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PART 17 The following Thursday, Bobby stopped by the boys’ table as they were having lunch. As usual, he had a basketball in his hands. “Buenos dias, amigo! Como estas?” he said to Tom, pleasantly enough though slowly and with a horrible accent. “Que lindo que ya sabes hablar en espanol. Ya es hora! Pensaba que nunca ibas...” “Yeah, yeah, enough. Shut up, you rodent.” Bobby punched him in the head, but not too hard, and Tom got in a return shot to the big kid’s arm. “Look, I gotta talk to your boy here. Hey Ricky, we got big trouble about today’s game. You almost done eating? Let’s get out of here, man. This is important.” “Yeah, sure. See ya, Tom, catch ya in math class.” The two basketball players left the cafeteria and headed out toward the outdoor practice court next to the chapel. “Ricky, you know Calhoun Regional is coming here today? They’re undefeated, we’re 4-2, and for any chance to win the league we have to have this game, man. This is a fucking must.” Then Bobby went on to explain the dire situation. Both other big kids were out today. Justin had been a total idiot, telling off and disrespecting Mr. Milroy in class, so he was suspended for two games. Dwayne had gotten sick last night, and today still had a fever. And just this morning, their one good little kid, their point guard Manuel had decided to try jumping down the library stairs on his skateboard, and had sprained his ankle. “I talked to Coach a few minutes ago, Ricky. You’re gonna play the whole game today, every minute. Man, all we have today is just you and me and a few rodents who got no game worth shit. I know you haven’t been in much this year, but you gotta step it up bigtime today, man.” Ricky was a bit nervous, but quickly got excited. Up until now he’d only played in the tail end of games, usually after the result had already been decided. In six games, he’d only scored a total of four points. He had tried to learn what was happening around him in practices, and it would be fun to get a real chance. “Look, Ricky, I see you in practice, and here’s your big problem. You reach and push people with your hands and elbows, and the ref is gonna call you for that every time. You gotta push people around with your knees, your hips, your ass. Here’s the ball. Try to get around me to the hoop.” The bigger boy put his hands behind his back and blocked Ricky’s path skillfully, again and again, just the way he said. They then switched roles, and Ricky tried, with rather less success. “All right, man, we got class now. Hey, get psyched, Ricky, today’s all you! See you at the gym. Let’s get this thing today!” Bobby Delacroix basically lived and breathed basketball. It was certainly in his genes. His father was slightly over 7 feet tall and had been good enough to make an NBA team for one season, way before Bobby was born. He was a benchwarmer in the NBA, but later played eight years as a pro in Italy. The varsity coach for 9-12th grade was considering using Bobby this year in the winter, but for now he played on the junior high team, and pretty much dominated. Since he was less big (Bobby was never “little”), Dad had always taught him “How good you are is only part of the story. Even more important is how good you can make everyone around you.” Ricky concentrated even less than usual (if possible) during his afternoon classes. Hoop dreams were running through his head, and today he was gonna Be Like Mike! Or maybe more like Shaq? Maybe a bit of both. Take ALL those suckers to the hoop, punish them down low, raaaiiinnn those 3-pointers down on their ass, oh yeah! When he got to the gym, there was much more excitement than there had been for other games. Maybe 100 people were in there to watch, including teachers, other kids, and a bunch of Calhoun fans and parents who had made the trip. Just like Bobby said, the starting lineup would be Bobby, Ricky, and three small kids. Bobby was into it before the opening tip, shouting and chest-bumping. “Come on, Ricky!! You and me!! Our time, boy!! Let’s WANT this motherfucker!” Music was blasting, the Calhoun people were yelling, and Ricky was loving it all. He’d never been this important before. But once the game started, reality set in quickly. Calhoun Regional hadn’t won their first six games by accident. They didn’t have anyone Bobby’s size, but they had three kids about 5’10” who were lightning quick and good. In addition, their little guys could handle the ball and ran rings around Brendy’s guards. Bobby was all over the place, doing whatever he could, but Ricky couldn’t help much. Whenever Ricky got the ball, there were people all over him and he got nervous, reacting way too slowly to do anything useful. Ricky tried to block people and push them as Bobby had taught him, but the opponents always seemed to be a step quicker in anticipation, and Ricky picked up two fouls by accident. It seemed to him that whatever he did, the referee blew his whistle at him. At the end of the first ten-minute quarter, the scoreboard told a sad story. ST. BRENDAN’S 7 VISITOR 22. In the huddle at the end of the quarter, Ricky was sweating and tired already. He’d never played this much and wasn’t in all that great shape. The coach was shouting and talking strategy, but the problem was lack of talent. St. Brendan’s had one player, Calhoun had five. Bobby put his two cents worth in. “Look, coach, let’s try something different. Ricky can’t help me much on the defensive boards. Let’s try that old Celtics release play. Nothing else is working, can’t hurt.” Ricky had no idea what the big kid was talking about, but Bobby explained clearly. He said the instant the other team shot, Ricky was to forget about trying to rebound, forget about guarding anyone. Just race down to the offensive end, and if Bobby got the rebound, he’d find Ricky, who would hopefully be alone, with a long pass. All the boys got in a circle around Coach, put a hand in the middle, kind of halfheartedly mumbled “cougars”, and it was time to go back out. Calhoun scored first in the quarter, but the next time they had the ball, a kid shot from long range and Ricky just took off down to the far end, looked behind, and saw the ball 10 feet from his face. He caught it and with no one to bother him, easily laid it in. That was fun! Bobby roared something at him, and sure enough, almost the exact same thing happened next time. Oh yeah! No opponents were expecting Ricky to be all the way down the floor so fast while the action was at the other end. Ricky jumped up and pumped a fist. There was even some serious noise from the St. Brendan’s kids in the stands. Somehow, momentum had turned. Now the St. Brendan’s little kids were energized and chasing the Calhoun little kids like terriers, harassing them all over the court and deflecting passes. Bobby was in full passion, blocking shots, scoring, knocking people down without fouling, and Ricky was somehow confident and doing stuff right. Once he caught a long pass but was guarded, yet found one of his rodent teammates racing down the other wing, and made a perfect pass to the little guy for another hoop. On the next possession, Bobby missed a shot, but Ricky jumped over a kid to snatch the rebound, and on the way down accidentally elbowed the kid in the nose, bloodying his whole face. Somehow the ref didn’t see it and Ricky scored again. He waved at the Calhoun coach who was jumping up and down like an idiot, screaming for a foul. And later, with only 2 seconds left in the half, one of Brendy’s little kids heaved up an impossible 3-point bomb that said SWISHHH. The halftime horn sounded, and everyone was hugging and screaming. ST. BRENDAN’S 33 VISITOR 32. Ricky had scored 11 points in the 2nd quarter. In the locker room, Coach was trying to calm the kids down a bit, but still wanted to let them have their joy and emotion. Bobby was slapping people’s hands and faces hard enough to almost knock the little guys down. Ricky was sweating like a pig and his legs were almost numb, but he was smiling, laughing, ridin’ the wave. Basketball was never so awesome before!! But what they didn’t know was that the other team’s coach was no fool and no rookie. The second half started, and he assigned one of his quick 5’10” kids to stay outside, to watch Ricky’s no longer secret breaks to the hoop, so that whole idea didn’t work anymore. Now whenever Ricky got the ball he was surrounded by this kid who was bigger and better than him. He got confused again, and either traveled, lost the ball, or stupidly swiped at the other kid and got called for two more fouls. Bobby fought with all that was in him, but the game was pretty much back to one against five. Bobby probably could have kept St. Brendan’s in the game all by himself against weak opponents, but these Calhoun kids could play. They also had quality substitutes, so everyone was well-rested and fresh, while Bobby was exhausted, and Ricky was both exhausted and clueless. Nothing went right. Ricky fouled out early in the 4th quarter and Bobby followed five minutes later. They sat on the bench silently while other kids finished out garbage time. Mercifully, it was soon over. ST. BRENDAN’S 46 VISITOR 67. Ricky dried the sweat off his face and arms with a towel, then quickly got dressed. Oh well, it had been fun, and the team had their moments. That 2nd quarter had been a blast! He was sorry the team’s starters were out, but just getting a chance to play was sooooo cool. He was about to head back to Bats to tell Tom the whole story. He was mostly remembering every bit of the glory days of that magical quarter, and thought he’d write a nice long e-mail Saturday to Mom and Dad, describing all his 11 points, 3 rebounds (all offensive!), and 2 blocked shots in detail. He was physically wiped out, but his attitude was up and he felt energized. But walking through the gym to the exit, he noticed Bobby still sitting on the bench just where he’d been before, still in his uniform, still with the same towel over his head. He was surprised to see the huge kid crying uncontrollably. “Hey,” said Ricky, shaking the other kid’s gigantic hand, “Good effort, Bobby. Come on, let’s head back. We tried. It’s only a game.” Bobby’s eyes flashed through his tears and he shouted back, more in hurt than in anger, “Only a game? Whaddaya mean? We needed this today!! If only we had a couple decent subs, we could have got a little rest, this fucking sucks!!! That’s your goddamn problem, Ricky!! As long as you think like that, it’s only a game, you’ll never get as good as you should be!!” “Bobby, I tried my best, we all did.” “I know, but…” the big kid was still sobbing, “there’s a difference between just trying and laying your heart and your head and your balls out there on the court. It ain’t just a game, man, can’t you see? You got to dig deep and find it, dude. You could be a player, Ricky, but it ain’t just some GAME.” Bobby’s voice quieted a bit, and through his tears he managed a little smile. “But thanks for getting after it like you did. You had ‘em rocked in that 2nd quarter, man.” They shook hands again and Ricky headed back to the dorm to see Tom and get ready for dinner. But he still didn’t understand. Ain’t just a game? Huh? What else could it be? Hmmm, Ricky thought, Tom’s a goddamn genius, maybe he’ll know. PART 18 Ricky was hardly doing much “studying” in evening study hall. He was mostly boasting to Tom about how he had ruled the world during the 2nd quarter. Tom was glad that Ricky had fun, but also agreed with Bobby that if you didn’t win the game, well, it just wasn’t good enough. After Ricky’s third repetition and demonstration of the incident where he elbowed the kid and laid in the rebound, Tom thought that his friend should concentrate more on his neglected homework. “Ricky, this is very cool, but have you finished your math?” “Oh? Are you my mother now? You sure don’t look like her!” Tom put a couple pairs of foul-smelling socks inside his T-shirt, pranced around effeminately, and repeated the question in his best imitation of a high-pitched woman’s voice, and also nagged him about his social studies, English, etc. “Is that better? Remind you of her now?” “Damn, Tom, if my mother was that butt-ugly, I woulda never showed my face in the world!! Woulda crawled back into her belly, said fuck this!” Both pairs of dirty socks flew in the direction of Ricky’s face. The boys’ giggling stopped suddenly, however, as Mr. Conroy appeared in the doorway. “Ricky, I need to talk to you about something,” he said. “Can you come upstairs to the 2nd floor office?” They were gone for about 15 minutes, and Tom was actually kind of glad as he got to finish up a social studies essay in peace. But when Ricky got back, the peace was shattered, and fast. Ricky was ripping mad, furious, out of control, in a way that Tom had never seen him before. Tom could hardly breathe, he was so scared. This was not the kid he knew, no way. What happened? “MOTHER FUCKER!!!” Ricky screamed as he kicked the door closed. “SO DAMNED UNFAIR!! I didn’t do anything to bother them, they know I suck at this, why do they have to hassle me?? They should shove it up their stinking faggot asses!!! I sit in class nicely all day and now we’re talking ALL FUCKING WEEKEND??” Ricky threw a small pile of books and papers across the room. “Ricky, what happened?” “Buttfucker says my grades are too low, I have Supervised Saturday Study for the next four weeks. Can’t do nothing for the whole weekend!!” By now he was almost crying. “Ricky, I don’t know what’s up, but we’ll work this out. It’ll be OK, we’ll…” “Goddamn easy for you to say!! Yeah, Tom, you’re just such a fucking genius, you’re never gonna have this stupid triple S, yeah, sure, it’ll work out easy for you!! Just shut up and get outa my face, asshole, leave me the hell alone!” Ricky pushed Tom away hard with his forearm, then kicked a couple more things toward the door. His eyes were full of anger, and Tom just had no idea what this was about. This was Ricky, his only friend, Ricky, who never had problems. Tom was even a little bit afraid that Ricky was about to beat the crap out of him. But Ricky would never do that, would he? Or would he? Tom quicky decided he’d better get out of there, and right now. He said he needed to see Mr. Conroy about something, and left, just totally confused. What was the deal? Tom still didn’t like Mr. Conroy, despite the good advice and fair treatment he’d gotten after the Joey incident. But he had nowhere else to go now, and had to know more about what happened with Ricky. He knocked on the office door and told Mr. Conroy that Ricky was really mad and he couldn’t figure out why. What was up? “Every few weeks, the teachers review kids’ progress in class and for a few kids, we think they need extra study time on the weekend to improve or work harder. Ricky’s one of nine kids in 8th grade who will be in triple S for the next four weeks.” “But Mr. Conroy, that’s really tough. He can’t do anything at all for the whole weekend?” “That’s an exaggeration. They’ll have Supervised Saturday Study from 9 AM until lunch. Before and after that, they can have all the free time they’d usually get.” “That’s still a lot of extra study hall. Mr. Conroy, you know Ricky tries hard, and he’s not always good at classes, but he’s never done anything wrong, he behaves OK. He doesn’t bother anyone, not like Justin. How about if I promise to help him with his homework, and if he has a bad grade on a quiz or something, you tell me and I’ll make sure he learns the stuff. I’m pretty smart. But can we please forget about the Saturday Study?” Yeah, Mr. Conroy thought, this whiny little kid WAS smart, but he was also starting to get on his nerves, especially because it was past 9:00 PM after a full day teaching. He also knew that the few good marks Ricky did get were on homework, probably homework that Tom did for him. “Tom, I think your loyalty to your friend is really good, and you can help him in some things, but he has to walk down part of this road by himself.” “But why can’t we...” Mr. Conroy was starting to lose patience, but he asked for strength to keep his cool. It was the school’s very firm policy, from Headmaster Carlisle on down, to not reverse any decisions that any teacher or group of teachers made in response to students’ whining or complaining. Perhaps they’d review the situation among themselves and do something different next time, but to the kids, a decision was a decision, and it was final. Otherwise, the kids would figure out that all they had to do to undermine one teacher was complain to someone higher up. Even if the kids had a point, reversing a decision would be a much worse evil. Reversal would cause chaos and erode teachers’ authority. “Kid, let me explain how things work here, and you listen good. We’re giving Ricky triple S for his own good. When we say something, we mean it and we’re not going back on it because you or anyone else complains. That’s how it is, and how it’ll stay. Like I said, you and Ricky have been great for each other, and I like how you stick up for him. But this is settled. I hope that after four weeks, he’ll have improved and won’t need triple S any more. It’s been a long day, and time for you to go back and have lights out. Goodnight.” Tom glared angrily at the guy during this speech, but then seeing further arguing would be useless, he just left. Tom was never a spoiled kid. He didn’t always get his own way at home or at the Argentine school. Sometimes he got it, sometimes he didn’t, and he could live with that. But he wasn’t used to the person he was arguing with being right. That was the worst part. Tom knew it, and hated Mr. Conroy even more for it. Tom was a little bit nervous as he entered his room again, and was hoping Ricky had calmed down. He opened the door but didn’t go in immediately, still kind of afraid that maybe Ricky would go off on him again. The lights were off, though the outdoor lights around the building were on and gave off a soft milky whiteness through the boys’ room. Ricky was lying on his bottom bunk in his underwear, face down, not really crying but snorting and sniffling. He noticed his roommate’s arrival, and rolled sideways to look at him. “Tom, Tom, man, please, please, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of that stuff about you, I was just so pissed about the triple S. Still am, really, but it sure wasn’t your fault, I shouldn’t have gone off on you. And I really hope you’ll help me with my classes, I didn’t mean all that before, please, I’m sorry if I scared you.” Ricky wasn’t crying now but Tom could see he had been before. His face was a little red and his nose was still a bit runny. Tom sat down next to the bigger kid. “Ricky, you remember that deal we made?” “Oh yeah, last Friday.” “Well, hey, nothing, NOTHING, is gonna separate us. OK? Yeah, the triple S really sucks but it’s not for the whole weekend, just part of Saturday. I tried to get Mr. Conroy to change his mind, but no way, not happening. But anyway, we’ll look out for each other and we’ll do what we gotta do to get your grades better.” Ricky was starting to cry for real now, more out of sorrow for yelling at Tom than for anything else. “Ricky,” Tom continued, “it’s getting late. You wanna come up top with me for awhile?” Ricky climbed up and Tom undressed. For some reason this time he put his pants and shirt on hangers where they belonged, instead of on the floor or at the foot of his bunk. For the same strange unknown reason, he neatly rolled up his socks and put them in his laundry bag. By the time he climbed up top, Ricky was already close to sleeping. He was on his back, so Tom rolled onto his right side and looked carefully at the blond boy. Tom couldn’t really sleep, and was nervous about something. Not really scared, but just nervous, not confident. Maybe 15 minutes passed, maybe 30. Tom got curious and began softly touching his friend, thinking how this kid wasn’t really so different after all. Tom lightly grazed Ricky’s hair. Felt the same as his own, even though it was yellow or almost gold. Smelled like shampoo. His fingers traced the curves of Ricky’s ears, his nose, his jaw. All were shaped just like his. But the big boy’s chest was different. Tom’s was flat but Ricky’s had contours, and a tiny dropoff right below his nipples. And Tom carefully studied something he hadn’t really noticed before. Ricky had armpit hairs, light yellow ones. Not like an ape or like Bobby, but just a few. Tom wondered if it hurt or pulled when Ricky moved his arm. He petted them, very lightly to not wake up his friend, and they were soft, nice, feeling about the same as the hair on his head. Then his eyes and hands moved downward, to the boy’s ribs and belly. Tom noticed that the waistband of Ricky’s briefs said “FTL”. That seemed funny…what could it mean, Fuck the ….Fuck the….something beginning with L. The Law? The Ladies? The what? And wow, it was obvious that inside was something much, much bigger than his own. Tom had by now grown some real hairs there, no longer just fuzz or isolated ones. A real small patch of them, but he guessed Ricky probably had an entire Amazon rainforest. Without any conscious thought, gently and slowly, his fingers slipped inside the waistband and felt curiously. The hairs went on and on forever, it seemed, but curly and coarse and matted, nothing like the ones on his head this time. Ricky’s balls seemed huge to Tom, but soft, kinda like silk, kinda like his own but bigger. And his penis was so long, skinny but also going on and on. Tom’s fingers noticed it was medium hard, but all of a sudden it just jerked. It stiffened and quickly pressed firmly, almost violently, against Tom’s fingers. Tom instantly withdrew his hand, ashamed and scared that maybe Ricky had awakened, but no, his friend was still fast asleep. Now it came to him. Now Tom figured out why he was so nervous, so unsure, why he couldn’t get to sleep. Up until now, he’d only had to take care of himself. Tom was usually willing to work hard to do what he needed to. He could study chess positions or schoolwork for hours, could run until his knees were sore, could do any chores back in Argentina that his parents asked him to. But it was only HIM. Now it was all different. Now he’d be responsible for getting Ricky to improve his grades, to learn the stuff. He had a best friend now, and it was no longer only about himself. Kind of scary but kind of cool. Very new. Very weird, but it gave him some pride. Maybe he was growing up or something. Tom finally lay down and put his head on one side of Ricky’s chest, ear down. Ricky’s heart vibrated in his ear, bomp-bomp, bomp-bomp, bomp-bomp. Tom knew all about this. He knew that there were valves in Ricky’s heart that opened to let blood into the correct parts, then closed so his blood wouldn’t go back where it shouldn’t. The noises were the sound of the valves closing, like two doors shutting. No big deal. Pretty logical. And the reason that Ricky’s skin felt so warm against his face was that Ricky was a mammal, so he was warm-blooded. Whether it was cold or warm in the room or outside, his temperature would always be the same, 37 degrees Celsius or 98.6 Fahrenheit. But Tom couldn’t figure out why those things made him so happy, why Ricky’s body temperature or the feel of Ricky’s heart valves were calming him and exciting him at the same time, why his own thing was all stiff inside his black briefs. After a few minutes, he stopped thinking about it and just felt the rhythm. Just felt, got happy, and slept. Bomp-bomp. Bomp-bomp. Nothing will separate us, he thought. Bomp-bomp. Bomp-bomp. Bomp-bomp. PART 19 Life began to take on a routine for both boys, with much less intensity and far fewer major incidents in the next few weeks. Ricky was getting somewhat better at hoops, and Coach put him in the next two games as early as the 2nd quarter. He didn’t leave him in for more than a few minutes at a time because Ricky would start getting frustrated, but Ricky could now make contributions. He could score occasionally and was getting better at boxing people out and snaring rebounds. He survived the first two triple S sessions, though not happily. He still practiced his music a lot, and now was mostly into either his classical stuff or a couple gospel pieces he was preparing to play one weekend at that black church he saw on his bike ride. The people there were cool, and made him laugh. Tom helped him a lot in evening study hall with his homework, and he tried hard but mostly to make Tom happy and to get out of future triple S’s. But he certainly thought the stuff was stupid. He knew how to add and multiply things, so why did they have to do this dumb crap with x and y? They’re not even numbers, they’re letters. And who cared about the Supreme Court? He wasn’t intending to be on it. Tom was cranking it in his afternoon runs. He knew he was growing up, and was in better endurance condition than he’d ever been. He intended to show Coach P his training logs, but only after a few more weeks so Coach would know he was serious. Four times a week, he’d do what he called “chill” runs, just relaxing long jaunts either up in the woods above school, or on the dirt roads outside the gates. On these he’d let his imagination think good, peaceful thoughts, and concentrate on the sounds of nature around him or on how his body felt. These would be about 5-9 miles. Twice a week, on the other hand, he did what he called “kill” runs, when he would get angry, push himself, and make it hurt. He mixed in serious charges up hills with some sets of timed runs on the track, timing himself in repeated half-miles or miles. He’d get himself into a good passionate young adolescent jaw-clenching bust him into pieces hate, and imagine that with every stride he was stomping on Joey’s bleeding and crying face, or punching some of those jerks back in Argentina, or laughing at Coach Weasel. Tom felt a little guilty about the Joey fantasies, as Joey had been nicer to him recently. They’d worked on a social studies project together with two other kids. But for his kill runs, he had to work up a good hate for someone, otherwise the training would be no good! Helping Ricky was a challenge, but it made him feel good and important. But damn, how could Ricky be so smart and so perfect with his music, but forget the simplest thing in classes? He could do stuff the minute Tom explained it, but when he tried on his own, he’d completely screw it up. He at least hoped the teachers would see that Ricky was trying, and at the end of the 4-week period they’d take him off triple S. Tom went swimming on Saturdays and still looked forward to Father Ray’s visits before the boys went to bed, when Father would just hang with them or tell them a story. One Thursday night Father Ray stopped by a bit before 9, while the kids were still studying together and Tom was trying to help Ricky with a science lab report. “Hi kids!” said Father. “Wow, look how hard you guys are studying! Maybe you guys are little angels or maybe someone wants to get out of his triple S!” Both boys stopped their work and began talking and joking with their favorite teacher. Tom respected Father Ray, but also thought of him as kind of a big friend, too. He’d mess around with Father Ray much more than he’d even consider doing with the other teachers. This time Father said he had something special to tell him. “Hey, Tom, I think Ricky’s told you about that fishing house my parents have? Carlos and Rob are going out there with me on Saturday. We’ll fish, hang out, and cook dinner over the fire. Sometimes I like to get away for a day and do something different. Feel like coming with us?” Tom perked up his ears and thought it would be a blast, but he also was feeling giddy and silly after a full day of classes and study hall. “Sounds cool, Father! We could have a day with no rules, just outa control fun! But I’m a little worried about one thing. Are you going to molest me and rape me and kill me and cut my body up into little pieces?” This was not a question Father Ray was expecting, but he enjoyed sharpening his own wit with this kid who was so clever and quick. He was no slouch himself in the quick-thinking department, and replied instantly “Hmmm, Tom, what size pieces are we talking about here?” Tom grinned and cupped his hand into a shape a bit smaller than a tennis ball. “Like this?” the boy asked. The Father knelt down next to him and said in a quiet and compassionate voice, “Tom, you know I’m not that kind of person and I’d never do anything like that to you. I hope you can trust me on that.” Then he turned back to a giggling Ricky and asked “Ricky, remember last time with that 7th grader? How big were the pieces?” “Way smaller, Father! Just about an inch long. And remember how we cooked them in tin foil over the fire and later melted cheese all over them? If the pieces were as big as Tom said, the outside would be all black and the inside all cold. And after we ate him, we had those marshmallows inside the chocolate bars, was so cool!” “See, Tom?” said Father gently and kindly. “I told you I’d never do anything like that to you. I’d have to cut you up into much smaller pieces than you said. But you know, I was thinking, this time maybe instead of having a little boy, we could have cheeseburgers.” “Burgers?” Tom repeated and licked his lips. “And I was also thinking of bringing a couple frozen pizzas.” “Pizza? And with the marshmallows after?” By now Tom was all into it, and his penis was hardening quickly. Sometimes in the past few months the nerve messages between his stomach, brain, and sex organs would get their destinations confused. “And of course maybe we’ll catch a few fish in the pond, too,” said Father. “So I don’t think there will be any need to do anything so horrible to you. We should have plenty to eat.” “And Father, just in case, you could always do it to one of the little 7th graders. They’re not important.” “Well, OK, but that’ll be an absolute last resort. Ya know, if anyone found out about that first kid I butchered, I could get in trouble! Maybe I’d have to join Ricky in triple S!” There was more laughing, and the kids got ready for bed. Father said he had to get the other kids calmed down, and afterwards had to do some other stuff, so he wouldn’t be able to come back and tell them a story this time. He might be able to see the kids tomorrow evening, but if they didn’t hook up, he’d wait by his car in the off-grounds parking lot Saturday morning at 8 AM sharp, and the four of them would head out to the cabin. “Last question, Father. Can we swim in the pond?” asked Tom. “I guess you could, the water’s not dirty or anything, but it’s past Halloween, Tom. I guarantee you won’t want to swim at this time of year. If you tried, you’d freeze parts of your little body off.” “Parts of his little body?” added Ricky. “I don’t think he has those parts yet, Father!” “Fuck off and die!” replied the smaller kid, and as both boys started throwing things at each other from their respective bunks, Father Ray headed out to see the other kids. The boys calmed down a bit and Ricky turned off the lights. Even though getting the boys quiet and put to bed wasn’t always easy for Father, usually by 9:30 most of the kids were pretty tired anyway and obeyed after being told once. Tom’s mind was full of burgers, pizza, marshmallows, a pond, forest, and a day without any rules. “Ricky?” he asked in the semi-darkness. “What’s it like out there at Father’s fishing house? Is it fun?” “Oh, yeah, Tom, you’ll love it. There’s this pond where you can catch fish, and there’s a rope swing to jump into the water, but like Father said, it’s probably too cold now. And there’s like no people anywhere else, it’s way the hell out in the woods. It’s not like a house exactly, more like a cabin. And there’s this outhouse you shit in, so funny. We chopped up wood with an axe and we made a fire and later we…” Ricky talked for awhile longer, but Tom didn’t really listen to every word. But getting off-campus, out in the woods, no rules, he knew that Saturday would be awesome. He wished Ricky could come, but even without him, he knew it would be the best day yet. PART 20 Father didn’t really know if he was allowed to take kids out to his cabin. They did have free time, and frequently other teachers organized trips, but of course those were the teachers who were on duty, and they certainly weren’t to an isolated house in the woods. He figured in a case like this, where the kids would be back in the early evening, he would follow the Golden Rule of the Roman Catholic Priesthood—when in doubt, always better to beg forgiveness after than ask permission before. No one had bothered him the first time he had taken Ricky and three other kids. And despite Tom’s little joke with him Thursday, nothing evil or depraved was going to happen. Nah, molestation, murder, and cannibalism probably weren’t on the agenda. Father took one little precaution, though, one precaution against possible prying or curious eyes. There were two parking lots that faculty members used, one right near the admin building and one a couple hundred yards outside the school gates. Early in the morning, he moved his car to the outer one—couldn’t hurt to be prudent. He’d done the shopping for the kids’ favorite foods on Friday, the car was loaded and ready, and he was dressed in a regular flannel shirt, a jacket, and jeans. It felt nice once in awhile to take off his black shirt, white priest collar, and black dress pants. Like Tom had said, no rules, just outa control fun. The three kids arrived together in happy, excited moods. Tom didn’t know Rob and Carlos all that well, even though the 7th graders sometimes ate with him and Ricky. He thought it might be fun to converse with Carlos in Spanish on the drive to Father’s house, as he hadn’t heard Spanish much recently except for Mr. Hoffman in class. He wore sneakers, but had his New Balance running shoes in a small backpack and was wearing his nylon running shorts under his sweatpants. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go! Rob sat in front with Father and they talked a lot about the Orioles, as Rob was from Maryland and of course Father had worked there. The Orioles sucked badly, but both boy and man loved the easy conversation. Tom sat in back and began asking questions of Carlos. The Colombian kid was surprised that someone here could really converse in perfect Spanish, and during the drive they both got to like each other. Carlos was a bit smaller than Tom, and also very smart. The boys had quite a bit in common. Carlos’s dad also worked for his government, but right in Bogota. His parents felt that the city wasn’t totally safe for a wealthy boy of a well-known father to grow up in. Tom had to deal with some security issues in Argentina, for example always having his parents know where he was, and not going to certain places, but for Carlos it was much tougher. He had to have security guards drive him and pick him up at his colegio, and couldn’t really go much of anywhere unsupervised. He said that a couple years ago, one of his best friends had been kidnapped, and that wasn’t really uncommon. Fortunately, he was released unharmed after a short time. The thing Carlos liked most about St. Brendan’s was just being able to walk around, go places, hang out, and not constantly have someone babysitting him for his safety. He was the star of the 7th-8th grade soccer team, as he’d been playing since he learned to walk. The cabin sure was isolated, just like Ricky had said. Father turned off a two-lane paved road onto a dirt road for about four miles, then parked the car and said “Kids, this is as close as we’re getting!” Everyone got out and he led them down a little trail, less than 200 yards off the road, to this real, oldtimey cabin. It was all wood and had a campfire place out front. The kids went crazy for awhile exploring anything and everything. Inside wasn’t much but one room with a top and bottom bunk and mattresses, and another room with a table, a big counter, and cabinets. Behind the house was a giant hammock, not mounted from trees but free-standing with metal tubes. Tom thought the whole place smelled so clean, so pine, so awesome. Outside there were piles of wood, axes, and about 20 yards away, the outhouse for shitting purposes, which the 7th graders thought was funny as hell. The younger kids wanted to spend the day fishing. Father brought fishing poles and equipment as well as snack foods, and everyone took the short walk down to the pond. Tom had never fished and didn’t really see the point of it. Why bother the fish when they weren’t bothering you? And there was plenty of other food (well, at least Tom hoped there was--otherwise, well, poor Carlos or Rob!). But the pond was really beautiful, and it was like they were in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of some fantasy story or something. Father showed the kids how to bait the hooks, how to cast, everything. Tom could see that Father and both other kids were having a great time, but the whole fishing idea got boring fast. “Father, can I go for a run?” “OK, Tom, but I want you to only go up and down the dirt road. Don’t go off the road, you could get lost really easily.” “Please? I won’t, and I want to explore.” “No way. Promise you’ll stay on the dirt road?” “OK, Father, I promise,” said Tom, and the boy headed up to the house to change shoes and leave his sweatpants and long-sleeved shirt by the hammock. He wore just his nylon shorts and sleeveless white nylon shirt to run in. It sure was beautiful along the road. This would be a total “chill” run, and Tom had no idea how long he’d go before he turned around. The road had his favorite kind of terrain, short ups, downs, and flat parts with no really tough uphills, just enough changes to provide variety and use different muscles. For some reason he began to sing over and over (well, Tom couldn’t really sing when running, but kind of just breathed the words) a song of Ricky’s that he loved. It was one of the slow ones Ricky sang with a deep pitch and that weird and cool Irish voice. “Come by the hills, to a land that’s fancy and free And stand where the peaks meet the sky and the loughs meet the sea Where the rivers run clear, and the bracken is gold in the sun Where the cares of tomorrow must wait ‘til this day is done” There were other verses that Ricky knew, but Tom couldn’t remember. He couldn’t see why Ricky was so stupid in classes but could remember the words of so many songs. Neither boy knew what “bracken” was, but they both liked the song, and Tom’s legs, feet, and lungs felt so relaxed, so good, so easy. He turned around after maybe 3 or 4 miles, and headed back on the same road to the cabin. He found everyone still down by the pond, with Rob all crazy because he’d caught a few ugly little fish about 8 inches long. Everyone was having fun, but Tom said he’d just go up to the hammock and rest. About 10 minutes later, Father left the other kids down by the pond and walked back to the house to see Tom. He’d bought the hammock over the summer, and carefully selected one big enough to comfortably fit one Catholic clergyman and at least two 12-14 year old boys. Tom was stretched out on his back, just daydreaming and listening to the birds. “How ya doing, kid? Did you have a nice run?” “Oh yeah, Father, it’s great out here. If you were rich and didn’t have to work, bet you’d just live here all the time.” “And if a bullfrog had wings he would fly.” It took Tom a couple seconds to understand this, but for some reason the boy thought it was the funniest thing he’d heard in his life. He was howling. “Anyway, Father, for working so hard they must pay you so much that you can retire in a couple years, right?” the boy joked. “Oh, sure, they pay me so much. All I need is that and God deciding to have me win the lottery. Well, tough guy, I think your 7th grade friends are going to be fishing for at least a couple more hours. Any room in that nice comfy hammock for its owner?” Tom moved over a bit closer to the edge and they just talked about stupid things for a few minutes. During a little break in the conversation, Tom said quietly and more seriously, “Father Ray? Thanks so much for bringing us out here and, you know, just doing special things for us. I know some of the other kids are bad to you, but you know, me and Ricky and the little kids, we really appreciate everything.” The boy moved his body onto his side so it was kind of leaning against the Father, and looked up with a small peaceful smile. Father put his arm around the boy’s back and held him a bit closer. Father said they were totally welcome, and while they both got quiet, his mind for some reason went back to the boys of Baltimore, especially to his favorite, the Haitian immigrant boy named Francois, who was about Tom’s size when Father last saw him. How different these boys were, how totally different, yet in some ways, how totally the same. What pieces of work You’ve made, God. What pieces of work. The boy leaning on him now was of course a boy of a wealthy and educated family, whose father was one of the world’s movers and shakers. This kid would surely have the opportunity to do anything or go anywhere he wanted in life. And Francois was in the country illegally, without his Mom and Dad, living with an aunt, living in a poor tenement, living in the country’s shadows. Francois had lived his first 12 years surrounded by nothing but hunger and violence in one of the world’s ugliest backwaters. Francois was a very dark-skinned black boy with hair like wiry steel wool. The chances of these boys’ lives crossing paths was pretty much zero. The boys were so different, would live their lives on completely different tracks. Yet how amazingly the same, too. Francois’s English was shaky, but Father understood his dumb jokes in French, and he liked to play around just like Tom. Francois’s smiles, either his pure funny happy ones or his shy gentle ones, were just like Tom’s. His mouth and lips opened just the same way as the laughs came out. The way he just leaned his body against Father Ray’s, how the boy moved close when he felt affectionate, was just about like Tom was doing now. Even their breaths against the man’s shoulder when the kids were calm and relaxed. If Father’s eyes were closed, he couldn’t have felt the difference between Francois’s breath and Tom’s. And when the black kid was questioning or curious about something, his wide-open eyes and the way he tilted his head were no different from this prodigy kid lying next to him. “Father? Since we still have lots of time, I’m gonna sleep for awhile.” Tom interrupted Father Ray’s own daydreaming, rolled out of the man’s hold and onto his back, and closed his eyes. The strong sun was keeping the day warm, so the boy was still wearing only his running clothes, and had kicked off his shoes. His left hand and Father Ray’s right found each other and grasped each other lightly. The priest continued his daydreaming, but concentrating on other things, things clearly within his sight. He noticed a bit of Tom’s belly exposed beneath his sleeveless shirt, and about a half-inch slice of red underwear showing above the waistband of his shorts. The front of his hand could feel the warmth of Tom’s, and the back brushed lightly against the boy’s thigh and the nylon material of his shorts. He noticed something else, something of even more interest. Only maybe 10 inches to the right of his hand, right in the middle of the green shorts, there was clearly a convex mound. The contours weren’t defined exactly, but it was definitely a mound. Strange, he thought. My hand here, caressing Tom’s hand, was fine. A movement of that curious hand only a few inches could change lives forever. Why was it so, and why do my eyes focus on that special spot? Father decided that all was OK. God had put this boy with him today, had given him this boy’s smile and happiness, had given him the warmth of his hand. No reason to demand more, when so many lovers of boys had so much less. No reason to let his lusty sex thoughts overwhelm him into doing something that could ruin everything. Be grateful, breathe the good air, listen to the birds above. Just let it be, Ray, let it be. Much later the 7th graders walked up from the pond, chattering like monkeys, carrying the fish and the fishing tackle. Father got Tom moving and showed everyone how to find small wood to start the fire, and what kinds. Rob had been to summer camp before and didn’t think this was that big a deal, but to sheltered city kids like Carlos and Tom, this was something new, something that made them feel like pioneers in some faraway wilderness. Father Ray’s car was a two-minute walk from them, and the main paved road was only a few miles away, but the kids didn’t notice or care. The fire got going, and as all boys do, they gathered around it and stared like it was something magic and primeval. The food took awhile to cook, but just as Father Ray had predicted, it was delicious and made the kids happy. Tom was no longer reflective and thoughtful, but was now more into gross-out contests with the other kids, seeing whose open mouth full of pizza and cheeseburger was more disgusting than whose. They asked Father Ray to judge the competition, but he thought it was about even—he couldn’t determine a clear gold, silver, or bronze medalist. Simulated farting and genuine belching were other events in this mini-Olympiad, and occasionally the sharpened sticks the boys had made for marshmallow roasting somehow found themselves poking up the other kids’ butts. “Hey Father,” said Rob, after dinner was all eaten up, “Next time, can we sleep over here? It’ll be so cool, we’ll keep the fire going all night, and we’ll scare these two wimps with killer ghost stories. Bet they’ll be crying for their mommies, just before the ghost cuts off their heads or their balls or something.” The other kids agreed that they wanted to come for a sleepover, but were sure that Rob would be the scared one, probably scared enough to piss in his pants. Rob said they were talking bullshit, and the kids made bets. Father Ray loved those words that Rob used, the words “next time” and “sleep over”. He had already given the matter a lot of thought, but a trip like that would definitely require carefully arranged permission, and a lot more planning of every detail. It was so nice that the boys definitely wanted a next time, though. Next time was a cool phrase, enough to keep Father’s attitude positive through a lot of long winter nights. “I don’t know, Rob, we’ll have to see how things go. OK, you disgusting piggies, I think you’ve been fed about enough for one day. How many bags of marshmallows are left?” Father asked, though he already knew that all three bags had long ago disappeared. “None? All right, help me clean up this mess and we’re out of here.” It wasn’t quite 6 PM, and there was still a bit of light filtering its way through the trees, but the late afternoon had turned snapping cold, and it was obvious that winter was coming in fast. The kids were slow but cooperative in the cleanup efforts, and all three of them fell deeply asleep on the 45-minute ride back to campus. By the time they arrived, it was dark out. It had been some day. After the boys piled out of his car (again in the off-grounds parking lot), thanked Father for taking them, and went on their way, the priest took a slow walk back to his little faculty apartment, repeating the delicious words “next time”. PART 21 As time went by, Ricky counted the days, hours, and minutes until his fourth and final triple S session would be over. Tom had made some preliminary inquiries, and told Ricky that the teachers would take him off after the last scheduled session unless he screwed up really bad. It was enough to get Ricky to pay a little more attention in class, and sometimes brown-nose the teacher by volunteering to answer an easy question. Ricky also felt kind of indebted to Tom for helping him with (well, often doing) his homework, and didn’t want to let him down. That Saturday, just before 1 PM, The End finally came. Ricky raced out of the hall, and when he thought no one could hear him, screamed at the top of his lungs “FUCK TRIPLE S!!!!” raising his clenched fists to the sky in triumph. He didn’t notice Mr. Conroy a few yards away on his left until he had finished his yell. Oops. He tried to make things better with an apology. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Conroy, I didn’t see you there. You know I really love triple S and I’m sorry I won’t be in it next time.” Mr. Conroy rarely smiled in front of the kids, but this time he allowed himself a little one. He and all the teachers liked this tall blond kid, who was perhaps the most respectful and well-mannered boy in the whole 8th grade, even though his language was a bit raw. “Yeah, Ricky, there’s a rumor going around with all the teachers that you love it so much, you might want to volunteer for it next time just for fun.” “Uhhhh, I dunno about this “volunteer” bit, sir. I mean it wouldn’t be fair for me to take up space in it again when there are so many other kids who want to try it.” “Oh yeah, they just beg for it with their attitudes in class sometimes! You and Tom looking forward to the big night tonight?” This night would be one of the junior high dances with the girls’ school, a ritual held once every couple months. The first time it had been held at their place, and Ricky didn’t go, as he still wanted nothing to do with girls after The Bite. But this time it would be at St. Brendan’s, and though attendance wasn’t strictly required, the boys pretty much had to attend or be called lots of names, “gay fag” probably being the most complimentary. Ricky figured he’d try it, and he and Tom would take things slow with the visitors. He hoped the girls were nicer than the ones back home and not so out of control aggressive. Tom had been swimming, and the boys went to lunch together. After lunch they just hung out in their room for awhile, talking about the dance. Tom was certainly no expert on the subject of girls, either. But he was sure they would be all over his handsome roommate. “You know they’ll want you. Girls get hornier than we do, I think. I mean, we get horny, but not like so crazy. Maybe they get like that because they can’t play with themselves and relieve the stress, I dunno. And did you see the pictures of some of those 8th grade chicks in their yearbook? They have giant tits, like out to here. I wonder how they walk around and not bump into stuff.” “Yeah, Tom, but I don’t want them to get so damn wild like that bitch Caitlin back home. I didn’t do anything to her, and she’s like got her hand down my pants and she’s in my face choking me. But it would be cool if we could each find one girl who’s sexy-looking but peaceful. We could take them out to Riley’s or somewhere, just for a nice walk, just the four of us, and we wouldn’t have to get ragged on by Justin and Paul and those jerkoffs.” Tom went for his run later, and in the late afternoon most of the boys in Bats started preparing themselves for the evening’s action. There was a lot of predicting of who would get what off which girl. Maybe only 10 percent of these predictions would actually come true, but the preparing and the betting was part of the boys’ fun. The boys were required to wear their green school blazers, dress pants, and ties for the occasion. About an hour after dinner, the buses rolled through the gates, and the people of both sexes made their way to the gym, which was decorated in a corny Thanksgiving theme. Same thing every year. The dance began as most junior high dances do, with a lot of posturing, a lot of boys pushing other boys toward the girls, and a lot of girls pointing at and giggling over their prey. The prize catch would be that tall blond sexy boy-god with the shy smile who none of them remembered from the first dance. A few girls huddled up like a football team, and finally one of them approached Ricky with a small pad and a pen. “Hi there,” the girl said. “I didn’t see you at the last dance. I’m Danielle. What’s your name? You weren’t scared of us, were you? We don’t bite, you know.” At this, both of our heroes busted out laughing and almost fell down. The young lady didn’t know what she said that was so funny but she kept to the plan. “Anyway, Kathy and Megan and Shellie wanted me to get your email address. And are you in MSN Messenger?” Ricky grinned a bit and wrote down the desired information. Danielle jumped in the air a bit and waved the paper at her giggling friends. “That’s so cool!! You wanna dance?” Ricky knew this would happen, but there was really no way out. He liked Tai Chi better but Danielle probably wasn’t into that. But he did his duty, smiled and moved the best he could to the music. Thank God it wasn’t a slow dance where her tits would be jammed into him. The dance continued and neither boy made a total fool of himself. Ricky danced once more and made the girl find Tom someone to dance with, as well. Then both boys decided to head out into the cool night air for a bit. Right outside the gym, a lot of the girls and some of the cool boys were hanging out together in disgusting clouds of cigarette smoke. Tom and Ricky walked further away. talked about what it was like, and which girls were pretty. They didn’t realize it, but a lone huntress had followed them outside. She caught up to Ricky and gently tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, what’s up?” said the girl in a very thick southern accent, the voice that Tom thought was kind of cool when a girl talked that way. “I know Danielle and all of them were with you before, but well, I don’t wanna gossip, but they all have boyfriends already, and I thought maybe we could just hang out for awhile. I’m not like them, you know. My name’s Jenny.” “Hi,” said Ricky shyly. “Well, I’m kind of with Tom here right now, do you have a friend and we could all...” “Oh, it’s cool, don’t worry about me!” interrupted Tom. He was getting tired of the whole scene and wanted to escape anyway as soon as he could do it discreetly. “I’m just gonna get something to eat, you guys have fun. Catch ya later!” and he was gone, with speed he was beginning to develop from his timed half-miles on the track. “Guess it’s just you and me, then, Ricky,” said the girl softly. “How do you know my name?” “Oh, your name’s all over the school now. You must be used to having a lot of girlfriends, I bet. Everyone wants to dance with you, but I was hoping, I dunno, when I saw you, I just…” The girl was having trouble coming up with something romantic or convincing to say, now that she was finally alone with this gorgeous beautiful oh my god blond fantasy boy. Fortunately Ricky bailed her out. “You wanna take a walk around, just hang out and talk? Or if you want, I could stop by my room and get my guitar, maybe I could play stuff and we could sing or something.” “You play the guitar? That’s so cool!!” Jenny, like all good southern girls, had been well-trained by her mother to always be interested in whatever the boys did, so that their male egos would be properly fed. Ricky said he’d be right back, and trotted over to Bats to pick up the instrument in its case. He slung it over his back, met the girl, and they walked slowly up the hill towards Riley’s, with Jenny talking softly about nothing important. It was weird. Nice because this girl was mellow and not aggressive like the girls back home. Her voice was sweet, not harsh and cruel. She had long brown hair that smelled kind of like apples, and some sort of perfume that was like flowers. But Ricky knew that his dick was supposed to get hard now, and he was supposed to go somewhere and stick it inside her and they’d both hump and make noises. That’s what girls were for. He knew that he was supposed to get all horny, and like the older kids said, Get That Thing. But he didn’t feel like it. Ricky felt good with her, but his penis wasn’t growing and straining inside his underwear. Yet it was different with her, it really WAS cool, and he liked being with her. Would this girl let them just hang out and not climb all over him, not make him do stuff? Ricky hoped so. She sure did smell nice, and her voice was pretty. They sat down. Ricky didn’t know what to play for her, and without really thinking, he broke into something slow, something that reminded him of long, long ago. He first played the intro bit without singing, and then repeated the same words twice. “I want to see my brother some time, some time I want to see my brother some time Where the flowers bloom forever And the sun don’t never go down” “I’ve never heard anything like that! That is so nice. Where did you learn that?” “I just heard it once. I’m pretty good at remembering songs.” Then the boy for some reason thought he’d tell Jenny something, something he never even thought to tell Tom. “You know, when I first heard that, it meant a lot to me. I had a brother, an older brother, and he died when I was really little. I don’t really remember him much, but I do remember what he looked like. Maybe I’ll see him again one day in Heaven. You wanna hear another song?” Ricky was kind of babbling, having to do all the talking, as Jenny was really quiet. “It’s kinda old, it’s from this guy named Peter, but I forget his last name. I thought maybe you’d like this one.” He played a chorus and a verse. He sang the words ‘time’ and ‘love’ slowly and stretched out. “The wings of time will carry me over The wings of time will carry me through The wings of time will bring me my angel The wings of love will bring me you Then will the willow cease its weeping Then will the child of love be born Then will the kiss of sorrow’s parting Be sweeter still than ever before” “Wow, Ricky. You know something? No boy I know ever sings like that. You’re gonna laugh, but that was like… romantic.” She put her hand inside Ricky’s, whose hand first resisted a bit but then felt comfortable holding the girl’s and stroking her fingers with his thumb. “And you know something else? You’re a gentleman, you’re not all disgusting like some of the other boys. Can we kind of stay friends, can we, you know, we can write to each other and maybe see each other again?” Ricky liked being around Jenny, and was so grateful that she had just listened, and hadn’t tried to pull his pubic hairs or gotten all loud and nasty. And she didn’t even try to make him touch her tits. She was slow and easy and relaxing. “Yeah, I’d like that. But Jenny,” (Ricky had never actually said her name before this, and couldn’t believe all these thoughts were actually coming out of his mouth) “could you do one thing for me? Could you not talk about me and make a big deal of this to the other girls? I hate it when girls get all gossipy and they think boys are some kinda trophy to show off. Girls where I’m from are all aggressive and gross, and I hate them. Can this just be you and me?” “I’d like that, too, Ricky. Just you and me. Look, our bus is gonna leave soon. I better get back. You’re sweet.” Jenny leaned over and kissed the boy. It was so much better than Caitlin. Just a little gentle brush on his cheek next to his ear, just nice, not rough. And she was gone. Ricky sat on that hill for the next half hour, sometimes just listening to his mind, sometimes listening to his guitar. Jenny was so different. But wasn’t he supposed to make moves on her, to at least get up her shirt or down into her panties? And the Mighty Warrior inside his pants was still calmed down and normal. But he really, really did want to see her again. It was strange, and he wasn’t sure what the rules to this new game were. Ricky remembered once that Father Ray had said he could ask him anything he wanted, anything, even if it was embarrassing. But would Father Ray understand, even if he was a fag? Maybe that was his job to understand, and Father had always listened to him before. But it was never about stuff this personal, about girls. Well, the boy thought, the last three times you told stuff to people, told stuff from inside, it made things better. You trusted Jesus, Tom, and Jenny, and it worked out every time. Well, Jesus doesn’t really count as a person, kind of but not exactly, and He doesn’t talk back, but still. Ricky decided that he’d ask Father Ray. Definitely worth a try. Ricky’s guitar started playing one more song for him, “City of New Orleans”. Sometimes the guitar would just pretty much play by itself, would just guide the boy’s fingers where to go without him really doing anything. Jesus, Tom, Jenny, Father Ray. It was sure nice to have friends. PART 22 When Ricky got back to the room, Tom was already in bed but very much awake. “What happened?” the little kid asked. “Not much. Was fun. We hung out.” Ricky didn’t really feel much like talking about the evening. He just wanted to think. “Not good enough!! I want details!” Tom was half hanging over the side of the bunk bed, with his head down towards Ricky’s lower bunk. “All right, all right. Come on down.” Ricky just wanted to be quiet, jerk off, and then sleep, but Tom was his best friend and he’d talk to him for awhile. But the kid could be a pain sometimes. Why did he care about what was up with this girl? Sometimes it would be better NOT to have a roommate, no one would hassle, but overall, well, Tom was all right. “We went out to Riley’s and I played her some music. She’s nice, she’s all calm and her hair smelled like apples.” Ricky continued for a couple minutes, talking more about Jenny. Tom sat next to him on the bottom bunk and was hanging on every word. “Tom, you ever been with a girl?” “Not me. Was it really nice?” “Yeah. Hey, come on Tom, I’m really tired. Go up top and let me get to sleep, will ya?” Finally Tom left him alone to think, masturbate, and go to sleep. Ricky had to ask Father Ray something tomorrow. He kind of planned it out as he closed his eyes and gradually dropped off. The next day, for the first time, Ricky attended the school’s Catholic Mass instead of the nondenominational service he usually went to. It was kind of boring, but it was funny to see Father Ray all dressed up in those strange robes like some kind of weird wizard or something. Like some kinda cult figure. Ricky didn’t really know what to do at a Mass, but everyone was going up front for a cookie, so he joined the line. Father was pretty surprised to see him, but continued with the service. Afterwards, still dressed in those huge robes, Father greeted kids outside. “Ricky! I didn’t expect to see you here for Mass. Hey, have I converted you into a good ole Catholic boy?” “I dunno, Father, but how do you move or walk around in those weird clothes? Don’t you get caught on stuff? And aren’t you afraid you might trip and fall over? But really, Father, I came cause I want to talk to you about something.” Ricky’s voice got a bit quieter. “Remember when you said I could ask you stuff, even if it’s personal or embarrassing? Well, it’s about last night, and I wonder if I could talk to you sometime this afternoon.” “Of course, Ricky. I’m glad that you trust me about this. How about this, let me finish a couple things, change out of these clothes, and have lunch. Then why don’t you meet me up at the ampitheatre at 2:00? It’s a nice place and no one will bother us there.” Ricky arrived at the ampitheatre about 15 minutes early. It was way up in the network of trails above the campus where Tom usually went for his runs. It was an area that the school sometimes used for outdoor drama productions or big gatherings. It was a huge clearing, a bowl in the earth with landscaped grassy steps. There were log benches where kids could sit, and the area could hold several hundred students. All was surrounded by forest, and you couldn’t see the main campus at all from there. It was really beautiful. It was sometimes used like Father Ray would use it today, for private conferences between teachers and kids. Father arrived right on time, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, looking like a regular person. They sat down on the grass and Ricky for some reason snuggled close to the priest, leaned back, and let Father put his arm around his chest and pet his hair. Ricky normally wasn’t affectionate with Father like this—he was normally playful with him, joking and wrestling, stuff like that. But this was gonna be serious, and the boy just felt like being close to his favorite teacher. It was warmer this way and he wouldn’t have to talk loud. Ricky took a deep breath and started talking. “Father, last night we had a dance and the Pine Ridge girls were here. I dunno, I didn’t really want to go, I really don’t like the girls back in Asheville. They’re all stupid and anyway, at the dance there was this airhead chick who just wanted my e-mail and MSN address. I wasn’t into the whole scene and me and Tom went outside. We were walking away from the cigarette smoke and then this other girl showed up, and she was all different, she was really nice.” “Hmmm,” said Father Ray. “A really nice girl. I can’t wait to hear the rest of the story.” “OK. Her name is Jenny. Just the two of us went up to Riley’s and I played her some music and we just talked about dumb stuff for, I dunno, less than an hour. Her hair smelled really nice, like apples. She wasn’t all giggling and stupid like the other girls and I like her. Hey Father, before you were a priest, did you have girlfriends?” “Ricky, this isn’t about me and I never talk about myself, you know that. This girl sounds really special to you.” “Yeah, but here’s the thing. This is kind of embarrassing. I was wondering if maybe, I dunno, I should have, I dunno.” Ricky was kind of mumbling and not making much sense. Father held the big boy a bit closer, close enough to sniff his hair. “Ricky, I know all the words, all the parts of people’s bodies, all the stuff that kids your age go through. You don’t have to be ashamed of anything, and whatever we talk about is just between us, no one else has to know anything.” Oh God, Ricky thought, all right, let’s get this thing over with. “OK, here goes. Well, we were alone and she’s pretty. All the guys talk about trying to get stuff off girls, you know, get up her shirt or into her pants or….or even have sex with her, you know, fuck her. And I liked her, but I just didn’t really feel right then like trying to do stuff, and I couldn’t or I didn’t….OK, you said you wouldn’t tell anyone. My dick didn’t even get hard, all I wanted to do was just hang out there and talk and we held each other’s hands. Her hand was soft and her fingers were really skinny. But I dunno, it was weird, am I gay or something, shouldn’t I have tried to get something off her?” Father Ray thought for a moment. It was rare and touching for a boy to trust him so much, to bare his soul like this. Most of the time when he heard confessions it was just about ordinary stuff like lying or cheating on tests. This was obviously something much more important to the boy. “Ricky, think of it this way. Forget for a minute what the guys say, forget what you’re ‘supposed’ to do. Forget what anyone else in the world thinks, and just pretend that it’s you and Jenny with no one else in the world around to see, to hear, to know anything.” Ricky half closed his eyes. “Ricky, how did she make YOU feel? Were you happy when you were with her? If there were no one else in the world to impress, would you want to be with her again?” “Oh yeah, Father. She’s the nicest girl I’ve ever met. I really really like her. How she smelled, how she sounded, just us, oh yeah.” “Ricky, you’re 13 years old and…” “No I’m not!! I’m 14.” “Oh, when did this happen?” “Last Friday, 9 days ago, but anyway, what were you gonna say?” “OK, Ricky, you’re 14 years old, you’re growing fast, and you’re just beginning to learn things about yourself. I want you to think of Jenny as a special gift from God to you. A really special birthday present, maybe. Don’t worry about what you’re supposed to get off her, whether you get all hard, what anyone else thinks. Just enjoy whatever time you get to spend with her in whatever way you and she feel like. God gives you so many gifts—the fresh air, your music, your friend Tom, your parents. If and when the time comes that you and Jenny get even closer, well, you’ll deal with that situation when it happens. Just trust what you feel, Ricky. You’re a good and special boy and I want you to savor and enjoy every minute you get to spend with Jenny. I’m glad you have her. Write to her, call her, see her at the next dance, whatever. Just thank God for letting you be together, and don’t worry about what anyone else thinks is supposed to happen.” Neither the boy nor the priest talked for the next couple minutes. There wasn’t really much to say. They just sat there with Father lightly stroking and sniffing Ricky’s blond hair. It seemed to both of them that there was no one else anywhere in the world, certainly no one who could see or hear them. Ricky turned the man’s words over in his mind a couple times, and decided that yeah, that was how to deal with it all. Just enjoy the chick. They both got up and started to quietly walk back on the trail back toward the main part of campus. After maybe 100 yards, Ricky’s mood instantly changed and he felt silly and wild again. He jumped on Father’s back and got a good hold around the man’s neck. “Piggyback ride or die!!” the boy shouted. “Kid, you’re way too big for piggyback rides, but hey, if YOU really want to die, I’ll help you out!” Father Ray flipped the boy over his back and down to the ground, then they wrestled for a bit, with Father dominating and getting much more crazy himself, way sillier than he could normally be with more people around. He faked a few professional wrestling hits to various parts of Ricky, and shouted in the kid’s face, “I AM THE CHAMPION!! YOU ARE LESS THAN NOTHING!! WHO IS THE CHAMPION??” “My mother could kick your ass, old man!!” “Ah, well, then, I’d better let you go or she’ll get mad and do just that. Come on, kid, let’s both calm down and head back.” Both boy and man got up, brushed the pine straw off themselves, and walked back more calmly. Jenny is a gift for Ricky, Father thought, and Ricky is a gift for me. Sometimes, life’s fair. PART 23 Ricky didn’t check his e-mail until the following Friday, and there were 18 new e-mails in his box! Damn, that dumbass chick Danielle didn’t waste much time giving people the address. He ran down the list until his eyes opened wider, his heart raced, and his legs kind of quivered a bit under the library desk. There was one with the nickname line Jennyluvzu. Ah, the boy thought, good old Danielle!! The stupid girl WAS good for something! He opened the important one and started reading. It was from Tuesday. “Hi Ricky. I just wanted to say I had a great time with you Saturday and I hope you did too. I don’t know if you’re going home or not for Thanksgiving next week, but I talked to my parents and I told them all about you.” Say what? Ricky thought. All about me? What’s the deal? He kept reading. “They hope that you can come and have Thanksgiving with us. We live in Roswell so it’s pretty easy. Anyway, call them if you feel like and they can work out with you how we’ll do this. I’m going home a day early but if you got the Atlanta bus on Thanksgiving morning I’m sure they could meet you at the station. You could stay over and they’d bring you back to the station Friday. So call them if you can and if you’re not going home yourself. (404) 525-3099. Love and xxxxxxxx, Jenny PS. Wear nice clothes cause Thanksgiving at our house is kind of formal. PPS. Oh yeah, usually if we have someone visiting Dad asks the person to say the grace, so think of something good. Bye!!!!!!!!” The boy just stared at the screen for a few seconds. Feelings of “what the hell is up with this?” and “Oh my God this is sooooo cool!!” were bouncing around in his head. How should he work this? What to do? It was true that he wasn’t going home for Thanksgiving. A bit more than half the kids usually stayed on campus over the short break, as many families figured they’d see their sons at Christmas and there was no sense making the trip to get them this time. Ricky’s family never made all that big a deal about the holiday, though they did eat turkey. Certainly nothing serious or formal. Well, he figured, let’s just see what happens. Neither Ricky nor Tom owned a cell phone, as both sets of parents thought that it wasn’t necessary and the damn things could be addictive. But Ricky did have a calling card that was loaded with plenty of minutes for emergencies and things. His heart was pounding fast and hard as he walked down the library hall to the phone on the wall and dialed. It rang, and OH SHIT, he thought, I don’t even know their last name! What should I say, something stupid like Hello, is this Mr. or Mrs. Jenny? What… “Hello?” a lady’s voice interrupted his panic and Ricky just put his mind on autopilot. “Uh, hi, my name’s Ricky, I’m a friend of Jenny’s from St. Brendan’s, and I got her e-mail to call you folks?” Fortunately Jenny’s mom was very easy to talk to and said she knew all about him. She had found out all the schedule info about the bus from Ripton to Atlanta next Thursday morning. She made everything easy. All Ricky had to do was show up on that bus and they’d take everything from there. She said Jenny had talked for a half hour about him, so she or Dad would have no trouble picking him out at the bus station. Damn, that was almost as much time as he’d actually KNOWN the chick! Mom said she hoped Ricky could bring his guitar because she had heard so much about his music. Hmm, that Jenny sure did talk to her mom a lot. Ricky tried to think of polite things to say but he just kind of mumbled something dumb, but Jenny’s mother’s voice was still sweet as honey. They finally hung up and Ricky reached his own Mom at home, and told her the whole deal about the visit. “Ohhhhh,” said Mom. “My little baby Ricky has his very own girlfriend! Isn’t that just special! I don’t know, is she even prettier than me?” Mom laughed at her own rather stupid joke. “Well, you big manly 14 year-old,” she continued, “You have a great time, enjoy everything, and we can’t wait to see you for Christmas! We love you!!” Ricky loved Mom too, though he didn’t feel like talking all mushy right now. He said goodbye and began counting down the time until he’d be on his way to Atlanta, just like a couple months before when he’d counted down the time until his friend Tom’s arrival at school. The big day finally came. Father Ray had offered to drive him to the Ripton bus stop at 8 AM. Ricky had gotten up early and showered before the other kids woke up, as even with about half the kids gone, there would be lots of kids trying to get into the showers later. He shampooed his hair three times, and when he got back to the room, Tom was gone somewhere. He put on plenty of roll-on deodorant, and began to get dressed in something formal and nice. His green St. Brendan’s blazer would be as good as anything, and he put on his gray dress pants. They still fit comfortably enough around the waist though the cuffs were creeping up a bit over his ankles again. Then he realized he had a big problem. His dress shoes, loafers, were getting way too small and when he put them on and walked a couple steps, OWWW. Both little toes were rubbing painfully against the insides, and it hurt like hell. Shit, I’ll never survive two days with these on. Hmm. Well, if I wear my sneakers I’ll look like an idiot. But at least it won’t hurt. His sneakers were the same size as his dress shoes, but still perfectly comfortable, as they’d molded to his feet. He figured he was pretty formal from the ankles up, and that would have to do. Like most boys, he hated ties, but he put his on loosely, figuring he’d tighten it when he was ready to get off the bus. Should he bring his guitar? Maybe it would seem like showing off too much, and he’d have to carry it the whole way back to school on Friday from Ripton. Maybe the fiddle would be better? Jenny hadn’t heard it and it was much lighter to carry. Tom walked in and noticed Ricky’s detailed preparations. “Oooohhhh, someone smells like lots of armpit juice!! Someone’s trying to make an impression!!” Tom was feeling silly, so he started loudly singing a song Mom had taught him when he was little, but he changed the spelling of one key word. “Ricky and Jenny, sittin’ in a tree, F-U-C-K-I-N-G, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the…” “Shut UP!” Ricky wasn’t in the mood for this, not now. Hmmm, Tom thought, that didn’t work. Let’s change the song. The smaller boy started dancing around the small room, singing right near his roommate’s face. “Ricky and Jenny, they ain’t nothin’ but mammals, they gonna do it like they do on the Discovery Channel…” ‘I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU DEAF OR SOMETHING??” Ricky was mad now, and gave Tom a serious two hand shove across the room. Damn, this little kid could be so annoying. Wasn’t he supposed to be a genius? What was his problem? Tom staggered back and fell over a chair onto the floor. Ah shit, I didn’t mean to hurt him, but he totally deserved it. Deserved more than that, really, deserved a major butt-kicking. “What’s your stupid ass problem? You’re supposed to be smart, can’t you learn a little respect? She’s not some kind of animal!! Why do you talk shit all the time?” Tom looked up from the floor. This was only the second time Ricky had ever gotten mad at him, and the first time didn’t count because he didn’t really deserve it. Oh God, me and my stupid mouth again. He wasn’t crying, but he was close, kind of sniffling. “You’re right, Ricky, I’m sorry. But you remember the deal we had? Is it gonna be OK? I mean we said we’d forgive and work it out if either of us did anything stupid like you know, like I just did. Please?” “Yeah, I know, I know, come on Tom, get up. But you get yourself into trouble when you get like that. You gotta know better, man.” He gave the smaller kid a hand up from the floor, as Tom had been a bit tangled up between a chair and a desk. “All right, I’m about outa here. Father Ray’s giving me a ride into town. See ya tomorrow, Tom. Have a nice Thanksgiving!” Tom was left in the silence of the empty room. He knew now that if he’d been such a jerk with pretty much any other kid, he’d have gotten his face pounded inside out, worse than what Joey did before. He had something to give thanks for. He could give thanks that he had Ricky. And today, he decided he’d go see Coach P about his running. Tom gathered up the training log papers he’d written, and headed out to breakfast. PART 24 It had been over six weeks since Tom had first met Coach P, and he hadn’t been back to see him yet. The coach had asked him to stop by every two weeks to go over his training logs, but Tom had his reasons for delaying. He wandered slowly down the road where most of the leaves were now on the ground instead of in the trees providing shade. He thought more and more about Founders’ Day, and the race that would be in less than three months time. He wanted that race badly, really badly, maybe more than he’d wanted anything in his life. The old man answered the doorbell and was surprised to see this strange kid he’d met in October. As he hadn’t seen Tom since their first meeting, he’d kind of put him out of his mind, figuring the kid was just crazy or had given up on the whole idea. But here he was. “Hi Coach! I brought my training logs like you said and I was hoping you could go over them with me. I know you said to come every two weeks but I wanted to get more running in first just so you’d know I was serious, not just screwing around.” “Sounds good! Well, come on in, kid, and let’s talk it over,” replied Coach, but the boy stood at the door and didn’t move. Coach, now a bit puzzled, repeated the invitation but Tom stayed rooted to the spot. What was up with this weird kid? “I can’t, Coach. Remember you said I couldn’t come in your house until you fed me at least two of Mrs. Prszeczkopowski’s delicious raisin cookies?” Tom said, grinning. “Ah, elephants never forget, do they? I think today the cookies are macadamia nut. Do you think you can manage some of those?” Tom agreed that macadamia nut would work just fine, and he inhaled two of them that Coach brought to the door. Soon they were both sitting on the couch, with more cookies disappearing into the lower regions of Tom’s small but expandable stomach. Coach leafed slowly through the pages, and Tom talked on and on about chill runs and kill runs (though he left out the sick gross violent fantasies of stomping on bleeding Joey—with spikes, no less), about courses and trails, about hills and repetitions and times. The boy also babbled on awhile about a few things he’d learned about famous runners of the past, people like Roger Bannister, Steve Prefontaine, and Kip Keino. Most teachers would have gotten bored, hearing 15 minutes of the kid’s nonstop chatter. But Karl Prszeczkopowski was not most teachers. He had the gift of making any kid who was with him feel like the most important kid in the world, and of course the boy was talking about Coach’s favorite subject. Finally Tom paused for a moment, and Coach asked him something. “Tom, it says here in the logs that you’re doing some really serious quality training. Harder and more consistent than 95% of the high school kids. Tell me something, kid. You’re a little guy, 13 years old. Have you actually DONE every bit of this? Are you sure you’re not exaggerating anything here, maybe just a little?” “No, Coach. No sense in making stuff up, is there? That would be stupid, just wasting everyone’s time. Running’s fun, and I’m gonna win Founders’ Day, I know it.” Coach chuckled a bit. “OK, pal, we’ve got a lot to talk about. You ready to listen? About your chill runs. You’re doing great, and I think the schedule you’ve made with four chills and two kills a week is just fine. But I want you to make a couple small changes. I notice you’re repeating the same courses, the same distances, an awful lot. Right now your longest run is a bit over 9 miles. I want you, just once a week, to push a bit longer, so you can eventually reach 13 or 14 miles. Try to add about a mile a week to your longest run. Here are some maps I made of some courses on the roads outside school, so you can have some idea of the mileage. You can maybe combine a couple of them to reach the distance you want. You can reduce the mileage on some other chill days, or rest completely on the day after your long run. But it’s really important to take one day a week to challenge yourself and go really long.” “Now your kill runs. Those uphill reps you’re doing are excellent. That’s how you build toughness and strength in your legs. But you should change your track workouts. Going halves or miles is way too long for you right now—you’re just pounding the hell out of your legs without developing any real speed or sense of pace. Instead, I want you to do sets of five quarters. Hit the first one in 85 seconds, then drop the next to 83, then 81, 79, and 77. As you get better week by week, you don’t necessarily have to make your times faster, but I want you to reduce the time you rest IN BETWEEN each quarter. It’s gonna hurt, but your body has to get used to running hard with less and less recovery. Do you understand everything so far?” Coach also showed Tom an important exercise he could do to prevent a painful distance-runners injury called shin splints. He could do it while he was sitting in his room in study hall. It consisted simply of tying a small weight to his foot, and raising the weight repeatedly by changing the angle of his foot to his shin. Tom thought it was funny. Thought it would be one way of getting the teachers all weirded out if he did it in class. That was about all the advice the man had, but he wanted to know a few more things from the boy. “Tom, do you know of any other kids who’d like to train with you or who you think might be good for track & field this spring?” “I dunno, coach. My best friend, really the only kid I know well, is Ricky. And he’s a great guy but he’s like usually all calm and doesn’t always get into stuff except for his music. Have you ever heard him play guitar or banjo? He’s amazing. I’ve seen him play basketball and he can jump like a kangaroo, but I don’t really think he’s got the personality for this, he’s not really intense. I don’t think he’d really be interested in the kind of training you gotta do for track & field.” “Last thing I’m curious about, kid. Tom, what does it feel like to you when you run?” Tom smiled and his eyes got all dreamlike. “Well, coach, when I chill run, it just feels like there’s no one else in the world besides me. No one to bother me, no one to tell me what to do, no rules. I can just think, see, hear anything I want. Except for right before going to bed, my runs are my favorite times in the whole day. When I kill run, yeah it hurts, and sometimes hurts bad. But it’s like if I do it, I’ve really accomplished something, and I can do even more next time. I really suck at sports, you know, I’ve always sucked since I was little, but running is different. It’s like something I think I’m good at when I get into shape. I dunno, it’s just cool. Coach, will you come watch me run sometime? Maybe you could point some stuff out to me.” “I’d like to, Tom, I really would. But in our league, there’s a really strict rule against what they call ‘coaching out of season’. Some coaches have caused real trouble for themselves and their teams. It means that a coach can’t direct workouts or train the kids when it’s not the season for that particular sport. I’m not sure I should even be giving you the advice talking to you today, but, well, I guess it’s OK. But I don’t think it would be right to help you train until the official practices start in March. All right, Tom, I guess you know what to do now, and I really want to see you every TWO weeks now. You know the way here, and my wife would rather it be you than me eating up the cookies! So here’s to Founders’ Day!” “Yeah,” said Tom, “here’s to Founders’ Day.” PART 25 While Tom was talking to Coach P, Ricky was silent, well settled into his comfy bus seat with his violin in its case beside him. The ride would be almost three hours, and he had a lot to think about. He’d hardly ever been over another kid’s house before, much less a girl, much less for something all formal with parents involved, much less for a sleepover. And he’d have to think of a nice grace for the Thanksgiving dinner. Also what fiddle tunes the family might like him to play. And then there was Tom. This would be his first night here on his own, and Ricky was worried that maybe he’d do or say something he shouldn’t, and get in another fight. He’ll probably get his ass kicked much worse without me to protect him. But hey, the kid has to learn somehow, doesn’t he? One problem now was that whenever Ricky began thinking practical thoughts, other thoughts interrupted, crowding into his mind. Jenny thoughts, like how her hair smelled or how her voice sounded, or how her lips just lightly brushed his cheek. And what would her tits feel like? All right, let’s concentrate. Ricky had brought a little pad and pen to write down the grace he’d compose, and he’d practice on the bus. “Dear Lord,” he wrote, “I’d like to thank you for…” Wait, that was stupid. Should be “we”, not “I”. But he didn’t even know what religion Jenny’s family was. Were they Catholics, and did they stick that cookie on their tongues like when Father Ray fed it to the kids? Shit, he still didn’t even know their last name! He kept writing a line or two but then scratching it out. Ahhh, fuck this. Writing stuff down always made things more confusing for Ricky. He liked being the center of attention, and he figured he could think of something good when the time came. The blessing of dinner thing, it would work out. The boy closed his eyes and let the rocking of the bus put him into a deep, satisfying sleep. The Atlanta bus station on Thanksgiving Day was of course a total zoo, with hundreds of people pushing and shoving. Ricky was a bit intimidated by the crowd, but within seconds a man and a lady recognized him. “Hi Ricky!” shouted Dad over the noise. “I’m Roger Malone, and this is my wife Sandy. I guess you’ve already met our daughter Jenny! She was so crazy getting ready to see you that we had to leave her at home!” Mom smiled and put her arm around the boy, kind of rubbing his back through his green school blazer. As they all walked through the parking lot to their car, Ricky thought these people were all right. Malone, Ricky thought as they walked, Malone, what’s special about that name? Something, something. Oh yeah, the song. Even as Ricky smiled at these new people, the words formed in his mind. “In Dublin’s fair city, where girls are so pretty, I first set me eyes on sweet Molly Malone…” Ricky supposed he could change the first name to Jenny. Mom and Dad just made small talk with him on the drive out to the suburb of Roswell. Ricky tried to be super polite and not just answer stuff with one word, even if there wasn’t really anything else to say. They got to the house, and Ricky was blown away. Wow, these folks are rich! Look at this place! The house was at the end of a very long driveway, and was big with stone columns by the front door. The yard was huge, all nice-cut grass, but with a little pond on the side, complete with ducks. There was also a round gazebo next to the pond, big enough for maybe ten people to sit in. Quite a place, this house was. Ricky’s own house was nice, but nothing like this. He wondered if maybe they owned slaves. Well, there were no slaves, but with a bit of imagination, anyone could picture this place as a plantation mansion from the old antebellum south, especially with the fancy winding staircase leading upstairs. They went in, and everyone was in formal jackets and ties or long frilly dresses. There was tons of snack food set out everywhere, but though Ricky was hungry, he didn’t want to be too much of a pig by diving into all the food right away. He was introduced to four grandparents and to Jenny’s little brother and sister, aged 11 and 9. Everyone seemed to know lots about him, maybe too much. Everyone was friendly, but of course there was one person missing, the most important one. In the midst of all the laughter, Mom called upstairs. “Jennifer? If you’re ready to join us, there’s someone here to see you!” The girl certainly knew how to make a grand appearance. She showed up at the top of the winding staircase, all dressed up special in a long dark blue dress, and with her hair all different, kind of tucked up instead of flowing down. “Oh?” the girl said, pretending to sound cool or snobby, “Someone to see little old me? Who could that possibly be? Is it anyone important?” This got everyone laughing, including Ricky, and the family let Jenny steal the guest of honor and bring him outside. They walked around the yard for awhile with Jenny doing most of the talking, about school or about her family, just regular stuff. She said Ricky would sleep in her little brother’s room (she called her two younger siblings “the insects”). She smelled different than the first time they’d met, maybe not quite as nice, but it was still great to see her. Her arm around his waist felt like nothing he’d ever felt before. After awhile, they went in because dinner was really more like a late lunch, starting around 2:00. Quite a dinner it was. Ricky had never been around this many people for dinner, had never worn a tie to try to eat food, and it was all a bit weird, but cool. They had Ricky sit in between one of the grandfathers and the little female insect. Evidently the two grandmothers, with some help from Mom, had spent most of the morning and the previous night preparing endless piles of endless kinds of food. Potatoes, veggies, bread, gravy, sweet stuff, fruits, carved meats. The table in the dining room was so long it was hard to hear people at the other end of it. Everyone made a big deal when one of the grandmothers brought out the gigantic turkey, all done up fancy. For a moment all the conversation and all the laughter stopped, and everyone gave their attention to Dad. “Ricky, we have a tradition in this family. Whenever we have someone visiting us for Thanksgiving dinner, we always ask that person to say the blessing for the meal. We’d be honored if you’d help us out with that today.” Ricky grinned and knew he was ready. Hey, he’d heard that if you wanna impress a chick, you gotta impress her parents too. The music teachers at school said that Ricky’s voice was really his fourth instrument. He never consciously thought about how he sang or spoke, how his voice changed for whatever occasion, but he had an incredible range and knew just how to sound. Usually Ricky only had a very slight southern accent, just a little bit of flattening “I” into “Ah”, nothing pronounced like a drawl. But without really realizing it, he switched his voice into deep full mode, and came out sounding like a true Son of the Confederacy. “Dear Lord,” he started, “I’d like to thank You for this beautiful meal You’ve provided for us and for giving me the chance to get to know this new family. Especially one member of this new family, yeah, that one over there, the prettiest girl in all of Georgia!” Everyone at the table giggled a bit. “And I also want to thank You for the love of my own Mom and Dad back in Asheville, who are always there for me and who always stand by me no matter what happens. Lord, I hope You’ll teach me and teach everyone around this table to give thanks to You not just on this special day, but to give thanks every day of the year for all You do for us. Amen.” “Amen!” said everyone else, and Mom was first to speak after that. “Ricky, that was the most beautiful Thanksgiving blessing I’ve ever heard in my life!” True, she said that every year, but this time she meant it. “Jenny, you just better watch out and treat this boy right!” shouted the grandmother who had brought in the turkey. “You just better be careful or I’ll take him away from you, make him MY boyfriend. You just watch!” “Oh yeah, old woman,” replied the grandfather next to Ricky, “What are you gonna do with a boyfriend? You got enough trouble handling me!” “Hey, at your age, what you don’t know won’t hurt you, old man! If I want a boyfriend, I’ll just go right ahead and get one, don’t you think I won’t! Ricky, if Jenny gives you any attitude or anything, you know where I am!” Laughing and eating, eating and laughing, went on for at least two hours around that huge long table. At times, Ricky felt a little bad that he was having such a good time, felt a little bad that maybe this family was more fun than his own. But then again, not really better, just different. Yeah, different and cool, but in the midst of all the laughing, he did feel a quick sharp pang of homesickness. There were Mom, Dad, and Fluffy waiting for him. The house with his own room. And that special lemon pie that Mom would make. Well, Christmas break would be in less than a month. Hang in. And maybe he could have Tom over for a couple days; Asheville was on the way to Greensboro. He’d see what everyone said. After the meal, hours and hours passed watching football on TV (Ricky thought football was so dumb—buncha overgrown steroid-fed faggots jumping on and humping each other), and playing a 5-way game of Monopoly. That Jenny, she was tough and tricky. She offered him Marvin Gardens and North Carolina for two of his railroads; seemed reasonable at the time, especially when she tilted her head, kind of leaned sideways so he could see just a bit down her dress, and said “Please, Ricky? Just for me?” But Ricky didn’t realize that she already had the other railroads and would soon have the orange monopoly. Ricky was bled dry within a half hour and so was Dad ten minutes afterwards. Some of the guys felt like a bit of fresh air. Dad, Ricky, and a grandfather wandered outside. Dad put his arm around Ricky’s shoulders and told him jokingly, “You know, Jenny’s my sweetie and I love her, but boy, you gotta watch out for these girls! They’re smart, and they know just how to get what they want off a guy! Better keep your wits about you and your head screwed on straight!” Grandfather talked to him for awhile next. He’d noticed Ricky’s fiddle and mentioned that he played some, too. He asked if the boy would like to jam with him for everybody a bit later. Cool!!! Ricky got all excited knowing he’d perform soon. It was what he liked best. Grandfather could kick serious ass!! With everyone gathered around the huge living room, he played a few bluegrass classics, including an intense “Orange Blossom Special”. Then the old man asked Ricky if he knew “Hell Broke Loose in Georgia”. He may as well have asked if bears had unprotected sex in the woods. Ricky jumped up and the two fiddles whined together while everyone (especially Jenny, who Ricky was studying as he played) clapped and swayed. One grandmother got up and made a feeble but hilarious attempt at clogging. Oh yeah, this was fun. “Sally Ann” and ‘Foggy Mountain Breakdown” soon followed. It all just flowed, just how Ricky liked it, perfect and good and sweet. After the last song, Mom was able to speak above the chatter for a moment. “Ricky,” she asked, “have you ever heard Jenny on the piano?” The boy saw a big piano in the corner, something he hadn’t noticed before. “She won’t admit it, but we think she’s pretty good. Plays like an angel!” “Momma!” Jenny half-protested. Ricky liked how she added that extra syllable to Mom’s name. “You know I’m not ready for this. Not in front of everyone!” But of course that was just a cover, and she was all quivering, all ready to show off for her special big tall blond love thing. “I’ve never heard her. You know, she never even told me she played. Has she been keeping secrets from me?” Ricky asked with a grin. “Keeping secrets from men?” Mom laughed. “Ricky, you think girls are gonna tell you everything they know? Not gonna happen in this family, boy! Girls are made to always keep you guessing, we’re always gonna be a bit mysterious. You better get used to it!” Jenny was finally seated at the piano, and she was for real. She played classical stuff, but pieces that Ricky didn’t recognize. Her back was to him, so he didn’t really watch her, but just heard. He was also getting sleepy, but there was one more thing he wanted to play tonight. It was something he’d worked on for over a month now, and was really proud of. He’d never played the whole thing for anyone except his music teacher before—not for the other kids in instrumental class, not even for Tom. Just before he came to school, he’d seen a cool movie called “Master and Commander”. It was about a British ship a long time ago that sailed around South America, stopping occasionally to see the Galapagos Islands or to blast the crap out of the bad ship. The captain and the ship’s doctor played this awesome violin and cello duet right at the end. It was one of the boy’s favorites, and he had composed a way to combine it with Pachelbel’s Canon in D, kind of moving back and forth between the tunes with bridges he’d made up and adding some improvised parts. His music teacher heard him practice, and called what he’d composed a “fugue”. Cool word. Fugue. The sound of his creation always made Ricky’s heart soar, and he wanted to do it now. Would Jenny ever shut up with the piano? Ricky wanted his turn. By the time Jenny finished, most people had gone to bed. The only ones remaining were Jenny, Mom, and the turkey grandmother. Ricky said he wanted to try one last piece for everyone. And he played into the night, the sound flowing, rising, falling, dancing, spinning. The whole thing took almost ten minutes. It would be the last activity of this long, long day. Just at the right time, just when it was cool, he finished. “Ricky,” said Mom, “I don’t know if you realize it, but I think my daughter’s falling in love!” “Momma!” the girl protested again. “Jenny, I’ll tell you what,” added Grandma. “You can have him, I won’t try to steal him, if you’ll just let me give him one little kiss goodnight. Sound fair?” The old lady got up, gently delivered the promised kiss on his lower jaw, and whispered, “We’re so glad you’re with us today. You’re a special, special boy.” Mom took Ricky to little brother’s room where he’d sleep, as the male insect had been banished for the night to a couch. Was strange sleeping in someone else’s room—it was all filled with model planes and football posters, and Tom wasn’t breathing above him. What a day. What a day. What a family. And Jenny…oh, yeah. Wow, I’m so tired, too tired to even jerk off. That’s weird, I always do. Ah, next time. Don’t think anymore. Mmmmm…. PART 26 Ricky’s bus would leave at 11:00 in the morning. The morning was much more low-key than the previous day. There were various leftovers to nibble on for breakfast. The only thing missing from yesterday was more time to hang out alone with Jenny. Today she was wearing regular clothes, just jeans and a sweater. Her hair was regular, hanging down nicely, not all up like last night. Ricky actually thought she was prettier this way. They took a little walk outside, just all peaceful, just talking about little stuff. Ricky mentioned that he thought her piano playing was cool. They were back right outside the house when Jenny took both Ricky’s hands in her skinny fingers. It was about to get serious. “Ricky?” she said softly, “I love you.” Hmmm, this was different. “Uhhhh,” the boy answered stupidly, “Thanks.” Jenny straightened up and all the sweet stuff went out of her voice. She was not pleased. “That’s not what you’re supposed to say!! What’s wrong with you? You’re lucky I don’t…” Her speech was interrupted by someone giggling, and Ricky saw a small face in the window only a couple yards away. “I’M GONNA KILL YOU, YOU STUPID INSECT!!” she shrieked, racing at full speed back into the house. Even from outside, Ricky could hear more screaming. “MOMMA, WOULD YOU PLEASE KEEP THIS UGLY SPYING THING AWAY FROM US? I’M GONNA KILL HER, I SWEAR IT! I DON’T CARE IF THEY TRY ME AS AN ADULT! I DON’T WANNA GET HER BLOOD ALL OVER THE NICE CARPET, BUT I CAN’T HELP IT!!” The little sister didn’t have much to say during all this, aside from repeating “OW!! MOMMA!!” every time one of Jenny’s many punches or slaps found its target. That special love bond between sisters, what could be more beautiful? Mom came running to save the life of her youngest child, but she was squarely on Jenny’s side in the argument. “Marilyn, you leave your big sister and her boy alone! I don’t want them to even know you’re alive right now! Don’t you give me any of your reasons, little girl, just GIT!” A moment later Jenny reappeared outside, and she said, “Sorry about all that. She is such a pain sometimes! Where were we before that insect interrupted us? Oh yeah, I remember!” “You know, Jenny, maybe we better start that whole conversation all over again, that whole thing didn’t work out quite right.” “All right, how ‘bout if we go out to the gazebo and take it from the top?” They arrived at the round wooden structure out by the pond. There seemed to be no one else in the universe, just like their first night at Riley’s. Jenny took his hands again and tried Take Two. “Ricky, I love you.” This time Ricky figured out the right line. “I love you, too, Jenny,” he said softly, and both faces moved toward each other, both sets of lips met in a deep, intense, long, kissssss. Oh yeah, this was more like it. How much time passed? Ricky didn’t know. 15 seconds, 30, 45? Who cared? Their arms were around each other and ooohhh, so this was what a girl’s tits felt like pressed against you. It was delicious and Ricky noticed that the monster inside his underwear was at full attention, angry and intense, just like it should be. Probably because he hadn’t masturbated the night before. Wait a minute, wait a minute!!! CALM DOWN, big boy, Ricky told his Thing as a moment more of this kissing business could cause a very embarrassing liquid explosion down there!!! Please, no! Oh God, not now!! Release her lips slowly, breathe, breathe, that’s right. OK, easy, easy, fine. That was close! “Mmmmmmm,” said Jenny. “Ohhhhhhh, that was sooo special. I love you sooo much. Do you kiss all the girls like that?” Ricky shrieked with laughter, his penis instantly returned to normal resting size, and he fell on the ground. He tried to say something, but he was laughing so hard that tears were in his eyes. ‘Ricky, what’s so funny?” Jenny asked, kind of laughing but kind of upset, too. “Last time someone kissed me, Jenny, believe me, trust me on this one, you don’t wanna know what happened!!” and the boy started another uncontrolled laughing spasm. “Ricky!!” Now Jenny was a bit mad, and Ricky knew he’d have to stop laughing and switch to romantic mode. Chicks dig romantic. “OK, I’m sorry. I won’t laugh anymore. Jenny, I don’t want to kiss anyone else except for you. I want things to be just you and me, no one else in the world. I mean you’re the girl I want, no one else, no one else ever. The guys at school don’t have to know anything. All I want is to love you forever.” Yeah, it was a little too syrupy sweety gross, but Ricky meant it. He did. The two of them hung out a little while longer, and there was some touching, some light nose-rubbing, some hugging, and then it was time for the boy to head back to school. For most of the bus ride back to Ripton, Ricky was about halfway between consciousness and sleep. He thought about that special girl, but also about things like Tom, like the upcoming Christmas Concert he’d play in, like his home and Fluffy. Hmmm, would Tom ever have a girl? Probably not. Ricky thought back to the night when he found out about triple S and Tom had touched him ALL over his body. He’d pretended to be asleep so as not to embarrass his little friend, but he really hadn’t been. Ah, it was all right. No big deal. He hoped Tom was OK and hadn’t gotten into another fight or something. This weekend would be nice with almost three days free and no Sunday night study hall. Jenny’s tits were nice. Just the right amount of squishiness. It was a long walk back from town to school, especially carrying his fiddle. Turned out Tom wasn’t even on campus when Ricky arrived; he’d gone on a full-day mall trip with Father Ray and a few of the other kids who liked to hang out with the priest (the gang was often called Father Ray’s Flock of Geeks). During the lazy afternoon, Ricky had a chance to catch up on his jerking off, which was by this point an emergency necessity. The boys didn’t catch up with each other until after dinner, when Tom finally showed up in their room. “Hey tough guy!” Ricky greeted him. “How was your Thanksgiving? You didn’t do anything stupid or get in any fights or nothing, did you?” “Well, we had a special turkey dinner last night, everything was pretty good. Nah, no fights. Well, once Justin and Mike tried to mess with me but I made a fist and that scared ‘em away, they were all crying. Ah, not really, just kidding, nothing happened, all cool.” “Yeah, like I really believed that anyway! If you ever got into something with Justin, we’d have to scoop up what’s left of you with a spoon. Pour what’s left on top of the spaghetti for dinner, would taste better than that gross sauce they put on!” The kids were quiet for a minute and Ricky knew what Tom wanted. He wanted to know all about Ricky’s trip, yeah, probably with topic sentences and supporting details, just like in stupid-ass English class. Sure enough, the smaller boy spoke next, quieter. “Ricky? Will you tell me all about what happened with you and Jenny and her family and everything? Please? I won’t be all gross, I’m gonna learn respect just like you said.” Come on, man, Ricky thought to himself, the kid asks so little in this world. Ricky remembered promising Jenny that he wouldn’t talk about her to the guys, but of course Tom wasn’t “the guys”. Tom was Tom, his real friend. Yeah, it would be OK. Ricky said he just wanted to go up to Riley’s for awhile to play guitar and sing, and then he’d tell Tom everything before they went to sleep. And he did. Well, almost everything anyway. He invited Tom down into the lower bunk, and talked to him for almost a half hour. He just left out the parts about the girl’s tits squeezing against him and the almost-cumming-in-pants-accident. The night was frosty cold, and even though Ricky had had a great time in Roswell, it was kind of nice to be back with his roommate again—they were cramped but warm and happy under the blankets. And of course there would be no wakeup bell tomorrow or Sunday. Tom, for his part, was only really listening carefully for the first few minutes of the story. After that he only heard Ricky’s voice without bothering to decipher words as he fell asleep. PART 27 Headmaster John Carlisle was not a “hands-on” type of leader. He didn’t teach any classes or coach any sports. In fact he only rarely even observed classes, and didn’t hang out very much with students or teachers. In fact, some teachers and kids went years without having a single conversation with him. It wasn’t that he was lazy or didn’t love the school. But he wanted his teachers and department heads to have real authority, to feel free to do their jobs without him breathing down their necks. In addition, there were countless other behind-the-scenes responsibilities, things that had to be done to keep things running smoothly, to keep bills paid and payroll met. Headmaster took charge of relations with parents, recruiting students, publicity, personnel issues, foodservice, the physical maintenance of the large and beautiful campus, and of course anything to do with money. The man usually worked at least 60 hours per week, including much of the summer. He did find joy in showing up once in awhile at sporting events, or sometimes just walking the grounds and hearing the laughter of kids or the buzz of activity in the classrooms. He knew that he was the one who really made it all work. But three times a year, Mr. Carlisle got involved much more directly. The school year was divided into trimesters, with the first report cards coming out in early December. On the weekend before, he always had long, detailed meetings with his supervisors about kids who were having serious problems with grades or behavior. There were three meetings—one each for grades 7-8, 9-10, and 11-12. First up, on a cold windy morning, were the little kids. Five men were present—Headmaster, Karl Prszeczkopowski, 7-8th grade Residential Supervisor Jerry Conroy, 7-8th grade Academic Coordinator Richard Stone (the kids sometimes added a “d” or an “r” to the end of his last name), and Father Ray Lemelin. Father Ray always hated these long boring sessions—he hardly ever said much, and didn’t see why he had to be there. But Mr. Carlisle made him come to the 7-8th grade and the 11-12th grade meetings, as some sort of “spiritual adviser”. Some good news was that there were no serious problems with the 7th graders. According to Headmaster, these were the most important students in all the school from a business standpoint, because if they and their parents were content, they would be “customers” for six years, and could in that time perhaps recruit younger brothers. There were the normal issues—some of the little guys battled homesickness, and some were having trouble adjusting to such a long day of tough classes, followed by significant amounts of homework. But no one’s grades were horrible, all the kids were reasonably well-behaved, and perhaps most importantly, all the kids usually got along with each other. They had their little fights, but they settled stuff quickly and everyone was usually happy enough. In 8th grade, however, there were two problem kids. Big problems. The men would discuss whether these boys really belonged at St. Brendan’s. The kids were Justin Larue and, oh well, Ricky Spann. Poor Ricky. He never meant to cause people any trouble, and had no idea that five people were wasting a chunk of this cold but beautiful Saturday discussing him. If the boy had known, he’d have thought (or said) ahhh, fuck this, sirs, don’t worry about me! Go out and have fun, it’s Saturday! First to be talked about was Justin. He was much worse than just a discipline problem. He was a total, first-class jerk. He was nasty, disrespectful, and sarcastic with almost all the teachers, and much class time was wasted dealing with him and a small group of others (like Joey Peroni and Mike Lavalliere) who followed his lead. But the others weren’t as big a deal—they wouldn’t start stuff on their own. They’d only get bad if Justin was there to instigate things. Justin was a big boy, as tall as Ricky and much more muscular. Mr. Stone and Mr. Conroy spent awhile relating various war stories about this hateful kid. Teachers tried to be patient and professional with him, but they were human, and it was tough to stay positive with such a vicious and hostile asshole. Mr. Carlisle let the two men vent for a few minutes, then interrupted. “OK, guys, that’s enough bitching. Let’s decide how we’re gonna deal with this kid. No doubt he’s bad news, but remember we’re a business, and we need every student. Also remember that a boy like this is a boy that maybe needs us the most, that maybe we can help. Richard, I notice his grades are pretty good.” “The kid’s smart. He has a B average, and could get A’s if he felt like it. In fact, he’s so smart that he knows just how far to go to upset people without letting any one single incident go over the top. It’s a constant attitude issue, not one single thing.” Mr. Stone now took time to defend his teachers. He expected them to work hard, but was fiercely loyal to them. “John, I think we have to think more about our teachers, our front-line people. Take a guy like Kevin Milroy. He’s new here, and you know how hard he works. You know the energy he brings, the special class projects he’s created. And he’s going to be Coach P’s assistant for track & field this spring.” Now Mr. Stone decided to make the mood lighter. “And who knows, maybe he’ll be head coach soon if Karl dies! You know, at his age, he could go any time now!” Everyone laughed, including the tall old man. “Hey, screw you, Richard, I’ll hang in here longer than you!! I can’t die, ya know--Heaven won’t accept me and Hell’s afraid I’ll take over!” “OK, OK, seriously now. This is the kind of guy we want to make a career here. Now Kevin’s getting pounded on, day after day, by this kid’s behavior and attitude. How long before a brilliant and dedicated teacher like him starts looking for somewhere else to work, maybe somewhere that pays more? Or even worse, how long before the fire in him goes out, until he starts just going through the motions? You know, the moment our teachers become just ordinary, we really aren’t any better than a regular public school. Nothing more to offer, really.” Headmaster spoke next. “OK, Richard, you have a point and I know what a good job Kevin’s doing. But all the teachers have to realize that not all the kids are going to be angels. Part of the job is dealing with the kids who aren’t so easy. Always has been, always will be.” “Now wait a minute, John. You’re making this way too simple,” interjected Coach. He and Mr. Carlisle had all the respect in the world for each other, but the old man had no problem with speaking up and disagreeing with his boss if he felt it necessary. “Certainly some behaviors are part of the game, like you say. Kids being rowdy, some kids trying to test limits, some kids getting a bit too big for their britches sometimes, OK, these are normal. These are how 8th graders can be, these are things we have to handle. Now I don’t know this Larue kid, so I can speak objectively. But from what I’m hearing, this kid is way, way beyond the normal 8th grade issues. This kid is creating a poisonous atmosphere for teachers and for the whole community. Even if he’s not directly bullying people, he’s surely an intimidating figure for the smaller, less aggressive kids. I’m not saying you should expel him today. But at the very least, make some kind of serious probation contract with him, and with his parents too. If there’s not major improvement within a month, get rid of him for the good of the whole school.” There was a bit more discussion, and Mr. Carlisle was convinced. “OK, guys, I guess you’re right. I’ll put the fear of God into that punk. His parents don’t live far away, right outside Chattanooga, so I’ll get them in here too. In my world-famous diplomatic way, I’ll whip some ass. OK, let’s move on to Ricky Spann. I saw his preliminary grades. A in instrumental music, then 5 F’s and 2 D’s. What’s up with this guy?” This time Mr. Conroy started the discussion. “Headmaster, all the teachers have talked to me about him and he’s still a mystery. Personally, he’s a good, sweet, well-behaved kid. He’s so respectful, so friendly. It’s obvious that his parents have raised him with good values. All the teachers like him. And the music department tells me that he has a real gift in that area. He’s going to play a bunch of pieces in the Christmas Concert. But in every other subject, he’s just clueless. Nothing’s getting through, not a bit. We tried putting him in triple S for four weeks, but it didn’t have any real effect.” “Richard, you’re the academic guy. In your opinion, is the kid trying?” “It’s hard to say, John. He’s well-behaved in class, and sometimes he contributes a bit, like by answering an easy question. But more often his eyes just go blank and it’s like his head is on the other side of the world. I’ve seen this myself, when I’ve observed classes. There might be some sort of learning disability, and there’s a lot of information in his file. He turns in his homework, but I think his roommate Tom pretty much does it for him. Headmaster, I hope we can find a way to keep him here. You know how that Justin kid just makes every situation, every atmosphere negative? Ricky is just so much the opposite. He can come into a room, say just a few words, and automatically put a smile on the teacher’s face. He’s a great kid.” “Hmmm…” Headmaster said. “Just to change the subject, how’s Tom Klein doing? His mother called me yesterday, just curious as to how he’s getting along. How’s it going for him?” “Wow, that is one smart kid!” replied Mr. Stone. “Not only does he get straight A’s by remembering and spitting out stuff, he can analyze things, create original ideas, he’s just sharp.” “You know,” replied Mr. Carlisle, “one day I poked my head into chess class and played him a game. He wiped me out like nothing, he barely had to look at the damn board!! And I thought I was a half-decent chessplayer. Year after year, I beat almost all the other kids!” “Well, Bob Merton must be teaching him well.” “Bullshit, the kid crushes Bob almost as easily as he whipped me. He’s got talent, that’s what it is. But guys, here’s the deal. His parents know he’s smart, they know he’ll always get A’s. But evidently he’s had major problems in the past getting along with other kids. His parents are really interested in his social development, not so much the academic. Is he making friends? How’s he doing?” “I’ll tell you this,” began Mr. Conroy, “he has one friend. Tom and his roommate Ricky are really, really close. They stick up for each other no matter what. You couldn’t separate those two with a chainsaw. It’s kind of cool, really.” Father Ray hadn’t said anything for the previous half-hour, but now it was time. “Gentlemen, I’ve gotten to know Tom really well, and…” “Yeah, I bet you have!” growled Jerry Conroy quietly, half under his breath, and with an exhaled sarcastic laugh at the end of his words. Headmaster looked at him a bit quizzically. Ah, Father Ray thought, so that’s how it is. OK, file the comment away, but keep going, don’t miss a beat. “And the boy’s made some real progress. Like Jerry says, he’s made a true friend in Ricky, and that means a lot. Now in his first week, he started a big fight with Joey Peroni, and got the stuffing beaten out of him. But I think he’s learned from that. He’s learning how to interact, how to talk to other kids without sounding arrogant. He’s learning how to pick up social cues. At night I sometimes spend some time with him and Ricky….” “SOME time? Damn near all night is more like it.” Mr. Conroy was barely audible, addressing his comment to a spot on the floor, but his whispered smirk was filled with hate. Damn, Father thought, this guy is a jerk. Don’t let him get to you, stay professional. “With him and Ricky and they seem to confide in me. Tom knows he needs to get better socially, and more importantly, he really WANTS to learn how. Headmaster, I think you can honestly say to his Mom that he’s doing well. Stress that he has a loyal friend in Ricky, and that bit by bit, he’s learning how to deal with other kids in everyday situations that he faces.” “Hmmmm,” said Headmaster again, “I’m glad to hear good news there, and I’ll relay it to his mother. But let’s get back to Ricky Spann. Guys, here’s how we’re going to do things. This is a good boy, and a positive influence in the community. Tom Klein needs him, also. As long as Ricky wants to be here and his family is happy, he can stay. Richard, fix his grades—make his average about C minus. But work something out with your teachers so he has to do some small extra work, make it so he doesn’t feel that we’re just giving the grades away. Try to have your teachers make him do at least part of it orally, that way we can be sure Tom isn’t doing everything for him. I know the Spann kid’s academic work sucks, but more importantly, he’s a friendly, considerate, well-intentioned kid, and I want him to stay at St. Brendan’s.” “Gentlemen,” the headmaster continued, “thank you for everything. I know these meetings are long and tough, and the fact that it’s Saturday makes it even worse. But they’re important. Anyway, have a great rest of the weekend, get your energy back, and remember, Christmas will be here soon!” The men began drifting away, and Mr. Carlisle added softly, “Jerry and Karl? There’s one more thing. Do you guys have a couple more minutes?” PART 28 The three men sat down and Headmaster wanted to know only one thing. “Jerry, I heard you make a couple little comments when Ray was talking a few minutes ago. Those little comments have to mean something. What’s up between you guys?” Jerry thought for a moment before answering. Well, the headmaster is asking me, tell him the truth. Rock and roll. “Headmaster, you know I’ve never been one to bullshit you or sugarcoat things. My style is to just to tell it like it is, so I’ll be straight up here. John, the guy’s a child molester.” No one talked for several slow, serious moments. The two words hung heavy in the air, seeming to echo in each person’s head. Child molester. Child molester. Child molester. Finally Mr. Carlisle broke the silence. “Those are a couple of strong words, Jerry. You sure as hell have my attention. Talk to me.” “Headmaster, I see and work with the guy a lot. Day after day, night after night. I see how he interacts with these kids. He stalks, he spends more time than necessary, and his touching is way out of line with what’s normal. I’ll tell you some specifics now, but trust me, Headmaster, it’s not just this or that incident. It’s the overall way the guy is. For someone who watches carefully, it’s really obvious.” “Whenever he’s with certain kids who put up with it, he’s got his hands all over them. And I don’t mean just a quick pat on the back, I don’t mean normal stuff. He pets them all over their hair, their necks, their backs. You can see his fingers just moving, just exploring, it’s sick. And he keeps touching them for way, way longer than he should. Sometimes you’ll see him walking around with a couple of the kids, and he and one or more of the kids have their arms around each other. Or you can see him play-wrestling with them, or tickling them, stuff like that. It’s so obvious that he’s a pedophile, plain as the nose on your face. What’s weird is that some of the kids really like it, really seek him out for this. Most of the kids know what he is, make ‘fag’ jokes, and don’t let him near them, except for official business. So Ray leaves those kids pretty much alone. But there’s Tom and Ricky and a couple other 8th graders, along w |