Chapter Text
I look for a picture of you to keep in my pocket, but I can't seem to find one where you look how I remember. – Why Didn't You Stop Me? (Mitski)
The Taco Bell he ate for breakfast at the Junior US Open is trying to murder him through his asshole. Art is sweating on the toilet, mildly dissociating as he contemplates and then regrets every choice that has led him to this moment. What was it like, to want to stand up? To have even a shred of dignity?
“Art, come on, we’re gonna miss Tashi Duncan’s match!”
Patrick bangs on the hotel bathroom’s door so hard that it shakes. Art groans.
“I’m not coming, Patrick. I’m shitting through a needle right now. You have to just go without me.”
“Fiiiine,” Patrick groans dramatically. “But you’re gonna regret this, mark my words.”
Art’s stomach roils. He blinks up into the yellow light of the bathroom, watching the silver chain lightly sway next to the bare lightbulb. Then, he lets out another great fart.
”I’m sure I will.”
And so, Patrick heads off to see Tashi play alone. Hours pass, accompanied only by a disgusting symphony of every sound he didn’t know his body was capable of making. He plays snake on his phone a few hundred times once the thought of a creature eating doesn’t send him dry-heaving. All the while, Patrick is sending him blurry photographs that are going to eat into his family’s data plan. He shits through the entire party, and then his phone stops buzzing.
It’s dark outside by the time his body finally has ejected everything. Art crawls into bed in his underwear, still sweating. Mercifully, he falls asleep right away. But he doesn’t get to sleep for long, because Patrick arrives back at the hotel when it’s still dark. He shucks off his clothes and flops into bed next to Art with a loud oomph . The faint scent of floral perfume wafts off of him.
”You know, my mom has a name for this kind of thing. She says you’re a dirty stayout,” he mumbles into his pillow. Patrick scoffs.
“It’s only three AM. That’s not even Walk of Shame hours.”
“You had sex with her?” says Art, blearily.
“No. Just kissing. But it was really good. We got in some over the clothes action.”
Art yawns. Already, his body is growing heavy with sleep again.
“Did you get her number?”
“No. She said I could only have it if I beat you.”
He moves in closer, groaning with disgust when he rolls into a damp patch of Art’s sweat. Art laughs.
“That won't be hard. I feel like shit.”
*
Who Will Be the 2006 Tennis Prodigies to Beat After Moving On from the Juniors? — New York Times
US Open
Patrick Zweig, 17, United States of America
Zweig, who grew up on Long Island, began attending the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy at the age of 12. He won the U.S. Open title by beating his own doubles partner, Art Donaldson, the No. 5 seed, who he also beat at the French Open this year. The duo, dubbed by some as “Fire and Ice,” won the doubles championship at both the US Open and Wimbledon this year.
Also notable is his dominance in the field as an American, unheard of since Andy Roddick won two juniors slams in the year 2000. Zweig, however, stated in a press conference that he doesn’t put too much stock into his current success. According to him, “Winning the Junior US Open is usually a curse.”
Tashi Duncan, 17, United States of America
Unsurprising to anyone, this is Tashi Duncan’s second US Open win and third Grand Slam just this year. The No 1 seed in women’s tennis two years in a row, Duncan has managed the impossible by having neither generational wealth nor an association with a prestigious tennis academy (though, as she admits, she has spent a lot of time at the Paseo Club in Santa Clarita). Instead, she has clawed her way to the top on sheer talent and charisma, rapidly becoming one of the most exciting new tennis players since Venus and Serena stepped out onto the court.
Duncan is slated to attend Stanford in fall 2007, an unusual move for a player of her caliber. However, she has no intent to toss away the racket upon graduation. In her own words, “I’ll be back. And you know it, cos Adidas is keeping the faith.”
*
Patrick’s had a lot of girlfriends in the past, but he’s never been quite so besotted with anyone as he is Tashi Duncan. Sporadic hookups become texting late into the night, and then one day he asks if Art wants to be introduced in a tone that suggests his approval will seal the deal. Art agrees, out of curiosity more than anything. What on earth is making Tashi different than any of the other girls Patrick has fucked and then tossed aside?
So, weeks before graduation, they take a trip to Orlando to meet up with Tashi at Epcot. According to Patrick, she’s attending “some senior trip for some honor society club she’s in, you know how it is.” Having spent his entire education at a tennis academy, he really doesn’t, but he’s more than happy to sneak off to Disney World for a clandestine meeting. Maybe Tashi will illuminate him about what going to public school is like while he’s there.
They set off early in the morning to avoid the heat, but it doesn't do them any good. By the time they get to Epcot, the sun is melting the asphalt into an oversize fly trap designed to keep them stuck in the parking lot. Chunks of it are still stuck to his shoes when he enters the park, making his steps uneven and painful. Patrick is radiating a sharp musk; his sweaty armpits are already leaking through his shirt.
Tashi tells Patrick to wait for her by the big Epcot ball so that they’re easy to find when she sneaks away from her classmates. Art uses the opportunity to pull out the new digital camera he got for his birthday to take pictures. Patrick refuses to take a normal photo, instead opting to give the camera a middle finger, throw stupid faces, and lunge into asinine poses. He pulls Art in, grabs the camera, and flips it to take a joint selfie. Before he hands it back, he gives Art a big smooch on the forehead.
”You gotta learn to live in the moment, man.”
Art rubs the kiss off of his head, feeling much warmer than before. He pockets the camera and looks around as though anything is more innately interesting than documenting the fact that they're on a road trip together.
Patrick grabs his wrist like a vice. “That’s her over there.”
He waves, unmoving, as Tashi saunters over, folded map of the park in hand. She’s cool and composed, hair slightly frizzy from the wet heat. Art has seen her play on television in the last year, curled up in pushed-together beds with Patrick. Her game is both technically sound and entirely natural in a way that makes Art feel hopelessly rigid. And she’s beautiful, obviously — Patrick never fucks below a ten. Beauty, skill, hard to get. . .it’s easy to see the appeal.
Then, Patrick lets go of his wrist and runs towards Tashi to greet her with a kiss. She responds with some enthusiasm, immediately followed by a squeak of disapproval when Patrick picks her up and twirls her around. And Art realizes that, though he’s been brought here to tell Patrick whether or not he approves, it’s not actually a choice at all. The adolescent chain binding them together eroded and broke a long time ago.
*
Course Schedule: Communication — Art Donaldson
STATS 60: Introduction to Statistical Methods: Precalculus
COMM 1B: Media, Culture, and Society
COMM 177SW: Specialized Writing and Reporting: Sports Journalism
Course Schedule: Communication — Tashi Duncan
COMM 1: Intro to Communication
COMM 108: Media Processes and Effects
COMM 177SW: Specialized Writing and Reporting: Sports Journalism
*
One brisk morning in October, Art receives the extraordinarily grim news that he’s going to have to work with Tashi on a class project. The good mood from his lovely fall walk is completely ruined when he sees their names chalked sloppily next to each other on the board. Their sports journalism teacher has paired all students in alphabetical order for a sure-to-be-tedious assignment where they have to interview a varsity softball player together. Art exchanges phone numbers with Tashi reluctantly, and wonders if this is all some karmic punishment for being gay.
(Last summer, a random man at the gym had come onto him, which made him puke in the bathroom, and then made him start thinking. The first thought – maybe I should have tried it. The second thought – no one can ever know about this.)
They meet for lunch in the canteen the next day, still sweaty from tennis practice. Just as usual, he beelines to the salad bar — but Tashi gets there first. She builds up an identical salad to his usual fare (lettuce blend, chicken, egg, raisins, apple, apple cider vinegar, salt, and pepper) so he adds a few croutons to his own to avoid looking like an intentional copycat. He sits down across from her, attempting to not look too sullen, and takes a too-large bite of his egg. She grimaces.
“This is weird.”
”Is it?”
Tashi rolls her eyes. “Don’t play dumb. I know you don’t like me. And I know that Patrick has already asked you to deliver little reports about what I’m up to, and that you’ve been too much of a pussy to refuse.”
She folds her arms, challenging him to disagree. Art snaps a carrot between his teeth, thinking.
“He peeked at my schedule last summer while I was in the bathroom and noticed that it overlapped with yours. So I didn’t get the chance to lie about never seeing you.”
Tashi stabs her salad aggressively and takes a large bite.
“You could've dropped the class,” she says through a wad of lettuce.
“What?!”
She shakes her head and points at him with her fork.
“So you didn't have to see me. Since you hate me so fucking much.”
Art resists the urge to bury his face in his hands. This doesn't protect his pride; the hot flush of embarrassment blossoming on his face betrays him.
“I don't hate you!”
Maddeningly, Tashi keeps her composure.
“Yes you do. You don’t smile at me. You don’t say hi. We don't have lunch together. We don't do anything together, even though I am dating your best friend since childhood. And you just admitted that you fully intended to lie to Patrick about never seeing me, even though you see me basically every day.” She stabs at her salad again; the fork punctures the styrofoam plate. “The worst part is that I don't even have it in me to be mad at you. Because it’s all kind of pathetic what you're going through, so it feels mean.”
Now it’s Art’s turn to stab at his salad. He breaks a crouton in half instead of picking it up, and then puts down his fork. It feels too on the nose to eat it while Tashi watches.
“Would it seem less pathetic if I tried to be nicer to you?”
Tashi’s expression softens. She quirks a smile, and steals a radish from his plate.
”Maybe.”
*
Letter to the Editor: Responding to “Gay Athletes Speak Out About Homophobia on Campus” — The Stanford Daily
Opinion by Letter to the Editor
Dear Editor,
My name is Jeanette Sandberg, and I’m the president of the Pride in Stanford Sports (PSS) club, an alliance of LGBTQ+A varsity and intramural sports players. Myself and my fellow board members (Joshua Treesom, Jamie Kaling, and Bethany Tungsdall) read the article and decided we had to speak up, because our cause was entirely misrepresented to the point of the paper putting words into our mouths.
First — no, we are not saying that student athletes who stay in the closet are bad people. PSS has a number of closeted members and recognizes that many reasons for remaining closeted, such as a need for financial support or a fear of getting fired for your sexual orientation, are legitimate. The claims that PSS is “hardline” on needing students to be out is a misrepresentation of our actual belief, which is that if you can be out, then it is positive to do so. Very few sports players of means and opportunity are willing to take that risk, perhaps because many LGBT groups have not emphasized inclusion in sports as an important aspect of public life. We similarly call on individuals to come out as allies of the LGBT community, as straight people are most likely to listen to other straight people.
Second – the article incorrectly frames Stanford administrators as completely helpless in protecting their LGBT athletes from, as your reporter put it, “garden-variety homophobia normalized in the sports world.” Administrators should be confidently telling students they will not lose their sports scholarships just because they are gay. They should censure coaches or teammates who make gay students feel uncomfortable, or worse, remove them from teams. Instead, they merely log student complaints, and do absolutely nothing. Meanwhile, in the last five years, six students have lost their sports scholarships due to this type of forced removal. At least a dozen gay students have dropped out of athletic classes due to harassment by their fellow classmates or instructors.
Finally, PSS objects to the paper juxtaposing us with other gay organizations on campus to frame our demands as extreme. PSS is closely affiliated with Pride in the Arts (PITA), LGBT Student Council Caucus (SCC), and Stanford Pride, often tabling at events together as well as studying together at Qspot. PITA and LGBT SCC would surely tell you ( did surely tell you?) when asked that their “lack of militancy” is because their demands were quickly met by administrators, faculty, and their fellow students. They would also acknowledge that most of them would not face financial repercussions for being either allied or out as gay — something that our gay and even allied students cannot take for granted due to their relative dependence on scholarships. If the choice is between an education and being true to oneself, then it is unconscionable for demands to fall on deaf ears.
In the future, we hope that Stanford Daily reporters do not misrepresent PSS so egregiously again. And, of course, we hope that the administration meets our demands sooner rather than later.
Signed,
Jeanette Sandberg — President/intramural softball
Joshua Treesom — Vice president/varsity men’s basketball
Bethany Tungsdall — Treasurer/varsity women’s track and field
Jamie Kaling — Secretary/varsity women’s volleyball
Tashi Duncan — Member at large/varsity women’s tennis
Jason Delaney — Member at large/intramural men’s volleyball
Art Donaldson — Member at large/varsity men’s tennis
Stephanie Gross — Member at large/varsity women’s basketball
Todd Hamilton — Member at large/chess
Jeanette Sandberg is a junior studying Feminist, Gender, and Sexuality Studies
*
Overnight, being a gay ally at Stanford becomes cool. Art walks around in a daze the first time he sees a Duncanator shirt printed with rainbow lettering, Tashi squared-up looking serious on the back. Women he’s never met ask for his signature and then try to turn him into a purse, as though his proximity to Tashi will confer them some semblance of her status. Men hit on him at the gym so often that he concedes and loses his virginity in the locker room. He becomes a bit of a whore for a while afterwards because, as it turns out, fucking hot strangers is pretty good time. And it’s pretty easy when all you have to say is “yes.”
Still, he hasn’t gotten up the nerve to tell either his family or Patrick. His family, because it seems like a whole thing, and Patrick, because things have already been weird between them for a while. His eagerness to have frequent Tashi-reports has curdled into obvious jealousy as his game has gotten worse and worse. Maybe they could have a laugh about it if Art would just tell him that he was gay. . .but then he might let slip all of the sexual fantasies he had about Patrick as teenagers, and the thought of his revulsion is just unbearable. So, it’s easier to let him believe, for now, that Art is trying to steal his girl.
In the spring of their freshman year, the lie crumbles. Patrick comes to Stanford for his first ever visit three days earlier than expected due to a spectacular flame-out at Indian Wells. He appears at the tennis court in the middle of Art’s practice without warning, and then chases him around to the bemusement of his teammates. And then he’s on top of Art, pinning him to the ground and blowing a raspberry into his throat. Art struggles playfully, and then remembers he’s already on thin ice with his straight teammates whose newfound allyship is surface level at best. He pushes Patrick off of him a little too forcefully. Patrick frowns, tugs at his ear playfully, and then slugs him on the shoulder.
“Hello to you, too.”
Art punches him back and then pulls Patrick up off of the ground along with him. He waves goodbye to his teammates.
“We’re gonna get something to eat,” he says, as though they care. In the hyper-competitive, individualistic world of tennis, their investment in his growth as a player only goes so far. And rankings-wise, he’s seen better days.
He picks up his heavy gear and lurches towards the gate, waving Patrick to follow after him. Together, they head to the cafeteria.
The conversational rhythm they fall into as they walk is easy and familiar, as though nothing has changed since they saw each other last summer. But despite his ADHD, Patrick is attentive enough to notice that people are looking at Art a little differently. When the third girl waves at him, he smiles.
“You’re really getting around, huh?”
”Oh — uh, yeah.”
Another girl waves – blonde, pretty. Patrick leers at her ass as she walks away.
“Wow, I didn’t know you had it in you, Donaldson. Moving in on my girlfriend and sleeping with these other chicks – hope you’re wrapping it up.”
Art scoffs, punching open the door to the student union. Seeing Patrick’s jealousy in the flesh is making his stomach hurt.
“Shut the fuck up, man. You know Tashi’s not like that.”
Before they arrive at the cafeteria, Patrick pauses. He steps back, pale-faced, until the gear on his back is perched on top of an empty tabling booth. Art turns to look at whatever horror has caught Patrick’s eye and finds that it’s the student bookstore. Right out front — the rainbow Duncanator merchandise. Patrick’s face twists through a range of intense emotions so quickly that Art can barely keep up. Betrayal, fear, and strangely, something like pride.
“Since when is Tashi —”
But he can’t finish the sentence. And Art realizes, selfishly, that this might be the last time that the universe makes it easy for him to come out to his best friend.
“Why wouldn’t she be? A lot of people are these days.”
Patrick nods slowly, chewing it over.
”She just never told me she was bisexual,” he says in a small voice. “Or gay or. . .whatever this is.”
Art clears his throat.
“She’s not. But I am. She joined the Pride in Stanford Sports club to support me when I came out as gay and. . .here we are.”
Patrick is rendered speechless again. The silence is making him want to sink into the floor, leaving nothing but his gear behind.
“Everyone knows but me,” he says, finally. “You told everyone in the world that you were gay. . .except me. And you both kept it from me.” Patrick’s eyes are shining; he tries to subtly brush away the tears. “Why?”
A wave of revulsion crashes over him. Here he is pouring his fucking heart out to his straight roommate and, of course, he can’t manage to think about anything but his own feelings for three seconds.
“Maybe everything isn’t about you, Patrick,” he says.
Patrick barks out a high-pitched, hysterical laugh.
“Oh fuck off. You’re unbelievable. The most self-centered person I know, telling me that I need to think about someone else.” He turns to face Art and steps onto his back foot as though he’s going to rear back and hit him, but then thinks better of it. “You know, if you could see outside of your own head for three seconds, you’d have noticed that I’m bisexual. Maybe one day, if you’re lucky, you’ll realize you’re not the only gay person in the world. But you’ve got such a fucking victim complex that you probably won't.”
I’m bisexual. The words feel like a slap, so Art follows his instincts and hits back. He shoves Patrick in the chest hard enough to throw him off balance, but not enough to make a scene.
“Go to hell, asshole!”
Leaning against a table for balance, he gives Art the finger. Then, shaking his head, he marches off.
“I’m already there.”