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Coach Bobby Finstock was sitting in his classroom during his free period (the class right before lacrosse practice, and thus the last class of the day), scribbling on his clipboard the names of students, both on the team and off, and constantly scratching off descriptions and re-writing them. Some students never make it to the list, of course. Like Greenburg – why would he ever make it to the list? But others make it to the list and stay, seniors he hasn’t taught in two years mixed in with sophomores. Finstock doesn’t care – some of them come handy later on, if he really needs to think about it.
It wasn’t hard to notice the way Jackson and Danny got along, best friends on the field and off. In class and in the locker room. Finstock noticed the subtle way Jackson would smirk at Danny, the way Danny’s eyes would sometimes look at the other boy (or really, most of the guys on the team. His team was made up of Abercrombie and Fitch underwear models most of the time), and although they never really went public, intimate about it, Finstock took a special amount of glee over the towel Jackson would whip against Danny’s ass when the other boy felt playful.
It excited Finstock. Not in that way, of course. Noooo, Finstock felt no personal desire to touch these boys, the underwear models that comprised his team. This wasn’t a sexual thing, not really. Simply gratification, the idea of seeing the possibility, knowing the little things that led up to it, and then knowing you were right all along when it came to pass. Finstock took pride in noticing these things, in noticing that while everyone liked Danny, some boys appreciated Danny more, and he appreciated right back.
Then came that fateful day with McCall in his office, the little asthmatic boy who’d never made it to the list. Finstock hadn’t even thought about him, as he usually didn’t think about his benchwarmers. There wasn’t much to notice, except how much they seemed to sit on the bench, doing nothing. But McCall had proven himself a spot on the team, so Finstock gave him the benefit of the doubt. And when McCall said he couldn’t play, not girl problems, and for the first time Finstock thought it might be boy problems for McCall. It was the first time he’d thought of Danny and McCall at the same time, and as McCall left his office, Finstock sat back down and scratched McCall’s name on the paper, giving him a position, because Danny was still bigger and stronger, and everyone liked him better anyway. It was interesting, at least, but Finstock left it at that, instead going back to other ideas, like Jackson and Danny (because that one might actually come true without interference, if the way Jackson teased Danny meant anything).
Finstock did, however, start to pay a bit more attention to second line after that, just in case someone interesting showed up.
And show up he did, in bright bold colors and a long essay about male circumcision that, frankly, spent more time on the topic of the male penis than the boy’s locker room did. And looking at the name again, Stilinski. Finstock saw possibility in the name, it oozed with potential that could only come from knowing this boy researched topics that heavily centered around male genitalia. Finstock added the name to his list, with little question marks about position.
And Finstock watched the boy, who only seemed to interact with McCall. And while McCall was on the list, he clearly was not compatible with Stilinski, not in the way that warranted changing his clipboard. He knew these things, how well people would match together. It was a gift that came with time (and watching several students interact, who was more suitable to raise to the top and who floated to the bottom). Stilinski was on the bottom, way way bottom, but this was a game of balance. For every person on the bottom, someone had to rise to the top, the only question was who?
Stilinski was tall but lanky, covered in freckles and pale skin and features screaming “pretty boy.” Jackson was out of his league, like McCall, but would Danny do? Finstock usually went to Danny when he couldn’t find a better match, but even this one didn’t seem to do it. Danny wasn’t quite high enough on the food chain to balance out with how low Stilinski was, not masculine enough to match the delicate features that made Finstock even wonder how Stilinski had made it to the team in the first place.
High school regulations. Everyone came play, it’s a team sport. No one gets discriminated against. No wonder people like McCall and Stilinski made the team. And Greenburg. Oh god, Greenburg. That kid sucked. Really, really sucked.
So Finstock scrutinized his list once again, looking for the most masculine name he’d left on it. It belonged to some kid from two years ago – not on the team, just a student, but the way he’s sat alone all the time stood out. He couldn’t properly read the name anymore, just something beginning with a ‘B’, but Finstock remembered him to be big and dark, all strong muscle and masculinity. Finstock’s eyes glinted and his mouth smiled manically on its own. Yes, for someone so low on the food chain like Stilinski, this ‘B’ would do perfectly. Pale and dark skin meeting. ‘B’ had used to never speak, but Stilinski would talk enough for both of them. Oh yes, this fit quite well.
And over the next few days, Finstock made little notes on his clipboard, all the ways he remembered ‘B’ would have matched Stilinski. He didn’t realize until after he’d clipped the actual game plan over his notes and stood in front of the team just how obsessive he might have been over this idea.
“and Bilinski.”
Finstock wouldn’t admit it to anyone, under pain of death, but he’d used the wrong name for Stilinski in the game plan, hadn’t meant to let on just that bit that he loved the idea of Stilinski and ‘B’. Called them Bilinski and forgot, often, that Stilinski was Stilinski and ‘B’ had probably dropped out of school after sophomore year, unable to fit in. But Stilinski had went with it, and Finstock promptly forgot there had ever been a moment when ‘B’ and Stilinski were separate people.
Until, of course, ‘B’ stepped up to play in the game while Stilinski was mysteriously missing, and Finstock suddenly lost all hope for it. See, he’d been overjoyed to see ‘B’ in the crowd, like the protective top of the food chain waiting for when the game was over to pounce on the bottom food, to take what was his. But the food wasn’t there, and the top couldn’t pounce – didn’t even seem to want to.
‘B’ had walked away with a girl in a corset, and of course Finstock was thoroughly depressed that not only was “Bilinski” completely off-base, but he’d have to cross ‘B’ off his list. Terrible luck, really.
He was rewarded soon afterwards, though, in the form of a tall, dark haired Derek Hale watching lacrosse practice, staring intently at Stilinski the entire time. McCall was absent yet again, but given his poor grades and frequent detention, Finstock wasn’t sure he’d ever come back to play. Not that he even cared at the moment, as this new development left him paying less attention to practice and more to Stilinski, the boy who’d been left alone at the bottom of the food chain, denied being eaten by the best of the best.
Except Finstock was beginning to think ‘B’ wasn’t the best of the best, anymore. Derek Hale had been rather lanky when he’d taught him in school, less muscle and all limbs. This Derek Hale in front of his now was all muscle, taunt and lean and, if Finstock was interested, he was sure this piece of masculinity that would have made the underwear models on his team mere nerds in comparison would be perfect. But Finstock wasn’t interested (because when he said Geenburg sucked, he meant it, and Greenburg sucked well), and besides, Derek Hale was still staring at Stilinski.
Stilinski, who’d jogged over to the older man and was not talking to him in hushed whispers, leaning in close. Oh, oh! Here was the missing piece of Finstock’s puzzle, the one that had disappeared when ‘B’ got crossed off the list. Finstock watched as Hale grabbed Stilinski’ arm, leaned in closer, pulled Stilinski closer. Finstock was practically giddy, taking notes with glee on his clipboard. But with a shout Finstock was reminded it was still practice, they were still busy. So Finstock blew his whistle towards Stilinski and Hale, talking several steps their way so they knew the whistle was for them.
“Sterek! Get back on that field! You can goof off once you’re good enough to get your ass off the bench!”
Because really, what kind of name would “Halinski” be?