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The juxtaposition of Jean Moreau was something the freshman talked about frequently. The man was stoic and rude, a stark contrast to the rest of the Trojans. While the other upperclassmen were all smiles and laughs, Jean barely spoke. His face was mean and unapproachable, his demeanor icy. That’s why it confused the freshman when everyone else seemed to love him. Laila and Alvarez were constantly calling him an angel. Jeremy always got the sweetest grin on his face while talking to him. The rest of the group called him bro and asked him for advice like it was the easiest thing in the world.
Jimmy would listen to this talk, but never contributed anything of their own. They kind of understood where their teammates were coming from, but in all honesty, the way the older Trojans treated Jean was the main reason Jimmy felt so accepted by the team. When they first got scouted, they were afraid no one would like them, that they’d be an outcast.
It wasn’t their fault that their mind worked differently to others. It also wasn’t their fault that half their face got burned when their house caught fire in the ninth grade. Yet, their high school classmates didn’t seem to care. Everyone either made fun of them or kept their distance. All throughout high school, Jimmy was alone. So to see someone like Jean, someone with scars, someone who didn’t feel the need to cater to social norms, being accepted into the group was reassuring to Jimmy, even if they found Jean a little intimidating themself.
One day, when the freshmen were learning some new drills, Jimmy felt a little bit off. For some reason, they just couldn’t get the moves down. No matter how hard they tried, the ball missed the cones they were supposed to hit by miles, like there was a force field around the whole bunch. Jimmy let out a quiet groan and twirled their racquet in their hand. After a breath, they scooped the ball back up and were about to throw it again when they heard footsteps heading in their direction.
They thought it was just another freshman setting up beside them, but when they looked over at the noise, they saw none other than Jean Moreau heading for them. His face was blank, yet he still managed to look sort of angry. Had Jimmy done something wrong? Were they about to be reprimanded? The players around them paused for a moment to look over at them, but when Jean shot them all a look, they quickly turned away and continued their drills.
“Sorry,” Jimmy said, squeaking out the word.
“You are not turning your wrist enough,” Jean said, the soft tone of his voice not matching his facial expression in the slightest. Jimmy was taken aback by this, frozen on the spot until Jean hit the bottom of Jimmy’s racquet with his own and caught the ball with such ease, like he’d been born playing exy. Jimmy watched as Jean demonstrated the wrist movement. He hit the cone on the far end of the court with the same ease as before. “Do you understand?” he asked after he turned back to Jimmy.
“Uh…”
“You try now,” Jean said, still in that soft, gentle voice.
Jimmy scooped up a ball from the bin next to them. They planted their feet firmly on the floor, got into position, and let out a breath, trying to remember how Jean had angled his wrist. With a flick, the ball left their net. It flew across the court. Jimmy was sure it wasn’t going to hit anything, but to their surprise, it scraped the top of one of the cones, knocking it over in a slow arc.
Jimmy let out a disbelieving laugh. “I did it,” they said. “I actually did it.”
“Whoo! Go Jimmy!” one of their other teammates shouted.
“You got it!” another one yelled.
Jimmy looked over at Jean again, a small smile dawning the tall man’s face. They wanted to say something to him, wanted to tell him how grateful they were for his help, but before they could get a single word out, they were dragged into a conversation with their peers. They all crowded around them, singing their praises.
Jimmy looked back to see if Jean was still there, if they could manage to escape and thank him, but he was already crossing the court, on his way back to their captain, Jeremy Knox. Jeremy had the biggest grin on his face. Light practically radiated out of him. He said something that Jimmy couldn’t quite make out. Jean rolled his eyes, but accepted a kiss on the cheek nonetheless. Jeremy slid a hand down Jean’s arm, eventually lacing their fingers together as they walked away. Jimmy could see the slightest blush rise on Jean’s face before he completely disappeared from sight.
Jimmy thought about all the things the freshmen said about Jean, about how he was mean and rude and how they didn’t understand why everyone seemed to love him so much. Now, after everything, Jimmy thought they got it, why the upperclassmen liked him as much as they did. They understood the angelic quality that was waiting behind his stoic facade. They understood Jeremy’s soft smiles and everyone’s want for advice. They’d really have to thank him later.
For now, Jimmy was content to leave him be, content to be around friends and finally feel like they belonged.