Young Writers Society

I’d really wanted to talk to Camillo on the way back to my hotel, but we’d had to stick to the not being seen together plan. In fact, we stuck to this plan so well that the next time I saw him was at the next tournament, in Rotterdam. He claimed that he was just being cautious, but I’m convinced he was embarrassed about what he’d done. He said we could talk when we got there. I didn’t want to argue in front of the reporter, so I just left.

Christina was highly disappointed in me for this.

We were in the taxi on the way to the airport, stretching out in the weird square box. No other cars are that shape, except maybe hearses. But maybe more should be, because as we watched the sunset-tinted clouds drift past and stretched out in that big boxy space, I felt as relaxed as it was possible to feel. Well, without holding onto Camillo’s hands in the middle of a nightclub.

“Couldn’t you just have got rid of the reporter?” Christina hissed. I was grateful to her for not wanting the driver to overhear, but he had barely said a word since we got in. He seemingly could not care less about romantic drama.

“It was her hotel room.” I shrugged. “Besides, I think he needs to think for a bit.”

“As hot as I still think he is, he needs to think about someone other than himself.” Christina’s jaw was set and she snarled a little.

“He probably is,” I said, “He seemed really sorry.”

She didn’t say anything for a while. Then, turning away to stare out the window, she said, “Sure.”

And that was pretty much the end of that conversation. In fact, it was also the end of our journey. I gave her the money to take the taxi back out to her town, as well as a massive hug.

“Thank you for last night,” I said with my face pressed into her pleated hair. “No matter the results, that was an awesome thing you did for me.”

“No problem,” she whispered into my chest. “I love you, Léo.”

This hit suddenly and sharply. I’d never really thought about loving her, she was just my cousin. But she was also awesome. Of course I loved her.

“Love you too, Kiki.” Then I sighed and drew away, smiling even as my face got hot and my eyes started to sting. I really needed to call her more often.

A few more waves and goodbyes from each of us, then I was off into the airport. I was back off on tour, around the world with my mum and my coach by my side. And maybe, at the very least, there was a new friend waiting for me in Rotterdam. One person who knew my deepest secret, although admittedly Mum and Ron often forgot it was a secret. That I’m gay.

That was what got me through the flight, in fact. And through the rest of the next day. It didn’t matter that it was Camillo. It could have been someone far less hot and I’d still have been buzzing. I wasn’t alone. I could talk to him about stuff, not bottle it all up. We could compare tastes, decide who was the hottest player on tour. Yeah, it’d be great to have a friend like that.

“Léo!”

He found me in the café, eating my lunch. Mum and Ron were on their way, but I’d got up early for a run, so it was only eleven and I was stuffing my face. I was so absorbed in my chicken and sweetcorn that I barely even registered him. In fact, had it been anyone else, I may have been totally oblivious.

I wiped my mouth with the crappy paper napkin – though to be fair the quality of the sandwich by far made up for that – and looked up.

“Hey,” I said. Then I swallowed properly and added, “Hello, Camillo. Would you like to join me?”

The café was pretty quiet, though there were a few coaches and fitness trainers getting a cup of tea and a biscuit. I was definitely going to be a coach when I was older, if anyone would take me. All the excitement of tour, none of the dietary restrictions.

Camillo nodded solemnly and took the seat across from me at the long, cafeteria style table.

“Would you like to talk about… what I did?” Camillo asked. He wasn’t looking up and my nerves, which the sandwich had actually been comforting, started to kick up a bit.

“Yeah,” I said, “I think I would.”

“Okay,” Camillo said, spreading his hands wide, “First thing I’d like to do is apologise without the panic from the other day. I used you, and I’m sorry. I was distraught about Zoe and angry at her and I just wanted to get back at her. Fuck, that’s even worse when I say it out loud.”

I’d taken another big bite of my lunch while he was saying this, so it took me a moment to reply. I said, “I was… I guess it’s good to know what was going through your mind. Actually no, it sucks. I didn’t want to know that. I just want to forgive it. That doesn’t exactly, you know, make that easy.”

Camillo nodded and looked down at the shiny black table. He didn’t fidget or anything, just sat scarily still. But even without fidgeting, he looked far too much like me. That was what the nagging had been. He was nervous. I’m the nervous one. He lost it. He fucked up and did something stupid. That’s my thing. Not that I’m protective of my idiocy… It’s just that he seemed so cool, so together. It was like he took that mask off and was just as much of a moron as me.

“I think I can forgive you though,” I said, at which he slowly looked back up. I tilted my head to the side, “I can definitely understand you.”

A grin slowly crept across Camillo’s face. “What, understand me wanting to kiss you?”

I giggled and resisted the urge to grab his hands. The place wasn’t crowded and I wasn’t even sure anyone was looking in our direction, but we definitely weren’t alone.

Instead, I ran my hand down my face and said, “Understand you fucking up. We all do it, apparently. Look, I don’t know if you saw how I feel about you or you just saw a pair of lips to kiss… But ... Crap, I didn’t mean to say that. The end of that sentence is that a big part of me would really like to kiss you again.”

Camillo smiled again, but smaller this time. He said, “And the rest of you, the little part?”

I smiled sadly and forced myself to say, “The little part hates your guts.”

Camillo sighed and looked down at the table again. He said, “Would they be willing to compromise?”

I fidgeted with the ends of my hoodie’s sleeves. “What, you mean be friends?”

He nodded.

At this I forced every ounce of confidence in my body to come alive. I lightly rested both of my feet on top of one of his and whispered, “Definitely.”