Challenges

The run to the field seemed to take forever. I made it in a little over two-and-a-half hours which gave me a lot of time to stew over the events of the morning. My mind was still reeling from the encounter I’d had with my parents’ hired gun. Their continued interference in my life seemed unconscionable. What did they hope to accomplish by telling that counselor about my sexuality? About my love for Pete? Couldn’t they see they’d done enough damage? And what about Kathlene? Telling mom and dad that I was going to that shrink was a breach of the trust I’d put in her. What was I going to do about that?

The junior varsity team was practicing when I arrived. I sat in the bleachers to watch after walking a cool down lap and stretching out. There were a lot of different things going on out there on the field. There were several groups running drills. The receivers and quarterbacks were working together running patterns and receiving passes. The backs were running spin drills on dummies and the linemen were crashing into the sleds.

The coaches noticed me come in and take my lap but didn’t otherwise pay any attention to me. I’m sure Coach Callende recognized me, however, and watched me thoughtfully before nearly falling off a sled due to the impact of two large bodies.

During one of the few breaks the coaches allowed, one of the players came up to the bleachers and addressed me. He was a large individual, tall and well built. Sweaty blond hair was plastered to his skull.

"You’re a freshman, right? You trying out for the frosh team?"

"Yeah. Brian Kellam."

"Wes Lymon, sophomore. Why’re you hanging out here instead of resting? Daily doubles aren’t easy."

"I was bored so I went for a run and this is where I ended up."

"You still have over an hour before your practice starts," he said. "You could go home and get something to eat while you have the chance."

"I could, but I won’t. I’m fine. You should be saving your breath, it looks like," I added with a slight grin.

Wes’ wide smile caught me by surprise. "I suppose you’re right. See you around, Brian."

"Later, Wes."

I never expected anyone to come up to me while I sat there observing the team going through their drills, and Wes seemed like a nice guy. I watched him walk away from me and realized I was moments from embarrassing myself again. I turned my mind from Wes’ retreating form to the betrayal I had just suffered at Kathlene’s hands.

Kathlene had told my parents that I was going to see that shrink, and what did they turn around and do? They spewed my entire life to a perfect stranger. They told her about Pete. They told her about him being taken away, and that I thought I was gay. Was all of that really Kathlene’s fault though? The more I thought about it, the more I realized she had acted in my best interests regardless of the outcome. She told me she was setting up the appointment, and she never hid the fact she talks with my parents on a regular basis. I couldn’t blame her for what my parents had done, but that did nothing to assuage the pain I felt.

I lay down on the bleacher seat, crossed my legs and arms, and closed my eyes. I was mentally and emotionally exhausted. Physically I felt ready to start practice, but my mind was tired. I rested there until a person sitting next to my head disturbed me. I looked up at the frowning form of none other than Chris.

"You found me," I said with a touch of irony.

"Yeah. Mom was worried sick, Brian," Chris said disapprovingly. "You need to stop doing things like this to her. She has enough to deal with without you running away like that."

"I didn’t run away, Chris. I ran here."

"What happened with the counselor?" Chris asked.

"Mom didn’t tell you?" I queried.

"No. All she told me is that you ran out of the office."

"It was stupid," I began. "The shrink started asking these questions that she should have had no clue to ask." I lowered my voice. "She started asking me about why I lived with you, what happened to cause it..."

"Mom could have told her that," Chris interrupted.

"But she wouldn’t have told her I was gay, would she?" I asked tremulously.

"No way!" Chris asserted immediately. "She wouldn’t tell her personal stuff like that, and you know it." His disgust that I could even consider that Kathlene would do such a thing was impossible to miss.

"I didn’t think she would have either. She did tell my parents about the appointment though."

"And?" Chris said leadingly.

"And my parents told the bitch everything." I shrugged and Chris frowned at my choice of adjectives for the counselor. "Before I even had a chance to say anything, she had it all figured out. I couldn’t handle it, so I just left."

"Mom’s waiting in the parking lot, Brian. She wanted you to go out and talk to her if I found you."

Chris held my eyes in a hard stare. It was difficult to meet his gaze. I was still angry, but Chris’ expression left no doubt that I owed it to Kathlene to speak with her. She hadn’t caused the situation but she had taken the brunt of the emotional strain my running out of the office had created.

"Okay, I’ll be right back, Chris."

I left my place in the stadium slowly. The walk would give me time to control my anger. I really didn’t want to blast the one adult who truly cared about me. I saw the car sitting in the parking lot. Kathlene was watching the gates and was obviously relieved when she saw my face. The magnitude of her relief was reflected in the fact she wasn’t even angry with me.

"Are you okay, hon?" She asked worriedly.

"Yeah. Mom and Dad did it again. They told her everything." Both sentences sounded emotionless and dead to my ears.

"Damn them!" Kathlene all but shouted.

I don’t know who was more surprised at the outburst: her or me. Our eyes both grew wide, and then the giggles came.

We laughed for a moment, then Kathlene asked, "Are you sure you’re okay, Brian?"

Shrugging, I said, "I have to be."

No one could miss the compassion in the smile she gave me.

"Brian, for what it’s worth... I’m sorry this turned out as it did."

"I know, mom. You wouldn’t do anything to hurt me on purpose."

"I’m glad you know that, Brian." Her expression changed from amused to deadly serious. "I love you, Brian. You are another son to me."

It took me a moment to respond. It was the first time she had said those words with such emotion, and it caught me off guard. I stood stock still for several seconds, just blinking at her. When I could finally speak, her expression was beginning to slip into worry.

"I love you too, mom. I didn’t know how much until just now."

Kathlene smiled again, and it was like the fog had lifted. The day seemed so much brighter. What had happened earlier that morning was wiped away and no longer worth my rage.

"Bye, sweetheart. I’ll see you tonight."

"Bye, mom."

She backed up and drove off to work. I watched the car recede into the distance, pondering the emotions the day had evoked in me. I tried so hard not to yield to my emotions and to keep them from surfacing, and I was successful as far as the outside world was concerned, but internally it was a near constant battle to maintain. The only relief I got was when I was running. I could put everything aside and blank my mind, allowing the act of running to be the only thing I was aware of.

Kathlene and Chris had an uncanny talent of raising my emotions against my wishes. Chris now had another weapon in his arsenal: his physical form which he used unknowingly to devastating effect. Kathlene had maternal instinct on her side, having raised a boy already and being in the midst of another’s transition into manhood. To be saddled with me beginning my transformation was very unfair to her but Kathlene seemed to revel in both the challenge and my presence. The very fact I was there provided her with comfort of some sort, even if I was erratic or maybe slightly insane.

Practice on Thursday afternoon consisted of weight training and receiving our gear. The entire complement of our team had been filled in just over three-and-a-half days. How the coaches could discern who would fill the final slots was a mystery to me. In my estimation, the final ten guys competing for the last four slots seemed equal to me in every respect, but the coaches saw something different. Perhaps they had chosen at random.

Friday morning was our first practice with full pads. It was full of drills, but the intensity dropped some as we spent more time on learning how to hit properly, how to block and what the coaches’ expectations for us were both on and off the field. The school said we had to maintain at least a two-point-five grade point to play. Mr. Dalton made a promise to us. He said if we slipped below two-point-eight, we’d be suspended from the team until we brought our grades up. If that took us beyond the season, then we were off. No appeal was allowed and no exceptions would be made. If we had any disciplinary problems, we’d pay for it in practice for the first offense. After that, we were off the team. No appeal, and no exceptions.

Chris, Mac, Tom and Greg held the co-captaincy of the team, leading by example. The coaches continued to push us hard. Saturday had two "optional" practices that the entire team attended. They weren’t as intense as the weekday practices had been, focusing more on learning the plays. Each player was given two or three positions to learn for each play. I was assigned to learn all of the wide receiver routes, and informed I would be playing free safety or linebacker on defense.

We were again grouped by positions as we initially learned the plays. There were eight of us in the receiver group. A quarterback was set to throw the ball as we ran the routes. At first, we’d run them on our own and return to wait our turn again. After each receiver had run the pattern a couple times, Coach Dalton, who would be our offensive coordinator, assigned the returning receiver to cover the next man on his route. It added a lot to the drill while we had to try to juke our coverage and catch the ball at the same time.

This continued until we were told to take a five-minute break, after which the team came together to take a knee before Coach Callende, our defensive coordinator. He discussed each position and what responsibilities and roles they would play. After the discussion, we were split up into offensive and defensive side to practice our positions.

When they put me at outside linebacker, I was in heaven. Every single play where the ball was run to my side I made contact, and I don’t mean just touching the guy. I hit hard just as I always had and it felt wonderful.

Practices continued and we improved as a team. After two weeks of daily doubles, we were all exhausted, but I, for one, felt good about what we had accomplished.

School started on August twenty-sixth, two weeks after football practice. My schedule matched up fairly well with Chris. We both had math first period, but I was taking Geometry and he was taking Algebra. We shared the next two classes, Freshman Life Skills and Science, and then had lunch together. After we ate we had physical education, then went our separate ways for the last two classes of the day. I had Civics and AP English, while he had English and Civics.

In most classes, the first two days were a waste. Not so in my geometry or English classes. Dr. Conner taught Geometry and made it plain we were in his class to learn, and there would be no excuses if we didn’t. The man was ultra-prepared. He had books on our desks when we walked in that first morning. He told us to find our name on the seating chart and sit at the specified desk. Once seated, without any preamble, he told us to open our books and immediately began launching into the lesson. He was a good teacher in his way, I suppose. He would write problems on the board and explain how to work them through, never raising his voice above a normal conversational tone, forcing the class to be silent if we wanted any chance at hearing him. We learned right away that the man didn’t have much of a sense of humor and was serious about math.

Now that classes had started, I got into the more familiar routine of class work, practice, workout and homework. I didn’t have time to do anything else unless I traded sleep for it. It wasn’t like I was sleeping well either. The nightmares had come back full force with the beginning of school. During the summer they had mellowed out to disturbing dreams and a handful of screamers a month, but now I was woken by a nightmare every night. Sometimes it was twice a night. I couldn’t run in to Chris: he needed his sleep. I did the only thing I could do. I slept very little and when I did, I kept a pillow close to muffle any screams I might make.

As the first week passed, we came to know a bit about our teachers, or tormentors, in some cases. My English teacher was really big on discipline. It was fortunate we had an AP Freshman class. Most of the people in it were there to learn, and not to screw off like the majority of kids our age. I had heard rumors that Mr. Dayton gave out homework dependent on class obedience. It was a good thing we were a well-behaved bunch.

My favorite class, if I had to decide on one, was gym. Chris and I were in the same class, so we continually pushed each other to a higher level of performance. Coach Magyar, a varsity assistant coach, taught the class. He liked to emphasize weight training to "make our growing muscles strong". Just about every other day we were in the weight room. The rest of the time we were playing flag football or some other sport.

Beside Phys Ed, I liked English and Science. Math was a necessary evil, but I did well there. Civics and living skills I could take or leave, but I had to keep my four-point, so I studied them too.

Our first football game was Saturday, September seventh. We were playing a cross-town rival which historically had beaten us more than we had beaten them. Coach Dalton gave us a decent prep talk, exhorting us to do our best, no matter whether we were winning or losing. He reminded us that the coaches for the varsity and junior varsity teams would be watching us and our performance would be noted.

I can’t tell you how hyped up I was when I went out on the field for the game. They put me in as free safety and I absolutely loved it. The game went so fast that I couldn’t remember it play-by-play, but I sure made some great hits. I put all my anger and aggression into every tackle I made. More than one person was taken out of the game to recover after I took them down. They came back later but tended to run away from me. The coaches let me play defense for the whole game. I didn’t mind because it helped contain the other team’s offense to short yardage. Chris was having a good day too, making his share of stops as a lineman. They ran him as tight end on a couple of offensive plays, but he didn’t get the ball.

One thing really bothered me about my performance though. There was one play where the opponent completed a screen pass. The back that caught the ball beat our secondary and came in my direction. He cut for the sideline and I pursued him. As we converged, I readied to take him out-of-bounds with the intent of driving him into the ground. Just as I got within reach of him, the guy made a move to go around me and I couldn’t twist my body back in time to catch him. I hit the ground hard and watched helplessly as he ran into the end zone for a touchdown.

In the end, we won the game handily. Our defense had what the coaches called a "stellar" day. No one was called out individually for doing well. It was a team effort, and the team got the praise, as it should.

On the bus going back home, some guys came over and said they thought I did well. I shrugged and coolly told them I was just doing my job, and I had done a lot of things wrong and I needed to work on them. A few of them looked at me strangely and walked away when I said it. It didn’t matter what they thought or said. I was in my zone, and I knew what I had to do.

Chris sat by me for about five minutes before we arrived back at school. I glanced at him when he sat down, then went back to thinking about the game and how I could have done things better. After a moment, Chris shifted in the seat uncomfortably.

"Bri, are you okay?"

I look at him and said, "Of course. Why do you ask?"

"Because you’re the only one on the bus not in a good mood," Chris stated. "Other people have noticed, and I wanted to know why."

"Oh. I’m just thinking about the game."

"What about the game?" Chris questioned. "We won, didn’t we?"

"Yeah," I said in an annoyed tone, "but there’s so much I did wrong. I need to work on it."

Chris blinked a couple times in amazement, and then said, "It’s the first game of the season! Of course we did things wrong. We have next week to work on them. And just what did you do wrong? You were hitting those guys like a cannon ball. They even stopped running to you after halftime. So what did you do wrong?"

"Things where I should have known better, like when I over-pursued on the play they scored on. If I hadn’t, they wouldn’t have made it to the end zone."

"The guy made a terrific cut, Brian." Chris explained. "There was no way you could have caught him going for the sideline like you were."

"He got away with it because I had committed to the sideline instead of staying loose and playing him."

Chris shook his head with a snort, and then sarcastically asked, "What else did you do wrong?"

I glared at him and then went back to watching the scenery. Chris was quiet until the bus pulled into the parking lot at DH high school.

"I’m sorry, Bri. I didn’t mean to make you mad. You played a great game and shut them down. I just want you to be happy with what you did today, and not beat yourself up for the little things."

"Letting them score was a little thing?"

"God, Brian!" Chris interjected. "There isn’t a person on this team who could have caught that guy with the cut he made and the momentum you had."

"Sure. Right." My tone told him I wasn’t convinced.

We got off the bus and went into the locker room for showers and to drop our gear in our lockers. Spirits were running high as the team undressed and cleaned up. I took my time, and just as I was making my way to the shower, Coach Dalton called me into his office.

"You did a great job today, Kellam," he said. "Some of those hits you made were huge."

"Thank you, sir."

"How do you like safety?" Asked Coach Callende.

"It’s good. I can get in on just about every play."

"Glad you feel that way." Dalton responded. "That’s where you’ll be for most of the season. Very solid performance, son. Good job. Hit the showers."

"Thank you, coach."

I took a quick shower as usual, and was just a moment behind Chris in reaching the car. Kathlene had seen the game and was effusive with her praise. I accepted it in good grace but couldn’t share her excitement. I had too much to think about. I didn’t miss Kathlene and Chris sharing a worried glance, but I chose not to respond.

School and practice continued. Chris and I would talk at lunch about whatever had come up that day, or we would talk football. Chris would eat a good lunch most of the time, but I would just have something light like an apple or a banana. I wasn’t hungry at lunch, and I didn’t eat breakfast because my stomach was queasy in the morning. Dinner was the only meal I really ate, and I ate big.

We still worked out each evening after dinner and before we studied, not that I had a lot of studying to do. Sometimes I would continue to lift after Chris went in, using the dumbbells. Two weeks into the year, Chris came to me as I was doing arm curls.

"Bri, can you help me out?"

"Sure," I grunted through a lift. "What’s up?"

"It’s math. I just don’t get it."

I finished out my set and sat on the bench beside him.

"What’re you having trouble with?"

He disgustedly gestured to the textbook. "All of it."

I glanced over the assignment and saw that helping him wouldn’t be a problem.

"No problem. I’ll be in as soon as I finish this last set."

I stood and continued with the chest exercise I was doing when Chris came in. He was watching me as I lifted, and I could see him in the mirror. He made me nervous for some reason. I wasn’t used to having a non-participating audience when I worked out. Chris watched me with interest, observing my motions. I watched his expression grow from appreciative to worried in just a few seconds.

"What?" I asked him. "Did I do something wrong?"

He ignored my question and cleared his throat a couple of times. He said, "Bri...you’ve really got a good build. You’re really cut and everything’s in proportion. You look great."

I blushed. I hated it when people made statements like that. I didn’t like the attention at all because it made me extremely uncomfortable. I didn’t know how to react to complimentary comments and I never had. Chris was usually okay except when he started complimenting me. I’d rather fight him than have him do that. My concentration was blown so I put the weights back where they belonged.

I playfully poked him in the chest and said, "I’m not the only one. Take off your shirt. Look in the mirror."

To my surprise, he did as I asked. I mentally kicked myself in the nuts for suggesting it because I then had to find a way to keep my excitement hidden in the skimpy running shorts I wore. I sat on the bench and put his textbook in my lap. I didn’t think it was too obvious.

"My lats need some more work. They’re out of balance," Chris complained.

"Not much, bro. You have to look hard to notice."

"Yeah, well, I noticed. I just have to find the time to fit them in to my routine." Chris eyed me critically. "I don’t know how you do it, Bri. I really don’t. Between practicing, studying and working out, I’m exhausted, but you seem like nothing sacks you out. Where do you get all your energy?"

Where indeed?

"I dunno. I just… don’t get tired."

Chris whipped his head around and stared at me with an intensity that set me back. "You aren’t taking drugs, are you?"

"Fuck no! And fuck you! You think I’m stupid or something?"

"Sorry, Bri. I had to ask."

"That’s a fucked up question, Chris. You know me better than that."

"It wasn’t a fucked up question. What if you were taking them?"

"Well, I’m not, so leave it alone. Now get your ass over here and explain what you’re having problems with."

Chris studied me for a moment while I impatiently waited for him to sit again. Instead, he walked over and grabbed his book out of my lap and walked out the door.

"I’ll be in my room, Bri."

For some reason, his cool response infuriated me. I lay down on the bench and picked up the bare weight bar. I pumped out as many reps as my anger would allow, breaking the most important rule of using the weight room: I was lifting without a spotter. When my arms couldn’t lift any more, I replaced the bar in its holder and stomped into the house. Kathlene gave me some greeting, but I’m not sure if I responded. Once upstairs, I went into the bathroom and took a two-minute shower: just enough to sluice off the sweat and cool down a bit. The cold water doused my ire as it ran down my body. I could understand why Chris would ask if I was using. From the outside, my routine would look crazy. I really did burn a lot of energy, and it might look suspicious.

I had never considered using drugs or steroids, and I wasn’t going to start, even if I did know where to get them. I had an idea that some of the football players were using steroids, but I never saw it. I could see the effects in their bodies and their attitudes, though.

After finishing my shower, I retreated to my room to put on some clean sweats and then went to Chris’ room to see what was going on. He was sitting at his desk working on his English homework. Chris was wearing some baggy shorts and nothing else. I couldn’t help but stare at him for a moment as I walked in. As usual, my body reacted physically, and I knew I had to help Chris and get out of there before my situation became apparent to him.

Chris heard me approach and glanced back at me. He wore an inscrutable expression as I stopped near the desk, and ran his eyes over my body. I stood there for a moment, allowing him to make me more and more nervous until I couldn’t stand it any more.

"Chris, why are you staring at me? You’re screwing with my mind."

Chris shook his head slightly as if coming out of a trance. He looked me in the eyes for a few intense seconds, and then returned his gaze to his work.

"Sorry," Chris said gruffly. "Got a lot on my mind with school and football."

"And... How does that involve me?" I queried.

Obviously frustrated, he said, "Look. Are you going to help me or not?"

Taken aback by his attitude, I quietly asked, "Did I do something, Chris? Did I do something to hurt you?"

He visibly sighed and said, "No, Bri, you didn’t do anything. It’s just me. There’s too much going on and I can’t deal with it all. I need your help, Bri. If you don’t help me, I’ll fail, or I won’t be able to play football at worst."

"I won’t let that happen," I said confidently.

Chris looked back at me, turning in his chair as he did so. Our eyes met and something happened. I can’t describe it. I don’t even know what it was about, and it scared the living shit out of me. I quickly shifted my gaze to the papers strewn about the desk. My physical condition was becoming more pronounced as the seconds passed.

Thinking quickly, I said, "Let’s go downstairs where we’ll have more room."

Chris nodded and quickly began gathering his materials, sensing an escape from the tense situation. I all but ran to my room and hid behind my door, trying to get my raging hormones under control. It was getting to the point that I couldn’t even be near Chris without getting an erection, and that, above all other things, frightened me the most. Pete was somewhere out there waiting for me. My sanity depended on it. I couldn’t afford to let Chris distract me from that fact. As much as I wanted Chris, I wanted just as much to run from him. I was going to have to change some things.

"Brian, are you coming?" Chris called from downstairs.

"Yeah, be right there."

I picked up my backpack and went downstairs to help Chris pass his classes, all the while being aware of how close he was to me and how much I was attracted to him. I knew that after that night, our friendship would never be the same again.

The weeks passed. Football was awesome, as ever. I really loved the exertion and the adrenaline rush I got from playing. It didn’t matter if it was practice or a game. I especially enjoyed the scrimmages we played in practice, offense versus defense. The coaches had started me practicing as linebacker in an attempt to shore up our inside secondary. I didn’t mind. I was more involved in the plays, and I got more hits in when I was there, but they mostly kept me at strong safety.

During one scrimmage while I was at outside linebacker, a receiver came out my way and went into a slant pattern. Seeing he’d already beaten his coverage, I pursued the speedy guy. It took me no time to realize I wouldn’t be able to catch up with him, but I wasn’t losing ground either. I decided I would just stay with him, because I knew after watching him for the last two weeks he would hesitate right at the end to find the ball, slowing him down, and then I’d level him. He glanced over his shoulder, and I knew immediately the ball was coming to him just by the look in his eyes. He hesitated and made an adjustment to come back to catch the ball. I hit him head on just as his hands touched the ball, planting my face right into his chest. He flew backwards and hit the ground hard on his back, dropping the ball as his breath left him. A whistle blew behind me as I walked toward the kid I’d just blown away. As I approached, I could see he was struggling to regain his wind.

Coach Callende and Coach Dalton ran up behind me and knelt down by my target’s gasping form. I stood and watched as the men ministered the boy. I felt curiously detached as the coaches removed the boy’s helmet after making sure there was no head injury.

While they checked him over, the kid glared at me. He was angry that I’d hit him. I’d wounded his pride, and his penetrating gaze promised retribution. Suddenly realizing that I was glaring back, I consciously let my face relax into a neutral expression.

With all the sincerity I could muster I said to him, "Dude, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you."

"You didn’t hurt me, pùnta."

Irritated by his caustic rejoinder, I replied, "Whatever, dude," and trotted back to my position.

When I’d returned, Tom Costa, one of our defensive captains, pulled me roughly to face him.

"Jesus Christ, Kellam!" Tom raved. "We’re all on the same team! What are you trying to kill everyone for?" Tom asked, trying to assert his authority.

I simply looked back at him and said, "You play like you practice. I’m not going to give a half-assed performance in practice and try to go into a game full bore. It won’t work. Until the coaches tell me to back off, I’m gonna keep hitting."

Tom glared at me as I stared back at him passively. I could tell he wanted to say or do something, but he couldn’t refute my logic. Other players watched us from a short distance away, wondering who was going to win the confrontation: a six-foot-two behemoth or a five-foot-six kid.

"Kellam!" Coach Callende called. "Great hit, but take it easy. Save it for the game."

"Yes sir!" I responded, not for one instant dropping my gaze. Tom was trying to intimidate me through his sheer size and bulk, but he wasn’t as big as Chris was, even if he was four inches taller. It takes more than height to intimidate me.

"Let’s go defense! Set it up! Forty-four, right inside blitz. Call it out!" Callende effectively ended our conflict.

It would be days before Tom and I came to a truce of sorts, both conceding the other’s point. The kid I’d hit though, Pedro Perez, had put himself into some sort of competition with me. I continued to do my job on the field and let him deal with whatever his problems were. I don’t know what it was about, and I didn’t pay any attention to it. When I was assigned to cover one of his routes in practice, I didn’t necessarily go easy on him when I caught him but I didn’t try to hit him hard, either. No matter how I tackled him, though, he seemed to take it as a personal affront. It didn’t help that I was about the only one on defense that could catch him and only when he slowed to catch a ball. When he covered me when I was a receiver, he was all over me and always hit me as hard as he could. Strange kid.

Chris and I studied every night together in the dining room. Every time he suggested studying in his room, I cajoled him into joining me in the dining room because I knew I wouldn’t do anything that might tip Chris off to my true feelings there.

My nights were rough as usual. The nightmares had continued to come and were growing in intensity. No matter how much I wanted to go into Chris’ room for the protection his presence offered, I knew to do so would be far more dangerous than just suffering the horrors of my dreams, so I stayed in my bed and quietly cried.

It wasn’t long after I made the decision to pull away from Chris that he became sullen and withdrawn. My self-imposed, semi-isolation disturbed him far more than I would have expected. We still worked out and studied every night, but the easy friendship and feeling of safety we had shared all but evaporated.

The football season ended. We had won two-thirds of our games due to our defensive play. We just hadn’t had the depth we needed at quarterback to really bring our offense into the game. Chris and the rest of the captains did very well and received recognition at a school assembly. They deserved it, too.

First quarter grades came out, and to my great pleasure, Chris was doing well. I wasn’t giving him the answers when we studied every night, but I was asking him questions to get him to think and discover the solution for himself. It seemed to help him get down the concepts and retain it for later. My grades were as expected. I was still at a four-point and didn’t see any reason to worry about that slipping.

Wrestling season started. During the first week quite a few freshmen came out for the team. Most of the upperclassmen seemed to instinctually know who would make the cut and who wouldn’t. A few of the juniors and seniors actually rode several people right out of practice during the first couple of days. Coach Navarro didn’t seem to mind that the older boys were riding the freshmen pretty hard. He had his hands full going about the business of trying us out. He never noticed the several people who left without even an attempt to make the team.

By the end of the week, I was still standing. After my first round of scrapping on Thursday of that first week, I took a break and went back into the locker room to get a drink of water. As I passed the lockers, I heard some of the older guys hassling someone about some stupid requirement to be on the wrestling team. I didn’t hear the whole thing, so I decided to poke my nose in and find out what it was all about. What I heard chilled me to the bone.

"You wanna be on the team, nigger? You gotta fight for it."

"Yeah. We don’t want no porch monkeys on our team."

A chorus of agreements followed the last statement.

My mind went into overdrive. I couldn’t believe they’d pull this kind of crap where anybody might hear. I was royally pissed off that they would do this to anyone, whether it was because they were black, Hispanic, green, or gay. There were at least four of them, and it was guaranteed they were bigger than I was. It didn’t matter, though. I knew what was right and what I had to do.

As nonchalantly as I could, I turned the corner around the lockers that hid me from the scene. As I did, I saw Mac backed into a corner surrounded by five white guys, all big. With a confidence that I didn’t feel, I made my presence known.

"You guys said freshmen have to fight to get on the team?" I cracked my knuckles and continued, "I’m a freshman. Who do I have to fight?"

I continued to walk to where Mac stood, deliberately shouldering one of the skinheads out of my way. I placed myself between Mac and the idiots surrounding him. The boys in front of me looked a bit confused as I faced off with them.

The leader of their little group said, "Get the fuck out of here, kid, before you get the shit beat out of you, just like this nigger’s gonna!"

My anger stepped up a notch. Mac wasn’t my friend really, but we had something in common.

"I don’t think so. You said freshmen have to fight to make the team, and I want my fight. I haven’t had a good fight since the last time someone messed with one of my buddies. I’m looking forward to it!"

One of my antagonists had been on the football team. I glared at him and made him the focus of my attention.

"What’s wrong? I thought we were going to fight, Jacobs!" I taunted wearing an evil grin.

"Dude, that’s Kellam," Jacobs said quietly to his cohorts. "You don’t wanna mess with him. He’s not right in the head."

Two of the other boys muttered in agreement and backed off a step while I chuckled. The other two held their ground. Sensing the three were out of play, I turned to confront the ringleader as I tried to ignore the ball of fear in my stomach.

"Last chance, kid. Leave or get stomped."

I rubbed my hands together briskly, settled into a fighting stance and lowered my voice to what I hoped was a menacing growl.

"The first one of you who touches either of us will end up in the hospital. I guarantee it."

I gave them time for my threat to sink in and then lightened my tone to an almost playful pitch and said with a smile, "So. Who’s first?"

The three smart ones left immediately, returning to the gym. The other two looked at me with astonishment. I don’t think they could believe that I was facing them down. Mac came to stand beside me and got ready for a fight as well. Glaring at both of us, the ringleader finally backed off.

"You just wait kid. You’ll get yours."

"You’ll try," I replied with grim determination. "Just remember what happens to people who mess with my friends. I won’t start it, but I sure as fuck’ll finish it."

I watched them walk back to the gym, spewing obscenities all the way. I was finally able to relax and walked over the fountain and get my drink. Just before I left, Mac’s baritone stopped me.

"Hey, Kellam?"

I turned to face him and saw an expression that was a cross of disbelief and gratitude.

"Thanks.

"Any time, Mac."

I returned to the gym. The glares I received left no doubt that I was a marked man.

A grim smile crossed my lips. I was looking forward to whatever they wanted to throw my way.

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