Power Play

Chapter 2-3

“So does it hurt?” Dante asks. He

pokes at Ryan’s denim-clad knee, just above the brace that

stabilizes his lower leg. It’s only been what, fifteen minutes? A

half hour? But he feels as if they’ve known each other for years,

it’s like they’re the only two in the whole rink. Down on the ice

the heats are still going on—they need to whittle the ranks to just

four skaters in each group before they can start on the

quarterfinals. The skating club has eight divisions in all, four

groups and each broken down by gender. Dante’s in Group A. The

quarterfinals will narrow it down further—only one skater in each

event will advance to the state competitions. Dante’s sure he’ll be

among those, as long as he gets in some more practice time this

week. He should really be practicing now, but he likes sitting here

by Ryan, he likes the guy’s laugh, and he can’t get out on the ice

until today’s heats are over anyway. Another hour or so, if he

waits around that long. If Ryan stays here that

long.

Ryan swats at Dante’s hand. “Of course it

hurts,” he says. With the tip of his pen, he pokes at Dante’s own

knee, a ticklish sensation through the skin-tight bodysuit he

wears. “Does that hurt?”

With a laugh, Dante catches Ryan’s hand,

pries the pen from his grip. “Hey!” Ryan cries, reaching for the

pen. Dante holds it out at arm’s length, where Ryan can’t get it,

but he tries. He leans across Dante’s lap, digging his fingers into

the satiny sleeve of his jumpsuit, laughs when Dante tries to move

further out of reach. “Gimme it.”

“You didn’t say—” Dante

starts.

“Please?” Ryan asks. He looks up at

Dante, his eyes a hazy shade of blue, the color the sky gets just

before it snows. From this angle Dante can see thick lashes like a

girl’s, so light he didn’t notice them at first. Those freckles

flecked across his nose and cheeks, just below his eyes. If he wore

glasses, they’d be hidden. His lips a nice ruddy shade and not

chapped like so many of the skaters out on the ice, healthy lips,

curved just right…

Skating, he thinks. That’s why he’s

here. Skating, and the championships, and if he’s not going to

practice he should at least catch the next bus home so he can run

the errands his mom expects of him. This playing around is just

another distraction.

He lets Ryan take the pen. “I should get

going,” he says, but he doesn’t move. Ryan frowns at his notebook

and doesn’t say anything. “You gonna be here tomorrow?” Dante

asks.

Ryan shrugs. “Maybe,” he mumbles. Dante gets

the impression that he doesn’t want him to leave. That makes two

of us, he thinks. With a sigh, Ryan adds, “I don’t know. I have

therapy at ten.”

“For your legs?” Dante asks, before he

can think better of it. He shakes his head, disgusted at himself.

He never was one for good first impressions. “That’s a stupid

question,” he says. “Don’t answer it.”

“Okay,” Ryan laughs. “I

won’t.”

Suddenly there’s an awkwardness between

them, a what now? feeling that Dante doesn’t like. He should

say goodbye, he knows this, and they just met, that should be easy

enough to do. But no one’s ever really managed to hold his

attention for as long as this boy has, and Dante would be lying if

he said he wanted to go. In fact, he thinks that there’s

nothing he’d like more than to simply sit here for the rest of the

day with Ryan beside him, though Bobby wouldn’t like that much. His

shift at the skate shop starts at noon.

Leaning over Ryan’s shoulder, Dante asks,

“What’re you drawing?”

“Layouts,” Ryan says. Dante must look

confused, because he explains, “I’ve got to do the team web site.

Since I can’t play this season, I guess they thought it was

something I could handle.”

Dante’s impressed. He moves Ryan’s arm away

from the notebook, very much aware of the elbow resting against his

stomach, the sweatshirt sleeve warm with Ryan’s body heat. “You do

web sites?” he asks. “You have a computer?”

“I don’t really use it much,” Ryan

admits. “This is sort of my first site—”

“I need a web site,” Dante declares.

That’s just the thing, isn’t it? Everyone’s online nowadays,

everyone, and if he had a site out there he could post his

meets and pledge sponsors, make a little bit of money on the side

to help out with his skating expenses. “How much do they cost?” he

wants to know. Probably more than he can afford. Absently his

fingers rub a smooth spot into Ryan’s sleeve as he tries to figure

out just how much he could put aside every pay for a web site. He’d

have pictures of himself racing, and banner ads to click on and

raise money, and when he does get to State, he’ll have more

than enough cash to cover the racing fee. “Are they expensive? You

need a computer to have one, don’t you?”

Gently Ryan extracts his arm from Dante’s

grip. “You can hire someone else to make it for you,” he explains.

“Most schools give students free space on their servers. If you

want—”

“I’m not in school anymore,” Dante

tells him. “I work full-time at Later Skater.” He turns in his seat

so Ryan can see the back of his jacket. “Bobby spells it with the

eights. Can I get sponsors through a web site?”

“You could.” Ryan looks at the logo on

his back, then at Dante’s face, his hair, the bare strip of his

throat that peeks above the top of his neck guard. “I should have

some space on the college server. If you want, I can put a page

together for you.” Meeting Dante’s gaze, he adds, “No

charge.”

“Why not?” Dante wants to know,

suspicious. That’s something Bobby would say, no charge, and then

later on down the line he’d come back with something he’d want

Dante to do, no charge because didn’t he remember that time…? It’s

happened before, when he needed to do inventory, and Dante ended up

missing a heat because of it. If this is just charity work for

Ryan, Dante would hate that. “I work, you know,” he says. “I

can pay you if you do it.”

Ryan drops his gaze to the pen in his hands.

For a moment Dante thinks he’s not going to speak. Then he thinks

he’ll say something like, “I was just trying to be nice.” He’s not

sure what it is he wants from this boy, if anything, but he’s

certain it’s not pity.

But when Ryan does reply, his answer

surprises Dante. “Since the accident? No one’s asked me anything.

Not, how are you doing, Ryan? Not, what’s it like to sit all the

time? Not, how the hell do you take a piss anymore?” He forces a

wan smile. “Nothing. No one mentions the chair or my legs. Like

they’re scared they might offend me.”

“The doctors,” Dante suggests,

settling back in his seat.

Ryan shrugs. “Sure, the doctors ask. Where’s

it hurt? How’s this feel? Can you do this?” With a lusty sigh, he

says, “For all their talk of me walking again, it hasn’t happened

yet. All I do at the therapist’s are sit-ups and leg-lifts and damn

warm-up exercises. I want back in the game, you know? I don’t want

to sit on the sidelines, I don’t want to warm up with the rest of

the team just to watch.” He looks at Dante, his eyes

pleading for empathy. “You know?”

Dante nods—he knows. He doesn’t want to

watch other skaters, not when he can be out there on the ice

himself. Ryan’s smile brightens. “I don’t even know you, and

despite the chair, the first thing you asked me was if I

skate.”

Covering his eyes with one hand, Dante

groans. “That was a stupid question,” he tells Ryan. “I’m full of

them. Get to know me, you’ll see.”

Ryan laughs. “Stupid or not, it gets you a

free web site. I’m not guaranteeing the best…”

Dante peeks between his fingers at Ryan and

smiles to see those eyes lit up with laughter. Such a cute

boy, he thinks. “You strike me as the type who doesn’t settle

for less.”

“Well, I’m just warning you now,” Ryan

tells him. “It’ll only be my second web site, so I’m not promising

miracles. You’ll be back here tomorrow?”

Mentally Dante pictures the jar that holds

his skating fund—he thinks there’s enough in there for the next two

days, at least. He’ll practice in the morning as soon as he gets to

the rink, let Ryan snap a few photos for his page, his site,

on the web, he can’t believe that. Then they’ll do this again, just

sit like this and talk, or maybe they’ll go out and get something

to eat, or Ryan will invite him back to his house, and whatever’s

bloomed between them today will grow into…something more, that’s as

far as Dante will let it go for now. He has the quarterfinals to

worry about, and State championships. He doesn’t really need a boy

to distract him from that. Still…

“I’ll be here,” he promises

Ryan.