Maggie never wastes a chance to study, not even to enjoy a Pop-Tart. The only exception is a card displayed on the counter and my little sister, Maggie, sitting on the neighboring living room couch rifling through a box of Oreo Pop-Tarts with her science textbook splayed open on the coffee table. She makes super-elaborate cakes every birthday and covers the house in decorations that change depending on what team, movie, or hobby my siblings and I have adopted over the last year.īut when I get to the kitchen, everything’s just as we left it last night: plain walls, sunken couch cushions, and dishes stacked in the sink. I throw on gym shorts and a T-shirt and head down to the kitchen, wondering what birthday surprise Mom will have cooked up this year. I just wish I’d realized it while he was still here. today, they’ll be spent with me living my fullest life. Even if I only have 18,615 days left, after two p.m. I force a slow breath, knowing the next time I look at it, all that panic will be gone. Every day since then, I’ve been panicking, watching the time tick away, thinking about the years I’ve already wasted in the closet. I bought the countdown clock barely hours after my grandpa Scratch died and set it to fifty-one years from now, when I’ll be the same age as he was. Sure enough, it’s flipped from 18,616 to 18,615 and my stomach sinks. I roll my eyes, glad to see no one else has responded, then turn to shut off the TV and check my clock. INTIMIDATE THE FUCK OUTTA EVERYBODY AND BE READY FOR TONIGHT’S AFTERPARTY PEP RALLY TODAY!!! AND YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS. I don’t linger on the Xbox now, though, instead I turn to my phone sitting on top of it, and the stupid text from none other than Ostrowski waiting for me in the team’s group chat: It’s a model behind what rich people like my teammate Tim Ostrowski have, but it does the job and I’ve gotten in the habit of zoning into it before important days. My gaze skims over a pile of laundry I need to do, lying next to the Xbox I may have spent too long playing last night. Posters of LeBron James, Trae Young, and Dominique Wilkins plastered on the walls. My TV is still buzzing with ESPN that I left on last night, next to the basketball medals and trophies on my dresser. I’ve said it to myself a hundred times, but I’ve never spoken those words out loud. My last day being in my room before the world knows I’m gay. My first few seconds in my bedroom as a sixteen-year-old. Through the grogginess, I take a moment to really absorb the feeling of it. Can he take a real shot at the love he was fighting for in the first place? Excerpt He and Barclay have never been each other’s biggest fans, but as Barclay starts to explore parts of himself he’s been hiding away, they find they might have much more in common than they originally thought.Īs sparks turn into something more, though, Barclay has to decide if he’s ready to confront the privilege and popularity that have shielded him his entire life. Aggravating, fearless, undeniably handsome Christopher. And he does, but he also finds Christopher. She drags him to her voting rights group, believing Barclay can find a bigger purpose. But who is Barclay if he doesn’t have basketball? Suddenly he is at odds with his own team, and he doesn’t even have his grandfather to turn to the way he used to. Quickly.īarclay is faced with hostility he never expected. Until he decides to use the biggest pep rally in the town’s history to come out to his school. Here basketball is all that matters, and no one has a bigger spotlight than Barclay. In his small Georgia town, Barclay Elliot is basically a legend. Heartstopper meets Friday Night Lights in this keenly felt coming-of-age story about a teen hometown hero who must find out who he is outside of basketball when his coming out as gay costs him his popularity and place on the team.
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