+ LOVING ELIJAH MCCAY +
VOL. 1: CHAPTER ONE

Summer was finally over. I'd been told multiple times that thinking that way, made me sound absolutely insane. But I couldn't help it—I loved school. Not the entire learning ordeal, but rather the playing baseball everyday again, was what I was looking forward to.

Baseball camp had been a let-down, once more. And I can't say that I was completely surprised, when I realized this. All we did, was practice, and practice, but never played any actual games.

And going back to school, for my junior year, meant finally playing games again, every Wednesday and Friday night.

But I'd heard from many, many sources, such as my best friend, Rick, and my father when he was washing the dishes and didn't know that I was listening in on he and my mother's conversation, that my coach had called in a helper.

A helper, as in, coach had become too old to teach us by himself anymore. Everyone on my team saw this coming, especially after he'd had to take a leave of absence, after his life-altering stroke.

My father had been a mess for days, when coach become sick. He and my father were extremely well friends, especially considering coach Witherspoon had been in our lives since my father moved from Israel, and here—to Chicago.

But a helper? I wasn't necessarily sure about how I felt about coach wanting a helper—or Jr. Coach, as Rick had explained it to me.

But now, as I rode the school bus, full of seniors who seemed to hate me, and freshman's who seemed to think they were better than me, I was beginning to doubt myself and my love for school. It had been a long while since I spoke with Rick face-to-face. So, that would be nice.

But my classes, oh, my classes. I hadn't even been allowed to pick my own elective, my father telling me fire-science was an essential, seeing how he somehow thought that I'd be following in his footsteps and would become a fireman.

I held tightly onto my backpack that held little next to nothing. Only capturing my favorite book, my cellphone, it's charger, and an sweatshirt just in case one of classes decided to be extra, extra cold.

The bus driver signaled for me to exit the bus, as I must have seemed to be either spaced or mentally incompetent. "Hey, kid," he'd shouted over at me, "you've got school now. Not entirely feeling it today?"

I shrugged, making my way over toward the front of the bus, ready to exit the door, "Not sure, yet. See you after school, Harold!"

     Many, many, many people passed me, and ran into my shoulders as I passed them all, only about two muttering a short, sorry along the way. I tried not to let the small things get under my skin, but while constantly being touched by people you don't know, you begin to hyperventilate.

     As I made my way over toward the boys locker room, I could easily spot lots of people I knew from just a few feet away. Some nodded over at me, some merely looked away without another word nor thought.

     Maybe it's for the best, I thought to myself. Because then, I wouldn't have to force myself to be kind to people, who have only ever been cold toward me.

     As I pushed the locker room's door open, I was met with my teammates awaiting eyes, them all wearing knowing smiles. I was confused, but smiled along with them anyway. They seemed to know something I didn't.

     A hand slapped itself onto my shoulder, as I struggled to catch my breath again after such a scare. "Gage! Dude, I feel like I haven't seen you in years! How was camp? I can't believe you fucking went—"

     "Rick!" I shouted above his tone, my eyes widening at his apparent happiness to see me, "camp was great, and I missed you, too."

     Rick rolled his eyes, trying his best to cover up his obvious need for my affection. Or anyone's affection, "of course you did, I'm the fun one out of us two."

"Oh, really?" My eyebrows raised on my forehead, as Rick shook his head in hilarity, lips curling into a smile. "You're the fun one? And what exactly do you consider to be fun, Rick? Crashing into Mrs. May's mailbox? Or breaking your wrist in an arm wrestling match?"

He threw an arm over the back of my neck, mine doing the same to his. "Hey, at least I've lived. All you did all summer was throw and catch baseballs, and stay in some camp full of preteens and camp counselors who don't give a shit about baseball, itself."

I shrug, once more, knowing full well that Rick was absolutely right. "Yeah, but it looks great on college applications. Speaking of which, how was the tour to Georgetown?"

Rick settled onto the bench behind me, as I unlocked my locker, and began to shove my glove and baseball cap inside, drowning out everyone else's conversation, and focusing on Rick and I's.

"Boring, absolutely, positively—boring. The school's too serious! I mean, how is a guy like me, supposed to find love or friends in a place like that?" His words held logic, although, I still rolled my eyes.

"Aren't guys supposed to find their wives in college? Well, let me tell you something, G, there is no way in hell I'm marrying some chick who doesn't even get my jokes." After his long statement, he took a deep breath, our conversation being interrupted by our pitcher, Terrance Ford.

"Gage, hey, coach and Bradford have got a surprise for you later on today. Promise me you'll be surprised? I mean, I wasn't supposed to tell you, but I know how much you hate people springing shit on you." Terrance flashed a small my way, as I gripped onto my lockers door, eyes immediately finding Rick's after Terrance walked away.

Rick couldn't help but scoff in annoyance, hand reaching out to give my bottom a harsh, harsh slap, him laughing aloud at my yelp. "Everybody wants a piece of that Cilleti ass!"

"Shut up, Rick!"

Rick could only laugh, again, as I took the bench beside him, just as Coach Witherspoon made his way out of his office, Bradford beside him. By this time, my heart began pounding as Terrance words registered back into my mind, as did everyone's confusing smiled from just minutes before.

Tommy Bradford had been our faithful captain since his junior year here at Wayland High. But as his senior year ended the year before, word had spread that he and Coach Witherspoon had been on the search for a new captain, and I had been praying, praying, praying that it'd be me.

Tommy shook everyone's hands, our handshake being shaky and awkward as I'm sure he could tell that I was both insanely attracted to him, and I was extremely hopeful that I'd become captain.

     Coach began his beginning-of-year speech, everyone already knowing exactly what was to come. "Alright, boys, it's nice to see all of you, again. As you can see, Bradford's back, along with my surprise Jr. Coach who will get here once Tommy goes on his way.

     "As you all know, tryouts start right after school, so I hope each and everyone of you have spent the summer preparing. Especially since this is the last year for some of you." I looked over to the seniors on the team, who seemed more than happy to finally be in their last year at Wayland.

     Rick seemed to focus now, his snarky and sarcastic attitude going out of the window, as he listened in on every word that left coaches lips. Sure, he'd made fun of Georgetown, and sassed its reputation, but I knew, that he knew that this would be an opportunity of a lifetime.

     Tommy continued on for coach, "Once tryouts end, and coach debates who will, and who will not be apart of this team—he—and all of you, will choose the captain. The guy who has been here, every step of the way, and has given his all—of course, only juniors and seniors are in the running. Sophomores, you just wait one more year."

     Once Tommy finished his speech, he waved goodbye, and stepped out of the locker rooms main door, only leaving Coach Witherspoon to do the rest of the talking.

     Rick poked my shoulder, as I nodded a what, towards him. "You're definitely captain. Look at Geller," he pointed over to Austin Geller, who had came back to school with lots and lots of acne, seemingly just hitting puberty as seventeen-year-old. "There's no way he'll get it."

     "And you don't want it?" I asked with a slight hesitation, Rick already knowing just how badly I'd wanted—needed this.

     He only shook his head, "no, I'm good. Being captain is for losers who go to summer camp at sixteen." Toward the end of his statement, he laughed aloud, just as Coach Witherspoon dismissed us.

     As I stood, and tossed my backpack over my shoulder, and held onto it tightly, I pushed at Rick's shoulder. "Fuck off."