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The School of Buff Jocks Part 3
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The gym was practically full to bursting when Kyle pulled me in after him. The weight of his arm around my shoulders was basically the equivalent of a headlock. To be honest, I almost dropped my gym bag. He was a lot heavier than I’d thought. Jim’s constant praises echoed through the air as he complimented or corrected the lifters.
“Remind me why I’m here again?” I asked.
“Because I needed a lifting buddy and you needed a break from school.”
“I usually game for that.”
“I know. But this is something different. Besides, you know how much smarter a person can be when they actually balance fitness with their schoolwork? Seriously, it’s incredible stuff.”
“I still can’t believe you roped me into this.”
“Don’t you mean strongarmed?” He smirked.
“Ha-ha-ha,” I said slowly.
Kyle’s smirk widened as he deliberately pitched his voice lower and duller as he tried to make his eyes lose focus. “Nah, bro. You got it wrong. It’s huhuhuh.” He scratched his crotch with his free hand and led me on.
I rolled my eyes. “Careful, ‘bro.’ Keep acting the part, and soon you’ll be it.”
Kyle shrugged his broad shoulders. “Honestly, I don’t think I’d mind if I did. Do I really look like the kind of guy who’d be a jerk just because he’s got big muscles?”
“And the dumb part?”
Kyle shrugged again. “Don’t feel stupid yet. Honestly, it’s more like a culture than anything else.”
This time, I smirked. “Can’t have culture without a cult.”
Kyle laughed and gave me a gentle bump to the shoulder with his fist. “Smartass.”
“Right back at you, dumbass.”
“Did we just come up with nicknames for each other?”
“Don’t push it.” He looked at me expectantly, and I sighed in defeat. “Dumbass.”
Kyle grinned as he leaned in closer. “Let’s get to work, little bro.”
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“What team?”
“Stonewall Riders!”
“What team?”
“Stonewall Riders!”
“What do we do?”
“Charge!”
“Now get out there and make those Gunners run!”
The stampede out of the locker room shook my whole body as cleated foot after cleated foot trampled across the tile. The whole team was built like tanks, and this was just the Junior Varsity! Half of them were already nearly as tall as I was, and they still had a couple of years to grow. I hefted the bottles of sports drink in their carrying cases, and Andrews held the door open for me as he had for his team.
“Thanks for helping me out, DJ.”
I shrugged. “No sweat. Fair’s fair. If this’ll help speed us closer to getting our campaign going again, you bet I’m going to help.”
“We really do appreciate it, though,” Andrews said. “The team needs boys like you, too.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, pretty sure they don’t.”
“I think you’d be surprised.” Andrews smiled gently. “By the way, is that a little growth I see in that bicep, or am I just seeing things?”
“Totally imagining. You should probably go see Doctor Stone, get your head checked.” I smiled playfully at him.
His smile tightened. “Yes. Maybe I should. Think you might have a few minutes to talk after the game?”
“I’m pretty sure I can spare the time.” I frowned. “What’s wrong?”
Andrews shook his head. “Later,” he insisted. And then I felt his broad hand shoving me out the door. “We’ve got a game to play.”
Andrews transformed into another person on the football field. His gaze was intent, his bearing cool and calculating. I felt like I was dealing with a military commander, rather than the teacher who had been my friend. The coordination between the offense and defense left them functioning like a well-oiled machine.
And I was the one providing the lubricant. Seriously, I felt like I was running the whole time to keep up with all the guzzling the players were doing with the drinks. Bright green streams poured into their mouths and down their bobbing throats. And the sheer aggression they showed left me cringing as I relived some of my worse moments from growing up.
By the time the game was over, I was a sweaty mess that matched the team. I had to steal a couple of swigs, myself, from time to time as I raced to restock the water coolers and bottles for the team. We slaughtered the opposing team, allowing them only one touchdown for the duration of the game, while we scored seven.
The team was showering and getting changed while I worked to clean out the coolers and bottles. I noticed Andrews approaching out of the corner of my eye, but he got intercepted by Stone before he could reach me.
“Excellent game, Tobias. As usual, you’ve performed very well. Congratulations.” The big man squeezed Andrews’ hand in a tight grip as he clapped Andrews’ arm with his free hand. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a word with you before you go.”
“Mister Stone, I appreciate the need, but my team—”
“Can finish cleaning up just fine. They know the routine by heart, and this really is very important.”
Andrews sighed. “Can I trust you to finish cleaning up, DJ? Coach Dale will help you get everything where it needs to go.”
I nodded. I wasn’t looking forward to the extra time I’d waste, but like I said before, I owed him, and Andrews doesn’t ask favors lightly.
The jocks were actually really helpful. They didn’t expect me to pick up their slack. They cleaned up their towels and other gear, put them in the proper hampers, and even went so far as to help move the baskets to the washroom. When everyone was finished and dressed in their regular clothes, we shared an order of pizza, compliments of Coach Stone for a job well done. When I sat down on the wooden benches, my arms and legs felt almost swollen in a way. They twitched with energy, and for once, I was ravenous. Meat lovers and supreme both fell to the powers of my jaws. And rather than criticize me for it, the team actually cheered, like it was all some sort of game.
“Damn, bro, did you see this guy hustle?” Kenny Yates was the biggest player on the team, with a voice to match. “Bet he could put Patters to shame.”
I shook my head at the praise, first because it didn’t suit me, and secondly to save my bacon, in case Kenny’s comment offended Ryan Patterson, the wide receiver. “I’m not really the sportsy type. I’m just doing this for Coach Andrews, because he asked me to.”
The whole team smiled knowingly, and I started to fear for my life. The only reason I was able to stay calm was because Dale was watching us so closely. “See? Already running plays for him.” A hefty arm wrapped itself around me and wedged me against Kenny’s bulky frame. The guy could’ve been his own personal space heater. “Just gotta bulk up a little, and you’re ready to charge.” My head swam at the attention. The action reminded me only too well of Kyle and his happy-go-lucky attitude.
“Damn, Kenny, let him breathe. You’re gonna choke him,” one of the others hollered, which prompted a round robin of laughter that spread like a chain. Or maybe a circuit? I guess either could work for an analogy.
Kenny was actually blushing when he took his arm off me. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s … it’s okay. I’m fine.”
I’d said it to be polite, but … I was surprised to find I actually meant it.
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The blowback from the work was remedied with the aid of Kyle’s drinks. That stuff is seriously some of the best I’ve ever tried. I don’t know what’s in it, but I perk up hard core when I drink it. I gave some to Slater and Jackson to help them out, too, since they’d been called to help with some of the other sports events that day.
Kyle took one look at them after the fact and said those fatal words. “Okay, bros. That’s it. You’re coming to the gym with me.”
“Why?” Slater had asked.
“First, because you clearly need training if you’re hurting that badly after helping out. Secondly, because it’s relaxing. And third, because it gives us a chance to hang out in more than just D&D or gaming.” He smirked. “When I’m done with you, they really will call you Slayer.”
“I don’t know….”
“Bro, trust me. One month, and the gym’s gonna feel like your home away from home.” He smirked. “And you’re going to love every second of it after.”
“Wanna bet?”
Kyle smirked. “Sure. If I get you over 240 by the end of a month, you talk with Andrews about joining the wrestling team.”
“And if I win, you have to break that strict routine of yours and spend a day marathoning anime with us. Unhealthy snacks included.”
Kyle grinned. “You’re on.” Next, he turned to Jackson. “You wanna get in on this?”
Jackson shook his head. “Someone’s got to be there to referee.”
“Good. You can work on dumbbell curls while you watch.”
I chuckled. “Kyle, you’re incorrigible.”
Kyle smirked, then let his face go slack as he gaped at me and pitched his voice low. “Uhhh, what’s incorrigible mean?”
That earned him a pillow to the face. “Quit it, dumbass,” I said playfully.
He smirked as he pulled the pillow away. “Take it easy, smartass.” He pulled back his arms and bared his teeth menacingly. “Let me show you the benefits of working out at the gym personally, little bros.”
The combination pillow wrestling match was the stuff of legends.
Naturally, the dumbass slaughtered us all.
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I stood in front of Andrews as he leaned back on his roller chair in the Coaches’ joint office. I hadn’t been in there since Kyle brought me back after that first workout session went overtime. The traffic running through the locker room felt more like rush hour on the freeway when I weaved through the crowd. Boys waited patiently by the shower stalls or passed one another on the way in and out.
“Busy out there today, isn’t it?” I asked.
Andrews nodded. “It’s becoming an almost daily occurrence.” Then he smiled. “It’s good to see so many boys dedicated to getting fit.”
I eyed his chest. The shirt he wore was straining heavily. I could actually see the jutting of his pectorals and the ridges of his six pack. The tension of the sleeves over his biceps looked like they could give at any moment. “And teachers?”
Andrews laughed. “And teachers. So, what was it you wanted to talk with me about?”
“What you wanted to talk with me about. You said you wanted to talk after the game, but you didn’t leave the office when everyone cleared out.”
“Oh, that.” Andrews rose to his full height and laid a hand over my shoulder. I couldn’t help but wonder. Had he always been so tall? “Don’t worry about it. I had some concerns over your meetings with Stone is all. He cleared things up for me after our talk. This school couldn’t be in better hands.” He smiled. “But since you’re here, how about you join me for a little workout? I want to run some ideas by you for a campaign I’m cooking up, and I think best when my body is working out.”
I felt that familiar itch building again. The nurse had explained it was just a part of puberty that all men had to bear. That didn’t mean I liked it. And it was so hard to pay attention when an episode came on. Stone’s words came back to haunt me.
I want you to be comfortable.
That was at Stone’s office. I didn’t know what to think of him yet.
Want.
But this wasn’t Stone’s place. This was Andrews’.
Be comfortable.
Andrews knew me.
Want.
I wanted to scratch so badly.
Be comfortable.
Andrews dealt with boys before. He was a coach. It was normal for him.
Want.
He wouldn’t mind, right?
Be comfortable.
He was a friend. He’d understand. “I, uh….” My fingers twitched.
Want.
I wanted him to understand. I wanted not to be judged. I wanted not to have to ask to go to the bathroom every other period, just because of this stupid fucking itch!
Be comfortable.
A quick adjustment. Nothing lewd. Just a necessity.
Want.
One wasn’t enough. Locker room was full. No bathrooms. No privacy.
Be comfortable.
Screw it. I scratched. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, but it was worth it!
“So, that’s why you’ve been running off to the bathroom so much.” His voice was soft as he looked down on me.
Be comfortable.
I averted my eyes. “Yeah, it’s….”
“Nothing to be ashamed of.” Andrews shrugged. “You’re teenagers, and you have needs. Stop worrying so much about what other people think. If you need to scratch, you’re not about to be sent to the headmaster’s office.” He smiled.
Comfortable.
“I … thanks.” My cheeks were still flushed, but at least the heat was receding.
“Any time.” He led me toward the locker room door. “Now, let’s get to that session, so I can discuss my idea.”
Comfortable.
My back straightened. My shirt stretched just a little as my chest inflated with air. I smiled. “Yeah, I think I have some time.”
The clack of weights and the rhythmic thump of heavy feet on treadmills struck in time to the music that played over the speakers when we finally entered the gym.
“There’s always time for a workout.”
Andrews grinned at me. And, honestly, I couldn’t help but grin back. I just felt so…
Comfortable.
“Yeah.” The chuckle was more of a hiccup than a proper laugh, a sort of a catch, like you get just before you sneeze, only in reverse. It felt weird, but … also kind of good, like I was pushing out all the anxiety I’d had balled up in my chest. I stopped, frowned, tried again, and I felt even better after. A giddy sort of high settled in, and I could hear the rhythmic whirring of the blood rushing through my ears and body. If this was the reason why jocks laughed the way they did, I was sold. I would never make fun of them for it again. This time, when I scratched, there was no fear, only reward as I finished my reply. “I guess there is.”
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The rhythmic chunk of the throwing arm was quickly answered by the reverberation of metal or the heavy popping thwack that resounded as a bad throw from the machine struck the ground or the back of the batting cage. Things were warming up at last, and the sheer motion of the sequence was, well, mechanical. Kind of should’ve expected that, since there was a literal machine at work for the practice. A stonewall baseball cap on our heads kept the sun out of each of our eyes as we sat on the bleachers and worked on our respective homework assignments.
“Ivan Petrovich Pavlov is one of the psychological giants of the nineteenth century. Thanks to his research, humanity came to understand the scientific and psychiatric principle of the art known today as conditioning,” Jim explained in a chipper voice. “He is, in fact, the twenty-fourth most cited psychologist of the twentieth century. This theory has been applied in a variety of means and places, including educational classrooms, phobias, and various behavioral therapies.”
“Remind me why we’re out here again?” I asked as Jim droned on through the module.
Jackson shrugged. “It helps me concentrate.”
“How?”
Whirr. Ka-chunk. Ping.
“Dunno. It just does.”
Whirr. Ka-chunk. Thwack!
“Guess I just—”
Whirr. Ka-chunk. Ping!
“—Like the sound of it.”
“The batting cages?”
“Yeah. The ball, the bat, the vibrations, the sun on your face.” He leaned back and spread his legs to emphasize his point. “It just feels … better, you know? Sort of like a dance. It just beats stuff into your head.”
Kyle grinned. “I can totally relate. I feel the same way when I’m lifting weights. If I have a problem, I go to the gym. A good workout always helps me, well, work my problems out.” He smiled and flexed one of his arms to show off the swollen bicep. “Good for the bod, too.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Slater rolled his eyes. “We get it. The gym is your happy place.”
“You’re just mad because you’re sore,” Kyle retorted. “If you’d just drink those shakes I gave you, you wouldn’t have this problem in the first place.”
“Shut up,” he grumbled.
“I’m not the one who agreed to the bet,” Kyle pointed out, then chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll make a meathead of you yet.”
“In your dreams, ‘bro,’” Slater sassed.
“That’s big bro to you,” Kyle countered.
Jackson continued eying the cages. Jim was long since forgotten by all of us. Or rather, none of us were paying attention to him. If he were alive, I’d probably have felt bad about it, but since he was just some computer program, we just let him run his mouth. We could go over the module again later. After all, if you have a problem, go to Jim, right?
“You know, you could always just go and try one,” I noted. “It’s not like they’re the sole property of the baseball team.”
“I don’t know….”
I grabbed his arm and pulled him off the bleachers. He stumbled but managed to catch himself as I dragged him behind. I guess you could say since overcoming that one hurdle, it felt easier to do things like this and not be afraid of a bad outcome. “Come on. I’ll start up the machine. You get a bat and helmet.
The first impact was enough to jar the bat out of Jackson’s hands. He looked like a living tuning fork the way he shook after he took the shot.
“Maybe try turning down the speed a little?” he asked as he nursed his hands.
“Rookie mistake.” I turned in surprise. I hadn’t heard the player approach. His shoulders were broad, his arms swollen and pumped after what I assumed was a session in one of the other cages. Bro had a blunt face with a thick brow and smooth dark skin that shone under the sun. “Your arms aren’t built to handle that kind of blowback yet.” He nudged me aside and shoved his fingers over the console. The whirr of the belts lessened as their speed slowed. “Try it now.”
The difference was night and day. Jackson started landing hits. He managed a few good pop flies, though most of them were fouls. The player shook his head in disgust and stomped into the cage after the cycle wound down.
“You’ve got it all wrong. Wrong stance, wrong grip, and definitely the wrong break.” He wrapped his arms around Jackson like a father would his son and adjusted Jackson’s grip and stance. “Follow through. Don’t break your wrists until the last possible second.” He nodded to me to start the next round of shots.
Crack went the bat.
“Feel the rhythm.”
Crack!
“Make it sing.”
Ring!
“Eye on the ball.”
Smack!
“Just the ball.”
The bat rang again as Jackson struck a solid blow that arced into the netting above.
“That’s it, bro. Read it. Follow it.”
Smack!
He let go of Jackson’s hands and whispered in his ear. “Crush it.”
Jackson was a tuning fork again. Only this time, he didn’t drop the bat. The ball drove straight for the machine with a resounding crack! Fortunately, the machine was heavy duty metal, so it could take some blows, and the netting took care of the rest. His mouth dropped open at the result, then broadened into a manic sort of grin. “I … I did it.” He laughed. “I did it!” The exultant whoop carried far over the school grounds.
“Not bad.” The player smiled and nodded as he folded his arms. “You’ve got potential. But if you really want to beat that ball up—” He raised both arms in a double bicep flex. “—You’ve gotta get jacked, son. Huhuhuh.”
Jackson scratched his crotch and stared almost hungrily at the player’s arms.
He smirked. “If you want to be more than just the water boy, meet me here after school tomorrow. I’ll make a player of you yet.” He hefted a bottle and guzzled its contents. A small stream of green liquid dribbled down the side of his cheek, and he wiped it after. “Come dressed for the gym and ready to sweat. Understand?” His gaze hardened. “Be ready.”
Jackson nodded. His mouth hung slightly open as he breathed. The jock chuckled and clapped one of his massive hands on Jackson’s arm.
“Name’s Barry. My bros call me Bruiser.”
“J-Jackson,” he replied.
Barry smirked again. “Good name, bro. See you soon.”
“Yeah….”
The jock walked away with a measured swaggering sort of gait that showed off just how taut the muscle was around his legs. It was evident he could do a lot more than just crack a ball open. His whole body was built for the field, whether it be running, throwing, or hitting.
When my friend didn’t move, I finally walked over to check on him. “You okay, Jackson?”
“Yeah,” he repeated again in that same faraway tone, then shook his head. His gaze came back into focus as he concentrated on me. “Yeah. I’m fine. Let’s get back to that homework.” He rubbed the bicep Barry had touched as I shut the pitching machine down and returned the gear. Then we walked back to the bleachers. We’d put off our assignment long enough. It was time to go back to Jim.