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FALL, PART 1 Training camp. Training camp. Words that sounded pretty cool, pretty macho, to most young adolescent boys, and especially so to Tom. For one week, Tom decided, I’m not gonna think about chess, Jacob, gay, friends, nothing. I’m in shape, I’ve run hard all summer, and I am going to kick everyone’s ass. Cross-country TRAINING CAMP. COUGARS! Earlier on Saturday, Dad had dropped Tom, his armpit hairs (seven of them at last count this morning), his stuff, and Foxfire off at school. Despite the boy’s whining, and the fact that Foxfire would have loved to stay with his master and get a St. Brendan’s education, it wasn’t going to happen. For obvious reasons, no dogs, lizards, hamsters, snakes, or any other non-human creatures that could be considered pets were allowed. So after Dad had a short meeting with Mr. Carlisle, and Tom started getting unpacked, Foxfire went back in the car for the trip home. Saying goodbye to Dad wasn’t so hard this time, as Tom knew his parents and his dog would be only a couple hours’ drive away. No more other side of the world, no more of that stuff forever. In Humboldt Hall, 9th graders lived on the bottom two floors and 10th graders on the top. No one knew why, it was just a tradition. Perhaps so the pure-hearted innocent younger kids would be less morally corrupted if they didn’t have to walk through the halls belonging to the older guys, perhaps the move upstairs was considered a special bonus for surviving until 10th grade. Tom didn’t know or care about all that. He did think his new room would be bigger than last year’s. He and Ricky were bigger, seemed only fair, but if anything the new room was even a few feet narrower. A maintenance man had shown Tom where he was assigned to live, Mr. Prszeczkopowski had said that the cross-country training camp team would have a meeting after dinner, and by the time Dad and Foxfire left, the football and soccer teams were already practicing. Tom unpacked his stuff, took his favorite top bunk, and carefully decided which parts of the room should be for his own stuff and which parts for Ricky’s. No big deal, but me being first one here, I get dibs. There was still almost an hour before lunch, the room with its whirring ceiling fan was much cooler than outside, so Tom just lay down for a sweet late-morning nap. He was about halfway asleep when someone knocked. Huh? Tom wasn’t thinking clearly and didn’t know who it could be. He didn’t yell “come in”, but instead jumped down from the top bunk and shook the sleep out of his eyes as he opened the door. “MR. MAYNE!!” Tom didn’t know that Mr. Mayne was also a pedo like Father Ray, but it didn’t matter. Tom liked his math teacher a lot, and as he still did with grownups he liked, he wrapped his arms around the young man in a hug. Still hadn’t lost his little-boy affection, and it came instantly and naturally. No thinking involved. “What are you doing here? School’s not for another week!” “What hahppened to you, kid?” replied the teacher in his northern Maine accent. “You look just as ugly as eva, but talla nah-ow! Anyway, you’ll be seein’ mowah of me than you’ll probably want to, you’re looking at the new Residential Directah of Humboldt Hall! I’m heah this week, my job’s to keep you kids under control, and by God, control is what I’ll do!” “Ooooh, promotion, so you’re all important now?” joked Tom. “Yeah, and I’m supposed to be all scared of you?” Tom tried a roundhouse karate kick in the direction of Mr. Mayne’s belly, but it was much too slow. The teacher grabbed Tom’s foot and the kid lost his balance, falling backwards onto the wooden floor. Oww! “Oops, sorry, Tom, you OK? Anyway, you’re smahrt, that’s right, you’re definitely supposed to be scared of me. But hey, I’ve missed you, Ricky, everyone. How was your summa, what did ya do?” “Yeah, I’m OK, I learned some karate, but I suck at keeping my balance. Summer, lots of stuff, Mr. Mayne, you want me to start from the beginning?” “Betta than the middle or the end, like duuh, Tom! Hey, let’s go outside for awhile.” They wandered to a shady part of campus just above Riley’s Field, and Tom talked on and on until lunchtime, including most details, really all the important ones except the sex stuff. Tom learned that most of his teachers would be back again, though the only ones he really cared about were Coach P, Father Ray, Mr. Mayne, and Mr. Merton. Mr. Mayne is really nice, gonna be so much better having him as RD instead of Mr. Conroy. The cafeteria wasn’t full, of course, as it would be when the whole school was there, but it was as loud as ever with obnoxious football players. One of the worst was Justin, the huge kid whose behavior was so bad he’d almost gotten kicked out during his 8th grade year. Justin had never actually bullied or bothered Tom at all, but Tom always gave him a wide berth and didn’t want anything to do with him. Primal fear. And this year the kid was GIGANTIC! Shit, no wonder he’s changed from basketball to football. Justin was not only well over six feet tall, but he’d grown monstrous and muscular over the summer. Size of a tank. By far the strongest 9th grader on campus, maybe even in school history, and he’d probably grow to be the size of Teddy Bear pretty soon. The kid was immense, nasty, and with attitude, though he had learned to control it when he needed to. Perfect for a football player, and despite only going into 9th grade, he was going to play varsity. Just by evil luck, when Tom got in line for lunch, there was no place to go except right in back of the guy. Justin turned around and got loud. “YO! What are you doing here? Fucking mascot?? They let a piece of shit like you in the cafeteria??” Wonderful, all right, I hate Mr. Conroy, but his advice always worked. Smile, act tuff, take it and give it right back to them. He said they’d accept you, just don’t act like a fucking baby. “I’m here for TRAINING CAMP, and don’t mess with me, I don’t wanna have to hurt you!” Tom’s very scary threat got a few other guys into it, laughing and pushing, and it was getting louder. Tom wished Ricky was there. “Training camp?? What are you training for, learning to jerk off? Shit, your butt buddy Father Ray can teach you that next week!” “Training for cross-country! A real MAN’S sport, for men who have BALLS! I’d say you guys should sign up for it, but maybe you don’t qualify!” Tom thought that was clever, and smiled. They won’t hurt me, will they? Please, God, they won’t, please? They didn’t really. Justin simply grabbed hold of him while the other guys punched him around a bit and made stupid noises. And the punches weren’t hard, really were even less than the track & field guys last year. It was playful, almost even friendly, and even though Tom didn’t really like it from these guys, it wasn’t really anything bad. Everyone soon got their lunches, and Tom headed for a table as far away from the football team as possible. But no luck, Justin and a couple guys followed him. “GET OVER HERE, YOU UGLY FUDGEPACKER!! You think you’re gonna be a Cougar? You eat with the team!” The guys actually were funny in their stupidity, and lunch was kind of fun. The worst thing they did to Tom was mush his face in the food a couple times, and said that he’d have to buy the beer for the evening’s party. They were such posers, they didn’t mean it, because if the football coaches caught anyone in training camp within half a MILE of a beer can, there would be hell to pay. Posers, they’d die if they even tried to run three miles, let ‘em try doing one of OUR practices. Keep smiling, messing with them, they’ll be leaving soon for their female pussycunt practice. In the afternoon, Tom took a long bike ride, there was nothing else to do, and it was peaceful on the roads Ricky had shown him. Blazing hot, but on the bike it didn’t feel bad because when you were moving, it made a breeze. Tom knew he was supposed to wear his bicycle helmet, but that would have been way too hot today. He even rode by the place Ricky had shown him, where his friend had hidden out during those ferocious cold nights when Tom was lying unconscious or recovering. Shit, he really hid out here ‘cause he was worried about me? Ricky. All the sights in summer, like the forks in the roads, the river, the black church, the uphills and downhills, they didn’t seem quite the same without him. But he’ll be here soon, 9th grade, with Mr. Mayne, this year’s gonna be serious fun. And I want that Noga Championship. I want that thing as bad as Jacob wants to be a high GM. I’m gonna push, push til I puke, I don’t care. Whatever it takes. Tom’s young teenage daydreams lasted until he rolled back through the school gates around 5:00. He washed the sweat off his face and figured he’d lay down on his bunk until dinner, but after only a half-hour the door knocked again. What the hell, is this always gonna happen? This time, he just yelled “Yo, what’s up, come on in!” It was a wiry young man about 5’9” tall, with the beginnings of a scruffy goatee on the front of his face. Who’s this? “I hairdy’wer Tom. Minayims Alan Laird, gannabeonta tame wiye. Jist tillinya, we got first may’in…” “Huh?” Alan grinned. He and his younger brother had by now figured out that they could freak Americans out by simply talking normally (for them) but fast. Get the stupid Yanks all bent out of shape. The brothers actually could speak perfectly understandable English (they grew up only about 300 kilometers north of the English border, for God’s sake), but sometimes just didn’t feel like it. He held out his hand for Tom to shake and went slower. “My name’s Alan Laird. My brother and I are on the tame with ya. I heard a lo’ about ya, you had a hell of a season in athletics last spring. Just came to say righ’ after dinner, Coach wants us to meet in the team locker room. Looks like there’ll be another guy too, you know Rick Lemoyne, right?” “Yeah, he was in cross-country last year, he was also our best 800-meter guy in the spring.” “Keyoul. Anyway, let’s have some supper, then. Only gonna be four of us at training camp, but hell, we’ll have ourselves a time.” FALL, PART 2 The boys walked slowly through the late-afternoon sunshine to the cafeteria. Tom vaguely remembered that Coach had said something last June about two brothers from Scotland who were going to come to school and be on the team, and he guessed this guy must be one of them, but that was all he knew. And he knew nothing about their father, who was largely responsible for his sons’ running ability. Alan was the older brother, 17, going into his senior year. He didn’t really look like the typical long-distance runner. He was thin, but a lot more muscular through the shoulders and chest than most cross-country runners. His specialty really wasn’t the long distances, but more the 1500 and 800 meters. And he was amazing. That 4:06.3 in the 1500 got the attention of national-level coaches. It was back in March when he was only 16, on an indoor track in Glasgow with tight turns, and after several months of training in the most godawful highland winter weather possible. And right now, at the end of August, he was even in better shape than then. Aside from genetics, the reason for Alan’s speed was simple. He was tougher than just about anyone else. In practices, even when he was younger, when the coach said enough, Alan whined that he wanted MORE. It’s a stupid cliché in distance running that you gotta LOVE the PAIN, but in his case it was true. In races, he didn’t care about maintaining the exact proper pace. Reasonable split times, fuck that. He usually went just about balls to the wall from the gun, and figured if any opponent wants to get up here with me, come on, you wanna hurt with me? Get up here. Not the most intelligent or recommended strategy, but it worked for Alan because he usually just had more courage and a higher pain threshhold than everyone else. Large potent testicles. Whatever pain he was suffering in races, he’d done it a million times in training. From the minute he walked onto the campus, it was obvious that Alan would be the leader of this Cougars team. He knew he was good, and he wasn’t shy about it. He wasn’t really a nasty or arrogant young man, but had little patience for people who weren’t into the sport as intensely as he was. In fact, when the family had to move to America for his father’s new job, research work in the Georgia Tech biochemistry department, Alan was excited about doing cross-country as a team sport. Back in Scotland, no one in his school or club really cared so much about running, and everything was individual. The team aspect, five guys scoring, getting other guys into it, he liked the idea. He’d get his brother and anyone else to bust themselves up, get ‘em just like me. Even though he wasn’t tall, his appearance was commanding. His face was sharp-angled, his voice was dominating, and though he was 17, he could easily pass for college age or early 20’s. Helped a lot in his constant search for beer. “Yeah, Tom, I guess we’ll find my wee bro and Rick, guess we’ll be sayin’ probably tay much of each other the next few days. Hey, I like the feud here, lunch was a fockin’ fayst, better than my Mom fixes for us.” They walked in the door, and at the far end of the cafeteria, Rick and someone else were already eating. Tom followed Alan over there and as soon as he got close enough to see the his other teammate, he could barely hear or think about whatever words anyone was saying, could barely hear that the younger brother’s name was Kevin. Tom could only notice that his penis instantly boinged to attention with animal lust, his heart was beating hard and fast, his head was spinning, and his brain inside wasn’t even functioning anymore. Like an instant schoolgirl crush, but boy in this case. Eventually his legs moved, he went through the line and got dinner, and he went back to the table with everyone and put said dinner in his mouth. The other three guys on the team were playful and joking, but Tom had only one thing on his perverted mind. You wouldn’t really recognize the Lairds as brothers, as they didn’t look at all alike. Kevin was 15, about to start 10th grade, and was definitely taller than his older brother, almost Ricky’s height. But he was much less physically mature than Alan and much, much skinnier. Your typical chicken legs, pipe-cleaner arms cross-country running kid. He had lighter hair than Kevin, about halfway between blond and brown, and that hair fell straight down his head until it curled at the bottom, where it fell over his ears and his neck. Tom studied every square millimeter of his new teammate’s face, even noticing a few freckles on his upper cheeks that seemed even more sexy when the kid laughed or smiled. Tom was so wildly horny that he barely heard Kevin’s voice, which had the same weird pronunciation as Alan’s, but wasn’t as deep or harsh. Kevin had grown up somewhat in the shadow of his older and more aggressive brother. Alan was a loud kid from his earliest years, and though the brothers loved each other and got along pretty well, Alan was the dominant one and Kevin the submissive. Kevin was just beginning to learn to speak up for himself more, to go after what was his in the sibling relationship. Finally wasn’t so afraid to hit his older brother back. Kevin had only started running 18 months ago, and he didn’t have any spectacular times to his credit yet, but there was no doubt he was getting good. This skinny boy ran so smoothly, so gracefully, that it never looked like he was working hard. Never looked like his legs were turning over quickly or that he was hurting inside. But his classic long, loping strides ate up ground fast, and he had inherited a lot of the same ferocious competitiveness and courage as his brother had. Kevin just didn’t show it outwardly as much, but it was there, a quiet fire burning inside his thin, undeveloped chest. Tom didn’t know it yet, but would eventually find out that Kevin also played some musical instruments. All he knew was that Kevin was the sexiest-looking boy he’d ever seen. Everyone finished eating, and headed to the team locker room for the first meeting. On the short walk there, Tom literally shook his head side-to-side, figured come on, you’re here to train and run. Get the sex out of your sick brain for now. You’re here to be part of the best Cougar team in history. Concentrate! Coach Prszeczkopowski was waiting for everyone downstairs. “Guys! Welcome to Cougar cross-country! I’m glad you’re all here together, but what the hell’s the problem with all of you?” “Huh?” Rick Lemoyne was a very nice kid, and one of Tom’s first “friends” on campus besides Ricky. But he wasn’t the most intelligent creature that God had ever created, at the chessboard or anywhere else, and “huh?” was one of his favorite sentences. “You guys aren’t dressed for training! You think we’re here this week for recreation? All right, get back to your dorms, bring shoes and clothes for practice and you can leave stuff in the lockers here, you think just because you just had dinner the day’s over?” Coach P smiled as the kids scurried out of there. Coach had thought very carefully over what he’d do with these boys for the next eight days. Headmaster was right, you couldn’t practice distance running all day long like the football or soccer teams could. And he knew that each one of these boys had a lot of heart, and would do whatever he asked, no matter how tough. He also knew that they were coming into this in good shape, having trained well all summer. But there had to be a balance—cross-country would be a long season, and he didn’t want their legs to be burned out or injured. He’d spent several nights planning the week, and decided that the boys’ long mileage sessions would be early in the mornings, and perhaps with another shorter run, working on hills or speed, in the evenings. Sometimes one run a day, sometimes two, and he’d give them Wednesday completely off. Most of the middle parts of the days would be focused on hard, hard work for every part of their bodies except their precious and delicate legs. Make them swim, make them stretch, show them movies of Olympic races, hell, even get ‘em in the weight room. Make every other part of their bodies, their hearts, lungs, stomachs, arms, shoulders, balls, hurt til they couldn’t hurt anymore, but with their legs, let’s be tough but careful. Train them hard, but smart. Tom trotted back to the team locker room and Coach gave everyone lockers. Then they went outside into the early-evening air, which felt nice, not so hot. Tom still couldn’t stop staring at his teammate Kevin, who was much, much more sexy in short revealing nylon running shorts, as sexy as Tom’s. Most American kids were too shy to wear short shorts, but these guys did for running. “Guys, tonight we’re just going to do a little strength work, a little flexibility, and some swimming.” Coach P’s definition of “a little” wasn’t what most kids would agree with. There were about a half-hour of stomach-toughening exercises that made all four boys moan. Moan in agony, but each one wasn’t about to let up and let the other boys do more than him. Sit-ups, Romans, up-downs, owwwww!!! Then the guys did another half-hour stretching session. HOLD IT, HOLD IT, 30 seconds now, ok, relax! Tom’s sexual urges were definitely calmed down as other sensations, mostly pain, were predominant. But the next-to-last exercise got his mind back to where it shouldn’t have been again. It was a partner stretch, where one boy was to lie on his back, put one leg straight up, and push that leg with all his strength against the other boy’s resistance. Tom didn’t care about the resistance part, he just stared downward into that delicious space where Kevin’s legs opened and just the tiniest bit of genital shape was revealed through the inner layer of nylon and another layer of underwear. He HAD to get back to his room and jerk off, he was about to explode. After the stretching, Coach made them swim a few laps, and then made them play water polo in the deep end (but no rough play or drowning opponents allowed) for two 20-minute halves. No touching the sides or the wall, what’s wrong with you, Rick, I want you TOUGH! The teams were Alan and Tom vs. Kevin and Rick. Tom was a good swimmer, but treading water for that long, nothing easy, and the 2nd half was brutal. Everything was finally over, and he staggered back to his room. Wiped-out and exhausted. And Coach said that tomorrow’s practice, a long mileage run, would be at 6:00 in the morning, before breakfast. Damn. Tom crawled up onto his top bunk and took his dick in his hand, took his mind to bizarre fantasies about this mysterious new teammate Kevin. Three minutes, and his sperm flew far and hard. He let the night work its magic on his head, still thinking of Kevin and what his body must look like without his t-shirt or nylon shorts. 6 in the morning tomorrow, out on the roads, wow. And I wonder if Kevin can actually run? FALL, PART 3 Tom was exhausted and slept like a dead boy, but was excited enough about his first practice run that he had no trouble waking up and getting moving when his alarm clock exploded at 5:40. The only problem was an OWW in his stomach the instant he went from a lying to a sitting position. Oh, great, guess that’s a reminder of last night. Wonder if the other guys will be on time? I’m in shape, but I gotta get these guys to be as tough and dedicated as me. The whole team. He was about to put on his running shorts and New Balances, but remembered he’d left all his stuff down in the team locker room. When he arrived, the three other guys were already there, getting dressed. They’re on time, that’s a good sign. Coach P was excited and into it on this late-August morning. He’d even refurbished his old mountain bike so he could ride along with the guys on some of their runs. Scraped off some rust, oiled the thing well, bought new tubes for the tires, and taken it to a shop to have the rear wheel trued. If I’m gonna do this thing, may as well do it whole hog. “Everyone on time, people, good job, I like this team so far! Get stretched out on your own, see you outside in ten minutes. We’ll do the 10-mile north gate-Taylor Road-State Highway route. Then we’ll have breakfast, and after that some flexibility work in the wrestling room.” Tom got dressed and tried to joke around with the guys a bit, especially Kevin, though he could only understand about half of what the handsome 10th grader said. But one thing worried him. He walked outside and talked quickly and quietly to Coach, wanting to say something before the other guys came outside to join him. “Coach P, this training camp, this sounds like fun, but...” Tom softened his voice even further. “Are you sure these guys can manage the 10-mile route? I mean we don’t want to embarrass anyone or, well, you know, make them look bad.” The tall old man smiled and put his hand on top of Tom’s head, which for some reason bothered Tom a bit. Was like he thought Tom was still just a little kid. “You’re not sure they can do it? Guess we’re about to find out.” The group headed out on their run, and Tom noticed that the pace was faster than his normal chill runs. Not insane, but he had to consciously move along, had to actually breathe, whereas normally he could float over the ground in an unconscious trance. On the first Taylor Road uphill, Alan started pulling away from the group, and soon was over 50 meters ahead of the other kids, who were running together. “What the hell’s his problem?” asked Rick. “Probably just showing off, maybe he’s posing. Hey, but Rick, what’s up with you? Since when are you doing actual mileage on the roads, keeping up with me?” said Tom. “What do you mean, keep you with you, goddamn freshman pussy meat! I’ve been training hard all summer, man, I’ve averaged 45 miles a week. I want to get under 2 minutes in that 800 meters this spring, I want to run in college. Senior year now, I’m gonna get that thing. Hey, maybe we all are.” “Dinnae worry about my big brother, he’s always like that. Tryna show what a man he is. Trouble is, he usually never comes back.” A while later, Coach P asked Alan to slow down or trot in circles for awhile, let the other guys catch up. Alan could stretch his legs out and run his pace, sure, no problem, but Coach thought it was important in this practice not to let the guys get too separated, so every couple miles he’d rein the boy in temporarily. It kept on that way for another half-hour. Tom realized that, oh my God, other guys know how to run, too. This is awesome that we got a real team, but I’m not such King Shit superstar anymore. The pace stayed solid. Alan would run away from everyone for a few minutes, then just trot a bit while the other guys caught up. Tom wasn’t thinking so much anymore about Kevin’s sexy body. He was really having to concentrate, close to 100%, to just stay with the group. These guys aren’t just posing, we’ve gone almost six miles and no one’s slowing down. In fact, Kevin wasn’t even straining, looked for all the world like he was just free and easy, he could do this all day and all night. He kept his long arms fairly low, elbows close to his sides as he skimmed along like an antelope. Tom tried to listen to him breathing, but he couldn’t hear a thing. This kid’s a machine! With the three trailing kids, there wasn’t much conversation or joking anymore. Occasionally Coach would turn the bike around, ride along with Rick, Kevin, and Tom, but no one had much to say. This was work, no doubt about it. On the state road, Alan waited at the top of a hill for the guys to reach him. After cresting a hill, Tom often relaxed a bit, just gently coasting the downhill on the other side so he could catch his breath. Downhills were to enjoy, not to work. He figured maybe he’d get right next to Kevin, try to look closely at the way his hair curled upwards at the back bottom part of his neck, and how tiny fuzzy furs formed just underneath. And I’ll sniff him, too, my God that’s perverted, I don’t care. I bet he smells cool all sweaty. Didn’t happen. The lightly-trafficked paved road fell away in front of the guys, and Kevin said something softly, maybe just to himself. “Gay doon,” and he was outa there. Those long legs strided out, ran far away. With the help of gravity, both brothers were soon 100 or more meters ahead of the team “veterans”. Tom’s ears had pricked up when he heard Kevin say the magic word gay, but he knew it was something different. “Where the hell are those guys going?” he asked Rick, who was still hanging in there. Struggling, puffing like a steam engine, but hanging in. “And what did Kevin say? Sounded like gay something, I dunno, better not be gay something!” “Dune, hmm, lemme think. Yeah, I got it, Tom, maybe he said ‘get down’, like get down the hill? That makes sense, gotta be it. Shit, how did useless old Brendy’s get these two brothers? These guys are fucking intense, yeah, blowing us away. But that’s cool, that’s cool, we’ll all push each other, I’m into it. Cougar cross-country’s back, man.” That was a long speech for Rick to make while he was running hard, and he began panting even more strenuously. Rick and Tom eventually caught up to Kevin on their own, and the three boys made the final turn toward school. Even Kevin looked tired now, and it was obvious that his stride was getting shorter, though he still wasn’t breathing hard. Inside a mile to go, and Coach P and Alan had stopped to wait for everyone. Coach had both feet on the ground with his long legs straddling the bike, and Alan was trotting in tiny circles. Alan wanted something. “Coach, that was a nice run, getting the legs movin’, but we got more in us, don’t we? How boot we loop back again to the top of that other hill we just passed, ya know, where all them cows were? Couple more miles, it’ll feel giud.” “Shut up, jerkoff!” “What’s your stupid problem, we’ve already done almost 10!” “You’re a cunt!” “No way, asshole!” “Fuck that, get your own nose brown!” The reactions came fast and furious from the other three boys together, and Kevin took a swing at his older brother, but Alan blocked the punch, pushed him away, and began running the other way, back towards the uphill he’d just mentioned. Not too fast, just at the pace the others could match if they felt like. The three other runners looked quickly at each other and growled some vile epithets, but in only a few seconds they were moving again, and in Alan’s direction. Coach P smiled, and yelled after them, “See you back here in a few!”. Coach hadn’t instructed Alan to bring the other guys along for the extra work, that had come spontaneously from the older brother. But I thought this might happen, I guess I know how to manipulate kids. The world’s changed around them, but kids are the same, and these kids happen to be good ones, happen to be tough ones, and happen to be really fine runners. I thought this might happen. Give them a 10-mile workout, and then Alan’ll push ‘em to do 12. And they have hearts of champions, they’ll follow him. He lay down his bike in a grassy area at the side of the road, lay down his old but rejuvenated body next to it, and whistled a dumb tune to himself. We might just have ourselves something special here. The four guys eventually made it back to campus. Rick staggered to a water fountain, which was more than Tom or Kevin could. They were both collapsed face-down, semi-conscious, next to a shade tree outside the field house. No pretense of toughness right now. Both boys weren’t trying to put on an act anymore, no more pretending not to be tired. They knew they’d been through something. 12 miles at a solid pace like that, Tom thought. Shit, I’ve never done a run like that, no way, never. He tried to lift up his face to look at Kevin, who he knew was so close to him, so good that he’s next to me, but I can’t even feel horny now, oh man. Tom’s first attempt at lifting his head failed, but after another minute he managed it. Kevin was lying there with his face in Tom’s direction, but with his eyes closed. His mouth was open but no breath seemed to be coming out, at least none that Tom could notice. He can’t be dead, please, no, he can’t be dead. Jacob didn’t die after we did all that stuff, but this run was a lot harder than that sex. But then again, Kevin’s in better shape than Jacob was. Come on, please, Kevin, you must be OK, do something. Kevin did show a small sign of life. Not much, but enough to relieve his 9th grade teammate. He made a tiny “oommph” sound and moved his left arm from under his body to around Tom’s back. Then he appeared to die again. Well, Tom figured, all right, it would suck if he’s dead, but at least he would have died touching me. I’m a little bit horny again, I just wish I could move. A few minutes later, something kicked Tom’s ribs gently. Just hard enough to wake him up. “Ahhh, and isn’t this all cute! My li’l bro and the freshman, so cute I think I got to peuke!” Alan kicked a little harder, then walked around the boys’ bodies and gave Kevin a shake. “Not a bad run for a couple gene’ic frakes who don’ even have balls! Come on, ya two lesbians, you ran well, let’s get something to ayt!” FALL, PART 4 Coach P lay in bed Wednesday morning with his loyal and ancient wife, lay in bed ‘til well after 8:00. He’d put the boys on his team through serious, brutal work the previous three days, but promised them that today would be a day off, no running even a step. No work of any kind, just let them relax, recover, savor the time. They were coming along, no doubt about it. And that Alan…have we ever had a runner like him since, damn, I dunno, maybe never. He’d told the kids to sleep late, have breakfast at 9 after the football and soccer teams had their early-morning sessions, and the kids had all accepted his invitation to spend a peaceful day and night at Father Ray’s fishing house, leaving in the early afternoon. Ray had given him directions, and said he might join them for part of the afternoon, but he had to see his parents in Atlanta later and wouldn’t be able to spend the night. Coach lay there thinking about cross-country things, then let his mind wander and stared at his old but in his mind still beautiful wife. I’m so lucky, she’s stayed with me, followed me through this strange, isolating St. Brendan’s career and life, never a complaint. He’d come up with an idea the previous night. The guys were training so well, getting to know each other personally, becoming friends, and they were in SHAPE. A problem, though, was that the first league meet wouldn’t be until 11 days after classes started. 16 days from now. Not really fair to have them train so hard without letting them have a taste of blood, letting them have a shot at other people who were wearing wrong-colored shirts. Gotta get them some competition before the league meets start. Getting stale is no good, and these boys are thoroughbreds, they want to race. Not healthy to keep them endlessly on the practice courses and track. Let them put their balls on the line, they want it. And who better to start them against than the best? Dalton High School, whose teams were nicknamed the Wolfpack, was the two-time defending North Georgia cross-country champion. Not by accident, either. They were well-coached, and had a stable full of runners. They even had a development program starting in 7th grade, so that new blood was constantly coming in, younger runners were always developing and sometimes even challenging the older boys. Every year they seemed to have at least 20 runners, so that if one or two guys got injured or quit, there was plenty of depth. Cross-country to winter training to track & field, these guys did things right. Yeah, let’s see what they have to say. No sense our guys starting off against some weak-ass team, let’s have them try to run with the Pack. They’re in a different league from us, so we normally wouldn’t face them in a dual meet. Coach kissed his still-sleepy wife good morning, and went into the kitchen to nibble on last night’s leftovers. He decided that the best chance to reach Jack Forster would be early in the morning. I wonder if he’s got some sort of training camp going on with his guys? He shoveled in the final delicious bits of last night’s lasagna and found the Wolfpack coach’s phone number in his e-mail address book. Ring, ring, ring. “Hey, Jack! This is Karl Prszeczkopowski calling from St. Brendan’s! How you doing this summer, sir? They still think of you as God over in Dalton these days?” “Karl P!! Wow, as I live and breathe! I’m talking to a true legend! One of the seven wonders of the ancient world! A real archaeological find! A rare surviving link to past generations of…” “Yeah, yeah, enough with all that, Jack. Hey, I have something to ask you. You know I’m back to coaching cross-country again this year?” “You and cross-country again? Way to go! When was the last time you coached in the fall, maybe 1990 I guess? You used to have some decent cross-country teams back then, of course it helped that you had to train your kids to escape from the dinosaurs. But I’m a little surprised you’re coming back to take it on again this year. You know, we usually say that for anything longer than 400 meters, St. Brendan’s kids have their dad’s chauffeur drive them.” “1988, to be exact. But anyway, here’s why I called. Most of my guys are new to cross-country this year, and I’d really like them to get in a meet before we start our league schedule, get them to know what things are like. And I figured if they have to learn how things are, who better to learn from than you guys? We’re willing to do the travelling, we can come visit you. What do you think, we could call it a non-league meet, a scrimmage, whatever you feel like. Think you’d be willing to help us out?” “Hmmm, I certainly didn’t expect this request. You hiding something on me, Coach? You guys somehow have distance runners for a change? Ah, wait a minute, I remember that little 8th grader of yours, he qualified and looked pretty damn good at the Noga 2-mile last spring. You still got that kid?” It was kind of a standing joke among all the cross-country and track & field coaches to downplay their own teams, oh, poor us, we have no athletes, it’s not fair, and to playfully accuse rival coaches of being lucky, smart, and stockpiling all the talent. “Yeah, little Tom Klein’s still with us, maybe we can find another couple people who can stagger around your race course without stopping to lie down, we’ll see what we can scrape up.” “All right, Mr. P, you kind of took me by surprise, but now that I think about it, I like it! You got yourself a deal, Mr. Living Legend. Might be good for my runners, too. Maybe it’ll wake them up, shake the summertime sleep and beer out of their systems, get their attention with an early meet. I like it. To hell with thinking of it as a scrimmage, we’ll call it official, we’ll keep team scores, we’ll call it a non-league meet. Let me look at my calendar, hmmm, how ‘bout eight days from today, that’ll be the first Thursday after classes start?” “Thursday, yeah, that works for us too. We’re the only school around here that actually starts classes on Labor Day Monday, but I guess it’s worth it, getting the extra day off in June. Thursday it is, Jack. We’ll be there. I really appreciate this from you, Mr. Forster. You’ll teach my guys a real lesson, and I’m grateful for it.” The Dalton coach laughed. “Don’t give me any of this ‘lesson’ crap, old man, you got something up your sleeve over there at preppy-ass academy! I don’t know who, what, or how, but you must have yourself some real people this year. I know you well enough by now, you wouldn’t have asked for this meet if things were business as usual down there. All right, we’ll see what you’ve got, it’ll be fun. Good luck, Coach!” Mr. P hung up the phone and smiled. Not even gonna tell my kids that only three days after school starts, they’ll be lining up against the Noga champs. Just tell ‘em it’s Dalton, they won’t recognize the name. Even Rick won’t, last year we didn’t even send a team to compete in Noga, things were so half-assed and disorganized. Well, this year there’s a new sheriff in town. Let’s do what Coach Forster said, let’s show the champs what we’ve got. This morning, take my time and do some chores, Rose has been bugging me for a week, but she’s right. Then afternoon and night with the kids at Ray’s place, they’ll love it. They’ve earned a special day. Hey, my life’s not so bad for a guy my age. Later that day, Tom got out of the pond, spread out his big gray towel on a flat area of pine straw, and stretched all four limbs wayyyy out, spread-eagled as far as they could go. Rick was still doing flips off the rope swing, and the two brothers catching fish. We’re gonna actually eat those things for dinner? Kinda gross, but I’ll give it a try. This day is so sweet, the water’s not cold at all anymore, I probably could have stayed in all afternoon. I don’t want to move my legs an inch, not today, just let them lay there. Gravity can feel good, take me, Mom Earth. He closed his eyes, listened to the other kids and the birds, and didn’t even notice his coach sit down beside him. Didn’t notice him until he felt Coach’s large hand petting the side of his head. “Hey there, Tom. You look nice and relaxed. What do you think, kid? You having fun with this training camp?” “Hi Mr. P. Well, today’s fun, no running, this is way more like it! Nah, just kidding, training camp’s cool. I want to work so hard, I want this season with all that’s in me. But man, these kids are GOOD! Those two brothers, I’m in shape, I KNOW I am, but Alan is a hundred miles better than me, and Kevin just has more endurance. I don’t know how, I guess I thought I was all special, no one had more endurance, but Kevin does. And Rick, hey, what kind of drugs has he been taking all summer? He’s not all that far behind me anymore. I guess, you know, based on last spring, I didn’t think anyone on our team could really run with me, guess I was wrong. It’s cool, it’s just…different. Something to get used to.” “Yeah, I know what you mean, kid. I was a little worried about how you’d react. First time you’ve had any internal competition. How do you like the guys personally, are they becoming your friends?” “They’re nice. I can’t always understand what Kevin and Alan are talking about, especially when they’re talking to each other. But I’m getting better, it’s a lot easier than it was Sunday. They’re good guys. And of course, I knew Rick last year.” “That internal competition thing, Tom, here’s the story. I want you to think of this as competing WITH the other guys, not competing AGAINST them. People who aren’t runners might not get it. But each one of you guys forces the others to train and work harder, because each one of you guys has pride. I want you to hope that you get faster as an individual, but also for you to pull for everyone else to get faster and tougher, too. You’re competing so ALL of us can get up there, because we’ll need all of us for this team to do anything.” Coach looked over at Tom, who had his eyes closed again and didn’t react at all to his speech. He touched the boy’s shoulder, which didn’t get a response, either. Oh, great, I babbled on and on to a kid who didn’t even hear me, that’s wonderful. But let him sleep, he’s earned it. Strange kid, this Tom. Little boy, though he’s growing up fast. Big heart. Tom was back wide, wide awake that evening as the guys cooked dinner, got really stupid, laughed and screamed about things that shouldn’t have been funny, but all four boys had the giggles. Coach had brought the normal campfire staple foods, burgers and hotdogs, and the fish that the other guys caught was surprisingly kind of good. Different taste, but Tom liked it. Coach had them play old-time campfire games, games from his own youth, games that these young men should have been much too mature for. Should have been, but weren’t. The fire and the darkness served to make them forget how cool they were supposed to be. Forget that it was the 21st century, when kids were way smarter and more sophisticated than grownups. The fire, the food, the noise, this was exactly what Coach liked to see, his team coming together as friends, learning. It was good. “All right, guys,” Mr. P said when the atmosphere seemed to tire. “I got an air mattress that can fit two of you in the outer room of the cabin, and I got a 2-man tent that two of you can set up anywhere you feel like. You’ll need the flashlight. Who wants to go where?” Rick quickly spoke up. “Me and Alan got the tent, we’re outa here. I’m gonna get him used to how things are at Brendy’s, we’ll pound a few brews, smoke a few bones, you feel like joining us, Coach?” Coach smiled and moved his four fingers to touch his thumb in a bla, bla, yeah, right gesture. “No, you guys go ahead on your own. Oh, you guys are such men of the world, good luck finding either of those commodities out here, knock yourselves out.” Tom’s heart started pounding fast and mean. Oh my God, so the seniors are going outside with the tent, oh my God, so me and Kevin, we’ll be oh my God. I am a horny sex monster, me and Kevin…this isn’t happening, this has gotta be a dream. No it isn’t, stupid, you’re wide awake, come on! Tom stripped to his underwear and crawled under the blanket next to his handsome Scottish fantasy boy. Squirmed as close to him as he could without getting ridiculous. Damn, Kevin, take your clothes off, please, please? Took a couple minutes, but Kevin did take off his orange T-shirt, but kept his knee-length satin soccer shorts on. All right, what do we do, this is gonna be so much fun, let’s get it going, let’s. I WANT HIS DICK!!! The boys talked and giggled for a long time, and Tom liked it, but after only a couple minutes he knew that whatever mysterious vibe or force that had taken over him and Jacob a couple weeks ago just wasn’t there tonight. He didn’t know what it was, but there wasn’t a meshing of sexual ideas, it simply wasn’t there. Kevin never was going to reciprocate the tiny secret movements and the little experimental dance. Tom resigned himself to the fact that he’d just have to go outside later, lean against a tree or something, and jerk off til he was satisfied. He knew that scientists said that only about 10% of guys in the world were actually gay, and it didn’t look like sexy Kevin was among them. Oh well. He could live with it, though. It was getting much easier to understand what Kevin said, especially when he was talking directly to Tom and there were no background noises. Kevin talked about things back home, where they used to have two dogs, three cats, and an iguana. They had to give them all to friends or grandparents when they came here, that sucked, but eventually they’d get more. Dad’s new job meant they’d all be living here for at least three years, and Alan would almost surely go to college here next year. The boys went on and on about things that weren’t special, about school and classes and races they’d run last year. About the food and the lake and how Georgia was so hot, but nice, especially at night. They’d already relaxed a lot that day, and they weren’t sleepy. Both of them liked listening to each other, and though Kevin wasn’t a neurotic or socially isolated boy like Tom, listening to the little 9th grader’s voice did feel good to him, until enough was finally enough, and he asked Tom to please shut up so he could sleep. “Goodnight, Tom.” Oh man, that was exactly what Ricky said to me my first night! Oh man. Even if Kevin’s not gay, he’s cool to be around. I’ll call him my friend, he counts. And I want to work, he’s a better runner than me, but not by that much. I think I’m even a little better than him on the uphills. I want to be as good as him on the long runs, I want to be smooth and effortless like him, too. We got ourselves a team here, no one better fuck with the Cougars this year. Tom knew that any sex stuff wasn’t in the cards, but he did just for a split-second lightly touch Kevin’s hair as he said goodnight back to him. Sounds of the breeze outside and the night crickets comforted Tom’s mind. And Ricky’s coming soon, four more days. Ricky’s coming. Ricky. FALL, PART 5 “Now you know this year I want you to really try in your classes,” nagged Mom as the car rolled southwest from Asheville. “We don’t expect straight A’s, but you’re not going to St. Brendan’s to just sit there like a vegetable in class and have Tom do all your schoolwork for you. You have a job to do, that means your education. You have responsibilities there.” “I know I have responsibilities, Mom,” replied Ricky. “Let me think. Uhhh, my job at St. Brendan’s is to dominate under the basket. NOBODY comes inside on me, I’ll PUNISH people. Oh yeah, and to satisfy Jenny, that’s job 1A. You know all about what a woman needs, Mom, don’t worry, I’ll take care of Jenny good! Isn’t that right, Ugly? Yes, you’re a good doggie, and yes, Mom’s gonna spoil you all year or I’ll kick her ass at Christmas, don’t worry, boy.” Ricky and the beast kissed each other deeply and romantically. Mom sighed and turned her head back toward the front seat, in the direction of a smiling Mr. Spann. “Would you please talk to that teenage kid of yours?” “Oh, I don’t think I need to, Carla, you’re doing just great on your own. Looks like you really have his attitude where it belongs, sounds like he’s learned everything from you just fine.” “UGLY!!” came Ricky’s shouted voice from the back seat. “DID YOU FART AGAIN? You’re such a sick pig! Wasn’t Dad supposed to train you?” Two hours later, they rolled through the gates, where there were already hundreds of parents. In most cases, it wasn’t sets of parents. Well over half of the St. Brendan’s kids didn’t have a mom and dad together, something had gone wrong somewhere, and the family situation wasn’t traditional. In many cases that had something to do with why the kids were sent there. But Tom and Ricky were among the lucky minority. They just didn’t know it. Ricky by now felt like a veteran there, knew exactly where to go in Hummer to find his room with Tom, knew all the ropes. Tom was way excited as he greeted his friend, the parents, and Ugly, but decided to take a walk around to give them a chance to unpack and for Ricky to settle in. The room really was tiny. For the next couple hours, actually until early afternoon, the boys somehow weren’t in the same place at the same time. Finally, Ricky wandered back in while Tom was lying in his bunk with his hand-held chess computer. “Home sweet Brendy’s home, close enough I guess. Hey, Tom, me and some of the guys are gonna play some hoops at the practice court, gonna try to get a 5-on-5. Wanna come?” “Uhhh, I dunno, not really, I’m not exactly Air Jordan.” Ricky grabbed hold of his friend’s side, pulled at him, physically yanked him down from the top bunk with a loud crash. “Come on, Tom, just for once don’t be such a female! Do something real, play some ball, you know you want to.” “All right, all right, but you know I suck.” Tom had barely ever touched a basketball since the bad days back in Argentina, and he didn’t play the game willingly even then. But today it seemed fun. Mostly was a good speed workout, stop and go, up and down the court, a good sweat. Cross-country wouldn’t be practicing today, Coach had asked them only to come for a meeting after dinner. Tom had to “guard” Jeremy, who was also an unspeakably horrible player. A boy who certainly defied the stereotype that all black kids were great at basketball. Both of them basically ran up and down, staying as close to each other as possible, taunting each other’s lack of ability, each one praying that the ball wouldn’t come near him, praying that he wouldn’t have to do something with it that could be embarrassing, or more like humiliating. Ricky was on Tom’s team and Bobby was on Jeremy’s. Bobby, of course, now 6’8”, surely the tallest freshman in school history, pretty much did what he wanted, though he wasn’t playing anywhere near his hardest. Damn, his arms, it’s like he’s a pterodactyl. And Tom was amazed by what Ricky could do. He hadn’t seen him play in almost a year, and had never, not once, actually played with him. He gets so high up there, it’s like he doesn’t even have to throw the ball up, he just lays it in the hoop with his palm extended upward. Like feeding a cookie to Foxfire. How? Magic? I guess that’s why they call it a layup. And when he shoots from farther out, it’s like so easy for him, but he bends his wrist like a faggot as he releases the thing. I guess in basketball you’re supposed to, nobody thinks you’re gay. I couldn’t shoot that way even if I tried, and I’m sure not gonna try. The ball did accidentally find its way into Tom’s or Jeremy’s hands occasionally. That sucked. When it happened to Jeremy, he heaved the thing somewhere near the geographical location of the basket, and managed to bounce it off the top of the backboard. Tom got the ball twice—the first time he “shot” but missed the backboard by a couple yards. The next time, he got engulfed and swallowed by a predatory Bobby. Tom figured that next time the ball came to him, he’d simply throw it high somewhere in Ricky’s general direction. If Bobby was in the neighborhood, that wouldn’t work, so Tom had to devise plan B, which was basically to panic, curl up into a fetal position, and hope that it would all be over soon. The game took another half-hour, until people basically got tired and hungry. It would be time for dinner soon, the first meal of the year. The ten kids all shook hands and drank some water. “Nice run, Tom,” said Ricky. “What do you mean, I didn’t go for a run, Coach P just about killed us Thursday through Saturday, but we didn’t have to run today.” “You are so STUPID!” answered Ricky, then raised his eyes towards where he assumed God must be. “Lord fucking God, give me patience, this kid is such a dork! Tom, ‘run’ means a full-court hoops game, 5-on-5. Like duuhhh. Hey, you wanna go for a bike ride after dinner? There’ll still be plenty of light.” “I do, but I don’t think I can. We have a cross-country team meeting after dinner. But maybe, we’ll see, maybe it’ll only be for a few minutes.” The first dinner of the school year was a special meal, delicious rice with meats and veggies mixed in, plus each kid got to take two desserts. Headmaster Carlisle was around, saying hi to everyone. He looked more relaxed than usual, laughing and playfully wrestling with some of the kids. Tom and Ricky, though not really scared of the others anymore, still ate by themselves in their isolated table in the corner. By now, just a habit. Coach P and the four guys met in the team locker room. Coach handed out printed copies of the meet schedule, which by now included the early non-league meet at Dalton, at this point only four days away. “Guys, I have a lot to go over with you now. First of all, I want to say just how proud I am of you and how well you’ve trained these past eight days. You’ve done everything any coach could ask of you and then some. You’ve sweated for each other, you’ve gone the extra mile, I just want to say that you’ve gotten my complete respect. It’s been a great week.” The kids grinned at each other, slightly embarrassed but also very proud of all this sincere praise. “Now I’ve got some news for you. Every year, the Noga Championship meet is held at a different school, and just a couple days ago I found out that this year, it’s going to be us. We’re hosting the event in November, it’ll be a major deal.” “Hew gives a fock about hawstin’ it?” said Alan loudly. “Doesn’t matter about hostin’ it, we’re gonna WEN it! All Cougars!” Alan turned towards Tom and gave him a macho shove, which Tom returned and added a punch. Definitely, Cougars. “Well, Alan and the rest of you, that leads into my next subject. People, at this point, the way things are now, as excellent runners as all of you are, we don’t have much of a chance unless something changes. Right now, we simply don’t have what it takes.” The kids were confused and a little bit mad at their coach. They growled for a moment. What the hell, we’ve busted ass, what’s up with this “don’t have what it takes” stuff? “All right, this takes some time to explain.” Coach brought out a small portable whiteboard and a marker. “Rick, you know how cross-country works, the others of you may not. In cross-country, people, scoring in a meet is determined by place, 1 point for first, 6 points for sixth, whatever. Obviously the lowest score wins, just like golf. You add up the places of the first five runners on each team. Now look, here’s the situation, and I’m not going to bullshit you guys. A few other guys have signed up for the team, guys I’ve known for years, and I don’t want to disrespect them, but they’re just not runners. Good students, decent kids, but not runners, not anything close to runners. They’re joining the team basically for something to do, no secret about it, but I doubt a single one of them can even trot along at a 9-minute pace for the three miles of a race course without stopping to walk. I’m not sure any of them can get within ten minutes of any of you guys in a race.” Tom, Rick, and the Scots looked at each other and seemed to know where this was going. Ten minutes?? Oh shit. Coach began to write on the board. “Look. Let’s just say, hypothetically, that in a dual meet we get 1st, 3rd, 4th, and 7th out ot you guys. But let’s say our next runner is ten minutes back of you and gets, oh, 17th. Even that might be optimistic. Let’s add things up. That gives us 32 points, and the other team, with 2, 5, 6, 8, and 9 gets 30 and beats us. I hate to say it, but that’s not an unrealistic possibility. And at the Noga Championships, when there’ll be probably over 300 guys running, well, you can imagine what a guy ten minutes back would do to our team’s score. Guys, between now and tomorrow’s practice you’ve got to find us a decent 5th man. Classes don’t start til 11:00 tomorrow. If you guys can bring us a few more people, we’ll have some depth, hey, even better. But getting a respectable 5th man, that’s a must.” It was handsome Kevin’s turn to speak up now. “But Coach, who should we get? You know no one on this campus has trenned anythin’ like we have. You yourself said cross-country was kind of a joke last year, is there really anyone daycent ouwt there?” “Kevin, we’re talking 5th man here. He doesn’t have to be a superstar, doesn’t have to be in the shape of you guys, doesn’t have to have any running experience at all. Just find us someone who’s skinny and who’s willing to work hard, to buy into the concept of what we’re doing here. We can bring him or them along slowly, we’ll be patient and encouraging. Doesn’t matter what grade he’s in, just find someone who wants to do what it takes to be part of a championship team. That’s all, but that’s a lot. Guys, I’m relying on you here.” The meeting broke up and Tom walked slowly back to Hummer. Coach had said “guys”, but Tom took everything as meaning him personally. It’s all up to me. Everything we’ve worked for, it only matters if I can get him to join the team. He’s skinny enough, skinny as me, and in basketball he looks like he runs OK, but…I dunno. FALL, PART 6 “So what do you think?” asked Tom back in their room after he’d bored Ricky for five minutes, repeating most of what was said in the meeting. “Well, good luck finding who you need, Tom. There’s gotta be someone, and you said he doesn’t have to be a superstar.” “Ricky, you idiot! I meant YOU!!” “What?? Not… in your dreams, your fag fantasies, your Einstein brain, your whatever. Not in ten million YEARS are you getting me to go out for cross-country! Uhh, I’m not like you, I don’t have mental illnesses, Tom. I don’t get sick sexual pleasure out of torturing myself running 10 miles til I puke, pass out and maybe die. I play BALL, you saw me today. BALL, that’s me.” Ricky pantomimed blocking a shot and taunting an unfortunate opponent. Tom was getting a little mad and a little desperate. “That’s really not cool, I mean every night almost all last year I did your homework for you and you can’t even help me out with this? Things are supposed to go both ways, you know. You could do it, you’re skinny!” All this was probably accurate, though cutting pretty deep. It made Ricky stop joking around, sit down in his desk chair, and look sincerely up at his friend lying in the upper bunk. Shit, this means so much to Tom, and you’re just screwing with his head. Tom’s right, that wasn’t nice. Get serious, he at least deserves that. “I’m sorry, Tom, I know, you’re right about the homework and stuff. Please, man, don’t think I’m not grateful. There’s no way I could have even passed any of those classes without you. But seriously, me in cross-country, no way. I’m different from you, Tom. I just play basketball, and I went out for tennis in the spring, but I sucked at that. I just do stuff for fun, I don’t do it like some kind of test, like to push myself or nothing. I see you in races, and I’ve seen you practice a couple times, man, for you it’s like life or death, you lay it all out there. That’s just not me, Tom. I’m sorry, but I’m not who you need. Maybe I can talk to a couple people, but I dunno, cross-country hasn’t exactly been big here. OK? I didn’t mean to get all like that before.” Tom saw that Ricky was for real, and that bothering him more wasn’t going to change his mind. The boys changed the subject, talked about girls (mostly Ricky about Jenny), Old Man Cropsy, and their dogs, but Tom wasn’t anywhere near totally relaxed, even after they later got a surprise visit from Father Ray who came in and hung out with them as they were getting ready for bed, just like he did last year. Tom took longer than usual to get to sleep. He knew that he had less than 18 hours to find what he and the team needed. Who? Breakfast in the morning was at the normal 6:15, but classes would be on a shortened schedule for the first day, only 10:30-1:00, as schedules still had to be straightened out and the teachers needed a bit more time to get organized. Tom racked his brain after breakfast, chasing all over campus, trying to think of anyone he knew and got along with who might be willing to do this thing. He half-heartedly bothered the Colombian 8th grader Carlos, who was at soccer training camp and was going to play varsity. “Ni lo pienses!” said the younger boy. “Estas loco? Soy futbolista de categoria! Colombia dice GOOOOLLLLLL!!!” He next talked to a couple 9th grade geek kids, but even if they’d said yes, Tom knew they’d be useless, would be just a couple more bodies, no quality. Joey? He’s skinny enough, but he’s still kind of a jerk sometimes, he’d just be an attitude case. Think, think, who did Founders’ Day with me last year? Oh shit, how did I forget Jeremy? Tom found him in his room with his two roommates, loud kids that Tom didn’t really like. “Hey, Jeremy, what’s up? I got something to ask you, man. This is serious.” “You wanna learn how to fuck a chick or something, man, I sure ain’t gonna show you that. Have your parents or your dog teach you how, why you bothering me?” One of his roommates gave Jeremy a high-5, and both roommates laughed cruelly at the visitor. Tom could feel his temper rising. He begged himself not to get stupid and get into a fight or cry. “Come on, Jeremy.” “All right, all right, let’s get out of here, come on, tell me outside. What’s the deal?” The two smart child prodigy boys wandered out to one of the wooden benches that was shaded by a willow tree, and Tom repeated again the story about last night’s meeting. At least Jeremy was listening, no one else seemed willing to. Jeremy didn’t say much at first, but Tom got more and more excited, almost sexually, because at least the black kid wasn’t saying no way. “Jeremy, you can do this. You did Founders’ Day no problem.” “Wo, uhhh, you gotta first define the word ‘did’. Yeah, I finished the thing, but I think a couple hours in back of you, maybe. I couldn’t race that thing full speed, no way in hell. And twice on the steep uphill part I had to stop and walk. You just disappeared in the first part, you were long gone, yeah, you blew away the under-14 record, fuck that. I can’t run like that, I just took it slow.” “That’s just cause you haven’t trained that much, you’re not used to it yet. Besides, you don’t have to be as good as we are just yet, I mean Alan is probably better than me by more than I’m better than you. We only need a 5th person to hang in, to be decent, that’s all. And what else are you gonna do all this fall?” “Well, maybe go out for soccer like last year, though I was pretty much on the bench all season. I didn’t get in much. Maybe basketball this year. Hoops, something different.” This broke Tom’s tension, and he busted out laughing. “Hoops? Jeremy, we just played yesterday, and you SUCK! You’re probably the worst basketball player in this, I dunno, galaxy maybe? You suck worse than ME!” “WAIT A GODDAMN MINUTE!” shouted Jeremy, standing up and pointing a semi-mad, semi-playful finger at Tom. “I’m not having that, uh-uh. I do NOT suck worse than you. Nobody in the history of the world has ever sucked worse than you. My great-grandmother walks with a cane, and she doesn’t suck as bad than you. My dog doesn’t suck as bad as you. Let’s just set the record straight here, I don’t now, never have, and never will suck as bad as you at basketball.” “Yeah, yeah. But anyway, Jeremy, don’t you see? In the other sports, maybe you can do them, but you won’t be anything important. In cross-country, man, you have a chance to be part of something special. I mean me, Alan, Kevin, Rick, we have ourselves something real here, we’ve been busting ass all summer, and this team has some talent. With you, if you wanted to get after it, we could have a shot at, I dunno, a big season.” Jeremy was quiet for a minute, thinking stuff over. Tom in one sense knew he’d do better to shut up and let him think, but also felt that he had to keep the conversation going, as the dead air, the sound vacuum, was too uncomfortable. “But I will tell you this, Jeremy. The training’s tough, I won’t lie to you. You can do it, I know you got it in you, but you should realize that there’ll be times when you’ll be hurting, when you’ll have to go on when you’re tired and really, really uncomfortable. That might be new for you, I bet it wasn’t as hard in soccer last year.” Jeremy’s eyes looked above Tom’s head, toward the waving trees at the end of the clearing. “New for me? Well, I dunno, man. You don’t know a lot of stuff about me, maybe I’m just a little tougher than you think. I know a little bit about keeping on going when you’re hurting. Shit, I never told anyone here yet, not even Randy and Jeff, about this. Some stuff happened to me this summer. Long-ass story.” Tom was a little confused, but said he wanted to hear everything, as they still had close to an hour before the first class. And Jeremy talked. At first Tom was just like yeah, yeah, let him talk if he feels like it, pretend you’re listening, then just try to see if he’ll really come out for the team. But as the story got intense, as Jeremy carefully described what had gone on inside that museum on the other side of the world, Tom’s eyes opened and his curious mind got into it, got into it deep. Chains and darkness and no way out. Screaming then quiet. Waiting to die, and not knowing if and when it would happen. Oh man, I knew Jeremy was smart, but this stuff, dammmm. Jeremy didn’t finish the final part, the part about the grownups showing up with the water and the discussion afterwards, til it was almost class time. “Damn, Jeremy. Oh man, I don’t know what the hell I would have done in something like that. And you never knew what was happening the whole time? Shit…..Anyway, Jeremy, I guess you really do know something about enduring when you’re hurting.” “I guess I do.” “We got to get to class now. All right, anyway, Jeremy, are you gonna join us for this thing?” Jeremy smiled just a little, just a sly grin without showing teeth. “I’ll give it a try. I’ll see what I can do. Look, just don’t expect me to be some Olympic medal-winner or nothing, but I’ll get after it. Hey, the more I think about it, it sounds cool. Let’s get that thing, man.” “For real? No bullshit?” Tom’s penis was at full stretch by now. “Yo, Tom, I said it, and when I say it I mean it.” “All RIGHHHTT!” Anyway, how ‘bout I find you at lunch, and right after lunch bring shoes and clothes to run in down to the team locker room. Coach P’ll give you a locker to store stuff in. Hey, this year, all Cougars, right?” “All Cougars, Tom.” The kids shook hands and got into a play-fight. Tom couldn’t even think about concentrating on his introductory classes that day. Didn’t matter, he could get all the right answers using only about 15% of his brain anyway. The time seemed to crawl too slowly, but eventually classes were done, lunch eaten, and Jeremy was with him, heading into the field house basement where the team locker room was. “Hi Coach!” said Tom. “Hey, Jeremy here says he wants to join the team. Remember, he did Founders’ Day last year?” “Sounds good to me. Welcome, Jeremy, you let Tom convince you to get into this nasty torture we call cross-country?” “Uhhh, I guess I did, Mr. P. He wouldn’t shut up til I said yes, listening to him has gotta be worse torture than any running!” “All right, kids, we’ll head outside, I’ll introduce Jeremy to everyone, and then, Tom, why don’t you take him around the race course once and then on the dirt road loop past my house? That’ll make it about 5 miles for him, take him nice and easy, we just want him to begin to get some endurance in his legs and his chest. Then when you get back, I have something special for just you and Kevin! Good and special! Jeremy can just watch and make fun of you.” Oh shit. Tom knew that when Coach P said “something special”, it always involved excruciating pain, and usually had something to do with hills. All while he was yelling something about how much fun it was to suffer. Great. But hey, this is cross-country, and we’re the Cougars. The other guys were given a different loop to run, so Tom and Jeremy were alone. Tom gentled his pace so Jeremy could keep up, and the new runner hung in well. Tom was mostly worried about the uphills, whether Jeremy was in enough shape to run up them and never stop to walk or vomit. The black kid was clearly hurting, huffing and puffing, and not exactly blazing fast on those uphills, but he was doing it. Tom kept up a really stupid, annoying monologue of encouraging words and praise while Jeremy was simply minding his own business, trying to concentrate on what he was doing. “Shut the fuck UP….., Tom! This is hard enough…..without having to hear….your gay-ass voice….every second. I said I was gonna do this thing….and I wasn’t….bullshitting. Now how ‘bout you shut up….and let’s just run?” FALL, PART 7 Jeremy looked around at various things as the school minivan started its trip towards Dalton. The guys in the back, they’re all juniors or seniors, why are they so slow? They’re big guys, maybe a little fat or chunky, but still, you’d think they could run just a little bit. Rick said they were good kids, but basically rejects from the football team. Rick said there was no talent and even less desire. What are their names? Let’s see, Derek’s the other black kid, hey, nine guys on the team total, so this team’s 22.2% black. Then next to him is Eddie, and the other guys are Trey and Ben, I think, but I forget which one is which. They’re laughing and acting crazy, they don’t care, but the serious guys up front are quiet and intense. Jeremy looked at Tom sitting next to him, looking out the window. Finally, finally, thank God Tom is shutting up. Bout time. Enjoy the silence. He’s such a loser personally, but he’s not really a bad kid. And he’s a hell of a runner, no doubt about that. Jeremy looked downward at his own body in its nylon St. Brendan’s uniform. Weird, it’s not even a T-shirt, no sleeves. Even the basketball team has shirts that pretty much cover the shoulders, this is just kind of a strap. And my uniform shorts, damn, you can see the outline of my bone, they’re so thin. Tom and the brothers are wearing their own, damn, they’re so fucking short you can see their underwear, gross. At least the school ones cover down below my boxers, aren’t those guys embarrassed? The design is cool, I like the yellow outline picture of the Cougar just below the letters. After a few more miles, Jeremy’s daydreaming was interrupted. “Hey, Jeremy,” shouted Coach P, who was driving the van. “Can you come up here to the shotgun seat for a second? I need to talk to you about a couple things.” “Hey, Jeremy. How are you feeling?” “OK, I guess. Maybe a little nervous, I don’t really know what to expect today.” “I gotcha. You’ve only had three practices, and yesterday we just ran gently so your legs would be fresh today. We’re just trying to bring you along patiently in practice, just get some endurance into you. And maybe we’re throwing you into this meet today too early, but that’s life. One thing I want you to know. So far in practice I’ve asked you to run gently, stay within yourself, which is fine at your level. But today’s different, it’s a race. The pace is going to be ten times faster than you’re used to, and instead of just staying comfortable, obviously, you’re going to have to push to your limit, make yourself hurt, which you’re not used to yet. All I want out of you is your best effort, 100% intensity, everything that’s in you. You’re not going to be up there at the front, but that’s fine. If you give everything that’s in you today, whatever the result is, that’s fine with us.” “Thanks for your patience on that, Coach. Yeah, this’ll be different. Tom said that cross-country isn’t like around a track, you go through fields, streets, maybe woods, everywhere. How am I going to know where to run?” “Well, of course you’re going to be following people, you’re not gonna be up in first place. But also, one of their runners will take our guys for a walk around part of the course beforehand, and they give people printed maps of the course too. You’ll figure it out.” Jeremy went back to the seat next to Tom, who was still quiet. Almost too quiet, what’s wrong with him? Jeremy said, “What’s up, lame butt?” and punched his classmate on the shoulder. Tom smiled for a moment, but then resumed his thinking and looking out the window. Damn, geekboy’s got his game face on. All right, all right, that’s how it is, gotta respect him, he’s got the creds in distance running and I don’t, he knows what’s up. In the opposite seat, Kevin was sleeping and Alan was moving his feet in circles, doing that shin-splint prevention thing Coach always talked about. The bus ride seemed too short for Jeremy, as did the walk around the course. He counted the number of opponents in red jerseys that simply said Pack. 24 of them??? What the hell, this is scary. We only have nine, and only four of our guys are runners. Well, I guess with me we have five, but I dunno, Tom and the guys, the way they run, it’s just sick. Coach did tell us it doesn’t matter how many guys, just matters how fast. Only five guys can score. He said a team of five good kids can whip a team of 30 losers. OK. Oh shit, I’m scared. Push myself to the limit, make it hurt? How do I do that, how can I do that if I’m in control? Jeremy didn’t even hear the instructions Coach gave everyone when they circled up, barely even heard everyone yell Cougars. Get to the line. What am I doing here, these guys have trained for years. How did I let myself get talked into this, damn? BANG!! Oh my fucking God, what are these people doing? Jeremy almost sprinted in a vain attempt to get somewhere near the front group of runners. Even with that, he was way back there, eating plenty of their dust. He decided to just calm down, run fairly hard, but something maybe he could maintain. There would be two ferocious uphills somewhere around the halfway point. Save something, see what happens. He tried to count how many people were ahead of him. 1, 2, 3, fuck, there are too many, let’s try to count in groups. 3, 5, 8, 12, OK, looks like I’m in 14th place. That’s not actually so bad, that means there must be 19 guys behind me. OK, I’m not that bad. Come on, keep this pace steady, breathe, I can do it. Jeremy was energized and feeling intense. He wasn’t actually speeding up, but knew he was maintaining, and he was gaining on two wolves!! YEAH!! EAT these fuckers! They look like little geekass punk pieces of shit like Tom, but not as fast. YEAH!! At the mile mark, Coach yelled something encouraging, and Jeremy knew he was now 12th. Get it, get it, get it, they said the course is 2.7 miles, I can do this, GET this next motherfucker, there he is!!! He soon eased his way into 11th place. This is tough, I’m hurting, but I’m doing it, we’re gonna win this!!! I know it! Hills coming up, oh my God, I’ll hurt, I don’t care, there’s no hurt I won’t take, come on, hills, you want me? I want YOU. Errrrghhhh!!! This is so cool, I’ve never mattered in any sport before. Keep it rolling, keep it rolling, shit, there’s the 10th place guy, he’s only maybe 20 yards up there. I can GET him. Get him, get him, I want it all. Here’s the uphill, here we go. Jeremy was a brave boy, and he knew he was telling himself the truth. There was absolutely no pain that he wasn’t willing to suffer for the glory of the Green and Yellow. He wanted it. But about one quarter of the way up that first hill, reality arrived. Cruel reality, the kind that said Desire Without Preparation Means Nothing. The kind that froze his chest and made his biceps tingle. His mind willed him up, up the hill, but his body wouldn’t take him there. Two wolves passed him before he crested the top. He desperately tried to catch his breath and stretch out his stride on the following downhill, but his lungs wouldn’t exhale all the way. In school, he was one of only a few 9th graders taking advanced Biology, but they hadn’t gotten to the part yet about oxygen debt and what happens to muscles when they need what the circulatory system can’t give them. He was getting a lesson now. NOOOO, please, NOOOO!!! He fought against himself for more on the 2nd and longer hill, but he couldn’t get what wasn’t his to give. He was now barely moving, didn’t even hear or see his coach yell something at him at the two-mile mark, didn’t even know he was crying and snot was dripping out of his nose. He knew guys were passing him and leaving him well behind. Just let it be over, SHIT, they’ve broken my spirit, it’s almost like Africa again, just let me finish, no more, please, just let it be done with. It did end. He was able to finish the course without stopping to walk, but at not much more than a staggering jog. He lay on the ground, not moving. He didn’t know that Tom had felt some of the same sensations when he’d been brutalized by the Rebels in the mile the previous spring. He didn’t know that other people had felt like this, too. He was just alone. People were touching him, telling him kind words, but he neither heard nor reacted. He crawled near to where the two coaches were, discussing results. He didn’t want to lift up his head, but was curious to hear. “Well,” said Mr. Forster, “I knew you guys had some runners down there, wooo, I like your team, Karl! Let’s put some names to times and places, get some scores?” “Good meet, Jack. Well, we’re working. OK, I’ll fill in my guys for you. I got first place, Alan Laird, in 14:18.” “Damn, Karl, what a runner, I don’t think I’ve EVER seen anything under 14:20 on this course in September. Good job.” “Fourth place, his brother Kevin Laird, 14:41. Fifth place, we got Tom Klein, 14:48. Seventh, Rick Lemoyne, L-e-m-o-y-n-e, 15:11. Sixteenth, I have Jeremy Latham, 17:23. That’s all our scorers, let’s coordinate the team points, then we’ll fill in the other names.” Jeremy winced, then cried a little more when he heard his name and his disgusting time. More than two minutes behind Rick, I’M WHY WE LOST! NOOO. He didn’t listen to the opponents’ coach listing off the names of his own guys. He only paid a little more attention when they talked scores. “Well, Mr. Prszeczkopowski, if my addition’s right, looks like the final score is 28-32, our way?” “That’s what it is. Jack, again, I appreciate you inviting us, great job from your runners.” “Yours too. You got some people there! All you need is a little depth, fill in that hole between 15:11 and 17:23. This is the best St. Brendan’s team in a whole lot of years, sir. My guys were thinking this was going to be a nothing meet, nooo, wrong. You guys got our attention, got every bit of it. Good meet for both teams. Home coach, I’ll e-mail the results in to the Federation. I’ll see you at Noga, Karl, that’s if I don’t see you and your team in my nightmares before then!” The two coaches shook hands warmly. Derek and Trey lifted Jeremy to his feet and helped him slowly back to the minivan. At least they’re not saying stupid stuff to me, I hate when people fucking patronize me. I at least got my pride. Well, I didn’t have much of it on those hills, gotta admit that. This sucks. The nine Brendy’s kids and their coach wandered to the far end of the parking lot, and Alan growled something facing the ground, growled something directed to no one in particular. “700 kids on campus and we cannae find even a single useful one as a fifth man, fuckin’ shet this is.” In an instant, all hell broke loose. Coach P lost it. He didn’t lose his temper often with students, but he was capable, and this wasn’t an act. He was wild, too out of control for a man his age. He leaped towards his first runner, gripped him hard by the shoulders, and pinned him against the fence. “WHAT IS YOUR GODDAMN PROBLEM, ALAN LAIRD? THE REST OF YOU GET IN THE BUS. NOW!!” The other guys instantly obeyed, surprised and shocked. Jeremy slunk into his seat, not wanting to know anything, but the other guys crowded to the front windshield to see the show. Kevin was giggling and pointing as his brother got his ass whipped. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU??? WE ARE A TEAM!! WE ARE A TEAM!! HOW IN HOLY HELL DARE YOU INSULT YOUR TEAMMATE! WHERE DO YOU COME OFF WITH THAT CRAP?? YOU THINK YOU’RE SO SPECIAL THAT YOU HAVE A RIGHT TO JUDGE JEREMY?? TO JUDGE ANYONE? YOU THINK THAT A 14:18 GIVES YOU A RIGHT TO PULL THAT SHIT?? DON’T YOU EVER, EVER, COME WITH THAT ATTITUDE TOWARDS A TEAMMATE, YOU MAKE ME SICK!” Coach then figured out that the other guys on the team were probably getting quite the entertainment value out of witnessing the spectacle, and he pulled Alan about 30 yards farther away, and kept up the abuse. He was all over his senior star, one fist gripping a piece of the young man’s jersey, another index finger pointing hard in his face. The explosive rant went on for a couple more minutes. Alan didn’t get a chance to say anything, as Coach wasn’t exactly in a listening mood. Eventually he let go of Alan’s shirt, and the two of them walked back towards the vehicle. The other kids instantly peeled themselves off of each other and the windshield and went to their places. Before sitting down, Tom extended his hand to Jeremy. “Jeremy, good effort, your first time, you did all right, good…” Jeremy whacked Tom’s arm aside with a sharp forearm. “Shut the hell up, jerkoff, don’t give me your bullshit words. FUCK YOU!!” Tom stood there, his mouth open, not knowing what to do. He was sad and hurt. Couldn’t sit down next to Jeremy, didn’t seem like he’d be welcome. Kevin stood up, put his hands on Tom’s waist just as his brother and Coach climbed into the minivan. “Dunnae worry, Tom, if he’s gonna be ignorant about it, leave amalone. Isn’t your fault, he’s the one got to learn.” He pulled Tom gently away, had Tom sit next to him, as Alan, completely silent but with his eyes on fire, climbed into the seat up front opposite Coach. On the ride back to school, Coach was debating with himself whether or not to tell the guys that they had really done very, very well, and that was the defending Noga champions who they’d pushed to the wall. The defending Noga champions that Brendy’s 1st through 4th runners had actually stomped on. No, he decided. They’re mad, but it’s a good mad. Means they’re competitive, means they don’t like to lose. That’s cool, I don’t want a team that’s satisfied with losing. Let’s not train them to accept any of this “moral victory” stuff at this point. Let ‘em stew in their own juices for now, nothing wrong with that. Tell them everything tomorrow. Jeremy skipped dinner, went back to his room, and put all his attention into a Biology project he was starting. Wasn’t due for a week, he had lots of time, but he was so mad about the meet, he had to do something to dissipate the hate. He put all of himself into it, concentrating on the drawings he was making and the sections printed off the internet that he was pasting onto his poster. Something to think about. His two roommates came back from dinner, and he kind of joked and messed with them for a little while. Didn’t want to show himself bent out of shape over the result of a stupid race. A stupid goddamn motherfucking 16th place race. Study hall was almost over, and Jeremy figured he’d go play foosball or something during free time. But the door knocked, and Jeremy’s roommate Randy opened it. It was Alan, who Jeremy’s roommates had never seen before. “Jeremy.” said the older boy. “What do you want?” “Can I talk to ye for a minute, talk to ye outside?” Jeremy glared hard, but did get up and accompany Alan to the small grassy area in front of Humbolt Hall. “All right, I’m here, what do you want?” Alan exhaled, looked at the ground for a moment, then looked right at Jeremy. “Look, Jeremy. I just want to say I’m really, really sorry for wha’ I said before, ya naw, in the parking lot. I was out o’ line, I had no right.” “Yeah, yeah, Coach told you you had to say that to me, what, do you think I’m stupid?” Jeremy was about to add the words “just ‘cause I’m black”, but held his tongue. His Dad had told him many times, don’t make something racial when it doesn’t have to be. If no one brings it up, don’t you be the one to start. All right. But Jeremy was hyper-sensitive to whatever he felt was people putting him down, or giving him backhanded compliments. Hated, hated when he thought, even erroneously, that he was being talked down to. That was one reason he didn’t like public school when he was little. No matter how stupid the other kids were, no matter what they did, all the teachers always said great job, way to go, giving them false praise, all shit, dumbed down. He knew the technical term for it was building self-esteem. His term for it was bullshit. Don’t you fucking try that on me, you foreign Brit or Scot or Irish or whatever you are, don’t even. Alan breathed out slowly again before answering. “That’s treew, Jeremy, he did. But he was right, and anyway, this isn’t Coach now talking, this is me, direct to you. Jeremy, I know you did your best, and I shouldnaya said that stuff. That part was all my fault, we all know it.” He paused again. “Jeremy, when I was a couple years younger, my da, he even took me to a shrink. I got this problem, I want to win stuff so bad, it gets in the way of how I act wi’ payple. All right, all right, I don’ wanna get all female here, just…Jeremy, let’s clear the air reet now. I was wrong, the tame needs ya, and let’s move on. Will you accept my apology?” Alan held out his hand to the younger runner. Jeremy took the extended hand, though he didn’t respond verbally. He did figure the guy was sincere. All right, I’m smart in classes, but there’s a lot more than classes to deal with. Come on, give him a break. “Tomorrow, Jeremy, Coach asked me to take you for a run meself. We got to start to work you, got to get you to learn what pain feels like. Tomorrow, we’ll do it, we will.” FALL, PART 8 Rain was forecast for Saturday. Heavy rain. Rain to turn the land to mud, rain to swell the mountain streams. When Tom woke up, though, it was only gray and drizzling. Actually, this was sometimes his favorite weather to run in. The light rain kind of dampened down any other sounds, even pleasant sounds like birds, like other kids playing. The near-silence was nice once in awhile, and on this September morning, it was a warm drizzle, mild enough so that the boy wouldn’t need a jacket or sweatpants. I’m 14 years old today, he thought. Yeah, happy birthday to me. Hope no one here knows it’s my birthday, that would be way embarrassing. Ah, oops, I told Father Ray about it last week, hope he doesn’t tell anyone else. I’m not really hungry for breakfast, why not get my run done early, make it a 9-mile chill, then there’ll be nothing at all to have to do, really, til Sunday night. Tom dressed quietly so as not to bother Ricky, and went to Jeremy’s room to try to wake him up and see if his teammate would join him for at least the first few miles, but no luck. Jeremy grunted and rolled over, but was able to come up with a couple coherent sentences. More than most kids, including his two roommates, could manage at that hour. “Oh, man, you are like obsessed. You gotta find a life, Tom, it’s not even 7 in the morning, we got optional practice later anyway. Leave me alone, man, later.” The black kid next managed a groan, then nothing more. Jeremy of course was right. He usually was. Oh well. Tom started out on his regular course, the one he’d taken so many times, where he had so many happy memories. Up the hill into the woods, past and around the ampitheatre, join up with the cross-country race course back to the sports fields, then out the west gate on the dirt road past Mr. P’s house, follow it all the way down til it connected to the state highway, then turn the 3 miles back to school on the flat paved road. The early-morning silence was soothing to the boy, and he was all relaxed, oh yeah, sooo relaxed. Tom didn’t quite realize it, but as he began a gentle downhill section, his eyes closed in weariness, and he actually began to doze off a bit. That is, until something unseen got in his way, and SPLAT!!!!!! OH SHIT!!!!! He was flat on his belly, with his hair, face, shirt, shorts, socks, underwear, and glasses all soaked with wet reddish-brown Georgia slime. What the hell did I do?? Oh, man, I think I was sleeping. Uhhh, am I alive, are all my body parts here, any bones busted or sticking out of my skin? As soon as he figured out that no limbs or organs were damaged, Tom started laughing, and couldn’t stop giggling at himself for about the next two miles. Tom had planned the run as a total easy chill, but his competitive nature took over on the last paved part, and he cranked the last couple miles of flat road at a solid 6:30 pace. Entering the school, he slowed to an easy trot and stopped by the track. The few minutes after he finished a run were always some of Tom’s favorite times. He loved the feeling of getting his breathing slow again, doing his easy post-run stretches, and walking around for a bit. Breakfast would still be open, maybe just some toast and eggs, yeah. Fun morning. The rain was beginning to fall more insistently, but no big deal. A good day. He figured he’d eat and then have a glorious hot shower in the sports complex after. Entering the dining hall, he saw Father Ray, who stared at his messy, disheveled young student and friend. “Hey, swamp creature, what happened, have you been digging your way to China or something?” “Uhh, hi Father Ray, well, up near the ampitheatre, I think I fell asleep, and I tripped and fell into some mud.” “You fell asleep while you were running? That’s a pretty original story, Tom. Never heard that one before!” “I did!! No lie! But then I finished my run, it was nice out there today.” “All right, kid, if you say so. No one would call you a normal child, not much about you could surprise me any more!” “You’re not on duty today, Father, right? What are you gonna do all day?” “Not much, maybe just read, plan some lessons way ahead, it’s gonna rain harder later, just a relax day, really. How ‘bout you, Tom?” The boy had an idea. He’d really missed Father Ray so far this year. Yeah, he’d see him to say hi around campus a few times, and Father had come in the first night to see him and Ricky in Hummer, put them to bed just like old times. But their paths didn’t cross nearly as much this year. Father Ray’s classes were still with the oldest kids, and his supervising duties still with the 7th and 8th graders in Bats. And today was just a nothing day, anyway. Why not ask him? “I got an idea, Father. It’s gonna rain, maybe a thunderstorm, and wouldn’t it be really cool out at your cabin like that? Yeah, rain and thunder, all weird, like in some forest in Lord of the Rings or something. How ‘bout let’s go out there, just you and me? Come on, take me, please? I haven’t seen you hardly at all this year.” Father grinned and stared at this taller and physically more mature boy, who was turning 14 today. He remembered back to that hot June day when he’d hugged Tom and Ricky so tightly, but was so worried that they’d be big boys this year, would outgrow him. Well, guess this kid hasn’t outgrown me yet. Weird, there’s absolutely nothing to do out there in the rain. Probably can’t even start a fire, either. But what the hell, nothing else to do today, and ohhhh, this boy still wants to be around me. Hey, feels good to be asked. Let’s make sure that he’s not just kidding. “Suppose I could, Tom, but there’s not a single thing to do out there in the rain, pal. I mean more boring than anything in life could be. Are you sure?” “No more boring than here! Thanks, Father! I’m just gonna eat and have a hot shower in the sports complex. See you at your car in an hour?” Father nodded and watched the boy get into the short line for breakfast. That cabin, that place will be a sloppy ugly mess today, just gross. But one of my favorite boys in the world asked me to be with him today. He still loves me, what more can you want on this day? Father went back to his apartment to get his long raincoat and rubber boots. He also found an extra plastic poncho for Tom. OK, this day wasn’t planned, but surprise can be good, let’s do this thing. The rain intensified on the drive to the cabin, and the dirt road leading to it was a serious mess. But the car made it without getting stuck, and the playful conversation with Tom was good and soothing for Father Ray. He had the same schedule as the previous year in Battell Hall, putting the 7th and 8th graders to bed and keeping them quiet. Just like last year, some of the now-8th graders had outgrown him, but others of his Flock of Geeks were still loyal. Rob Colby and Kevin Ackerman were still the same kids. And the new 7th graders were little sweeties. Mr. Conroy and Father had pretty much a tacit agreement to stay out of each other’s way as much as possible. But this nearly full day with Tom, just Tom, mmmm. Surprising and a real treat. Good thing I carefully covered the hammock in plastic, he thought. A day like this, it would start rusting away to nothingness otherwise. Both man and boy decided to take a walk around the pond and to a few other places. They were both wearing waterproof stuff, so except for hands and Tom’s sneakers, they weren’t all that soaked. Until the mud-throwing fight began and oozing dirt missiles began splattering into faces. Serious fun, and even more so when the thunder started rumbling and pounding. But the brunt of the storm was getting closer and closer, so they decided it would be better to wait inside til the worst of it passed. In the warm September rain, Tom was wearing a light T-shirt and knee-length meshie shorts under his borrowed waterproof poncho. He climbed out of the wet filthy poncho and, at Father Ray’s direction, took off his sneakers and socks so the inside of the cabin wouldn’t get quite so dirty. He then made himself totally at home on the top bunk mattress, stretching his arms and legs out, and began talking to Father about the most useless, unimportant things anyone could imagine. The boy then pounded on the mattress with his flat open hand, a signal to the priest to come on up. It took Tom less than 10 minutes to finally shut up for a bit. “Tom, I haven’t been around you and Ricky much so far this year. Just we have different places to be most of the time, I guess. I’m pretty busy dealing with the crazy little kids in Bats, but I’ve missed you guys a lot, you know. I guess all I really know is that the cross-country team looks serious this year. That’s sure different.” Tom didn’t know why, but something came into his mind then. Something Mom had said back before July 4. You’ll never have happier hours than when you’re bringing joy to someone else. So strange how she was so right. Mmm, I know what joy Father Ray wants, oh yeah, well, we’re alone here and he deserves it. He’s nice. Bringing joy to someone else, all right. This isn’t exactly what Mom had in mind, though, uhhh, probably not! But anyway….Tom giggled as he imagined his Mom out here, lecturing him about something, adding the stupid letters “m-y” to the end of his name. “What’s so funny, tuff guy?” asked Father Ray, ruffling the top of Tom’s wet hair. “Ah, nothing, I was just thinking, something dumb, you know.” And the not-so-little-anymore boy began to make little motions, little gestures, little physical cues while wearing a mischievous grin. He tilted his head way, way back, exposing more of his neck, and edging just a tiny bit closer to the side of the thin bunk bed where Father Ray was. He kind of nuzzled a bit more of his head into Father Ray’s hand, and began to touch himself. Just subtle, this is kind of fun, just lift up my t-shirt a little, rub the front of my shorts. It’s OK, Father Ray, come on, you can do it, we can, really. Ah, he’s not taking the hint, maybe he’s nervous. Tom took one of the priest’s hands and put it around his back and rolled sideways for a hug, petting and squeezing the front of his shorts much more obviously. Hello, this is the author, The Dreamer. As you may have guessed, the next few paragraphs are also a little too graphic to post on this site, so, you’ll just have to imagine. Imagination is good! OK, daydreaming time is over, back to the book. *************************************************************************************************************** Oh, that felt good, Tom thought. Errrrrrr. Breathe now, slow down, errrrrrr. Lay my head back, close my eyes, ohhhh, think about nothing now. Can I really think about nothing? Can try. A minute or two passed, and Tom’s eyes opened of their own free will, looked at Father Ray, and suddenly the calm feeling went away. “Tom, I just, I don’t know, what just happened, maybe…” Father was trying to say something, but there were really no proper words. Nothing he could say would help. He was sweating and his eyebrows and forehead were all tense. Oh no, I just wanted to make Father Ray happy, he’s been so good to me, but now he’s all scared. Shit, I didn’t mean to make him like that. He probably thinks I think he’s some kind of child molester or something. I just meant for everything to be good, I didn’t mean to make him nervous. Didn’t mean anything bad. Tell him something now? Tom’s mouth turned into a little smile, but not a clever or wiseass one, more of a peaceful understanding one. “Father, it’s OK. Really. You’re my best teacher and you’re my friend, you know that. Don’t you? Father Ray, I’ll never betray you, I promise. Never.” Even in all his stress and confusion and agony, Father almost had to giggle out loud. What a word, “betray.” This brilliant kid has quite a powerful vocabulary, doesn’t he? Quite a powerful dick, too. Yeah, never betray, that’s what the guys said at the Last Supper, didn’t they? Of course they weren’t gonna betray, right. And look how that turned out. Lucky I’m not Jesus Christ or his new incarnation, that could get ugly. An afternoon’s entertainment for Jerry Conroy. Then Tom softly repeated “I promise,” and kissed the priest on his forehead, holding the kiss for maybe one second longer than normal, if normal meant anything anymore. Ah, just like Judas, with the kiss. Well, Ray, you’ve sure done it now. You brought a boy to a remote place and you had sex with him. You sucked him off, made him orgasm all over the place, and now for the rest of your life, all that has to happen is for the boy to regret the act for a moment, for him to tell, and you go to prison forever. And probably to Hell after that. I’ve always been an independent kinda guy, well, no more. I guess I’m dependent on this boy for the rest of my life. My fate’s in his hands. Well, I deserve it, ‘cause the thing was in my mouth. Only a penis, only a cum, why should it be such a big deal? But it is, it is. Guilty, guilty, guilty! I’ve done what I’ve done. But make at least this day as happy as possible, maybe it’ll be my last one, come on, hug the kid a little. Could be the last time. Hug him close and remember. Tom was indeed happy to be hugged, and hoped that his Father Ray was OK again, that his solemn promise was enough to make Father stop worrying. He nestled into Father’s hug and let all the tension go out of his face and body. Father remembered an old folk song that people had sung back at summer church camp when he was even younger than Tom. He didn’t know who the artist was, but he remembered the chorus and verses, now one in particular. Seemed to fit in this situation, and let’s just live what we can while we can. No other choice now. And if you’ll take my hand, my son All will be well when the day is done And if you’ll take my hand, my son All will be well when the day is done Tell my why you’re smiling, my son Is there a secret you could tell everyone Do you know more than men that are wise Do you see what we all must disguise Through your loving eyes And if you’ll take my hand, my son All will be well when the day is done And if you’ll take my hand, my son All will be well when the day is done FALL, PART 9 Ripton, the small town less than four miles away from the school, wasn’t really a remarkable place. Most people outside the county hadn’t heard of it. It was a small town like many others. Population about 5000. Its people were ordinary, salt-of-the-earth folks. People like truck drivers, contractors, teachers, salesmen, store managers, engineers, whatever. Though it was in a very rural area and didn’t have an interstate highway anywhere near it, the town wasn’t a backwoods or undeveloped place by any means. It wasn’t poor. It had a pleasant little downtown area with stores, the town hall, restaurants, and a town green. Just a few years ago, they’d built a beautiful new state-of-the-art school for grades K-8, though they still sent their kids to the regional public high school. The new elementary school was far nicer than the one Rose Prszeczkopowski had worked at for so many years. Next to that school, they had plenty of sports fields, mostly used in the fall for an extensive youth football program. A regular country town, maybe a bit more conservative than most. More American flags flew there than you’d be accustomed to seeing in some other places, and it seemed to have far too many small, evangelical churches than necessary for its population. Ripton was almost never in the news. Nothing special or noteworthy ever happened there, and ever had, at least for as long as most people could remember. Ricky and Tom hung out together next Saturday morning, sleeping late and going for a short swim. The day was warm and sultry, actually hot for almost the end of September. Tom felt a little lazy to run in the morning, and he figured he’d go to optional practice just before dinner. Ricky took off on his bike to head into town, as some of the other guys were going to play some hoops there and maybe hunt for girls. Ricky was into the first part of all that, but his girlhunting was confined to honey-sweet Jenny over at Pine Ridge, and he was going to meet her at 3:00 in their normal romantic place. No other kids at the school besides Tom really knew about the Ricky-Jenny love thing, even after Ricky’s showing up there after running away last year. So long ago, Ricky had asked Jenny not to make a big deal of them together, not to talk about him to the other girls, and he’d stuck to the same deal himself. The other guys didn’t have to know anything. The campus had fewer people than usual at midday, as the football team had an away game at Calhoun, and at least 200 kids had accompanied them to watch. Tom ate too much at lunch, pigged out mercilessly, and then wandered to the library. Figured he’d write a long email to Jacob, who he hadn’t thought much about over the past few weeks. On Saturdays, kids could get online on the library computers. Officially, each student had a one-hour limit, but when it wasn’t crowded and if a kid wasn’t obviously being a jerk or looking at porn, he could stay as long as he wanted. Tom began to type. “Hi Jacob, it’s me Tom. Kind of a boring Saturday here at Brendy’s so I’m writing to you. Our cross-country team looks really good, and we’re really kicking it. We lost our first meet, but past week we won three times. Once was a dual meet, and once we won a tri-meet. Two of the guys are brothers, the older one’s faster than hell. The meet we lost wasn’t in our league, so in our league we’re still undefeated. I got the latest Chess Life mag—they’re mailing them to me here instead of to our house. I looked for stuff about the tournament we were in or anything about you, but didn’t find anything. Maybe they’ll put results and stuff next month. My rating went down some, now I’m at 2035. How are you doing? Are you going to play in any big tourneys soon, maybe get that last result you need to make grandmaster? Well, good luck. I sure had fun in Atlanta. Write when you can and tell me stuff. Don’t try to complicate stuff when you have an extra pawn, just take it easy…haha, just cracking on ya!!” Now Tom got stuck. He wanted to end the message by writing Love, Tom. But that’s completely gross and faggy, and neither one of us are faggots. But he’s…well, I sucked him off. Twice, actually. And he’s the first gay friend I’ve ever had, and he’s special. What’s the right way to finish? Do I actually love him? Still, that’s sick, I love Mom and Dad and Abuela and Foxfire. Tom finally decided to be conservative, simply typed “Your friend, Tom” and sent the thing on its way, flying at the speed of light through cyberspace to Jacob’s in-box. The day was still hot as Tom wandered outside. Nothing to do for a couple hours, what an empty day. I guess I could go for a bike ride, but I feel lazy. Tom began thinking as he went back to his room. Love, that’s a weird word. It’s amor in Spanish, and I wonder if other languages have more specific words for it, for different kinds. Like do I love Jacob, even though I only knew him for a couple days? And Ricky? Life sucked so badly before I met Ricky. But he’s not gay, no way, he’s into that Jenny, so I can’t say I love him, at least I don’t think so. Tom opened the door to his room, and for some reason picked up one of Ricky’s t-shirts from the floor and sniffed it. Damn, I’m so weird, this is sick. But it smells like Ricky, it’s so good. He’ll be back before dinner, I guess. Tom climbed up into the top bunk, stripped to his underwear, and reached his hand inside, masturbating slowly, lazily, only getting wild just before the conclusion. Then he turned on the ceiling fan, crawled under one sheet, and went to sleep. A satisfying afternoon nap. Until REEEEERRRR REEEEEERRRR REEEEERRRR screamed through the building, screamed through the whole campus. What the fuck, that’s the alarm? WHAT? It pierced Tom’s ears painfully, and the sudden, violent pounding of his heart made his chest hurt just as badly. It kept going for maybe 30 seconds, then there was the voice of Headmaster Carlisle over the whole school PA system. A voice that wasn’t out of control, but that was mad and insistent. “ALL STUDENTS GO TO THE BOMB SHELTER IMMEDIATELY! THIS IS NOT A PRACTICE OR A DRILL! WE HAVE AN EMERGENCY! ALL STUDENTS GO TO THE BOMB SHELTER IMMEDIATELY! ALL STUDENTS TO THE BOMB SHELTER IMMEDIATELY!” Kids often joked about the huge basement of Drayton Hall, which had been nicknamed “The Bomb Shelter” for as long as anyone could remember, even from before Coach P’s time. Starting in the early 1950’s, in the Cold War days, the school had built a reinforced, completely finished basement of the building. It was large enough to fit the entire school population. Then, of course, there were only about 300 students, so it had since been enlarged. With just over 700 students, it could be a very tight fit, though not today as so many weren’t on campus. The place had a huge storeroom of water and canned food. It had toilets and electric generators. Just anything to be able to survive for several days. It was built as a place where the students could gather and the school could know if anyone was missing. The possible disasters that this could be needed for were sometimes kind of vague. Back in the 1950’s and 1960’s. for example, did anyone really think the Soviets were going to aim their weapons at St. Brendan’s? More recently, there had been the worries about the Y2K thing, as though turning over the century mark might cause the world’s computers to fail and the world to end. Seemed silly after nothing actually happened, but the school wanted to be ready. And after the 9/11 attacks, well, who knew what could happen? The kids joked about the place, but there were drills twice a year—once the first week and once in the winter--when the kids were instructed to get down there, sit in certain areas, and shut up while the teachers and Residential Directors could take attendance quickly, accounting for everyone. The alarm kept screaming. Tom quickly dressed and raced outside, where tons of other kids were running to the east end of campus, towards the Bomb Shelter. The day was much cooler and windier, and the sky was darker. Kids were yelling at each other, asking what the hell was up, but no one seemed to know. Tom walked quickly down the stairs, being pushed and shoved by kids behind him, and sat on the floor where he was supposed to, in the marked off area for 9th graders, first floor, Humboldt Hall, North Side. Mr. Mayne had a bullhorn, like cops used to break up riots. “KIDS, FOR THIS MINUTE PLEASE JUST SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!! WE HAVE TO FIND OUT WHO’S HEAH AND WHO’S NAWT! I PROMISE, IN A FEW MINUTES WE’LL TELL YOU EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS EMERGENCY! I REPEAT, FOR NOW JUST SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!” Kids were genuinely scared. Something was wrong, this was no practice, and Mr. Mayne, Mr. Conroy, and other teachers on duty were going crazy. Not panic crazy, but they meant business. Tom wished Ricky were there, not having him around was even more scary. A few kids started whispering rumors about what was happening, but Tom couldn’t quite hear the details. One kid was saying something about earthquake, another about some chemical plant that blew up nearby and there were toxic chemicals blowing around in the wind. The place was too large and the acoustics too poor for one person to address the whole school, so finally after too long a wait, each Residential Director talked to his own group. “All right, kids,” started Mr. Mayne, “here’s what’s up. There’ve been tornado touchdowns in the county south of here just in the last few minutes, and there’s a wahning for Ripton. If it’s coming, it’ll be here in less than 15 minutes! At this time, we just want you underground and safe. We’re doing everything we can to locate and account for your classmates. If there’s anyone you know who’s on campus but not here, tell me now.” Tornado?? A tornado? The kids stared at each other. Tornados weren’t unheard of in the spring and early summer, but not in the northern, Appalachian part of the state. And in late September?? This was something that had just never happened, not once in the school’s history. Actually, it was the first time the bomb shelter had been used for a real emergency, not just drills. By this time, attendance was taken, and the kids were allowed to get up and walk around, as long as they stayed within the areas marked off for their groups. Tom found Jeremy and they talked about what could happen. Neither boy had ever been through a tornado. Science books were one thing, but this wasn’t class. Both boys weren’t afraid to admit that they were scared. They didn’t know it, but outside the sky was turning black. They could hear violent thunder, but they didn’t know anything more. Five minutes later, the noise got louder, louder. Like you could imagine a train coming, but without the whistle. The basement seemed to shake for seconds, minutes, how long? Tom wasn’t the only kid crying, not by a long shot. He and Jeremy held onto each other, Tom’s fingernails actually, though not intentionally, digging into the black kid’s skin. No way, come on, nothing’s really happening, we’re gonna be fine. The noise from the outside world eventually calmed, but the hundreds of kids were eerily quiet, listening for what might be happening, listening for any hint. Some of the teachers who were on duty were in a hidden back room of the underground shelter, listening to radios and making cell phone calls to authorities. Finally Mr. Mayne came out and spoke to the 9th and 10th graders, sounding more calm. It was an act. He knew much more than he was about to tell the students, knew some terrible things. “Kids, I’m now heading outside with Mr. Conroy, Headmaster, and a few other people. According to Civil Defense, the tornado has passed, and it looks like it’s dissipated. We need to see what condition the campus is in, what kind of damage, if any, we’ve had. You guys will stay down here until we know more. Some other teachers and some of the seniors will bring you water and some snacks. You can walk around, but again, stay in your marked area. Hopefully, depending on what we see outside, we’ll all be out of this basement soon. Kids, you’ve been good and well-behaved, you’ve responded to this well. Thanks, guys. I’ll tell you more soon.” For a half-hour or more different teachers walked different areas of the campus. The tornado had pretty much missed the school. There were a few downed trees at one end of the ampitheatre, and there were plenty of individual tree branches scattered on the ground. The admin building had two windows busted out, perhaps from the wind or perhaps from flying debris. But nothing had really happened on campus. What Mr. Mayne and the other teachers didn’t tell the kids was that though the campus had escaped, the town hadn’t. A big section of it was in ruins, a holocaust. The tornado, over a quarter-mile wide, had taken dead aim at the peaceful town, the destruction was immense, and the death toll was still being figured out. People, both live ones and dead ones, were still being pulled from under rubble that was once a town. Ripton, Georgia. No one really thought a tornado was possible there, many people didn’t have basements, and the warnings didn’t reach everyone until for some, it was too late to react. Police and Civil Defense people already knew it was the worst natural disaster in this county’s history, likely the worst tornado ever in north Georgia, and it would be the main story in the national and world news. Journalists and rescue people were already descending fast on the small town that was no longer unknown. It would be the main national news story for at least a couple days. The school had two priorities now, and they had to move fast. They had to get on the phones to call the families of the students in the bomb shelter, the ones who were safe and accounted for. They also had to try to find out information about where everyone else could be, try desperately to increase the number of students who they knew were safe, cross more and more off their lists. 322 kids were counted in the bomb shelter, so almost 400 were still somewhere else. Lots at the football game, lots more who knows where. Headmaster instructed his people to let the kids go, but they were to stay in the dorms til further notice. Residential directors were to interview the kids in the dorms, try to get some information about where people could be. No one was to tell the students any details of what happened yet. Starting crazy rumors wouldn’t help anything. Headmaster, Coach P, Father Ray, and the school shrink Dr. Durocher would start making phone calls on cell phones. The regular phone lines for miles around were dead. Mr. Mayne arrived at Tom’s room. Tom had been crying before, but now was just shaking, shivering, close to numb. Please, God, where’s Ricky? Where IS HE? Mr. Mayne gave him a little hug, tried to comfort him, but there wasn’t much he could tell him. “Tom, all right, we’re asking questions of everyone. Do you have any idea where Ricky or anyone else might be? We’re getting information every minute coming in about more and more kids, bit by bit we’re finding out that more and more kids are safe. Tom, what can you tell me?” Tom was breathing hard and still shaking, but had to try to remember. Maybe it could make a difference. “I don’t know that much, I wish I did. Maybe 11:00, I dunno, Ricky took off on his bike. He said he was going into town, maybe play some basketball or hang out. Then later he was supposed to….” Tom stopped for a second. Ricky had told him that Jenny wasn’t officially allowed off her campus, it was kind of hush-hush. Fuck that, this is an emergency. “Later he was planning to see this girl named Jenny from Pine Ridge, I think they meet somewhere near the girls’ school. Where’s Ricky, is he OK?” “Tom, the storm’s over, now we’re just working on finding everyone, getting everyone back on campus. We’ll tell you when we know anything.” It was all Mr. Mayne could say, and he was obviously worried when Tom mentioned Ricky hanging out in town. He wrote down a couple things on a pad and moved on to the next kids. In the admin building, four other men were making and receiving calls. The football team and some of the fans who went with them were now named and crossed off. Information was coming in and going out. Progress, progress, but at the moment there were still over 100 kids unaccounted for. A call came in, and Headmaster himself took it. He didn’t say much, just listened and listened. A weird aura, a weird sensation came over the room, and the other three men shut up, broke off their own conversations, and looked at their boss, whose face was getting paler, whose mouth was open, and whose breathing was shallower by the second. Headmaster didn’t say anything anyone could get a clue from, just lots of OKs, Yeahs, I Understands, all in a very quiet, scared voice. Five minutes later, he closed the clamshell cell phone and looked at his assistants. He opened his mouth to talk but couldn’t form words. He tried to stand up but collapsed down on his hands and knees in a corner of the conference room. Hands and knees like he was playing with a dog, but this wasn’t playing. Father Ray quickly rushed over to him, just held on to him. “We’ll get through this together, Headmaster. Come on, John, we’ve got you now.” FALL, PART 10 Headmaster Carlisle was surrounded by his three people, all giving him desperately-needed support. He told them what he knew, which wasn’t everything. Rescue efforts were still going on, things could get much, much worse, and everything was still crazy out there. And there was lots of work to be done here, but Headmaster wasn’t in great emotional shape to coordinate it all. “John,” said Mr. Prszeczkopowski after a few more minutes, “you have to tell the kids. At least the 9th graders. You’re the boss here. Please, John, don’t let them find this out from someone else or hear something on the news first. People have cell phones, they can find things out, John, you have to get out in front of this. If you want, I’ll go with you, I’m sure Ray here will, but the news has to come from you, John. It’s gonna hurt, but there’s no other way. Remember what you told me about this year, sir? Part of people’s lives? Do it now, John. Come on. Do you need us to go with you?” Headmaster exhaled, shook some tears out of his face, and knew Mr. P was right. “No, Karl, thanks for your offer, but you guys need to stay on the phones here, calling more families and getting incoming information, finding out who’s safe. You’re right, I’ll get the 9th graders together. I’ll have Roger assemble them all in the common room. Oh my God, why does this happen? No, Ray, no disrespect, but don’t answer that right now, I was talking to myself.” Headmaster called Mr. Mayne on the intercom and told him he had something important to tell all the 9th graders, and they were to assemble in the common room immediately. He probably should have told his Residential Director what it was about, but his mind wasn’t functioning well. Too awful this was. He walked out of the admin building, noticing that the weather was now just fine. The cloudy, breezy late afternoon gave no hint of what had just happened. With all the students in their dorms, the campus was silent, and Headmaster could hear the sound of his footsteps on the sidewalk and the grassy fields. Footsteps on the beautiful grass, footsteps that wouldn’t…no, don’t think like that, you have work to do in the here and now. He reached the Humboldt Hall common room, and all the students present were sitting on the floor, deathly quiet. Wow. How often am I likely to see a group of over 100 freshmen silent and orderly like this? Hopefully, never again. Mr. Carlisle decided to sit on the floor with the kids instead of standing or taking a chair. At this moment, no need or desire to be higher than anyone. He crossed his legs, looked at the kids who were still giving him every ounce of their attention, and finally began to say what had to be said. “Kids, some of you may know something about what’s happened today, some of you may not. There was a terrible, terrible tornado that directly hit the town of Ripton. A huge section of the town is just gone. A lot of our students and your classmates hang out there on Saturdays, and I have something awful to tell you.” A few of the kids were starting to cry softly. All but one were still staring at their headmaster. Tom, on the other hand, was lying on his belly, his head buried in the short dark green carpet. Joey was next to him, and every few seconds gave him a very soft pat on the back. All right, Headmaster figured, here goes. “Your classmate, Bobby Delacroix, was inside a building that was hit and completely destroyed. A few minutes ago, I received a call from the county hospital that he has a serious spinal injury. I know he’s being treated as we speak, but I don’t know anything more. I wish I knew more, wish as badly as you kids do. We’ll simply have to hope and pray. Right now, the storm has passed, and the school didn’t suffer much physical damage at all. The damage we suffered is of course a lot worse than trees or buildings. Your dinner will be ready in about a half hour. I do want to thank all of you for being so orderly, cooperative, and well-behaved during this emergency. There are still some students unaccounted for, and if any of you know where any of the missing kids could be, please talk to Mr. Mayne.” “Headmaster,” said one of Bobby’s basketball teammates softly, “is Bobby paralyzed?” “I don’t know, Ryan, and it’s probably too soon for even doctors to know. If they had known more, they would have told me. I know you want more news, but sometimes we just find things out when the time is right.” The next kid was more emotional and crying. “Is he gonna die?” “Ron, all I know is what they told me. They used just those three words, ‘serious spinal injury’. Father Ray and Dr. Durocher will be around to hang out with you guys through the evening. You guys can leave the building, go anywhere you want on campus tonight, but no one can go off campus for any reason until at least tomorrow morning.” Headmaster shook a few hands, ruffled the hair of a few of the kids nearest him, and left. The shocked boys, including Tom, began to get to their feet. Tom had still heard nothing about Ricky, and was almost sick, close to nauseous. But as he got up, “RICKY!!!!!” he screamed. “RICKY!!!!! WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU, WHEN DID YOU GET HERE, WHAT HAPPENED?” I WAS SO SCARED, WHERE WERE YOU???” “I just got back, I got here maybe halfway through what Headmaster was talking about. Oh, Tom, man, what happened, oh my God, it was….I don’t want to ever, ever be in something like that again. I don’t even know why I’m here, Tom, so many people are dead. I thought maybe I was, too.” Tom put his arm around Ricky’s back and began to lead him away, but “OWW!” shouted Ricky. “Tom, don’t touch me, owww, my upper back hurts like all hell. Let’s just go back to the room, then we’ll have dinner. I didn’t even think how hungry I was, I didn’t have anything for lunch. I can’t talk about anything now, I’m just freaked, we’ll talk at night, OK?” They walked, and Ricky was limping noticeably, favoring his left ankle. Ricky crawled into his lower bunk and said nothing, just stared at the metal springs above that held up Tom’s half of the structure. Tom sat in a desk chair and looked at him, but was sensitive and mature enough to keep silent and leave Ricky alone for now. Tom’s emotions were all crazy, though. Oh my God, Ricky’s here, but Bobby isn’t, and what’s it like in town? The boys ate quietly, and did nothing after dinner but sit around. Father Ray came in to see them, and Ricky took a walk outside with him, just the two of them. Tom saw them walk slowly across the field towards the big willow tree, Father Ray’s hand stroking Ricky’s blond hair, but not touching his sore back. They were gone for about 20 minutes, time that Tom used to just lie on his back and think about stuff that no 14 year-old boy should have to. When the boys were finally ready to go to bed, Ricky took off his T-shirt and Tom saw why his back hurt so badly. “Man, Ricky, you got this gross purple bruise all over the top right part of your back, it like goes from your shoulder blade all up toward the back of your neck. Does is still hurt?” Tom motioned that Ricky should come u |