Chapter 3

Tampa Central High was a ratty-looking, faded brown-and-gray stone building, right out of the 1920s School of Bad Architecture. It was enormous. The front three-story facade was built nearly half a century ago, and looked ancient, like a relic from ancient Greece. The back of the school housed a half a dozen newly-added modern wings, constructed a couple of years ago after the local politicians had closed a nearby school, combining the two student bodies. With more than 2400 students, Tampa Central was the largest, best-equipped high school in the state.

Promptly at 8:15AM, our busses rolled up to the sidewalk in front of the school. A large banner hung over the courtyard, proclaiming "Welcome Class of 1969 -The New Tampa Central Cheetahs!" As I stumbled down the bus steps, an obnoxious fat guy yelled through a bull-horn for us to line up in alphabetical order. I couldn't get over the culture shock. Compared to my private school, this place was a madhouse, with teenage boys and girls of every size and ethnic mix milling about. I glumly stood in the row for the L's, and nervously glanced around, hoping desperately to spot my friend Sky. When I got to the front of the line, I gave my name to a bored-looking woman with a clipboard.

"Wil -- with one 'L'," I said. "Last name, 'Larson," with an 'O.'"

She handed me an ominous-looking folder that said, "Larson, William G.," and pointed down to a reinforced steel door on the far right side of the main building. "That leads down to hallway 3," she said. "You want room number 311. Your 9th grade homeroom teacher will give you the rest of your schedule for the semester and give you the orientation for the first period."

I meekly walked down the hallway, passing by a couple of jocks with letter jackets on the way. Shit, I thought. Those guys looked like they were six feet tall already! I got to homeroom and scanned around for a familiar face, without success. The teacher made us sit in alphabetical order, so I got wedged in-between a nerdy red-haired kid named "Lannigan, Ronald G." and a black girl named "Lillie, Yolanda R."

Our homeroom teacher, Mrs. Swatts, was a dour, stern-faced older woman, definitely a no-nonsense type. She droned on for over an hour, made us fill out forms, handed out crap for our parents to sign, a map of the school, our daily class schedules, and basically giving us 'the rules of the road.' I had to stifle myself from yawning out loud. Judging by the stupefied looks on everybody's faces, they were just about as bored as I was.

When Mrs. Swatts asked if we had any questions, everybody was quiet except for the nerdy kid right in back of me, who muttered, "yeah, will you please go to hell?" I laughed so hard, I just about choked. The teacher glared at both of us and said, "what was that?" I immediately stifled my laughter and looked down at my desk, but the nerdy guy behind me quipped, "I said, 'did I just hear the bell?'"

As if to answer his question, the 2nd Period bell sounded at that very instant, and we all bolted for the doorway.

"Hold it!" the teacher shouted.

We stopped dead in our tracks. She pointed to me and the nerd.

"I'm keeping my eye on you two," she said. "You wouldn't want to get sent to the principal's office the very first day of school, would you?"

We solemnly shook our heads and slinked out into the hallway, then raced off in separate directions.

The next three periods were a blur, but somehow, I managed to survive until noon. Finally, lunch. My stomach rumbled as I entered the school cafeteria. It was immense. There must've been at least a thousand kids crammed into the room. My previous school had only had 300 kids, total. Everybody in the lunchroom seemed to be jabbering at once. The hubbub was so loud, I could barely hear the radio that blared on the PA system. It was The Turtles with their new hit "Elenore."

As I made my way through the food line, I chuckled at the song's corny lyrics, and started idly humming to the tune, which I had heard once or twice before. Eh, it's got a good beat, I could dance to it. Screw that -- I can't dance worth a shit, I laughed to myself. I handed fifty cents to the cashier and took a quick glance towards the lunch tables. Damn. Not an open seat in sight, except for a couple at the very back of the room.

As I trudged down the cafeteria corridor, I heard a voice behind me. "Hey! Asshole!" I turned and it was Nerdy Red-Head from my homeroom class, holding a tray piled with food. He jogged up to me, laughing.

"Sorry about almost gettin' you in trouble earlier," he said. "Sometimes, my mouth moves before my brain has a chance to catch up, ya know?"

I grinned. "Yeah, I see what you mean. I'm Wil."

He grinned and nodded. "I'm Ron, but call me Ronnie. You find a place to eat, yet?"

I nodded as we walked down the aisle, and I started to point towards the last two open spots near the far wall. Just as I did, Ronnie let out a yelp and fell backwards on the floor with a noisy thud, followed closely behind by his lunch tray, which splattered pudding, potatoes, and some greasy meat-like substance all over him and the general area. I helped him struggle up to his feet, just as a roar of laughter came from a table behind us.

"That asshole," he muttered. "He tripped me as we were walking by." He tilted his head to our left.

I glanced over and saw a wide-shouldered kid, at least 16, sitting with a group of thug-like goons in matching football jerseys, who were guffawing hysterically and pointing at us. "Who's that jerk?" I asked.

Ronnie rubbed his shin and flicked some of the mashed potatoes off his shirt. "That was Scott Michaels," he said, ruefully. "Him and his little friends are part of the New Hitler Youth movement here at Tampa Central."

I laughed. "So, do the Nazis here roll over the rest of us like Poland, send us to the ovens, or what?"

He gave me a sideways glance, like he was surprised I caught the historical reference. "Yeah. Somethin' like that. You wanna sit down?"

"Okay -- but don't you need some food?" I asked.

"Aaaa, the food sucks here, anyway," he said making a face. "My brother says it's swill."

I looked down at my tray. Even without taking a bite, I suspected he was right. "Tell you what, Ronnie," I chuckled. "I'll split some swill with you if you'll at least go back and get us some napkins." He nodded and took off, taking care to avoid sliding into a pile of squashed lima beans that was already becoming a traffic hazard.

While I waited for Ron, I found a half-empty table off in the back corner, and was still looking around frantically for Sky. If he had the second Lunch period, I was screwed. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and a low voice behind me whispered, "is this where the big-dicked boys sit?"

"Sky, you asshole!" I cried.

My best friend scooted around and plopped himself beside me in a chair, immediately grabbing a handful of greasy-looking French fries from my plate. "What're you waiting for?" he asked, as he stuffed his face. "Siddown, you ultra-maroon!"

I grinned and sat next to him, just as Ronnie ran up.

"Oh," he said, dejectedly. "I guess you're out of seats."

Sky looked over and made a face. "Who's the geek?" he said, in-between mouthfuls.

I stood up. "Hold on -- Sky, this is Ronnie; Ronnie, Sky. Ronnie's running from the Neo-Nazis and we're gonna smuggle him through the bunker to the underground." The smaller boy's face brightened, while Sky looked puzzled.

In a near-perfect German accent, Ronnie quipped, "Klink! We're goink to haff to zend you to ze Russian Front!"

"You watch way too much TV," Sky laughed as he pulled over a chair from a nearby table, then turned back to me. "Why's this kid wearing his lunch?"

Ron's face reddened as he started mopping some gravy off his shirt.

"A buncha assholes tripped him. Same old crap," I explained.

Sky shook his head. "Christ, it's the first day of high school, and already we're running into jerks. Great." He eyed our new friend. "Shit, Wil," he laughed. "Ronnie's even shrimpier than you!"

I grinned. I hadn't noticed, but it was true. Maybe I wouldn't be the shortest kid in 9th grade, after all.

Ron looked up, and grinned. "Yeah, but good things come in small packages," he said, with a stupid look on his face.

I winced, and playfully tossed a cube of Jello at him, which bounced harmlessly off his nose. He immediately broke into a bizarre dead-on Jerry Lewis impression, screaming "Lady! Oh, LADY!" The three of us laughed so hard, we almost cried. Sky nearly fell backwards in his chair.

In between our conversation, we wolfed down our food, such as it was. Ronnie chatted non-stop about the teachers and curriculum at the school, telling us which kids were OK and who we should watch out for. It turned out he had the inside scoop, since his brother had already gone to Tampa Central the year before, and was now a sophomore in 10th grade.

Ronnie seemed impressed that I was going out for the swim team, and that Sky was a shoo-in for football. We compared our class schedules: I was both pleased and annoyed, because I had only one period with Sky -- English, my best subject and Sky's worst -- but I had four with Ronnie, including homeroom, Geography, American History, and Phys Ed, which was my last class of the day, at 2:45PM.

The warning bell sounded, so we dumped our plates in the trash and bounded out the back door. Sky yelled goodbye and scooted off down the sidewalk, leaving me and Ron to race back to our lockers to grab our books for the next class. As it turned out, the lockers were also assigned alphabetically, just like our seats in homeroom; Ronnie's was right next to mine, since his last name was Lannigan.

Just as I dropped in my math book, I heard a voice behind me and froze. "Hey, faggot -- you have a nice lunch?"

I turned around to find this Scott Michaels character smiling down at us. Was he talking to me? Before I could answer, Ronnie muttered, "shut up, douche-face."

In an instant, the older boy grabbed him and slammed against the locker, hard, twisting his arm behind his back.

"I didn't hear what you said, faggot!" he hissed. "What was that again?"

I felt my face redden with anger. "He said DOUCHE-FACE, douche-face," I said, gritting my teeth.

Michaels let Ronnie drop to the floor and turned to me. "I didn't ask for comments from the peanut gallery," he sneered. "What's your fuckin' problem, asshole?"

My heart was pounding a mile a minute, but my gaze never wavered from his. "N-n-no problem, man," I started, trying not to panic. "We're just trying to get to class. Just leave him alone, okay?"

Scott leaned in uncomfortably close to my face and grabbed the front of my shirt. I tried to size up my opponent. He looked to be about five-foot-ten, 150 pounds, and he had jet-black hair and narrow, beady eyes. I could smell the remnants of a cigarette on his breath, and I could see the stubble of the beginnings of a wispy moustache on his face. His faded football jersey had the number 14 on it, and his jeans were at least a size too large and were ripped and frayed along one side. Judging by the visible muscles and veins in his arms, along with the menacing scowl on his face, he could probably eat me for lunch and then have Ronnie for dessert. I clenched my fists, ready for anything.

The three of us jumped when the final 5th Period bell sounded. The hallway was deserted except for the three of us.

Michaels gave me a dirty look and let go of my shirt. "This isn't over with, fuck-face," he said pointing at me. "You watch your ass." He sauntered away, laughing quietly as he turned the corner and disappeared.

Ronnie was practically in tears. "Shit. I'm r-really sorry to drag you into this, Wil," he stammered. "Scott really hates my brother, and I guess he hates me, too."

I shook my head. "Forget about it, Ronnie. Look, we're already late for American History," I said, consulting my little fold-out map. "Great -- it's just three doors down."

We slinked into the back of the history classroom unnoticed, just as the teacher was clapping his hands to get everyone's attention. We made it through that one unscathed, and an hour later, we were in Mrs. Kester's English class. Ron sat behind me, and Sky took the seat in the row immediately to my left -- perfect for him to cheat off my test papers, just as we'd done successfully all the way through 6th grade, back in elementary school. Sky wiggled his eyebrows at me and grinned. I shook my head and laughed to myself. It was gonna be a long school year.

I stared at the clock for most of the class, and somehow managed to successfully avoid getting called on by the teacher. The clock hands moved in slow motion for the entire hour, but at last, the 7th Period bell sounded. Time for my moment of truth -- Phys Ed.

"You know we've gotta dress out for PE, right?" asked Ronnie, nervously.

"I know," I nodded, holding my gym bag. "I've got my stuff in here."

Silently, we trotted into the Boys' Locker Room, which was already crowded with at least two hundred loud-talking students donning the requisite school-approved T-shirts, gym shorts, and sneakers. I noticed just one or two familiar faces, and immediately had felt a pang because Sky wasn't there with us. Ron and I each grabbed adjoining clothes lockers, and I started unbuttoning my shirt.

"I'm a little nervous about this," Ron whispered to me. "I'm, uh, not real big on public nudity."

I grinned. "Yeah, I know what you mean, Ronnie. Just get dressed fast. We'll deal with the showers later."

He nodded his head meekly and finished slipping on his shoes. I quickly tied up my sneakers and we ran outside to line up with the rest of the class.

Chuck, the junior assistant coach, separated our class into three different groups. Every six weeks, we'd rotate between football, gymnastics, and golf. Next semester would be basketball, track, and softball. Luckily for me and Ronnie, we both got tabbed for gymnastics, so we headed back into the locker room and through a large double-door, into the indoor basketball court. A dozen large padded mats had been laid down on the floor, and a fit-looking middle-aged man, dressed in white shorts and a matching T-shirt, gestured for us to join the group.

"Listen up, gentlemen," he announced. "I'm Coach Lucas. We'll be doing basic gymnastics in this class over the next few weeks. I know some of you would rather do 'real' sports like softball or football, but trust me -- gymnastics is just as tough as those are, and it can be just as fun. For some, it's even more of a challenge, because you're essentially competing against yourself -- improving your agility, and giving you basic skills you can use every day of your life, like balance, timing, and coordination. Here's the exercises for today."

The minutes went by as we began to imitate his movements. Sure enough, before long, we were somersaulting like little kids all over the mats, and falling all over the place trying to do cartwheels. Ron did a lot better than I did; he seemed to be a natural, cartwheeling like an expert and bouncing around like a seasoned pro. The last exercise had us trying to do headstands, and I felt like a total retard, unable to hold the position for more than a few seconds.

"Jeez, Ron," I lamented to him in frustration. "I thought you were supposed to be the dork, and I was supposed to be the cool swimming champ!"

He grinned. "I guess these things just come easily to those of us with inherent skill," he said, in a faux British accent.

"Oh, shaddup, professor!" I laughed, punching him affectionately in the shoulder. Now I knew how Sky felt when I tried to act like an intellectual to him.

Finally, the coach blew his whistle. "That's it, boys!" he yelled. Several students groaned. "Hit the showers. Don't forget -- they're mandatory! You'll get a point off your grade if we catch anybody dodging their shower!"

I felt a cold feeling in my gut. This is it, I thought. We made our way off the basketball court and back through a long crowded hallway, pulling off our T-shirts on the way. By the time we got into the locker room, I could see that half the class was already in various states of disrobing. As we crossed the crowded benches, I was relieved to see that several of the other 9th graders hardly had any more body hair than I did. But all of them looked noticeably smaller than I did down there -- a lot smaller.

Ronnie chatted nervously while we opened our clothes lockers and pulled out our towels. We both acted nonchalant and modestly turned away from each other as we undressed and continued our idle conversation. I yanked off my shorts and underwear with one fast move, and quickly pulled the towel around my waist. It's now or never, I thought.

We both pushed through the jam-packed locker room and walked down the hallway, over to the shower area. I heard a distant howl from an unfortunate kid who apparently just got blasted with cold water. My heart sank as we entered the tile doorway. Just as I feared, it was a group shower, with about 30 ancient fixtures in the wall. So much for privacy.

As we walked through the steam-filled room, I avoided looking at the half-a-dozen wet, naked boys inside. Much to my embarrassment, I started to get a strange warm feeling in my gut, and a stirring in my groin. Shit, I thought. If I get a boner in here, I'll never hear the end of it! I deliberately bit my lower lip and tried desperately to recall the square root formulas from tonight's math homework.

Ronnie and I took adjoining showers, while he chattered on endlessly about what was going to be on TV that night. We both stood apart, and I kept myself carefully aimed towards an unused shower head on my right. One kid on the far end gave me a curious glance as I quickly lathered up, and I saw him do a double-take when he walked by and glanced below my waist. I turned my back to him and rinsed off the soap as fast as I could, then grabbed my towel and quickly wrapped it back around my waist.

Ronnie and I nervously made our way back through the line of naked teens, down the hall and over to our clothes lockers. Breathing a sigh of relief, I carefully unwrapped my towel and began quickly drying myself off, keeping my waist as close to my locker door as I could, to avoid any unwanted glances. Maybe this won't be so bad, I thought, with a sigh of relief.

Suddenly, I heard a loud THWAK! and Ron let out a yelp of pain. I looked up and saw a nude older boy grinning and holding a towel. I felt a twinge when I saw his cock, which looked to be almost as big as mine, only a lot hairier.

Shit. It was Scott Michaels again. "Gotcha, ya little faggot twerp!" he snarled. Ronnie whimpered and spun around against the locker, dropping his towel and holding his backside. His face was beet red, and his eyes were filled with a mixture of anguish and sheer terror.

Michaels roared with laughter. "Hey, guys! Get a load o' this! We got an anteater-dick here!"

A few chuckles erupted from the crowd of boys, who momentarily stopped dressing to enjoy the show. Ronnie's face reddened, and I glanced down. Shit, I thought. He was uncircumcised! It was pretty good-sized, too -- bigger than Sky's, I thought -- and though I hated to admit, it did kind of look like an anteater's nose.

"Don't pay any attention to them, Ron," I whispered, keeping my back to our antagonist, as I retrieved my glasses out of my gym bag.

"I think it's more like an armadillo-dick, Scott!" yelled one of his cronies.

Michaels took a menacing step towards me. "And you, shit-for-brains," he began. "I bet you got an anteater dick, too!"

Before I could respond, he ripped the towel off my waist, and I spun around -- completely nude, dripping wet, and thoroughly embarrassed. My hands weren't nearly big enough to cover my groin.

"What the FUCK?" Scott yelled, as he slapped my hand out of the way.

I felt my face flush as every eye in the locker room turned where I stood. Oh, shit, I thought. Here it comes.

Scott hooted with derision. "What are you, kid -- some kinda FREAK? That's a horse dick!" he yelled.

Nervous laughter and titters echoed through the locker room, and every conversation stopped. Scott took a step closer to eye me carefully, as if he were examining an animal at the zoo. Even Ronnie stared, open-mouthed.

Michaels pointed at my appendage and guffawed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. "Now that I think about it," he said loudly, "you're such an ass, I'd say it's more like a big DONKEY dick, wouldn't you?" He laughed again, and I felt my dick twinge. If anything, I think it was starting to respond to all the attention.

Before I could even think, I tore my towel out of his hand. "It's not too big for your mouth, jerk!" I muttered.

"WHAT WAS THAT?" the bully roared, taking a swing at me. I ducked, and his fist slammed into a metal shelf by my head, hard. He let out a cry of pain, and I leapt over a bench and took off running, my towel dropping as I hit the floor. Michaels yelled and tore after me, while the other boys looked on, laughing and yelling.

Everything was a blur as I darted past three rows of benches and back down the hall into the shower area, with Scott hot on my heels. Desperately, I spun on my heel and made a fast 180-degree turn as I hit the far tile wall, just like a flip-turn in the swimming pool, and came back at full speed in the opposite direction. Michaels made a lunge for me, but his hands slipped on my still-wet skin, leaving red marks down my back. Just as I cleared the shower doorway, I heard a yell and a satisfying thud close behind me, as several naked bodies slammed down on the wet tile floor. Good, I thought. I hope he cracked his skull.

I darted back to my locker, slowing down to a trot as I became aware of the dozens of wide-eyed boys taking in the show. I scurried past several on-lookers and hopped over the last two benches on the end. Ron was already half-dressed, and he tossed my underwear to me as I reached our bench. "Thanks, man," I whispered.

"No problem, Wil," he whispered back. "Just hurry!"

"I'm gonna kick your fuckin' ASS, Donkey Boy!" Scott bellowed from across the room, then began angrily shoving his way through the crowd, cursing with frustration and rage. All of them were still staring at me, their mouths open with surprise.

Just as panic seized me, an older voice called out. "You're not going to kick anything, Michaels!"

I looked up. It was Coach Lucas, who had emerged from his office to see what all the commotion was about. He grabbed Scott by the neck and dragged him over to where I was standing. My heart was still pounding, but at least by now, I'd managed to get my underwear on to conceal my throbbing organ.

"What's all this about?" the Coach barked. The room immediately fell silent.

"Michaels started it," yelled one kid to my right. "Yeah!" said another loud voice from the back of the room. "Scott snapped a towel at the shrimp, and then tried to punch the kid with the big dick!" Heads turned to look at the loudmouth from the back, who immediately looked down at the ground, and muttered, "well, it is."

The coach released the older boy from his grasp and folded his arms. "Look, you two. I don't have the time to deal with this bull-crap. Michaels, you aren't gonna start the year with detention, like you had all last semester?"

"No, SIR," he grimaced.

"You've got an excellent chance to make the varsity squad this year, Scott. Don't blow it by getting into fights. Put that anger into the game, son, and not in the goddamned locker room!"

The coach turned to me. "And you -- you're Larson, right? You just signed up for the swim team?"

I nodded, meekly.

His voice softened as he looked me right in the eye. "That goes ditto for you, son. You're new here, and my advice is to stay out of trouble if you want to make the team."

Lucas was also the Dean of Boys at the school, but according to Ronnie, he had the reputation of being a pretty fair guy.

He looked at the two of us. "Gentlemen, I want the two of you to shake hands and apologize."

Scott stared at me. "But Coach..."

"No buts," said Mr. Lucas. "Just do it."

We shook hands in silence, but Scott shot me a look that could've melted bricks. I felt him squeeze my hand almost hard enough to break it, but my expression never changed as we muttered our apologies.

With that, the coach clapped his hands together. "That's it, folks -- the show's over. You gentlemen get dressed and get outta here. The school busses leave in five minutes, so move it!"

Ron stayed with me while I finished dressing, in silence. As we walked down the hall to our book lockers, I overheard a couple of whispers. "Biggest dick I ever saw... shhhh, here he comes," muttered a tall kid on our left. "Michaels was right -- it's like a horse dick!" whispered another. "DONKEY dick, you mean!" More laughter.

Fuck. My first day of high school, and I'm already a laughing-stock.

We ignored them and trudged out to the front of the school, just as the last of the busses pulled away. My heart sank.

Ron turned to me and said, "my mom's pickin' me and my brother up over there. You want a ride?"

"Naw," I said, still embarrassed. "I think I'll just walk home."

"No, really. Where do you live?"

I gave him quick directions. "Hey, that's only a couple of miles from our house," he said. "I'm sure it wouldn't be too much out of our way."

On the ride home, I sat in the front seat and I kept my comments quiet and polite for Ron's mother. His brother Rick was an identical clone of Ron, complete with the red hair, freckles, and goofy looks, only he was a little bit taller and thinner. Ron chattered the entire way, occasionally whispering to his brother in the back, but Rick didn't reply. He looked up at me curiously in the mirror.

I looked out the window and began wondering if they were both uncircumcised, then shook the disturbing thought out of my head. Why was I suddenly having dick on the brain?

They dropped me off in my driveway, but before they drove away, Ron ran up to me on the porch.

"Thanks for what you did for me back at school, man," he said, breathlessly.

"I'd do that for anybody, bub," I said, truthfully. "I can't stand to see that shit."

"And don't listen to what Scott said about you, either," he grinned. "I bet he's just jealous. My brother says Michaels used to have the biggest dick in the school. I think you just beat him!"

I winced and nodded.

"See ya tomorrow, Wil!" he yelled, trotting back to the car.

I trudged into our living room, threw my books on the coffee table, and collapsed on the couch. I sighed. I'd been in high school exactly one day, and I'd already made a new friend, but also a mortal enemy as well. It looked like it was going to be a long, fucked year, I thought.
 
    
 

© 2001, John Francis