Texting Anonymous

The locker room is filled with the usual noise, teammates getting dressed and talking, but I can barely focus on any of it. My stomach is tied in knots, my nerves not from the game, but from something else entirely.

I glance around, trying to ignore the feeling in my chest as I pull on my jersey. Somewhere out there, in the crowd, they're watching me. The person I've been talking to, the one who knows now. My stomach twists again at the thought.

And then there's the other thing. Everybody knows. The whole school. It's not just them anymore. People are going to be watching me for all the wrong reasons. I already know what's going to happen after this game. People are going to talk. Whisper. Stare. Everybody knows I'm gay now.

I breathe in, trying to steady myself. It's just a game. Just focus on that. Get through it. Everything else can wait.

"Stan! You ready?" Clyde calls out, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah," I mutter, forcing a smile, trying to look normal. Trying to act like it doesn't matter.

But it does. Everything feels so much heavier now. Every step I take, every move I make out there, I know people are watching. Even if it's just the game, it's not just about football anymore.

The door to the locker room swings open, and my heart races as we start heading out to the field. The crowd, the noise, it's all about to happen.

I just have to get through it.

Play.

Win.

The field is buzzing with energy as the team huddles together, prepping for the game. The sound of cleats scraping against the grass and the distant cheers from the stands echo in the background. I try to keep my focus, but every time I glance at the crowd, my stomach turns a little more.

I feel the nerves building, but it's not just about the game. The crowd is full of people I know, some of them probably talking about me, whispering, judging. And then there's them—the person who's been messaging me all this time, the one who knows everything now. I can't shake the feeling that they're out there, somewhere, watching me.

I stand near the sidelines, stretching my legs, trying to focus on the team and ignore the tightness in my chest.

I wish I could feel like that. Instead, my mind is racing. What if they notice? What if people make it awkward? What if I mess up?

The whistle blows, signaling the start of warmups, and I try to focus. I jog out onto the field with the rest of the team, the nerves creeping up again. It's not even the pressure of winning anymore; it's the pressure of being seen, of knowing that people are watching me in a way they never have before.

I can hear the crowd now, their voices rising. I've played here a hundred times, but today, everything feels different. Maybe it's the game. Maybe it's the nerves. Maybe it's the fact that I'm not just Stan anymore. I'm the gay kid on the football team.

The whistle blows again, and the game begins. My mind is spinning, but I push it aside, focusing on the plays, on the game, trying to keep my head in it.

The ball is snapped, and I go through the motions, blocking, running, focusing on the field. But in the back of my mind, I'm hyper-aware of the people around me, the stares, the whispers, the expectations. It feels like every movement I make is being watched, judged, and I can't seem to escape it.

I just have to make it through this. Focus on the game. Maybe once it's over, things will calm down. Maybe after tonight, I'll know who they are, and maybe it won't feel so bad anymore. But for now, all I can do is keep running. Keep playing. Keep pretending that none of this matters.