Chapter 9

Friday morning was crisp, cold, and just a hair above freezing -- unseasonably cold for central Florida. It was still five days before Christmas, but it already felt like a holiday at school. After checking the posted exam scores on the front doors of the classrooms and re-reading my report card for the eighth time, I felt like I was walking on the clouds: Five A's, an A-minus, and a B. (And that one B was Algebra, which to me counted as an "A" by default.)

At last, I'd cracked the Honor Roll. Most of the students were buzzing about the mid-term exams, but I felt like I was glowing. I had my friend back, I was on my way to getting the best grades of my life, and things were finally looking up. LaFontaine Institute, here I come, I thought.

For the rest of the day, the teachers spent the time answering questions about the mid-term tests we'd just taken, and handing out essay assignments for the 14-day holiday break that would start over the weekend. When the homework assignments were announced, most of my classmates broke out in groans, but I still couldn't wipe the stupid grin off my face.

At lunch, Sky waved me over to one of the jock tables, and I sat next to him and Melissa. I had to admit, she really was a knock-out, practically with movie-star good looks. She was the co-leader of the junior varsity cheerleading squad, and had what were probably the biggest tits of any girl in 9th grade. After five minutes of conversation, it was clear to me that Melissa was no airhead; she was smart, witty, and had a great sense of humor. It was awfully hard for me to be jealous of her, I thought. Heck, under the right circumstances, maybe she and I could... No. I sighed and let that daydream float back out of my head, and tried to pay closer attention to what she was saying.

Melissa spent several minutes telling me how much I was going to like Cynthia. I could barely get a word in edgewise, and let her do most of the talking. At one point, I shot Sky a glance; he looked at me from over her shoulder and mouthed, "great tits, eh?", and wiggled his eyebrows. I had to bite my lower lip, which was still a little sore, just to stop myself from laughing out loud.

Midway into our meal, Melissa gave me a poke and stood up. "Cyn! Cynthia! We're over here!"

A really cute girl about my height walked over. She had a great tan, green eyes, and long, straight brown hair that hung past her shoulders, and no acne, which was a definite plus in high school. I couldn't tell much about her body, because she wore a loose-fitting wool coat. Melissa pulled me out of my chair and said, "Hi, Cyn. This is Wil. Wil, say hello to Cynthia Anderson."

"Hi," I said, nervously.

"Hi," she chirped. "You're in Mr. Harnett's 5th period American History class, right? I've never seen anybody argue with a teacher so much," she said, laughing.

Do I really do that, I thought? "Gee, I don't mean to," I said.

"You corrected him on mistakes three times in one day, last week!" she laughed. "I thought he was going to smack you with an eraser or something."

I winced as I caught Sky stifling a laugh out of the corner of my eye. Okay, so maybe I was a little snot-faced know-it-all. Cynthia leaned closer to me.

"I think you're pretty neat to stand up to him," she said. "In fact," she said, getting even closer, "I think you're real cool." For a winter day, it suddenly felt uncomfortably warm in the cafeteria.

"Th-thanks, Cynthia," I stammered.

"Call me Cyn," she said brightly. "I can't wait to go with you to the dance Tuesday night. Sky's told me all about you."

Did he tell you I could blow myself, I thought? I smiled as attractive a smile as I could muster and nodded. "Thanks, Cyn. Looking forward to it."

She laughed a wonderful bell-like laugh, and ran off to her next class, waving us goodbye.

Sky grinned at me. "Did I tell you she was cool, or what?" he asked.

I nodded. "Definitely out of my league," I sighed.

"Shut up, doofus!" he said, playfully punching me in the arm. "You're on the Honor Roll, you've officially made the swim team, and you saved my ass! I say you're the school hero, dip-shit!"

We both laughed. As Sky and I traded fake insults back and forth, I looked up and saw Ronnie Lannigan and his brother Rick walk by our lunch table. Ron gave me a hurt look, and then turned away. I called out his name, but he completely ignored me. That's not like Ron, I thought.

"Forget those geeks," said Sky, shaking his head. "You're with us, now. Those guys are totally un-cool."

I nodded. Maybe he was right. Maybe I should try to make new friends. Maybe Cynthia was the right girl for me. Just as that thought went through my head, the opening notes to The Temptations' "My Girl" came out of the cafeteria speakers. I snapped my fingers in time with the beat, then I stood up and started singing along with the song, in my best impression of David Ruffin.

 

	"I've got sunshine... on a cloudy day... when it's cold outside... I got the month of May..."

Sky whooped with laughter and pounded on the table. Suddenly, Melissa stood up beside me and started doing the backup vocals. I grinned at her and got so carried away, I jumped up on the table and continued singing as loud as I could, using a spoon as a microphone.

 

	"Well... I guess you'll say what can make me feel this way My girl... Talkin' 'bout my girl..."

Melissa leapt up on the table with me, and dragged up Sky along with her. They took the part of the backup group.

 

	"I got so... much honey the bees envy me. I've got... a sweeter song... Than the birds in the trees... "Well... I guess you'll say what can make me feel this way? My girl... Talkin' 'bout my girl..."

When the song finally ended, about fifty people in the cafeteria hooted and applauded, and the three of us took our bows. Sky and I laughed until we almost cried, jumped down off the table, and slapped each other on the back. Melissa wrapped her arms around me and gave me a huge kiss. I grinned and looked up, and saw Ronnie's face in the back of the crowd staring at me.

"Asshole," he silently mouthed, then turned and walked away.

Since exams were over, Mr. Harnett in American History gave us a study period, along with an assignment for a 1000-word report on the Civil War due on Monday the 6th, when school resumed with the second semester. I tried to talk to Ron, who sat behind me in class, but he wouldn't even give me the time of day. All he would say was, "The secretary has disavowed any knowledge of your actions." Great. I guess now he was back on the IM Force.

"I thought you working for U.N.C.L.E. this week," I said, playfully.

He turned away from me and stared out the window.

"Ronnie, don't be like this, man," I said, quietly. "Look, I'm really sorry if I pissed you off."

He still wouldn't look me in the eye.

"Hey," I said, trying to change the subject. "I'm going out on a date with Cynthia to the Christmas Dance."

Ron turned back and gave me a look of utter surprise. "You? And Cynthia Anderson?" He rolled his eyes and muttered, "you're fuckin' crazy!"

"You don't believe me?" I snapped. "Watch this." I turned to my right and said, loudly, "Psst! Hey, Cyn! 7:00 Tuesday night, right?"

She looked up from a conversation with the girl next to her, and smiled at me. "Hi, Wil. I'm really looking forward to the dance," she said. Jesus, she really was pretty.

"Cool!" I said. I smiled and nodded, and turned back to Ron, who stared at me with his mouth wide open.

"Close your mouth, before you catch a fly, dumbass!" I laughed.

"You really... like her?" he said, incredulous.

"What's not to like?" I shrugged. "She's cute, she's smart -- she even told me I was cool."

Ronnie frowned. "You're not cool," he muttered. Then, dropping his voice, he whispered, "I bet she just wants your big dick."

I leaned forward, glowering. "What if she does, asshole?" I hissed. "I bet there're a lot worse things I could do with my dick."

He shrank away from me and sat back in his seat. "If that's what you want," he said, in a small voice. Jesus, Ronnie could be such a doofus sometimes.

The bell rang and I went off to Phys Ed. I turned to look for Ronnie, but he'd vanished into thin air. Shit, I thought. If he skipped this class, he could really be in for it.

After Phys Ed, I saw Couch Lucas turning off the light in his office. "Hey, Coach," I yelled. He looked up and grinned.

"Well, if it isn't the brain of Tampa Central," he laughed. "I saw where you made the Honor Roll -- congratulations, son."

I smiled. "Sky didn't do too badly, either," I said.

Lucas nodded. "He has you to thank for that, Wil," he said, giving me a knowing look.

I started to protest, but he cut me short. "Son, let's face it. You and I both know, there's two kinds of people in this world -- guys with brains, and guys with muscles. I think you're in the former category, and Schuyler's in the latter."

I frowned. Where's the law that says you can't have a little of both, I thought. "Speaking of that," I said, "is it OK if I work out today? I missed going to the weight room every day this week, because of exams."

The coach furrowed his brow. "Actually," he said, "I was gonna lock up early and send Chuck home. Nobody's scheduled to use the room at all today, because of the Christmas break."

"Please, coach!" I begged. "Coach Byers says I've gotta put on more muscle to improve my Butterfly times!"

"Can't you just pick this up again two weeks from now?" he asked, wearily.

I shook my head. "The pool is closed until mid-January! Please, Coach!" I begged. "I'm preparing for the Olympics! I can't be a 95-pound weakling forever," I cried.

"Awright, awright," he chuckled, nodding his head. "Just be careful. We don't want any accidents in there. You won't have a spotter, so just stick to the machines. You're doing -- what, legs?"

I nodded. "Legs and chest, and maybe triceps."

"Okay. When you finish, be sure to turn all the lights out, and go out this side exit," he said, pointing to the metal fire door on the left. "It'll automatically lock behind you. All the other doors are already locked."

"Thanks, Coach!" I yelled, running back to my locker to grab a towel.

"Don't drop a weight on your head in there!" he called from the hallway.

"I won't!" I yelled back.

After a little less than 45 minutes, my legs ached like hell. This was the second-to-last exercise for my lower-body workout -- glutes. The bigger jocks called it the "butt blaster" machine, because it was supposed to just work out your posterior and lower back muscles. You had to lie down in a weird position, and then kick back and outwards. It looked like a total Rube Goldberg deal to me, but all I know is, it made my ass muscles really hurt like hell. I figured it had to be good for swimming.

Despite the cold outside, it was sweltering inside the workout room -- at least 74, 75, I thought, as I wiped off my face with my towel. That idiot Chuck must've cranked up the furnace. After my last set of 10 reps on the calves machine, I was really beat. I glanced up at the clock. Shit, I thought. Almost 5:00. I could see the sun getting low in the one lone window of the workout room. The gym seemed lonelier than it normally did, since I was the only person there. Even empty, the place still smelled of perspiration and steel. I wish there was a radio in here to listen to, I thought.

I ran down the little chart that Coach Byers had made for me with my workout routine. I crossed 'legs' off today's list, since I'd finished the last set, and moved over to chest. I could do the machines, I thought, but then I remembered how great Sky had looked doing bench press the other day. I felt a twinge at the memory of his tanned pecs and muscular arms. I sighed and put my hand against my own chest, which felt damp and puny through my T-shirt. If I really wanted to get bigger, I thought, I was gonna have to take Sky's advice and use the real workout stuff.

According to the chart, I only did 65 pounds the last time I tried a chest workout with Sky. I threw on two ten-pound plates on the 45-pound barbell, lay back, and tried ten reps. Hmmm, I thought, letting the heavy bar clang to the posts. That wasn't too bad. I'll go up to 85. That was definitely heavier, I thought, straining at the weight. I struggled to push it back up for 8, then counted to 9, then just barely made it to 10. "Whew," I said to nobody in particular. "I really felt that one."

Could I lift 100? I looked at the black metal plates in the rack. They didn't look all that bad, I thought. Sky was able to do 150 the other day, but he was a lot bigger than I was. I decided to compromise at 95, which was still more than I had ever lifted before. I added two more five-pounders on the bar, took a few deep breaths, and leaned back.

"It's now or never," I said out loud, to the empty room.

Ooof, I thought. Now THIS was definitely heavy. I could feel my chest expand from the exertion, and my arms trembled. My heart began racing as I remembered how great Sky's body looked, pumped-up and naked. As I squeezed out the reps, I closed my eyes and thought of how we would look, each of us with identically-muscular bodies, taking a shower together. God, I thought. I felt a twinge and a throb between my legs.

Just two more reps to go, I thought. "Nine!" I said, out loud. I lowered the weight all the way down to my chest, and started to push it up. Christ, it was impossible. I couldn't even move it an inch! I began to panic.

"Heavy, isn't it?" whispered a voice close to my ear.

The barbell wobbled unsteadily in my hands, and I opened my eyes wide. Scott Michaels' face was just inches away from my own, and his hand was on the middle of the barbell. In all the times I'd ever seen him, he'd never looked angrier, or more evil.

"What... what the fuck do you want?" I gasped, as the bar finally dropped with a small thud onto my chest, pinning me to the bench.

"So, Donkey Boy wants to be a real he-man!" he said, laughing sadistically, as he walked around the bench to my feet.

"Just leave me alone, Michaels, willya?" I said, trying desperately to keep the whine out of my voice. I was having trouble breathing.

Scott yanked off his football jersey and threw it to the ground, then ripped off his pants and his jock-strap, allowing his enormous erection to spring free. He pulled my legs apart and sat down on the bench. I struggled to keep the bar balanced on my chest, and prayed for the strength to lift it up a few inches and onto the bottom safety notch.

"Let's see just how big it really is," he said, putting his hands on my shorts.

"GOD! Scott, no, please, just get away from me!" I pleaded. "I swear I won't tell anybody!" My ribcage felt like it was cracking. I could barely even lift my head up.

Suddenly, I felt a draft of cold air on my crotch as my shorts and jockstrap were roughly yanked down my legs and off my feet.

Scott sat back down and let out a low whistle, as he methodically compared our endowments.

"My, my," he said, holding them together, side by side. He leaned down close to my face, which was turning red -- partly with embarrassment, and partially with the exertion of being crushed to death.

"That is a big one," he said, flicking my organ back and forth between his thumb and index finger. "Eight inches, right?"

I was getting dizzy. "It's...closer to ten," I gasped. My arousal twitched, and I felt it quickly swell to full attention. Shit, shit, shit! I thought. Now's not the time!

Scott laughed. Without warning, he suddenly grabbed my entire package and squeezed it, hard. I groaned in agony.

"You really think yours is bigger than mine?" he said, evenly. "I don't think so. Do you?"

I didn't answer. Suddenly, I felt a tremendous pain in my groin, and I screamed and doubled up. He'd punched me with his fist, right in my balls.

"I said, you don't think yours is bigger than mine, do you, DONKEY BOY?" he screamed.

I was in too much agony to speak. The heavy barbell slipped out of my grip, as I lost my balance. The metal plates on the left slid off and crashed to the floor in a clang of metal, and the bar immediately tipped over to the right, pulling me off the bench and onto the rubber mat on the floor. My glasses flew off and I fell on my stomach, then instinctively reached for my tender groin, which was throbbing with pain.

Before I knew what was happening, Scott was on top of me. I felt his hot breath on the back of my neck, and a little stubble from his chin scraped my shoulder.

"You want my dick, don't you, Donkey Boy?" he whispered in my ear.

"Scott, PLEASE, don't hurt me!" I begged. "Coach'll hear you! He'll kick us both out of school if he sees us." I prayed he didn't know we were both alone.

As if to answer me, he leaned forward and playfully bit my ear. "I saw Lucas drive away half an hour ago," he said, quietly. "It's just you and me, Donkey Boy. We're gonna have some fun together. Don't you move an inch."

I felt something hot and sweaty slip between my thighs. Jesus, not that... I tried to stand up, but Scott punched me in my back, as hard as he could.

"I TOLD YOU... <wham!> NOT... <wham!> TO... <wham!> MOVE!" he screamed.

My body was wracked with agony, and my penis instantly shriveled up with fear and nausea.

He rolled me over on my back and socked me again in the stomach, hard. I groaned and doubled-up on the floor. He pulled my legs back down, spread them apart, and laughed.

"That dick of yours sure don't look all that big now, Donkey Boy. In fact," he said, sitting forward on my chest, "I'd say mine's a lot bigger now, wouldn't you?"

I opened my eyes and saw a blurry fleshy object inches from my face. I began to sob. "No, please, Scott, don't do this, I won't tell anybody, I swear to fucking God, Scott! I never did anything to you!"

He brushed it against my lips. "No, but you're gonna do somethin' for me, right now," he murmured. "Aren't you, Donkey Boy?"

I shook my head and kept my mouth closed, but he suddenly punched me again, hard, in the abdomen. I thought I was going to vomit any second. I groaned and started crying harder.

"You know you want to suck it! Don't you, Donkey Boy? Suck it!" he ordered.

I shook my head again, but he grabbed me by the hair and forced my mouth open, then abruptly shoved in his erection all the way to the back of my throat. I choked and gagged, then partially threw up, forcing his arousal out of my throat. Scott cried out with rage, and back-handed me across the face. I stopped crying and wiped the bile off my mouth.

"DON'T EVER DO THAT!" he screamed. "When I tell you to suck it, you suck it! And no teeth! If you bite me, I'll beat you so bad, you'll walk with a limp for the rest of your fuckin' life!"

I nodded meekly, and he leaned forward again. I closed my eyes and felt the large, sweaty object move back into my mouth, a little more gently this time. Reluctantly, I started sucking and moved my tongue back and forth. Scott immediately moaned with pleasure.

"That's more like it, Donkey Boy," he moaned, gently stroking my hair with his right hand. "Suck my big dick. Suck it!"

Despite my terror, I felt the blood surging between my legs. Scott reached behind his back and grabbed me, and laughed.

"Hey, you like this, don't you, Donkey Boy! Let me make you feel better." He began stroking me up and down, and I began to moan and suck him, hungrily. I reached forward and started to fondle his balls. He began slowly thrusting back and forth in my mouth.

"Oh, that's good," he moaned. He stroked my cock some more, then leaned forward. "I really like your dick, Wil," he whispered, using my real name for the first time. "Oh, you're good at this, man," he said, speeding up his thrusts. I tried to mentally stop myself from gagging. His dick might be a little smaller than mine, I thought, but not by much.

Suddenly, he plunged forward, and it slipped all the way back into my throat. I started to gag, but he grabbed my head and held it firmly. "Just a few more seconds, Wil," he begged. "I'm really close, man! Please?"

I opened my eyes and saw that Scott was in a state of total bliss, thrusting like some kind of animal. His muscular chest glistened with sweat; I could see a small sprinkling of black hairs between his two enormous pecs. I continued to cough, and finally started to black out from lack of air. I tried to pull back, but he held my head firmly with both hands and sped up his thrusts to a blur. Finally, as a last-ditch act of total desperation, I summoned all my courage, took my right fist and smacked him as hard as I could in the face.

Scott fell back, screaming as his cock ripped from my mouth, and he hit the floor with a loud thud.

"YOU FUCKIN' ASSHOLE!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "I TOLD YOU NOT TO USE YOUR TEETH! LOOKIT WHAT YOU'VE DONE!"

I sat up, still choking and gagging. The stocky 15 year-old staggered up to his feet and began waving around his huge erection, which had an angry red scrape along the top side. A tear of blood slid down the shaft and onto his bright purple head.

"YOU FUCKING FAGGOT!" he screamed. "I'LL KILL YOU FOR THIS!"

I shook my head and crawled over to the bench. "You're gonna have to kill more than just me, Scott," I said, shaking as I pulled myself up. "If anything happens to me, Rick and Ronnie Lannigan are gonna know you did it."

He stopped and stared at me, all the blood drained from his face. "Wha... what did those faggots tell you?"

I took a step forward, my half-hard organ swinging between my legs, and took a deep breath. "I know enough to know you're as much of a fag as they are. Or I am. Or anybody here is."

Scott had an expression of total panic on his face. "You can't tell anybody," he whispered. "I'll... I'll kill you first."

"Scott, listen to me," I said, as bravely as I could, making every effort to keep the quiver out of my voice. "Forget about this. You know I won't tell anybody. What good would it do me? You know about me, and I know about you. We're even."

He mulled that over. "But you know about Rick and Ron," he said, trying to sort it out through his ape-like brain, while he idly stroked himself. His eyes had a wild expression and stared at me, unblinking.

Jesus, I have a big mouth, I thought, still trying to come up with a good explanation. I thought of trying to make a break past him, but he was directly between me and the one exit in the room.

"I don't know about anything, Scott," I lied. "I just guessed. I knew you hated Ronnie, and he can never take his eyes off my dick in the locker room, so I just put two and two together. So what?" I said, inching towards the door. "Maybe Ron's a fag, maybe he's not. Who cares?" I said. "We're just guys, helpin' each other get off once in awhile. It's no big deal."

He looked at me blankly, then slowly nodded his head. Before I could even think what I was doing, I made a mad dash for the door. With lightning speed, Scott charged forward and wrapped his large, muscular arm around my throat from behind and started to squeeze.

"You fuckin' faggot," he hissed. "You're just like those other guys. You just wanna drag me down with ya. I know just how to handle stupid fuckin' pansy boys like you."

With a cry of rage, he pushed me headfirst into a nearby weight stand, and I collided with a rack of 20-pound dumbbells, which rolled away in every direction. I hit the floor with a thud, and I tried desperately to crawl away. Scott fell on me and punched me repeatedly in the lower back. He grabbed me again around the throat and started to squeeze. I tried to scream, but not a sound came out of my mouth. I started feeling light-headed as he dragged me back to a padded bench. He slammed me down hard on my stomach, and I felt him probe me from behind. I heard him spit, and he abruptly shoved a finger all the way up inside me.

"Noooooo," I gurgled.

As if to answer me, he savagely kneed me in my balls, which dangled underneath me, to the side of the bench. It hurt beyond anything I'd ever felt in my life. I began to black out from the pain.

"Those big nuts are wasted on you, faggot!" he hissed.

Suddenly, he grunted like an animal, and a new kind of pain hit me. A searing pressure ripped through my anal wall, sending a stabbing wave all the way up my spine. I screamed, and Scott punched me again in the back and fell on top of me, then wrapped his hands tightly around my shoulders.

"This is what all you pussy boys really want, isn't it, Wil?" he whispered in my ear. "You want my hot cock up your ass, don't you?"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" I screamed.

"It can't hurt that much, can it, Wil?" he said. "After all, it's a lot smaller than yours, right?"

He bit my earlobe lightly and stuck his tongue inside. I shuddered, and he began to grunt and thrust his hips on top of me. I felt the hot sweat between us start to trickle out on my back. After a minute, the excruciating pain began to subside and turn into a dull throbbing. I felt something warm and moist dripping from my thighs onto the bench. Fuck, I thought. Now I'm bleeding to death.

Scott's rhythmic thrusts became faster and more insistent. "Oh, Wil," he murmured. "I've wanted to do this all year. Don't tell me you don't like this."

I hated him. Even worse, I started to feel a new sensation, some kind of throbbing pleasure deep inside me. To my disgust, I felt my groin throbbing back to life again. I moaned with the sheer misery and horror of the situation, and tears sprang to my eyes.

Scott laughed and whispered, "I told you you'd like it, Donkey Boy."

Suddenly, there was a noise behind us. Scott cried out, and I heard a loud clang, followed behind by a tremendous crash. I turned my head just as his body fell off me and hit the floor with a dull thud. The next thing I knew, someone grabbed my arm and tried to help me up, and I rolled over on the bench and groaned with pain.

"Wil! Wil, it's me, Chuck!"

I opened my eyes, and the fat, bloated assistant gym manager was holding me up under my arms. There was a look of sheer fright in his eyes, and he panted, as if he'd just been running.

"Are you alright?" he asked, catching his breath. "Can you walk?"

I nodded. Using Chuck's shoulder and the bench for support, I pulled myself up to my feet, then looked down. Scott Michaels lay on the floor, unmoving, with a 45-pound weight plate next to his head. I let out a gasp when I saw a trickle of blood oozing down his right forehead. Scott's left arm was bent backwards at an odd angle.

"Shit, Chuck! You killed him!" I whispered.

Chuck kneeled beside him, still panting and sweating. "No," he said, shaking his head. "He's still breathing. Scott's just knocked out. I'll call an ambulance."

I felt dizzy. "But what's the coach gonna say?"

"Coach isn't here," he replied, calmly. "I'm in charge now."

He handed me my glasses. I nodded and put them back on, then half-walked, half-staggered to the workout room door. I looked back. Chuck was pulling the unconscious football star up onto the bench.

"What about Scott?" I asked, wearily.

Chuck quickly walked over to me. I could see a thin film of sweat soaking his enormous T-shirt.

"I told you," he said. "I'll call an ambulance. In 15 or 20 minutes." His huge chest rose and fell as he panted -- whether from the excitement or the exertion, I'm not sure.

I was puzzled. "Why not call right now?" I asked.

Chuck grinned at me. "When I'm finished with him. What he don't know, won't hurt him."

I stared at him for a moment, then realization set in. "No, Chuck -- don't get in trouble, man," I protested.

"Get outta here," he said, quietly. "You got five minutes to take a shower and go home. I'll clean up here. If anybody asks, I'll say you left an hour ago."

I stared at Chuck as he walked back to the gym bench and rolled over the unconscious athlete on his back. Jesus, I thought, eying my attacker's nude groin. After all that, Scott was still as hard as a rock! A low moan escaped from his lips.

Chuck looked back at me. "Go on, Wil."

I nodded, then limped over to the door. "Thanks, Chuck," I said. "For what you did for me."

The fat boy looked down at Scott, then looked back at me. "This isn't the first time this has happened, Wil," he said, sadly.

I shook my head, retrieved my gym clothes and towel, and limped down the hall, turned to the corner and went into the shower. The hot water felt soothing. I let the warm cloud of steam rise up, and I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall for support.

After a minute or two, I looked down and saw a several drops of red running down my right leg. The blood pooled up on the floor, and circled down into the drain. Gingerly, I reached down and checked the damage. FUCK, that hurt. I winced. I'm not gonna be able to poop for a month, I thought. I looked down at my body, and shuddered at the scratches and bruises on my chest and stomach. I probably looked even worse on my back, I thought.

I thought about what Chuck had said to me. Did he mean Scott had done this before to other guys? Or did he mean that Chuck had knocked some of the players on the head and... I shuddered with the mental image of the fat boy's huge, sweaty body, and immediately tried to push it out of my head.

I shut off the water and grabbed my towel, then limped back to my locker and pulled on my clothes. Shit, I thought. I'm gonna leave blood all over my pants. I couldn't let my parents see me the way I am. What am I gonna do? Where could I go?

Ronnie.

I limped down the hall and grabbed the pay phone. Thank God, I still had one dime on me. I dropped the coin in the slot and quickly dialed his number. C'mon, Ronnie! Answer... answer! At last, there was a click.

"Hello?"

"Ronnie!" I yelled into the phone. "God, I'm glad you're home! It's me, Wil. I've got an emergency."

Silence. "I don't wanna talk to you, Wil," he said, coldly. "U.N.C.L.E. agents are forbidden to fraternize with enemies from THRUSH."

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up, Ronnie, and listen for once! Scott Michaels just beat the shit out of me at school, and then tried to rape me!"

Ron gasped. "He did WHAT?" he cried. Another voice yelled "hold it down" in the background on the phone.

"Ronnie, don't tell anybody about this!" I pleaded.

"That was just Rickie. I've gotta tell him!" he said, in a hoarse whisper.

"Okay," I said, wearily. "Just your brother, but nobody else. Listen, I'm out of money for the phone." I glanced over at the clock, which had just hit 5:30. "Call my mom and tell her you'd like me to spend the night tonight at your place. If she gives you any shit, tell her I made the Honor Roll."

"Hey, that's great, Wil!" he started.

"Shut UP!" I hissed. "I'm bleeding, and I hurt like hell!"

I thought I heard him choke back a sob.

"Shit, I'm sorry, man!" he said in a small voice. "What can we do?"

I thought for a minute. "We'll figure that out when I get there," I said. "If my mom asks any questions, just stall and tell her I went to the store with Rick or something. I'll call her back in a half hour, when I get to your place."

"Okay, Wil," he said. He paused for a second, then angrily muttered, "I told you Scott Michaels was an asshole."

I nodded, even though I knew Ronnie couldn't see me. Down the hall from the locker room, I heard a voice in the distance moan loudly, then scream. Sounds like somebody just got to the root of Scott's problem, I thought.

"I'll see you in ten minutes, Ronnie. Listen, I'm sorry for what I said before."

"I'm sorry, too," he said, meekly. "Wil, I... I gotta tell you something. I... really..." His voice cracked.

Shit, I don't want to hear this now, I thought.

"Ron, I gotta go," I snapped.

"No," he said. "I gotta tell you." He took a deep breath. "I love you, Wil. I'm sorry, but I do."

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the wall.

"Ronnie. I'm all fucked-up. Don't say anything," I begged. "Just let me come over and crash for awhile... please."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he said, blubbering.

"And stop apologizing!" I yelled.

"Okay. Wil?" he asked.

"What now, Ronnie?"

"Hurry up!"

I cursed and hung up the phone. I grabbed my notebook and textbooks and crammed them in my gym bag. I went over to a dispenser over the trash can and grabbed a handful of paper towels, and gingerly shoved them down the back of my pants. It still hurt, but not quite as badly as it did ten minutes ago.

With my heavy gym bag in hand, I trotted back down the hall, then slowed to a fast walk as I went down the corner by the workout room door. The room lights were out now, and I thought for a moment about opening the door. Again, I heard a loud moan from inside, but I could've sworn it was two different voices this time. I backed up from the door, and silently tip-toed past it. I hit the fire door release, stumbled and ran out into the cold night. I started running faster after I heard it slam shut in the distance.
 
 

© 2001, John Francis