„One-Two, Three-Four, Five-Six, Seven-Eight. Smile! 1-2, 3 and 4, 5- 6 and 7 and 8."

In my mind, I meticulously count the steps of the 'Summer Mix' dance, stealing glances at the bustling stands filled with cheering faces supporting our school team this Sunday.

As the music fades, we raise our hands in triumphant smiles, waiting for the audience to quieten before they refocus on the game. A quick glance at the scoreboard reveals only 5 minutes remain, with the Providence Panthers leading 30-18.

Undoubtedly, there will be another lavish party in one of the football players' fancy villas to celebrate the victory. But since I'll never be invited to those, I prepare myself for a cozy evening in front of the TV with my dog, Chesco.

A sharp whistle cuts through my thoughts, and I immediately spot the yellow flags on the field. "Face Mask!" the referee calls out, and our cheer captain instructs us, "8-Count Dance 3!" As the music begins, I launch into action. Dancing to Snoop Dogg's 'Sweat', I feel the crowd's excitement surge, and I immerse myself in the performance, sensing that my dance moves are captivating the girls in the stands.

Even though my openly gay identity is well-known throughout the school, I'm still confident in the allure of my athletic physique. I use my hip sways and playful grin to engage with the girls, simply because it's fun for all of us.

The game is over, and our boys have emerged victorious. The atmosphere is jubilant, and I'm sitting with my girls on the stands, waiting for the football players to finish showering. There's nothing more uncomfortable than being a male cheerleader heading into the showers amidst a group of testosterone-fueled jocks, enduring their taunts simply for not being a football player.

Chelsee and Tanee are eager to attend a party rumored to be hosted by the quarterback, and they're trying to convince the rest of us to join them. I politely decline, sensing the disappointment in Tanee's eyes. If the party were at her place, I might have been persuaded, but the idea of partying in a house where I barely know the host doesn't appeal to me. I'd rather curl up on the couch with my loyal, albeit drooling, friend.

Spotting what I assume are the last few guys leaving the locker rooms, I say my goodbyes to my friends and head towards the showers.

The warm water cascading down my pleasantly exhausted body washes away not only the sweat but also the tension, drowning it in the drain. With closed eyes, I tilt my face into the stream, lost in my thoughts, when I hear the sound of the door opening. And here I was, thinking I was alone.

I don't have to look to see who it is, I think to myself. After all, I was here first and will be done soon anyway. It's kind of ridiculous that I always consider others, even when I've done nothing wrong. But I've grown so accustomed to retreating when other guys enter the shower that it's become easier for me to step back. I run my fingers through my dark curls one last time before turning off the shower and heading into the locker room.

I'm already in my underwear when a young man emerges from the shower, completely naked. Even though I instinctively look away, I realize I can't place his face. Could this be the new wide receiver Chelsee was talking about? Of course, she's already set her sights on him.

"Hey," he addresses me, and when I look up, I'm relieved to see he's wrapped a towel around his waist. He smiles at me with blue eyes.

"Sorry to be so direct, but I'm new here and I'm really bad at remembering faces," he laughs. "So, if we've already been introduced and I've forgotten, please forgive me. But I don't think we've met yet, have we?"

He extends his hand to me. "Conner Hawkins, Wide Receiver from Ohio," he introduces himself. I reciprocate his gesture and shake his hand. "Ethan Grant, the school's token gay guy," I joke. Before potentially facing a storm later for not being upfront, I figure it's best to be honest from the start.

Anticipating a look of disgust or him turning away, I quickly let go of his hand. "What position do you play?" he asks instead, his expression more curious than hostile.

"I don't actually play," I respond, noting the brief confusion that flits across his face.

"Okay, but what do you do when you're not on the bench? You don't strike me as one of the defensive line guys," he grins, glancing at me. "You look more like a running back," he suggests, his eyes drifting down to my muscular calves.

"I'm usually in the back left as the base. I can also tumble, though I need to work on my somersaults," I explain, and then recognition dawns on his face.

"Ah, got it. You're too tall to be a top," he says knowingly, and I raise an eyebrow. He laughs. "Just because I play football doesn't mean I don't know about other sports. Or are you one of those who think football players are all dumb?" he asks, eyes twinkling with a hint of sarcasm.

A broad grin spreads across my face. He laughs heartily, revealing his brilliantly white teeth. I swallow hard. Damn, caught in the act, I think to myself, using all my willpower to avoid looking at him too closely. To mask my sudden nervousness, I reach into my locker, pulling out my jeans and shirt, quickly putting them on.

"Are you coming to Kyle's party?" he asks, removing the towel and now standing naked with his back to me in front of his locker. I find myself appreciating his physique, but I'm also a little taken aback by his unabashed display. As if he wants me to look.

"You know," I say candidly, "I don't know what game you're playing, but just because I'm gay doesn't mean I'm interested in every guy who walks into the locker room naked." Still with his back to me, Conner slips into his underwear and puts on a shirt. Then he turns around, looking at me with a hint of disappointment.

"And just because you're gay, am I supposed to treat you differently than the others?" he asks instead.

"What?" I respond, feeling suddenly like the one in the wrong. Why do I suddenly feel like the bully here?

"Well, I'm not acting weird or anything," he says, looking me directly in the eyes.

"I..." I stammer, lost for words.

Conner puts on his pants and grabs his gym bag from the locker. "Are you coming to Kyle's?" he asks again.

"I don't know, I hardly know anyone there," I hesitate. Conner laughs.

"What am I supposed to say? I've only been at this school for two weeks!" He's got a point there.

"Come on, we can go together. At least we'll know each other," he suggests. Before I can come up with an excuse, I hear myself say, "Okay."

"Great," he grins, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Where should I pick you up?"