallway until they reached the exit near the parking lot. Outside was the familiar maroon Ford Taurus that Miles’s dad drove. The two jumped in the back seat, greeted Miles’s dad, and headed towards Miles’s house, where Ryan typically stayed for dinner and crashed in Miles’s room rather than going home.

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Ryan threw his pillow at Miles’s head. His friend had somehow managed to kick off all of his covers and was curled up in the fetal position. His mouth was hanging open. Ryan could think of several things to do to Miles, but he refrained.

Once the soft, down pillow hit Miles in the head, he stirred a little bit. However, a moment later, he just closed his mouth and kept himself curled up.

Ryan rolled his eyes. He went to the bottom of Miles’s bed, lifted up his mattress, and turned it over. Miles woke up immediately as he flew off his bed and knocked into his nightstand, his alarm clock falling over in the process.

“It’s six thirty, baby,” Ryan said, smirking at Miles’s confused looks.

Miles groaned and pushed himself off his hardwood floor. “I hate school.”

Ryan rolled his eyes again, and smiled. “I’m going to brush my teeth. Think you can manage to put your bed back together?”

Miles yawned his response, and Ryan headed out of the room and down the hallway to the bathroom.

Once Miles was alone, he sighed. This wasn’t the first time that Ryan had woken him up this way. He barely batted an eye. But it just proved his own thoughts: Ryan thought him nothing more than his best friend. Miles could deal with the warm, fuzzy feelings he felt whenever Ryan smiled, or touched his shoulder or back, or laughed. He could deal with the jealousy he felt whenever Ryan would make out with a girl at a dance or the movies. But what bothered him most was that Ryan didn’t feel the same way about him.

Miles set to work putting his bed back together. By the time he finished, Ryan had returned from the bathroom. He went over to Miles’s dresser and pulled out a polo and jeans. This was a normal occurrence for Miles; they borrowed each other’s clothes all the time. Granted, this may seem too girly for a lot of people, but after all, Miles was gay and Ryan simply didn’t care. They practically had all the same clothes, anyway.

Miles looked away as Ryan began to undress. If Miles gave him a once over, Ryan probably wouldn’t even notice. However, Miles couldn’t take a chance; you never knew when Ryan sporadically decided to pay attention.

Miles got dressed too, and the two made their way into Miles’s kitchen, where his mother was making breakfast.

“Hey Linda,” Ryan said cheerfully, calling Mrs. Baron by her first name.

“Good morning, Ryan,” Mrs. Baron replied, removing a waffle from the iron.

“Waffles,” Ryan sighed dreamily, pulling the butter and syrup across the table.

“I wasn’t sure if you spent the night, Ry,” Mrs. Baron said, setting down a plate full of buttermilk waffles on the table.

“Sorry, Mrs. B.,” Ryan said, slapping a waffle on his plate, “But you didn’t get home until after me and Miles went to bed.”

“What time did you get home last night, anyway, Mom?” Miles asked, his mouth filled with waffle.

“Around ten,” Mrs. Baron said, rubbing her eyes, “I am going to kill Maryann one of these days.”

One of Mrs. Baron’s favorite pastimes was badmouthing her boss, Maryann Mauss. Mrs. Baron worked in New York, about an hour away from where she and her family lived. Although it didn’t happen all that often, sometimes Maryann would make everyone in her department stay late and work overtime filing paperwork and entering information into the computers at the publishing company she partly ran.

“Can I help?” Ryan asked, who had, all too often, listened to Mrs. Baron rant and rave about Maryann.

“That’s sweet of you, Ryan,” Mrs. Baron smiled, wiping out the waffle iron with a wash cloth, “So do you guys have practice again today?”

“A game,” Miles answered, taking a large gulp of orange juice, “Coach wants me to try pitching today.”

Mrs. Baron turned around from the sink and raised an eyebrow at her son. “Are you ready for that?”

“I think so,” Miles shrugged, “I can’t hide forever.”

“Well, as long as you don’t overexert yourself…” Mrs. Baron responded, “I don’t want to get a call from David at the hospital to hear that you dislocated your other shoulder tonight.”

“Right, Mom,” Miles said, ignoring the fact that she had just called Coach Cavalier by his first name. He glanced over at Ryan, who was still shoveling waffles into his mouth.

“Come on, dude,” Miles said, getting up from his seat at the table, “Mom, we’re gonna peace out.”

“Thank you for breakfast, Mrs. B.,” Ryan said, smiling brightly. He grabbed another waffle from the plate and said, “For the road…”

“Bye, boys. Good luck at your game!” Mrs. Baron called as they exited the kitchen.

“Later,” Miles and Ryan said in unison.

They grabbed their drawstring bags and sports bags and left his house, walking down the road to the bus stop.

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“You did good, baby,” Ryan said excitedly as the JV baseball team made their way back to the locker room after the game.

“We won by one run,” Miles said sadly, “Yours.”

“What can you do?” Ryan said, “I got lucky. You threw some good strikes.”

“And we almost lost,” Miles said, punching his gym locker.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Miles,” Ryan said, running a hand through his hair, “Look on the bright side… It’s Friday, we don’t have practice tomorrow or Sunday, and we can hang out all weekend and do nothing.”

“We’ve got that paper due for O’Callahan,” Miles reminded his best friend.

“So we’ll knock it out tonight,” Ryan said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Not everyone has your IQ,” Miles said, “Some people need to work for their grades.”

Ryan rolled his eyes as he pulled his t-shirt over his head and shoved his baseball gear in his sports bag. He waited for Miles to finish changing, then dragged him out of the locker room, only pausing slightly to yell goodbye to Coach Cavalier.

“Look,” Ryan said slowly, “We’ll do the paper tonight and it’ll be the end of it. It’s not a difficult paper to write. It only needs to be three pages. And it has to be double-spaced.”

Miles mentally groaned at the paper’s requirements. He allowed Ryan, though, to help him with his paper on Louis XIV until one in the morning. Ryan’s paper, on Marie Antoinette, was considerably better than Miles’s, but then again, Ryan was naturally a good writer. Miles…not so much.

Miles had to admit, once he looked at the finished project, that Ryan was a very good teacher, particularly when it came to words.

And that only reminded him of why he liked him so much.

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Notice: Yes, it’s me. I’m finally back with another story! This is the first installment of “Don’t Ask,” and I’m very excited. Hopefully you enjoyed it as well!