The garage had been a wreck for a few months by this point. There was a lawn mower wedged in the back behind thirteen large boxes that were full to their brims with miscellaneous decorations and a plethora of retired office supplies. Spiders had formed full on apartment complexes at every corner of that rectangular prism but somehow they evaded all eyes. The scent of wet dogs lurked elusively around this place and would come and go as it pleased. Only, I'm not sure how it would exit or enter because that damned garage door wouldn't open. It had been opened last around April.

I had rode over to the house that morning because we had big plans that day. The muddy tire track I had made the day before remained on the driveway with seemingly little disturbance. I knocked. Mrs. Leighman answered before I could get my fist to the door for a third thump. She looked down at the scrawny, blonde, five-and-a-half foot, seventh grader that stood in her doorway.

"Hey Ron! Thomas is out back. I'm assuming you're looking for him?"

"Thanks Mrs. Leighman. Do you have any water?"

"Of course." She turned around and started toward the fridge. "Have you two finished your poster yet?" The knot of her apron hung loosely behind her back.

"Not yet."

She handed me the glass of water before diverting her attention to the stove. With her back to me, I headed for the back porch. I couldn't see Tommy. His usual place on the patio furniture was taken by rainwater and helicopters. The semblance of sunshine reflected off the furniture and made my eyes water.

"I'm over here," I heard faintly, coming from my right. My eyes adjusted to the brightness of the outdoors and about twenty-five feet to my right Tommy was standing with a beat-up object that most closely resembled a basketball. His hair was brown and long. Not long enough to be considered a "feminine" hairdo but enough to find itself tangled in a new abstract design each morning. It twirled above his head like a whirlwind in the wet breeze. He smashed the ball against the ground once. His hand embraced the ball like a memory foam mattress.

I walked over. I looked down at his basketball shoes and then back up at his face. The ball was still situated comfortably in his giant hands. "Do you wanna play catch?"

"You know me." I glanced down at my slip-on Vans. "We should probably start our poster today. Or at least sometime this weekend."

"It's fine. We can do it tomorrow." The nonchalant attitude that Tommy carried around was mystifying. He seemed to let life happen to him, yet everything turned out the way he wanted. "Did you see my mom when you came in?" His blue eyes sparkled in my direction.

"Yeah. She's in the kitchen."

Tommy bounced the ball one more time. I stood, motionless, watching his calves, tightly enwrapped in Nike elites, while he marched toward the patio door.

I'm no longer twelve and I no longer wear slip on Vans. Instead, I wear the ones with laces on them.

"We're gonna go get drinks," Mallory said to me. Her and Alaina were draped in a blanket to my left.

"Okay. One sec." I stuck my feet on the bench in front of me and tied my shoes. I rolled up the bottoms of my jeans and straightened out my jacket. I looked up. Mallory and Alaina were already off of the bleachers heading toward the concessions stand. I ran to catch up.

After exiting the bleachers, I walked past the football players on the bench. I could hear whisper of my breath leaving and entering my body while my eyes remained fixed on the football team. My stomach felt empty, like the moment before strapping into a roller coaster. I took a deep breath and swiped around my blank phone screen for a moment. The commentator had come back on the intercom to announce substitutions. My eyes made their way back to the field, and I watched, mystified, while the players ran to the field. Their calves were all tightly fit under their pant legs and their powerful arms moved like coupling rods, helping to transport tons of metal from one place to the next.

"Tommy Leighman!" I heard the commentator exclaim. An image of him popped immediately into my head. Tall, attractive, muscular, brown hair, blue eyes. Perfect. I could imagine his body beneath his mesh jersey, his chest filling and deflating with each breath, sweat shimmering under the flood lights. His arms were like cannons and his hands were perfect: the same way I had thought about them when we were twelve.

I finally caught up to Mallory and Alaina by the time they made it to the line.

"What are you guys getting?" Alaina inquired.

"I don't know. Probably just a drink 'cause I'm broke." said Mallory.

I pulled out my phone from my pocket and opened up instagram.

R, O-

His profile had already popped up under suggested accounts. I clicked.

1,328 followers; 545 following. Of course.

Maybe the reason he intrigued me so much was because of his popularity. Everybody knew him because he did something that people valued. Football. He was muscular (which... who doesn't like that) and, unlike me, ranked high in the high school social hierarchy.

My eyes were glued to my screen. I scrolled through picture after picture. Tommy and Meghan. Tommy and Jackson. Tommy on a peer in Wisconsin… shirtless. Tommy and Meghan again. Ugh. Why do I do this to myself?

I looked back up. I put my phone in my pocket and ordered my Coke, then went back to the bleachers. My eyes were fixed on Tommy the rest of the night.

When I finally got home that night, I went directly to my room. Took off my belt. Pants. Shirt. I tucked myself deeply under the covers and propped myself up onto my body pillow. I reached for my phone and immediately opened Instagram where I was engulfed into yet another world where I endlessly saw what I wanted but could not have. I guess that's like a lot of people. But everyone else around me had these things: a normal high school relationship; guy friends; people that know them. It sounds easy, and in some cases it might be. But for me, that's all hardly possible.