Hockey Pucks & Homemade Pies

I know I’m likely not the first to mention this but for everyone doing the kickstarter or interested in it — please remember to read through the requirements for the stretch goals. 

They are no longer based on money raised but are tied to social media follower goals in an effort to help promote First Second and OMGCP on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. 

If even a fraction of the people who currently follow Ngozi on twitter follow First Second, we’ll all reach another stretch goal.

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO PARTICIPATE IN THE KICKSTARTER TO HELP WITH THE STRETCH GOALS. In fact, Ngozi is hoping all of fandom will choose to get involved and help.

((My secret hope is there will be some sort of fandom-wide bonus in addition to the actual Kickstarter stretch goals if we meet all the requirements for Pre-Orders, GoodReads, etc., but who can say!))

Please check out the link below and see how you can help spread the word about OMGCP:

Shitty: What kind of wine?

Jack: Boxed

Shitty: I trained him well

Ch 4: Pg 90 yaoi.biz/avialae | Support Lucid on Patreon

And Jack says yeah. Yeah with conviction, a surety that presses in his chest and in his throat. The only other times he’s felt like this have been with Bitty - their first kiss, their tentative but assured touches in Georgia and Providence, the i love you that tumbled so easily out of Jack’s mouth, we’re a team. Bitty and I are dating. 

He hasn’t felt more real - more alive. 

The feeling in his chest expands like a balloon, but it’s not anxiety. It’s just a need, an urge to pull Bitty close and never let go. To show the world how much Bitty means to him.

Jack has never wanted to hide. They’ve talked about this, just enough to indulge their fantasies - for Jack, winning the Stanley Cup was always a strong, hard if, and he only considered it a possibility late into the night, his heart and mind racing, Bitty’s arm looped around his waist and Jack’s nose in Bitty’s lemon-scented hair. 

Jack squeezed Bitty, one night, and whispered, What if I win it? 

Bitty didn’t respond for a second, just grumbled awake and said nothing. Jack had thought Bitty hadn’t heard until he said, Lord. I think I’d want to jump into your arms and kiss you right there. 

Jack could imagine the rush of winning as if it had already happened, the imaginary euphoria and elation and he knew, right in that second, as Bitty’s fingers drummed a pattern onto Jack’s back and his lips rested on Jack’s chest, their bodies so elegantly fitting together–

You could.

Bitty’s hand froze. I. Your career, Jack. And my parents still don’t even– 

I know, I know. Jack sighed. But. You. You still could. If you wanted to. We still could. 

That’s so brave, Jack. Yeah. Maybe. Bitty sighed, but this was just the two of them dreaming of a future that Jack wouldn’t be able to give them. As Jack imagined the pulsing joy of winning he had to remember that the Stanley Cup was a strong–hard–if. 

Bitty took in a deep breath and let it out with a long whoosh. Jack could feel in the slackening of his arms and the little hum against his chest that Bitty was almost asleep again. He burrowed closer to Jack and stuck his nose into Jack’s chest, and the twist of happiness that Jack felt drowned out some of the alarm bells going off in his head. 

When he awoke, remembering flashes of their conversation from before, he felt small. It was how Jack always felt when thinking about coming out: his brain buzzed, how the press would turn on him, how they would criticize him and misattribute his failures and tear down the reputation he worked so hard to rebuild. Even though Bitty challenged all of those fears with his smiles and his chatter and his hands, Jack felt tiny, and weak, when he thought about the world knowing. How would coming out make him any stronger?

Besides. The. Stanley. Cup. Was. A. Strong. Hard. If. 

Jack had to stop thinking about it. His doubt whispered that it was a pipe dream. He’d never know the joy of victory, the rush of success in his veins that made him bigger, that could prevent him from tearing down his career. 

— 

But. Now. Here he is. Jack’s several inches taller than normal on his skates, and Bitty’s in his shoes on the ice, and Jack feels big and strong. Bitty’s wrapped up in Jack’s arms, smelling like lemon and honey, and Jack’s nose is cold, but Bitty’s body radiates heat, and the pressure of him against Jack’s gear surrounds Jack. The last of the confetti tumbles down around them, and he feels like they are alone on the ice, even though the screaming is loud. 

Jack just won the Stanley Cup. He is huge. 

When Bitty looks up at Jack, says, “kiss me,” and “why can’t we?” and “I know you want to,” then “kiss me” again, closing his eyes, Jack realizes that he’s not the brave one. It’s Bitty.

Bitty, who maneuvered around his parents to steal kisses and touches in dark rooms, hidden corners, late at night. Bitty, who stared at his father and his mother at the dinner table with Jack beside him and clenched his jaw in fear, barely looked at Jack for fear of accidentally giving away the nature of their ‘friendship.’ Bitty, who tried again and again to tell his mother but couldn’t. Bitty, who risked losing his family, yet still held Jack closer to him than anyone. 

Jack squeezes Bitty’s arm, and Bitty opens his eyes, large and brown and smiling, full of love and joy, and Jack asks, “Are you sure?” 

Bitty knows what Jack means. His eyes cloud, but he shakes his head and nods. Then nods again, staring at Jack’s chest and blinking away his tears, then looking back up with a firm set of his jaw. He nods again. 

“Yes. Lord, yes. Kiss me.” 

Jack’s grin feels like it’ll burst his face open. He brings one hand up to cradle Bitty’s jaw, and the boy breaks into a bright smile, happy and laughing as they take in the revelry around them. Jack can’t believe he has this, Bitty’s arms looping around his chest and pulling him up close to Jack’s face. Jack can’t believe he has this beautiful boy looking at him like he’s the world, sacrificing everything for Jack’s happiness. Jack leans down, slips his other hand to the back of Bitty’s head, looping his fingers in his hair.  

The voices around them grow louder and louder until they’ve blended into white noise. The world spins around them, and Jack is lost in Bitty, so lost that he says, “You’re so brave, I love you,” and pushes their lips together. 

It is everything. Fireworks go off in Jack’s head, Bitty’s lips are warm and responsive, his hands burn against his body, and the euphoria of the win somehow doubles. Then triples. Bitty is all around, in Jack’s arms, in his nose, in his head. 

The balloon in Jack’s chest grows and grows but it’s a comfortable pressure, like his body is carrying so much happiness that he may burst. Bitty pulls back to gasp for air, and Jack expects him to pull away, but then they’re kissing again, bordering on less than chaste. Bitty’s hands clasp around Jack’s waist, fingers digging into his hips, his tongue sending shivers down Jack’s spine. He smiles against Jack’s mouth. Kisses him again, and again. Jack’s on the ice but he isn’t thinking about anything. The persistent buzz of anxiety in Jack’s head is quiet. 

Jack feels mighty. 

—–

—-

—

–

-

It seems to be a fidget; something Kent does in the minutes in between activity. He never whistles a particular tune. Of course, it would be hard to know for sure, as Kent is incapable of carrying a tune. (Tater knows this because he has stood across the ice from the Aces captain singing along to the US national anthem. Parson’s own teammates were wincing.) 

After getting over the initial confusion of Who the hell is whistling during warmups?, Tater decides that it’s cute. It’s one of many things that are cute about Kent, who is on the cusp of twenty and still has the pink cheeks and shaggy hair of a teenager, but the sharp eyes of a seasoned player. Kent laughs too loud and sometimes his voice cracks in the middle. Tater is twenty-two and still finding his feet in the NHL. He finds Kent utterly charming.

The whistling makes him more so. It’s like having a bird fluttering around somewhere, the little scraps of sharp, high-pitched whimsy.

It’s really, really cute.

What’s not cute is Tater’s attempt to flirt. He should have known better than to try to reference Disney movies without providing any point of reference. But it’s Snow White. Everyone knows that, right?

“Is because you work?” he asks, while the rest of the guys circle around them making passes and doing stretches.

Kent’s nose wrinkles in confusion. “What?”

“Like in movie? Snow White, she’s sing about. You do, because you work?”

Kent’s expression goes blank, like a Mac trying to process a Windows program. “Um. Sorry, I–what are you talking about?”

Tater abruptly realizes he doesn’t know the English word for ‘whistle.’ He doesn’t even know how to whistle in order to demonstrate. Well, shit. “Is okay, just joke,” he says, patting Kent on the shoulder and laughing so nobody can see him cringing at himself. “Maybe in Russian better.”

“Right.” Kent looks so lost.

I want to tell you guys a story.

A few years ago, I came out to my mom the morning after my senior prom. She was surprised, then quiet, then asked what my real orientation was. I said, “I have no idea, but I like this one girl.” She was a little confused, but she kissed me and said, “As long as she makes you happy.” For the next few weeks, she asked a lot of questions: when did I realize? What was my new girlfriend’s orientation? What was the word for this or that? I WAS happy, right?

Fast forward about two years. My mom sits me down and tells me that she needs my help with her next book. She’s been writing middle-grade girls’ books (like, 9-14 range) since I was eight, and she says she has an idea that she really, really wants to get right. It follows the plot of Romeo and Juliet, she says, and the main character is a twelve-year-old girl realizing she has a crush on another girl when they put on the play for English class.

Fast forward another year to now. STAR-CROSSED is about to come out, and it is absolutely amazing.

My mom has poured her heart and soul into making sure this is a positive thing for kids to read. I’ve been reading and editing and helping with this book since its first draft and I’ve been, metaphorically and sometimes literally bouncing up and down on my heels, waiting to be able to tell people about it. It’s beyond sweet, and there’s a ton of Shakespeare and humor and goofy preteen drama and twelve-year-old girls flirting and Star Wars jokes and a glossary of Shakespearean insults in the back (yes, really), and it’s just so fun and positive and smart and I want to show it to every kid I know.

This book is for LGBT kids, written by a mom who has asked questions and done her research and tried as hard as she possibly could to make her own queer kid feel safe and loved and valid, and it REALLY shows. Mattie (the cutie on the left) and Gemma (the cutie on the right) are given space to learn about themselves, and ultimately they don’t have to figure themselves out right away or come out to everyone at once or choose a label. They’re kids. It’s okay to still be figuring things out. It’s okay. 

Fun facts: 

My mom said from the beginning she wanted both girls on the cover to make it clear what the book was about; then when they got the final artwork and Mattie’s hair was short, my mom wrote back and asked the artist to do the hair over to make it as obvious as possible that Mattie is a girl. 

When a few people started buzzing about Mattie being the youngest bisexual protagonist they’ve seen, she went back and changed passages to confirm that Mattie likes boys and girls. 

When I asked for a happier and less ambiguous ending scene, she set Mattie and Gemma up on a frigging date. 

It comes out on March 14, 2017. Please join me in GETTING HYPE FOR STAR-CROSSED <3

Bitty’s alarm woke him up with the sun, and the only thing that kept him from throwing his phone across the room and burying his head under his pillow was a series of mixed texts from Jack.

“I know you’re sleeping, but I just wanted you to know I miss you.”

“And I love you”

“Can’t wait to see you next weekend”

“<3”

Without giving it much thought, he opened snapchat and raised his phone up, moving it around critically until he found an angle that made him look artfully mussed rather than like he just woke up.

It was a pretty good picture, with his messy drape of hair blending with the spill of early morning light across his pillow and a sleepy, squinting smile. He wrote “wish you were here :(” and sent it off.

Up above him, he heard the heavy thump of feet that signaled Ransom hopping off the top bunk onto the floor, and he scrambled out of bed quickly. The haus only had so much hot water, and Bitty wasn’t willing to exchange it for a few extra moments lying in bed.

He skittered into the bathroom just as the attic door flew open, and giggled unrepentantly at Ransom’s rapid-fire cursing as he firmly locked the door.

He mostly forgets about the picture until they’re all on their way to Faber and he checks his phone, o lay to find a message from snapchat, telling him that Jack has saved the picture. He smiles to himself.

After that it becomes a bit of a thing, though Bitty doesn’t realize it at first. He just absentmindedly starts sending Jack selfies. Sometimes they’re just for him, pictures of long stretches of sun-kissed skin and bitten lips and sometimes they’re silly selfies sent both to Jack and Bitty’s story. Jack saves every single one, from the one of him and Holster duck-facing with Annie’s take out cups to the one of him playing around with the dog filter.

Sending a selfie starts to become something of a silent “good morning!”, and he knows Jack’s camera roll must be full, but it’s fun and occasionally Jack will send a selfie back, or a snap of something fun, like Tater trying to bench press Snowy. It’s all good fun and a way to stay connected while they’re too busy to travel to each other. Bitty doesn’t think much of it until the end of one busy day, where he’d spent the whole morning on the ice and the whole evening trying to force himself to write the paper he had due the next morning.

When he finally shows Lardo the green check mark next to his assignment on blackboard and gets his phone back, he has a bunch of twitter notifications and a single “:(” text from Jack.

Bitty frowns at the text and presses the call button, his mind racing at what could have possibly happened to upset Jack. They hadn’t had a game tonight…

When Jack answers with a soft, warm, “Hey, Bits”, his frown deepens.

“Hi, honey, you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Jack says, sounding a little bewildered.

“It’s just, I just got my phone back from Lardo and you sent me a frownie face and…”

“Oh!” Jack said. “You didn’t send me a selfie this morning.”

Bitty paused for a long moment, a bit stunned and then said, slowly, “Was I supposed to?”

“Well, yeah,” Jack said, his tone indicating that it was obvious. “You’ve sent me at least one every day for three months, Bits. It’s expected, now. It’s part of my routine.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Bitty scoffed, rolling his eyes. “And what happens if I don’t?”

“You have a very sad and lonely boyfriend with no picture to look at longingly,” Jack informed him.

“You are so full of shit,” Bitty snarked back. “I know you save every picture I send you.”

“But those aren’t new,” Jack insisted, and Bitty’s stomach curled warmly at the affection in his voice. “What if you look different today? Inquiring minds need to know.”

“So what, I’m just supposed to send you a picture of me every day for the rest of my life?” Bitty demanded, aware that he was grinning like a lunatic.

“At least until I can wake up with you every morning, yeah,” Jack said. “Pretty sure it’s in our boyfriend contract.”

“You charmer,” Bitty chides, at a loss for something else to say because his brain is swimming in the idea of waking up to Jack every morning.

“I love you,” Jack says, and Bitty wants nothing more than to see his soft smile when he says it.

“I love you, too,” he says, and snaps a picture.

And they bicker about something so bitty turns his hat around so jack can’t kiss him