"George," I announce, leaning against the wall. "I think something's wrong with me."

George continues sweeping the floor, but looks up at me with a concerned look on his face. There's a hockey lesson going on on the ice, and the kids look to be about four or five years old. 

"What do you mean?" asks George. He's wearing his black rain jacket. I'm not sure if I've ever seen him in anything else. 

"I don't know."

"Hey, talk to me."

Yeah, talking. I haven't been very good at that lately. "I don't know."

George sets the broom against the bleachers and leans against the wall beside me. He sighs deeply, and I look out at the little kids, flailing around on the ice. When he finally talks, his voice is warm. "You're under a lot of pressure right now."

"I guess."

He waits for me to talk. God, talking is so hard. All the words are stuck inside of me. 

"I can't sleep," I finally say. "There are lots of people talking about me. You know, online and stuff."

"Hmm."

"And... like, writing to me."

"Writing to you?"

"Yeah, like letters."

"I see."

"Most of them are really nice. One person said they almost killed themselves, but I like, gave them hope. But I don't... I can't be..." I stare at the ground.

"Most of them?"

"Well, a couple haven't been nice."

But I don't show Sam those. I don't show anybody those. 

"I see."

"And everyone either loves me or hates me. And I don't like either. I just want to play hockey, you know? I didn't want..."

"I know. It's a lot."

"Yeah." I sniff and stuff my hands in my pockets. "And I've just been really... anxious. And stressed."

"Why can't you sleep at night?"

"I don't know. My brain won't turn off."

George breathes deeply, and I bite my lip. I hate my brain at night. Sam getting beat up. Words ringing in my ear. People committing suicide. My father. My father?

"And I want to do the right thing. But I don't know what to do. I don't want to make a mistake."

"Cameron."

"And everyone's like, watching me. Um. And I just - I want to be a good person." I bite my lip again.

"Cameron. You are a good person."

"But I don't know what to do."

"You're only seventeen."

"Almost eighteen."

George smiles. "Almost eighteen. Cameron... I don't want you to be stressed like this. You don't need to be. So many people are rooting for you. And not in a... pressuring way. We just enjoy seeing the young man that you are becoming."

"Not everyone," I whisper.

"Not everyone."

"I'm gay." I stuff my hands deeper in my pockets and blink at my running shoes. "Shit, George. This is so hard."

"I'm here for you. Your family's here. Sam is here."

"But in a few months, I'll be moving away, probably. To whichever team drafts me. Then what? I'll have no one there, I won't know who I am..."

"You can call me anytime."

"You don't have a cell phone."

He looks shocked. "On my landline!"

"George."

"Cameron, you're such a good kid. I support you. So many people do. It takes courage to do things like this, but... I know you can do it."

"First gay NHL player."

"First gay NHL player."

I blink up towards the ceiling so tears don't leak out, but it doesn't work. "I guess I will be."

"I'm really proud of you. Okay?"

I squeeze my eyes shut. "Okay."

"Really, really proud of you, son."

George. George, George, George, George, George. That George. Always knows the right things to say. 

~

Ethan slides in the passenger seat and studies my face. "You don't look dead."

"I guess."

"Finally." He slams the door shut and cranks up the heating. "You know, it's really not been fun having to be friends with the zombie."

"Sorry."

"Are you actually awake now?"

"I guess so."

"Did you actually sleep last night?"

"Uh, yeah."

He punches my shoulder and grins. "Cameron Beckett is back."

That's a nice thought. I drive the car and hum 80s songs with Ethan. 

~

"Hey, Coach?"

He's looking down at his clipboard, scribbling loudly with a red pen. "Yeah?"

"I'll do an interview."

His hand freezes and he glances up. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"TSN has called me a few times. I kept putting them off."

"Okay."

"You want me to call them back?"

"Sure."

He sets the pen down on his clipboard. "I can do that."

"Alright."

He squints at me. "You okay, Beckett?"

"Yeah, I'm okay."

If not, I guess I'm really good at pretending.

~

Dear Jake,

Thank you so much for the letter. I really appreciate it. It's okay if you haven't told very many people yet, I completely understand. As long as you're being yourself, that's all that matters. 

From, Cameron Beckett

I put it in the mailbox. 

~

Sam comes over and we watch an old movie. Mom, Veronica, and Hailey are all out somewhere, and he leans against my chest. His hair smells like sweet soap.

"It's almost spring time," he says sleepily. He tucks his hands in the sleeves of his Harvard sweatshirt.

"Yeah."

"Everything is better in the spring."

"Is it?"

He smiles. "There are lots of good constellations in the spring."

"Are there?"

"Planets shifting into rotation, too."

"You'll have to show me."

"Alright. You'll have to teach me hockey."

"Alright."

"Cameron, what's your favorite planet?"

"I don't know. Earth?"

"Why?"

"You're here."

I don't know why I said that. Sam grins and blushes.

"I didn't know you were so sweet."

"Shut up."

He laughs, and I smile. 

I just like being here with him. Okay?

A/N I know I'm publishing really fast I'm sorry lol! Next week I'll be a lot busier, so I've just been writing as much as possible this week. Plus we're nearing the end a little bit, so... anyway, thank you so much for all the votes and comments!! This book reached #222 in teen fic yesterday which is crazy aaahhh! :)