Jumbo (14 page)

He came quickly.

31

 “
Princeton?
Mitch, you’ve got to be joking. You’re not going to get a scholarship to Princeton.”

“I wouldn’t need a full scholarship. My Dad says I could go pretty well anywhere I wanted.”

“Not to Princeton.”

“My mom says to aim high.”

“Sure.” Luke stopped. “But what do you want to do anyway?”

“Math.”

“Math?”

“Yeah. Or Science. Something like that. Physics?”

“Are you serious?”

Mitchell shrugged.

“You’re pretty smart, Mitch, but your grades aren’t good enough for Princeton. And anyway, don’t you think you ought to have applied by now? Have you even looked into things?”

“Not really.”

“What the hell have you been doing?”

Mitchell shrugged.

“You know, Mitch, you really are like a kid. You’re not very practical.”

“You’re the second person who’s said that to me.”

“What?”

“That I’m naive.”

“You can say that again.”

The bell went, and Mitchell said, “Shit. I’ve got to grab some books. He left Luke sitting at the table and rushed off to get what he needed for afternoon classes — English first and then physics.”

By the time training had come around he was feeling sick. He had had the note in the back pocket of his jeans all day, folded, the way the other notes had been folded, though he supposed they had never been in anyone’s jeans, seeing as how they had always looked clean and neat. Mitchell had been too afraid to put the note in his pack — just on the off chance that somebody might see it, or steal it, though he had told himself that this was stupid around ten in the morning, because he had the other notes in his pack, and the whole point of doing what he was going to do was to make it look as though the same person had written all the notes.

Mitchell lingered in the locker rooms, arriving late, and trying to get changed as slowly as possible. He needed to be last. There needed to be no chance of anyone seeing him slip the note into Tadd’s locker. As it turned out, Casey was taking longer than Mitchell was, but he went off to a stall just as Luke decided not to wait for Mitchell.

Mitchell was alone. He pulled the note out of his pocket, and with his heart beating rapidly, he slipped it into the vents in the top of Tadd’s locker.

I want your come on my face. I want it all over my body. But most of all, I want your dick in my ass.

What the hell was Tadd going to make of that? Mitchell had thought of a number of possibilities, laying awake the previous night and imagining scenario after scenario, some with dialogue, situations in which the guys in the team all ended up involved in the question of the notes.

One scenario was Mitchell’s safeguard — his fallback position. Tadd would find the note after training. He would read it and then say, “What the fuck?”

Ben (or someone) would say, “What?”

And Tadd would say, “Have a look at this.”

The guys would gather round, reading the note, and in the worst variation of this scenario, Tadd was reciting the note aloud to the whole team.

Ideally, in this scenario, Tadd would find the note, bring it to the attention of one or two of the guys. Mitchell would have a look and say, “I’ve been getting them too.” Then he would dig the notes out of his pack, all except for the one about puppy love, which he had left at home, and then all the guys would be wondering who had written the notes, though it obviously couldn’t be Mitchell, as he was receiving them himself. It would be a puzzle to be solved, a puzzle as much to Mitchell as it would be to anyone else — except for the person, or persons, who had actually written the notes. And Mitchell couldn’t help suspecting Mason or Robby. He had dreamed of them last night. They were holding him up, as though he was crowd surfing, though they had then skewered him alive, with a long metal pole, sliding it up his ass and up through his body until it came out of his mouth. Then they had put him out to cook over an open fire while all the guys from the team sat and waited for the meat to cook, Mitchell listening to their discussion, which had nothing to do with the fact that he was cooking on a rotisserie, other than that every now and then someone said, “That meat sure smells good.”

“Jumbo. Are you expecting to train today?”

Mitchell flinched.

“What the hell are you doing in the locker room?”

“Sorry.”

“Where the hell is Casey?” Marley said.

“He’s using ... he’s in a stall.”

“Well, you get out there quick smart,” Marley said, poking him with a finger in the chest. “Ten laps of freestyle before I’m back. No backstroke. You fucking well hear me?”

Mitchell nodded and left the locker room shaking, his goggles jittering against his thigh as he made his way toward the pool. Now, he had obviously been caught in the locker room. What if the note came to the attention of Marley? What if Marley said he had seen Mitchell lingering there while Casey was in a stall?

Hell, Mitchell said to himself, diving from the blocks.

32

Mitchell swallowed a mouthful of chlorinated water, something he couldn’t remember doing at any other time in his life. He stopped and treaded water for a moment. He was afraid he was going to bring the water back up, but he swallowed again and cleared his nose, and then began on the laps.

By the tenth lap he had calmed somewhat, though he could feel a pressure building, a pressure that wouldn’t be released until after Tadd had opened his locker, until after Tadd had read the note. And what the hell would happen then?

Marley gathered the team together and told them that the easy training was over. From now on, after their warm up laps, they would be paired up, practicing the races that they hoped to qualify for at the meet. One person would record times, while the other person swam a race against the clock. They would then change positions, going through each of the races that they hoped to qualify for, and (if they finished) working through them again.

“You want to pair up?” Tadd said, stepping over to Mitchell.

Mitchell nodded, though he couldn’t trust himself to speak.

“You want to go first?”

Mitchell shrugged.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You go first then. You want to do your two hundred straight up or something else?”

Mitchell didn’t trust himself out of the water. “I’ll do the two hundred.”

He slipped into the water and gripped the bars. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to swim. There was no way he could do anything even decent. He felt like vomiting.

“On your mark. Get set. Go.”

Mitchell arched his body backwards and felt as though he was falling, as though he had dove backwards from a high tower and was plummeting toward the ground. His head hit the water and he felt as though he would keep going down, though something automatic took over and he began to stroke, wondering how many laps of backstroke he had swum in his life — thousands, most likely.

After turning at the end of the third lap, he found his rhythm and came in strongly, though as he turned and looked up at Tadd, he knew the time was awful.

“Not good?”

“No.”

“I don’t even want to know.”

Tadd nodded. He stretched a hand down and pulled Mitchell out of the pool, pulling him so high that Mitchell barely had to lift his feet. He stumbled, and Tadd put a hand out to steady him.

“You haven’t got an infection, have you?”

“What?”

“A middle ear infection?”

“No. At least — no. I’m just not feeling ....” Oh, Tadd, Mitchell wanted to say. He wanted to fall onto the ground and be picked up by Tadd. He wanted Tadd to carry him away somewhere and lay him on a soft bed and just — look after him.

“I’m going to start with fly,” Tadd said, handing Mitchell the stopwatch. “One hundred.”

Mitchell nodded.

Tadd climbed onto the blocks and Mitchell was reminded once again just how big Tadd was. The height and breadth of him made him seem something superhuman. And what had Mitchell done? Stuck a note in his locker?

“Mitch? Are you going to ...?”

“Sorry. On your mark. Get set. Go.”

Tadd dived and glided under the water like a dolphin. When he came up, his arms flew out of the water and he began to butterfly, his body rising and bucking. It was a stroke that Mitchell didn’t have the strength for. There was no way he could win a race in fly.

Tadd turned and came back home with something approaching his PB — less than a second off it, though the timing obviously wasn’t accurate.

Tadd swam over to the rails and hauled himself out. “Pity you can’t pull me out of the pool.”

“I don’t think I could even lift you.”

Tadd smiled and Mitchell felt marginally better. He tried to put all thoughts of the note out of his mind, and as they worked through their other races, Mitchell began to feel relatively comfortable, though he felt a whole lot better in the water than out of it.

Tadd and Mitchell were hoping to qualify for three races each. Tadd for one hundred and two hundred butterfly, and for eight hundred freestyle. Mitchell for one hundred and two hundred backstroke, and for one hundred breaststroke. Marley had told them they had to concentrate their energies on their best strokes and distances, and work on them time and time again.

When there was fifteen minutes left before the end of training, Marley had them set up for the medley again. Even though the other guys wouldn’t be trying to qualify for the race, Marley had them there, he said, as alternates. It would be just as important for them to do as well as possible in case someone, and here Marley looked at Mitchell, wasn’t on par on the day.

Mitchell cursed under his breath. He thought about what Pete had said about reporting Marley. The idea that he had only last week been standing around the pool naked, swimming naked, now seemed unbelievable to Mitchell. If Marley tried something like that again, anything, then Mitchell would ... no, he knew he would do nothing. What could he hope to gain?

Somehow they managed their best time. Mason seemed to be pulling together with the team, along with Tadd and Tyler. What had happened with the conversation with Luke, with Tadd’s warning to Mason, now seemed a thing of the past. And though Mitchell still felt uncomfortable around Mason, he didn’t have to do anything other than wait for him to come home. And here Mason was probably under the most pressure as anchor, as his freestyle had to be able to beat, or at least not lag behind any of the other guys who they would be up against at the meet.

“You beat?” Tadd said, as they were walking to the locker rooms.

Mitchell nodded, swallowing.

“Are you feeling the pressure?”

“Yeah. But it’s always like this. Maybe not as bad as usual, seeing as how the meet’s here.”

“You hoping to win?”

“Sure. Aren’t you?”

“You want to know something,” Tadd said, putting his mouth close to Mitchell’s ear, “I don’t even care.”

“Really?” Mitchell said, keeping his voice low.

“Yeah. I’ve had it with this sport shit. I’ve been forced into it all my life and I’m sick of it.”

“You won’t be doing anything at college, then?”

“No fucking way.”

Mitchell swallowed, and felt what seemed to be tears in his eyes. He supposed it was the chlorine, a smell that always made him jittery, though he had had problems with his goggles today. He really needed a new pair. He blinked, trying to blink away the feeling, though as they neared the locker room door, the smell of disinfectant made him feel suddenly tense and anxious.

Tadd and Mitchell were the last into the locker room. Some of the other guys were already in the showers, and others were tearing their speedos off. There was the clatter and bang of locker doors, and now, right now, something was about to happen.

What if the note had slipped down beside Tadd’s pack? What if he didn’t see it? Mitchell didn’t think he could stand the suspense, though at the same time he wished there was some way to take the note back, to get it out of Tadd’s locker and burn it. He worried over what he had written. Right now he didn’t feel anything like having Tadd’s cum on his face. He felt his penis retracting, and his stomach churning. Perhaps he should go into a stall. He felt as though he needed to.

His cock shriveled in his speedos, retreating into his body. He had never got into the showers with it like that before, not for years, but now it seemed unavoidable. He watched Tadd walk toward his locker, and Mitchell turned away from him, pulling his speedos down. His cock was nothing but a nipple of skin. He saw it and closed his eyes. Hell, he was just going to have to get into the showers like that. What the fuck did it matter? For once he didn’t have a boner. So what? He hung his speedos and his goggles over his locker door. There was no note in his locker, though he hadn’t expected one. He turned toward the showers and saw Tadd standing there, reading the note.

“Oh, boy!” Tadd said, looking up at Mitchell.

Mitchell swallowed.

Tadd’s eyes flipped to Mitchell’s cock.

“Oh, boy!” he said again, and then, as Mitchell moved to pass him, Tadd leaned forward and whispered in his ear. “That thing is fucking beautiful.”

Almost instantly, Mitchell began to get hard. Did he mean his cock? Did Tadd mean Mitchell’s cock was beautiful?

Mitchell tried to pass him, but Tadd grabbed his arm. “I’m in love with you,” Tadd said, speaking again into Mitchell’s ear.

Mitchell felt as though he would faint. Tadd’s warm breath in his ear was like an elixir, as though Mitchell had smoked a pipe of opium. He felt as though he would collapse. Tadd let go of his arm and Mitchell stumbled toward the showers, having to turn again because he had forgotten to hang his towel on a hook. Tadd’s shower was empty, and Mitchell walked toward it. The water was already running, though whoever had been in it had moved to allow Tadd to take his regular place. Tadd seemed to be taking minutes, forever. Were they really going to get in the same shower now? Could Mitchell handle that?

He put his hands on the wall and let the water run over his head, trying to breathe, trying to steady himself, but incapable of thought.