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I read the letter again, my eyes getting wide as saucers. “They’re not inviting me for tryouts. I have a place.” Holy shit. I bounce on the balls of my feet. “They want me.”
It’s my dream come true. Harlequins are my favourite team, the only team I want to play for. Not that I thought I’d ever get the chance. I might not get the chance. This is only the academy. I’ll have to work my socks off to make it into the big leagues. But holy shit, they want me. I punch the air and let out a whoop.
“You should call them right now to accept,” Mum says.
“It’s Friday night,” I remind her. “No one will be at the club.” My hands are shaking. I’m sweating. My collar is too tight.
“Oh, true. First thing Monday morning, then.” She pinches my cheeks. “Your dreams are coming true, sweetheart.”
They are. Except I don’t know if the other players on the squad would accept an openly gay player. I know what the guys I play with now are like: the exact opposite of tolerant.
“Did you have something to tell us?” Mum asks.
I was going to come out. I was going to tell them about Wren. I stare at the letter. What if Harlequins don’t want an openly gay player in their academy? I search through my memory for the names of openly gay rugby players in the premier division and come up with nothing. Not a single name.
My stomach feels like it’s lined with lead. My chest squeezes tight. It’s hard to breathe.
“Honey?” Mum prompts. “What did you want to tell us?”
I could wait until I’m at the academy to see whether they’re the same as my current squad. I hope they’re not. I wish I knew they weren’t, but I don’t. This is my future. My dream. I can’t jeopardise it.
But what about Wren? He’s put up with me being in the closet for three years. I promised him I’d come out tonight. I promised him I’d take him to our sixth-form prom. I promised I’d be proud to call him my boyfriend in front of everyone. I know how much he’s been looking forward to tonight. It means everything to him. If I stay silent, I’ll ruin it for him.
Wren knows how much I want this chance. How hard I’ve worked for it. I’ll make tonight special another way. I’ll make it up to him. He’ll understand why I need to keep our relationship quiet a little longer. He has to.
“Honey?” Mum repeats. Worry wrinkles her brow.
I can’t tell my parents. I can’t tell anyone. I can’t. I’m sorry, Wren. Please understand.
I shake my head. “No. It’s fine. It can wait. I’d better go.” I kiss Mum’s cheek and shake Dad’s hand.
“Have a lovely time at prom.” Mum sniffs. “I’m so proud of you.”
“So am I,” Dad says.
“Oh. Wait. I need a photo.”
I pose at the bottom of the stairs. I should be grinning from ear to ear, but my excitement is tempered by the knowledge I’m going to upset Wren. I have to make it up to him. If we can’t go to prom together, we can do something for the two of us.
I go to the garage and find the battery-operated fairy lights and speakers I bought for the night of our high school prom. We’d told our parents we were going but had met up and spent the evening together. It was beautiful, and we both had fun. We’ll do the same again tonight. It’ll be just as good as going to our actual prom. No. It’ll be better.
I get into my car—an original VW Beetle that I bought for a couple of hundred quid and did up myself—and send Wren a text.
Me: Meet me at our spot.
He answers right away.
Wren: I thought you were coming here?
Me: Change of plans.
Wren: But my parents are waiting to meet my boyfriend.
Me: Please, Wren. Just meet me, okay? I’ll explain everything.
When I don’t get an immediate response, I drive straight to our spot. I glance at my phone whenever I’m at a red light. Nothing. A message comes through as I park the car.
Wren: Okay.
