Free One True Thing by Lynne Jaymes

win. I let them have their jokes because honestly it doesn’t really matter to me.”
    I almost envy how sure he is. I have doubts on a daily basis, but Rowan seems to know exactly where he stands. “It doesn’t seem fair.”
    “Fair? Who said anything about fair? From the outside, our entire baseball team looks like a bunch of straight, white guys. Homogenous. Every one of us is exactly like the next guy. We’re pieces of a puzzle, a team. Why do you think we wear uniforms? So that we’re all the same. You put someone in the mix that isn’t like all the rest, even though I may look just like one of you, it stirs up trouble. So the less I make of it, the better, because then, as long as I’m pitching killer games, everyone else can pretend that I’m still just like they are. Another straight, white guy in a baseball uniform.”
    Another straight white guy in a baseball uniform. The thought echoes through my brain. Exactly what I’ve spent all year trying to be. “Don’t ask, don’t tell,” I say.
    “You bet your ass.”
    I watch Rowan stand up. “I won’t say anything. To the other guys.”
    “I know you won’t,” he says. “Or I wouldn’t have told you.”
    I glance back up at the Union. “You’re sure that guy’s gay?”
    A sly smile spreads across his face as he balls up the paper cup and tosses it in the wastebasket. “Positive. You can trust me on that one.”
                           
    I slide into my usual seat in my Intro to Marketing class, but Mitch is nowhere in sight. It’s his fault I’m in this class in the first place—he decided that I should be a business major like he is because even when I hit it big I’m going to have to know how to market myself. So far all I’ve learned is that most advertisers are scum and you have to watch your back every second. Actually, not bad life lessons when you think about it.
    The TA flicks on the projector and flashes some slogans on the screen.
    “What did I miss?” Mitch asks, flopping into the seat next to me.
    “Nothing yet. Where were you?”
    A shit-eating grin crosses his face. “At Nina’s.”
    “Enough said.”
    Callie Jones turns and glares from her usual spot in the row in front of us.
    We try to sit still and pay attention, but it doesn’t last long. “If things are off with Jenna, you should totally take a run at that,” Mitch says, nodding to Callie.
    “I’m not ‘taking a run at that’,” I say to him.
    “Shhh,” she says, looking up from her copious note-taking. I can tell by the look on her face that she didn’t hear us. She’s just annoyed by our mere presence as usual. Blond hair, blue-eyes and a love of short-shorts have made Callie the object of every guy’s desire in the entire class. But she’s never given any of us a second look.
    Mitch considers it for a moment. “Come on—look at her.” He glances back at me. “The two of you would make the prettiest blond babies.”
    I search his face, but I can tell he’s serious. Nina hasn’t told him. “Now there’s a great opening line.”
    “You’d be surprised how well that works,” he says confidently.
    “Don’t do me any favors.”
    Another angry glance from Callie keeps us quiet for the rest of the hour. I actually take a few notes and some of the slides are cool. I’m going to have to cram for our midterms in a couple of weeks if I want to keep my grades up, unlike Mitch who actually seems to like this stuff and aces every test.
    As we get up to go, I notice Callie’s phone on the floor under her chair.
    “Hey Callie,” I call. She’s almost out the door and doesn’t turn around. I jog to catch up with her outside. “Hey!” I say, tapping her shoulder.
    She flinches and pulls away. “What?” she asks in her patented annoyed tone.
    I hold her phone out. “You dropped this.”
    She looks at me like I’m carrying a pile of dog shit. “Oh. Thanks.” She pockets the phone and turns away, her blond hair bouncing