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  Author's Note: The first story is done. I'm going to post it in parts so I have a little more time to work on my next story. :P Hope you all enjoy it. This is a slightly modified version of what I originally posted. If you feel you have a good grasp of what happened before you can probably just skip to the next part though you might read the Prologue, which is new. ~Matt.  

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Prologue

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Maria ran through the woods at full bore.   She knew it was foolish, the trail she was trying to follow was confusing and if she hurt herself they would catch her for sure!   She had to stay in front of them!   If they caught her she was dead!

As she ran, a rushing sound filled her ears and she pushed herself even harder.   She wouldn’t let them catch her!   The rushing faded and a euphoric feeling filled her, leaving her light headed and making the trail that much harder to follow.   By the time she realized she had gone off track she could barely remember why she was running at all.   Staggering to a stop she listened for any sign of pursuit but heard only silence.   The euphoria intensified; she had never felt so aroused; she could feel every single cell of her body cry out for release!   Writhing on the leaf strewn forest floor she felt her entire being explode with pure ecstasy and then... nothing.

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CHAPTER 1

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“Seven! Come on Double A!   Push it!   Push it! Hell yeah!   Eight!   Give me two more!”

I gritted my teeth and pushed into the next rep.   This was my third set on the bench press and my chest and arms were on fire. Hanover hovered over me ready to catch the bar if my arms failed.   I have to admit, the fact that I had been giving him ‘two more’ for the last five reps was really starting to get on my nerves.

“Nine!   Two more man!   Three Hundred ain’t nothing!   You got this!”

My extremely vocal teammate and spotter is Darrel Hanover.   Darrel is a picture perfect high school receiver.   He’s fast and has soft hands.   My lateral movement is better but in the open field no one can touch him.   If you aren’t ready for it he just looks like a blue and brown blur.   Darrel is a good guy, not the smartest guy on the team and way too upbeat for most people to take for long.   I have no question that if he had been born a girl he would have ended up a cheerleader of the highest order.

They say they put me with him because I’m the only Sophomore to make Varsity this year and Hanover is super helpful.   I’d like to think it was because they want me to have a lot of support but to be honest I think it’s just more hazing.

The funny thing is that it doesn’t usually get to me and he really is motivational.

“Damn Double A!   You’re pounding them out! Eleven!   If your going to go like that we should add more weight and start over!”

My glare elicited the same stupid toothy grin he always wore when talking to girls.

Come to think of it, most of the girls he talked to seemed to spend a lot of time glaring at him as well.   Didn’t seem to keep them from sucking face with him though.

As I pushed into the twelfth rep, my arms started shaking as they began to fail.   As usual Darrel was on top of things and got ready to catch the bar if I couldn’t finish the rep.

“Push!   Push!   This ain’t nothing!   Finish it out!”   My left arm faltered half-way up.   “Don’t you fag out on me!   Push!” he yelled.

With a final burst of strength, I barely managed to finish a sloppy rep and Darrel pulled the weight bar home.   With the weight gone the muscles in my arms and chest started twitching uncontrollably.   The spasms weren’t new but I sure as heck wouldn’t mind if they would stop.   I never got twitches like this before I signed up for the protein shake trial.   The doctors from Wytex don’t seem to think it’s anything to be worried about.   They don’t have to feel it though.   They might be more concerned if it was their muscles spazzing out for a minute or two after each set.

“Hanover!” Coach Wiese shouted from across the weight room as he strode our way.   “What have I told you about using pejorative terms as a motivational method?”

“Uh... not too?” Darrel replied as both he and I began looking about the room nervously.   

Sure enough, everyone had stopped what they were doing and were watching us.   Some of them looked on with sympathy, most maintained carefully neutral expressions and a few snickered at us openly.

“Uh... not too?” Coach mimicked “Wind sprints.   Now.   I’ll come out and tell you when you can stop.”

“But Coach,” Darrel said in horror.   

While insensitive slurs were technically a fairly major offence, questioning an athlete’s masculinity or sexual orientation was an older than dirt motivational technique.   Even Coach Wiese dropped them from time to time.   Usually something as minor as calling me a fag wouldn’t even be noticed, maybe he would get a glare.   Wind sprints until further notice was something Coach saved for the big stuff.   Stuff that might really hurt someone.   Screwing around with the weights could do it but this wasn’t on the same level.

Scanning the room once more, the real problem became apparent.   Ms. Robothom, the vice-principal and hater of all things masculine and fun was standing in the door of Coach’s office glaring at Darrel.   If it didn’t look like Coach was taking this seriously Darrel might end up bounced off the team.   It wouldn’t be the first time she pulled stuff like that.

“Dude,” I said quietly, gesturing with my eyes to where ‘The Robot’ waited.

Understanding dawned and Darrel’s attitude changed.   “Sorry Coach.   I just got excited.   I’ll fill out AJ’s log and then...”

“Double A can fill it out himself,” Coach said cutting him off. “Get to running Hanover.”

“Yes Coach,” Darrel said with a nod and then took off for the bleachers.

“Cross.   Hanover was out of line calling you that.   You want to make something of it?”

Have you ever noticed that when you’re in a situation where you already stick out as not quite fitting in, that the universe tends to find all sorts of ways to really showcase it?

“Not really Coach.” I said honestly, “I was too busy lifting to pay that much attention anyway,” as an after thought I added “I am going to need someone else to spot me now though.”

Not Peters.   Not Peters.   Not Peters.

“Leighman!” Coach called to one of the linemen. “Spot Double A.”

Jamie gestured toward the Squat machine which had just opened up, “I was about to start myself Coach.”

The look on Coaches face was less than pleased.

“Don’t sweat it Jamie,” the bass voice of Brian Peters rumbled, “I got it Coach.”

“Fine,” Coach checked the clock.   “Twenty minutes to go people.   Work it!”

As part of the trial that Wytex was doing with us, we were all being given protein shakes at specific times on specific days.   They said they had come up with a new formulation that’s supposed to be better than their old version, whatever that means.   Everyone that signed up for the study got a number and we had to drink the bottle they gave us.   I don’t know if I had the new formula or the old one but which ever it was I hoped the other one wouldn’t give me these spaz attacks.   It’s hard enough dealing with Peters without giving him any more material.

“Hey, twinkletoes,” Brian grinned at me, showing his chipped incisor, “You heard Coach.   You ready to step up from the baby weights or will that mess up your manicure?”

Remember what I said about questioning another player’s sexuality being a tried and true means of motivation?   That isn’t what he’s doing.   Brian doesn’t like me and he’s being an ass.

“I’m on a schedule Brian, you know they don’t like it when we go off.   That’s how people get hurt,” I try not to come across like he intimidates me but in the end he’s six inches taller, three years older and easily weighs as much as two of me.   If a Mack Truck and a gorilla had a baby I imagine it might look something like Brian.   “Just help me finish my set.   Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah,” he said lifting the bar without even straining.   

I think I should explain some things here.   I’m five foot eleven and weigh about one-sixty five to one-seventy.   I can bench a little over double my body weight for three reps.   For a sophomore in high school this is pretty good.   I even have my name up on the Sophomore board for top lifts this year.

Brian is six foot six and weighs somewhere over three hundred fifty pounds.   He’s a giant slab of ugly muscle.   He can press somewhere over a quarter ton.   That’s more than I think I’d trust truck with!

Of course, my truck is a piece of crap.

If he doesn’t end up in jail for doing something stupid he’s going to have to fight the recruiters off with a stick.

Brian leered down at me as I pressed the weights to extension, “I saw you’re mom the other day.   She still turning tricks?”

“Screw you!” I gasped as I pressed the weight once more.   Not my most witty rejoinder but it’s hard to be clever while holding three hundred pounds.   Shifting my grip I tried to swing the bar home but found Brian blocking me.

“Screw me?” he said in a distressingly conversational tone. Gripping the bar as if to lift it away he instead began to push against me,   “Nah.   Screw you Double A,” casually he pressed even harder, “Screw you.   You think you’re hot shit just cause your Dad played in the NFL, Cross?”

My arms buckled but I managed to catch the weight before it hit my chest.   Brian may have actually checked the weight to give me a chance to catch it.   With my arms no longer locked out I was completely at his mercy.   My muscles, already fatigued from working through my circuit, were absolutely screaming but I managed to push back just enough to keep it from crushing me.

Leaning in he said, “Come on Cross.   You have to mean it.   Push!” all the while he held me pinned to the bench.   More quietly he continued, “You’re nothing Cross.   You’re shit.   You’re old man is shit.   You’re mom is a whore and I bet you’re little sister is just a tighter version.”

The anger that lit my eyes must have told him he had struck a nerve. I pushed harder but it was like the pushing against a stone wall.

“Oh yeah,” he intoned lewdly, “How much you think she’d charge to suck me off?   A dollar?” he feigned thinking, “Nah she’s probably so sick of your dinky dick she’d be glad to final...”

The bar flew off my chest and arced over the cradle, smashing to the floor with a terrible crash. Brian backpedaled, barely avoiding being hit. If I had been capable of any kind of rational thought at the moment I suspect the look of surprise on his face would have been priceless.

“How the fuck did you do that?” he asked with a touch of fear in his voice.   At least that’s what I think he said; it was hard to hear with the blood pounding in my ears.

“You don’t talk about my sister!” I screamed, stomping toward him on shaky legs.   “Talk about her again and I’ll...”

“You’ll what?” he recovered and took a step toward me, “What?   Come on Twinkletoes!   Just what the fuck are you going to do?”

My hand balled into a fist so tightly it hurt.   My muscles were spasming but I didn’t care.   My arm cocked back as I got ready to punch a hole straight through him.   It was strange, almost like watching myself do things rather than doing them myself.

“Cross!” Coach Wiese shouted from across the room, instantly breaking my fugue. “My office!   Now!”

“Yes Coach!” I shouted back all the while boring holes in Brian with my eyes.   He had gotten to me.   He had gotten under my skin and now I was going to pay for it.   Asshole!

“Peters!” Coach barked, “Join Hanover on the Bleachers.   When you finish fifty you can both come in,”   Stepping aside he allowed me into his office. “Peters!” Brian turned looked back from the door. “You only have fifteen minutes before Wytex starts their thing so no goldbricking on those sprints.”

“Yes, Coach,” Brian nodded and loped off toward the bleachers.

“The rest of you.   Shows over.   Get back to work,” he stood for a moment glaring at the other members of the team until the rhythmic clinking of metal on metal resumed it’s cadence.   

Meanwhile I stood fuming while trying not to look like I was fuming.   I don’t have a short temper as a rule.   I get touchy about Josie though and Peters had pressed that button hard.

Satisfied that the remainder of the session would not be completely wasted Coach closed the door to his office and crossed in front of me to perch on the edge of his desk. “Have a seat,” he gestured at one of the lime green hard plastic chairs in front of his desk.

With my head downcast I lowered myself onto the seat of shame. “Sorry Coach,” I squeaked.   My eyes were burning and it was all I could do to keep from crying. I was not going to give Peters that satisfaction.

“Why are you sorry AJ?”   He didn’t sound angry and if anything that made holding back the tears that much harder.

I started to speak but realized that I wasn’t exactly sure why I was sorry.   Yeah, I had gotten mad but it wasn’t like I had actually tossed the weight like that, Brian had to have pulled on it.   In fact that was kind of what it felt like.   Rather than try and explain anything I remained silent.

“Speak up Cross.   Why are you sorry?”   He still didn’t sound mad but he sounded more like Coach.

“I broke the first rule of using the weight room,” I said quietly.

Coach Wiese nodded, “and?” he prodded.

I chewed my tongue for a moment before continuing, “And if you screw around with weights then someone can get hurt.”

“Look at me AJ,” I raised my eyes to his, “What were you benching out there? 280? 290?”

“300, sir.”

He shook his head and tried to hide the grin that threatened to split his face by standing up and rounding his desk to sit in the heavy wooden swivel chair.   By the time he faced me again his face was once more serious.

“AJ, at 300 pounds you could kill someone with a stunt like that.   Peters is a block of wood but if you get 300 pounds of iron moving and it clips him right it could kill him.” Coach steepled his fingers.   “AJ, you know that I don’t normally put Sophomores on Varsity.”

I nodded and my stomach sank.   He was about to boot me.

“I have plenty of Juniors and Seniors to fill the roster.   Sophomores usually aren’t mature enough, physically or emotionally, to handle the pressure and keep up.   Do you see where I’m going with this AJ?”

I took a deep breath and tried to keep it from shuddering too much, “You’re cutting me,” I managed to whisper.

“No.   That’s not it.   Unless you want me too.   If it’s too much for you I’m willing to be the bad...”

I sat bolt upright in my chair, “No!   It’s not too much!   Dad would kill me if I got cut for doing something stupid!”

Coach smiled, “I suspect he might at that.   Now why don’t you tell me what happened out there.”

I fidgeted under his gaze for a moment before trying to explain, “I was doing my set with Darrel and then you sent him to do windsprints and then you stuck me with Peters and he started talking about my family and pinned me down to the bench and eventually I got mad and pushed the bar off my chest but he had to have pulled on it ‘cause there’s no way could have tossed it that far unless he helped,”   I took another breath and cursed myself inwardly for saying too much.   You don’t rat out teammates.   Even if they are total asshats.

Coach leaned forward, his face all business, “AJ, football is a very competitive sport.   The other team is going to do everything they can to get inside your head and get you thinking about anything except the game.   Peters is good at that.   He can get under your skin so fast and so far that you can’t help but jump,” Coach sighed and his years showed for a moment. “It’s a great talent for a lineman but it also makes him difficult to deal with.”

“Coach, he freaking hates me and my family and I don’t have any idea why,”

“Do you know how many Sophomores I’ve put on the Varsity team?”

“Uh...no?” I replied in confusion at the non sequitur.

“In the, Lord, thirty years,” he shook his head at the thought,   “I’ve been coaching here, I’ve given the go to a half dozen Sophomores.   Ten tops.   Ten years ago the school had gotten big enough that I didn’t think I would ever do it again.   Plenty of upperclassmen waiting to play,” He stood up and walked over to the wall to the left of his desk which was covered with framed newspaper articles and stared at one of the more yellowed pages which heralded Coach Wiese’s first conference championship. “but every once in a while you find a player who has so much potential.   So much raw talent, that it would be a crime not to play them.   Two years ago I found one such player in Peters and I be damned if he hasn’t carried us through two consecutive championships.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling rather stupid for not knowing this, “That still doesn’t explain why he’s riding me though.”

Coach sighed and sat back down in his chair, “This is Brian’s Senior year, AJ.   This is supposed to be his year but with you on the team he’s losing some of of his thunder.   I had hoped he would take the opportunity to show some class and take you under his wing.   Lord knows he could have used someone back when he was a Sophomore.”

I was terribly confused, “Are you saying someone actually picked on Peters?   Who would do that?   He’s the size of a house!”

Coach smiled, “He wasn’t always as big as he is now.   Don’t get me wrong.   He was always a big kid but back when he was your age he hadn’t finished filling out.   The simple fact is that the upperclassmen ride those below them.   The Seniors ride the Juniors but the mix is pretty even so no one really gets it unless they call it down on themselves.   As a Sophomore everyone is going to ride you AJ.   You upset the balance and the fact that you out perform half of them isn’t going to help.”

“I guess I could...” I began but coach cut me off.

“If I ever catch even a hint that you aren’t giving everything you have I will cut you so fast you’ll wonder if this was a dream!”

My eyes must have looked like saucers. “Yes, Coach!   I’m mean no Coach!   I always try my hardest!”

“Just be sure you do,” he looked back toward the newspaper he had examined earlier.   “Your father was on that team, you know.”

“Yes Sir, my dad has the same paper in his scrapbook, he says you were the best coach he ever had,”

“Really?” he smiled, obviously pleased to hear it.

I glanced at the clock, “Coach? We’re past when we were supposed to end for the day.   I need to get my protein shake from the Wytex guys before they leave.”

“That late?” he craned to look at the clock on the wall, “Fine.   Get your shake.   Can’t afford any dropout we can avoid,” I stood to leave but before I got out of the office he continued “Hold on Cross,” I returned my attention to him.   I had been so close. “You won’t dress for the next game.”

“Yes Coach,” I said glumly.

God.   My dad was going to blow a freaking gasket.

Leaving the office I saw Peters and Darrel standing in line to get their shakes from the Wytex rep.   Neither of them looked very good.   Peters was flushed and breathing hard and by the look on Darrel’s face I’m guessing he probably threw up at some point during the sprints.Trying to be as unobtrusive as possible I stepped to the back of the line and waited for my turn.

Wytex Sports Nutrition had chosen the Omaha Public School System out of thousands of applicants to participate in a non-clinical trial of a new protein shake they were getting ready to market.   Their earlier clinical studies showed that the new amino acid chain they had created was significantly more effective at promoting muscle development than their current formulation which is marketed under the name ‘Novacane’.   Their slogan is ‘No Pain!   All Gain!’ which is frighteningly not the worst I’ve heard.

Still looking flushed and green Darrel moved back in line to stand with me.   As he did I noticed Brian eyeing me strangely while rubbing his right wrist.

“So what happened with Coach?” Darrel asked quietly.

I shrugged my shoulders.   I really didn’t feel like talking about it.

“He didn’t cut you did he?   You know better than to screw around like that in here,” he thought for a moment.   “Actually what I really want to know is how you managed to toss the weights like that anyway.   You were all but gassed when I left.”

I shrugged again but knew it was a losing battle.   Darrel was not one to take subtle hints.

Darrel wheedled, “Come on man.   Give me something!   Brian’s been rubbing his wrist like he tweaked it ever since he came out and started to do sprints.   I tried to find out what happened from him but he clammed up and just kept running.   You know how much Brian hates running the bleachers.   Any excuse to avoid them, but he just kept pounding up and down those benches.”

“He must have hurt it when he pulled the weight off my chest,” I grumbled.

“Well at least he was doing what he was supposed to, right?” he smiled.

“He had to pull it off because he was using it to pin me down while he bad mouthed my family!” I replied more hotly than was deserved.

“Oh,”   he looked toward Brian who had finally reached the front of the line and was chugging the protein shake marked 781. “Man.   What an ass.” he quipped.

I have to admit his deadpan delivery was perfect and I cracked a smile in spite of my foul mood.

Seeing me grin he returned to the topic he wanted at hand, “So what happened with Coach?”

He was going to find out any way so there was little reason not to tell him except that I didn’t want to say it. “I don’t get to dress for the next game,” I said with a sigh.

Darrel grimaced, “Ohh... harsh.   At least he didn’t cut you.   Screwing around with weights is one of his things.”

“Dude.   You’re up,” I gestured behind him as the person just in front of us finished up the rigmarole.

With a grin on his face Darrel stepped up to the white plastic folding table, half of which was covered with a plastic flat filled with plastic bottles.   The bottles were white with red caps and there was a number on both the cap and the bottle.   A dark eyed man stared blandly at Darrel from behind the table.   He wore a white coat with the Wytex logo on the breast and just below that was a name tag that said ‘Dr. Callow’.   It was pretty obvious that he would have rather been somewhere else.

“Name?” Dr. Callow said with the same disinterest his eyes had shown.

If Darrel noticed the doctor’s attitude you never would have known.   “Hanover comma Darrel” he said quickly.

Dr. Callow picked up an iPad and began reading from it, “Darrel Hanover.   In the time since last receiving your previous allotment of Protein Formulation 7G have you experienced any unusual discomfort or inexplicable phenomena including but not limited to: lightheadedness, dizziness, nausea, constipation, diarrhea, heart palpitations, shortness of breath, visual or auditory iIllusions, double vision, muscle cramps or priapism.”

As usual Darrel laughed at the last one, eliciting a glare from the good doctor.   “Nope.   It’s all good.”

“Very well.   Here is your bottle,” he handed Darrel a bottle marked 674, “please open it and drink the contents.   When you finish, return the cap and sign the side of the bottle, please.”

Without really waiting for the instructions, Darrel snapped off the lid and upended the contents.   When he finished he wiped his mouth with the back of his arm and signed the bottle with one of the provided markers.   Once that was done he handed it back to Dr. Callow who also signed the bottle before returning it to it’s former location in the flat.

“Next!” Dr. Callow said sharply as Darrel took off for the showers.   “Name?”

“Cross comma Aaron,” I replied.

Another day another bottle.

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~oOo~

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The wind blew and I shivered in my blue and cream jacket as I walked to my truck.   It was mid-October and while the first snow had come and gone it was still chilly in the dieing light of the sun.   The fact that the ‘endless’ hot water supply had cut out just as I reached the showers wasn’t helping anything either.   A handful of cars and trucks were scattered about the lot and I waved to the security guard as he slowly cruised past in the funny little car they made him drive.   I would have to check to be sure but I swear it only has three wheels.

Digging into the pocket of my letter jacket I fished the keys out with clumsy fingers.     Predictably I fumbled them but managed to snag them before they hit the ground.   I looked around to see if anyone had actually seen my grab but the lot was empty.   Shaking my hand to get some feeling back into it I opened the door to my mostly there 1991 F150 and hopped inside.   I tossed my backpack on top of the detritus which had accumulated on the passengers side floor.   Cranking the engine I bounced slightly in place while it warmed up.   After a few seconds I checked behind me and began backing out.   When I glanced in my side mirror I saw a girl standing behind me staring.   I have to admit I nearly leap out of my skin!   I slammed on the breaks and craned to look behind me once more.

Only when I did she was gone and when I checked the mirror there was still no sign of her. “Weird,”   I mumbled and started back toward home.

Before I even made it out of the lot my cell phone started hooting.   At least that’s the closest I’ve come so far to describing that particular ring tone.

I really need to find a better one.

Pulling to the side I stopped to fish the phone out of the front pocket of my backpack.   The front screen told me I had three missed calls and that Josie was calling.   With a flip of my thumb I popped open the clamshell and placed the phone to my ear.   “What’s up Jojo?” I smiled into the phone.

“Did you listen to the messages?” she asked seriously.

“Nope.   Sorry.   Just found out I had missed calls.   What’s up?” I repeated.

“Mom wants you at the studio tonight.   She needs someone to dance with the blue hairs,” The amusement in her voice was unmistakable.

“Not today Jojo,” I whined “I just got done lifting and...” I sighed.

“What the matter Aaron?” she asked quietly.   “If you had a bad day I’ll tell Mom I didn’t get a hold of you,” she sounded almost as sad as I felt.

I bounced my head off the steering wheel and ordered myself to suck it up.   Aloud I said, “It’s OK Jojo.   I just had a little trouble with Brian Peters today.”

“Is he the really big lineman that pulled that hatchet job on Centrals QB and put him out for the year?” she asked matter-of-factly.   What can I say. She knows football.

I smiled ruefully, “That would be him.”

“I don’t like him.   He’s a big meany,” she said as if damning him to hell would be a lesser curse.   

I love my sister.

Even though I agreed with her completely I was still compelled to defend my teammate.   “He’s a defensive tackle Jojo.   They’re supposed to be mean.”

“They’re supposed to be mean during the game.   To the other team.   Even then they don’t have to act like they like it,” I could hear her pout over the phone.   “So what did he do?”

The anger over what he had said came rushing back; I clenched my eyes tight against the feelings and managed to control it.

“You still there Aaron?” she asked timidly.

I swallowed my rage and answered her, “Yeah.   Yeah I’m here.”

“What happened?” she sounded near the edge of tears, which was totally unacceptable.   I can not stand for my sister cry.   It just kills me.

Forcing a smile I said, as cheerfully as I could manage, “Nah!   It wasn’t anything really.   He was just trash talking and I let it get to me.   I’ll tell you more when I get home, okay?   I should really get to the studio before mom has a fit.”

“You sure it’s okay?” she sniffed.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I reassured her and honestly I felt better.   Stewing on things you can’t change won’t make you feel better.   Move forward and use what you learn to do better in the future. “I’ll talk to you later tonight Jojo.”

“Ok.   Bye Bye, Aaron!” she chirped happily and a moment later the line was dead.

I smiled and shook my head.   That was exactly what I needed.   Checking my mirrors once more I noted that only two cars were left in the student lot and I had to wonder what was taking them so long.   Thoughts of the girl came back to me as I nervously checked my blind spots.   

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” I told myself.

Confident I wasn’t going to hit anyone; I pulled my truck out of the parking lot and began meandering my way through Omaha toward my mothers dance studio.

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~oOo~

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‘Care to Dance’, my mom’s studio, is in Brayford, a little town just outside of the Omaha metro and more or less under constant threat of being swallowed whole by the big city.   Brayford is close enough to one of the newer developments that it’s faster to drive into Brayford than to get into most of Omaha.   This had driven some enterprising people to open boutique businesses in Brayford’s downtown and the lower sales taxes had really been drawing people in.

All this was of keen interest and frustration for my mom.   She had set up her studio in Brayford when it was still twenty minutes by interstate to the edge of Omaha.   Now it was barely ten using surface streets. While the extra attention had increased business for the studio the more money that poured out of Omaha and into Brayford, the better chance there was that the little town would be annexed and ‘Care to Dance’ would have to move. Omaha’s rules and regulations were not favorable for her business model.

That was a worry for another day.

I pulled up in front of the two story brick front building which was nestled between an old crop insurance company and a new shoe store.   The front of the studio was clean, dad and I power washed the bricks about once a year, and the paint on the trim was well maintained.   A large lit sign proclaimed the space as “Care to Dance Studio”, on the window many of the programs my mom offered were listed.   Swing, Jazz, Tap, Clogging, Ballroom, Ballet, Salsa, Samba, Cardio; you name it and my mom can probably teach you how to dance it.   Not listed were the ‘after hours’ classes where she taught housewives how to strip for their husbands.

Back when I was thirteen, I had pieced together roughly what was going on and hatched a devious plan to see naked women.   I rode my bike into town and snuck into the studio where I could watch.

It really wasn’t hot.

None of them got naked and to be honest most of them were so old I don’t think I would have wanted to see it any way.   They were clumsy and spent more time laughing about how embarrassing it all was than actually learning.   

Then mom went through a routine to show them how it was done.

I didn’t go back after that.   Heck, I had a hard time looking her in the eye for a few weeks.   There are some things you just shouldn’t see your mom do.

Opening the cab door I was slapped across the face by a bitter wind.   I shrugged my backpack into place and made my way inside as quickly as I could.

The lights inside blinded me and I was dazzled by the reflections from the mirrored walls.   As my eyes cleared I realized that everyone was looking at me.   My mom stood smiling at the center of the floor giving pointers to her clients as they whirled through a warm up waltz.   I stepped into the changing room and opened my locker to get one of my dance outfits.   Rather than the normal four or five I found only one and a note which read simply, ‘Wear this.   Love Mom.’ followed by a smiley face.   When I unfolded the togs she had left me I swear I could hear that smiley face laughing at me.

It was a women’s outfit.   

Well not really.   It was made for men but I would personally much rather see it on a girl.   It was one piece of sequined, black stretch fabric madness. The legs were obscenely tight on my still   pumped thighs but fell loosely below my knees.   The sleeves were similarly constructed.   The neckline basically plunged to my navel; giving everyone a nice view of my pecs and abs.   To finish it off there was a red satin sash and headband.   I twisted to look at myself in the mirror and god did these pants make my butt look big.   I know guys don’t usually notice stuff like that but there was no way to miss it in this case.   It was sticking out like a shelf behind me.   For once I was glad I wasn’t as big, down there, as some of the guys on the team.   I don’t know where I would have put it otherwise.

You know what?   Forget that.   I would have found a way.

It didn’t look bad.   I guess.   The red of the headband made the blue grey of my eyes stand out and managed to make my dark brown hair look almost black. It wasn’t really any worse than shorts and a tank top but I still felt very much on display.

“Almost ready sweetheart?” mom asked sticking her head through the curtain.

I rolled my eyes at her mushy term of endearment.

She stepped past the curtain and bounced up and down with happiness.   “You look wonderful AJ!   Josie said it would look good on you and she was right!”

Betrayed by my little sister!   Just freaking awesome.

“It seems kind of tight and... uh... kinda girly,” I probed to see how wedded she was to me wearing it.

“Nonsense,” she said placing her hands at center of her hourglass shape.

She was married to it.   Great.

“Spin around.   Let me see,” she twirled a finger in the air to emphasize the action, while crossing the other arm beneath her frankly enormous breasts.

“Fine,” I grouched and slowly began turning in a circle by choppy steps.

“Aaron Jacob Cross, use your grace!” she snapped.

“Yes, mother,” I sassed but slowly turned a graceful pirouette for her.

After I completed one rotation she gestured for me to do it again the other direction.   When I finished the turn the look of annoyance had been replaced with one of concern.

“Did something happen at school today, AJ?” she cocked her head to the side, examining me   “Your movement is off and you seem to be carrying a lot of extra tension.”

I really should have known she would see that I was upset.   She reads body language like it’s Dr. Suess.   If I talked about it I was going to cry and I really wanted to avoid that if I could.

“Yeah, but it isn’t important right now.   I’ll tell you later,” I smiled weakly.

Closing the distance between us, she hugged me gently. “Are you sure sweetheart?   If you aren’t in the mood, you won’t dance as well.   I just know you were hoping to make a little extra money...”

“And they will probably tip well.” I finished for her.

“They like you AJ.   You make them feel young and that is worth a lot to a woman,” she smiled “and this outfit should help maximize your tips.”

Looking in the mirror once more I examined the outfit again, “It just feels a little like...   I don’t know.   It just feels weird.”

“It always feels weird when you put yourself on display like this.   If you aren’t up for it tonight I’ll just let them know.”

Taking a final look I decided that it wasn’t as bad as all that, “No.   I’ll do it.   It’s not the worst thing you’ve made me wear after all.”

“Are you still holding on to that?” she huffed in frustration. “You knew the steps.   The recital was that night.   I needed one more girl.   Your were only eight.   How could I know it would become such a big deal.”

I rolled my eyes, “Common sense might have told you that putting your son in a pink tutu in front of the whole town could have some consequences.”

“It wasn’t the whole town!   There were, at most, fifty people at that program.   Besides, if you hadn’t done such a good job no one would have noticed you and it would have just gone away.   Now quit stalling and get out there,” she said seriously. “You’re still probably pretty loose from lifting but take five or so to stretch.   I’ll run them though the basics and then you can help.   Sound good?”

“Yeah mom,” I smiled at her.

“Keep that smile going and you’ll double your tips,” she added.

We stepped out through the curtain and the low buzz of conversation suddenly stopped.   I felt like running but knew it was too late for that.   I purposefully walked over to the barre and ran through my stretching sequence.   I had been doing it for so long that it was almost meditative and by the time I was done my mind had cleared enough to focus on the task at hand.

While I stretched, mom spoke to her students.   “Good news ladies! My son AJ, has graciously agreed to take time out of his busy schedule to stud for us,” a ripple of giggles and laughs ran through the group. “I left a jar next to the changing room.   If you appreciate AJ helping us like this then gratuities would not be remiss,” In a stage whisper she added, “and they certainly will improve the odds of him coming back again,”   Moving to the platform at the front of the class she gestured for everyone to line up so they could see her. This, coincidentally, placed them in a position to watch me stretch in the mirrors behind her.   

Have I mentioned that my mom can be a rather shameless manipulator?

“Alright everyone I’m going to show you the steps for the Samba we’ve been working on.   Watch me.   I’m going to run through each one several times and when you start to get the rhythm try it on your own.   Once everyone has that fresh in mind we’ll break into partners and try it for real,” she smiled at the looks of panic in the room. “Don’t worry.   We’ll keep it slow to begin with.   AJ, Sasha and I will circulate through the room and help out or take over as we see fit.   Sound good?   Everyone ready?   Everyone excited!”   the enthusiasm built in the room in predicable fashion.   “Ok.   We’ll start with the Natural step which you all seem to pretty much have down.”

By the time mom was done with the warm up, I was done with my stretches and ready to work off some tension.   Everyone broke down into partners and mom started up the music.

Let me tell you, Samba music is supposed to be up tempo.   When you play it slow it just sounds weird.   Like it’s dying or something.   

Mom, her assistant and I moved through the students helping them find the rhythm and get the steps right.   By the end of the night we had them trying it at full speed.   Most of them weren’t ready for it and a few twisted an ankle in their heels but all in all it was a productive class.   Sasha and mom spent most of the night helping everyone keep in proper form while only occasionally stepping in to actually dance.

I, on the other hand, ended up moving from one partner to another and danced at that awful tempo for most of the class.   At least mom had the decency to pick a dance where the opportunities to grab my butt were somewhat limited.   Even so I was going to be sore for a couple days.

The night finally ended and I was exhausted but sitting out the next game didn’t seem as bad any more.   After a little stretching while the ladies changed, I sat down on one of the benches around the periphery of the studio.   Before long, my mom sat down next to me.

“Was that so bad?” she asked, bumping her shoulder against mine.

“No.   My butt is going to be sore from all the groping they did though.”

She had the decency to look a little put out by their behavior, “Sorry about that sweetie.   One of the curses of dancing for dollars I’m afraid.”

Officially Josie and I don’t know that mom used to be a stripper but she isn’t very good at hiding it either.

We watched quietly as ladies filed out of the changing room, dropping money in the jar as they passed it.   Mrs. Welhorne paused at the jar, looked in her billfold and then over at me.

“Smile and wave a little, it will probably double your tip,” mom said quietly as she stood up to talk to some of the other students who were congregating near the door.

Grudgingly I gave Mrs. Welhorne a small acknowledgement.   She looked around in surprise before smiling, fishing around in her billfold for a moment and shoving a fifty into the jar.   I have to admit.   It was easier to smile after that.

 

---

~oOo~

---

An hour later I finished waltzing the mop around the floor while Lady Gaga blared from the recessed speakers.   With everything sanitized the studio was more or less ready for the next day.   I plopped down on a bench and watched Sasha clean the mirrors.

Sasha was hot.

She had pink streaks in her pale blond hair which she had tied back in a high pony tail.   I know she was old enough to drink but not so old that she wouldn’t get carded every time she did.   Her body was tight and she moved like a dancer.   Where as mom was fairly tall and super curvy, Sasha was short and slim.   Her eyes are this brilliant brown color and so deep you could fall into them.   I’ve been crushing on her since she started working for my mom a little over a month ago.   She doesn’t dance as well as my mom but something about the way she moves just sets me off.

Glancing upward of her perfect butt I realized that she had caught me staring.   Stupid mirrors!   Rather than getting upset she just kept doing what she was doing.   If anything, she seemed to be stretching just that much more and actually giving me a show.   My already too tight pants got just that much tighter and I thought I was going to hurt something down there.   Quickly I grabbed a towel to cover my no longer flat front and stumped toward the changing rooms.

Why the hell was I still wearing this ridiculous outfit anyway!

As I changed into my street clothes my mind ran through various scenarios where in Sasha walked in on me changing and we... well you know.   I’m really not a super horn dog most of the time.   I haven’t ever really dated and while I did have sex once, back when I was thirteen, it was with my childhood friend Janey Bockman and it pretty much ruined my friendship with her and her brother.   They moved away a couple years ago after their farm failed but I hadn’t talked to either of them for a long time before that.

I really wish I could have said good bye.

Anyway.

I really don’t think about sex all the time but dancing always gets me going.   Between dancing and Sasha I was pretty much doomed every time I came to the studio.

After I finally calmed down enough to walk properly I pulled aside the curtain and stepped into the twilight of the closed down studio.   Out of the partial darkness an energy bar flew at my head.   Reflexively, I snagged it out of the air.   ‘Nova-bar!   Cinnamonster!’ read the the wrapper and as my eyes adjusted I saw Sasha standing not too far away eating one of her own.

“You have to be starving,” she grinned and took another bite.

She had very pretty bubblegum pink lips.

“Yeah,” I admitted and tore open the wrapper, “I grabbed Arbys on the way over but I didn’t want too much in my stomach before dancing.”

“Sure,” she smiled again.

Was she actually flirting with me?   It sure seemed like she was.   Boy was I glad I had changed pants.   In lieu of speaking I just munched on the power bar.   Cinnamon was not my favorite flavor but at least it wasn’t the maple syrup flavored kind.   Gag!

Sasha shifted and stretched a little bit giving me enough of a show that I was certain she was flirting with me.   She was probably just being a tease.   She was too old to actually be interested in me.

“So how long have you been dancing?” she asked casually.   “You’re very, very good.”

I blushed and coughed up a little bit of my protein bar.   “As long as I can remember,” I cleared my throat.   “Mom taught Josie and me to dance almost before we learned to walk.”

“Well Jackie did a good job.   I’m surprised you kept to it though.   Most guys seem to hit a point where they lose interest in that kind of thing.”

I shrugged.   The truth was that I really loved to dance.   If I could dance rather than do football I probably would but that isn’t in the cards.   Come hell or high water I was going to walk the tunnel into Memorial Stadium as a Nebraska Cornhusker, even if my Dad had to drag me by my ears.

Finally finishing her own Nova-bar, she smiled and brushed past me far more closely than was necessary.   “Well keep it up.   Girls love a man that knows how to move.   I should get out of these sweaty things so I can get home.   Talk to you later AJ,”   With that she swished behind the curtain throwing me a final look before she disappeared.

I think I had just been propositioned by an older woman.   I was so excited that I thought I was going to pass out.   My feet and my brain were at war.   I knew I shouldn’t do anything.   I had too much going on as it was and this could only end with disaster.   Yet my right leg took a halting step toward the curtain.   This was wrong thinking, I need to leave before I did something stupid.

Just as I was about to push aside the curtain, my mom’s voice snapped me out of it.   “Well AJ.   I think it’s safe to say you were a hit.”

“Wha-huh?” was my eloquent response as I twisted and tried to find a way to hide my erection.   Eventually I stuck my hands in my jacket pockets and pushed them together to cover myself.

“There’s my little Shakespeare,” she smiled and I had to wonder at her choice of phrasing.   On the plus side my immediate problem started to flag.   “Your tips,” she presented me with an envelope.

When I opened it I was shocked.   There was a lot of money.   “How much?”

“Almost four hundred dollars!” her smile went from ear to ear and I could tell she was ecstatic for me.

I looked at the money again and estimated she was probably right, “Why?   How?   Holy cow!” was all I could manage.

Sasha’s laughter rolled out of the changing room, “Good job AJ!” she shouted.

“But I didn’t do anything...” I had never received this much money at one time before.   “Wow.”

“Whatever ‘nothing’ you did they seemed to like it,” she gave me a squishy hug.   “I signed up almost half of them for year long memberships!   You did wonderfully sweetheart!” She grabbed my head an pulled it down a little so she could kiss my forehead.

“Half?” Sasha said poking out from behind the curtain wearing little more than her underwear.   “Holy shit!” she swore.   Basd on the look she gave me I thought she might jump me right there and then.   “So.   Jackie,” she smiled coyly.   “Since things are going so well maybe I could get a raise?”

“We’ll see Sasha, we’ll see,” mom said noncommittally.   

Sasha pulled back behind the curtain and I could hear her singing ‘I like it rough’ by Lady Gaga, to herself.

“Sasha?” mom called into the back.

“Yeah, Jackie?”

“I need to get home and make sure my family has eaten.   Can you finish closing up?”

“Not a problem!   I’ll see you tomorrow Jackie!   Bye, AJ!” she shouted from the back.

Choking on the words I managed to mumble an awkward goodbye and then fled the building.   Stepping outside I immediately began to shiver.   I waved to my mom and hopped in my truck as she hurried to her little red Volkswagen Beetle.   Watching her hustle in five inch heels always impressed me.   I had tried on a pair of her shoes when I was younger but I couldn’t get the knack of really moving in them like she does.   Mostly I just fell down a lot.   I waited until she was on her way before backing out myself and finally heading home.

The upcoming conversation with my dad was not going to be pleasant.

Hmmm... maybe I’ll get lucky and have an accident on the way home.

---

CHAPTER 2

---

My house is an early 1900’s, two story farm house, a few miles outside of Brayford.   It’s white with Kelly green trim and the barn is green with white trim.   Dad says he wanted to have a barn that could be used as a landmark.   Personally, I think he just got a good deal on the paint.   There are three out buildings in addition to the barn and a newer garage nearer the house where my mom gets to park.   Dads truck goes in the barn and mine sits out on the gravel next to the garage.

I suspect that when Josie gets old enough to drive she’ll get the other space in the garage.   Why it has to sit open until then is beyond me.   I guess it gives dad some extra work space.

Mom and I hurried to the house and when we stepped inside my nose was embraced by the heavenly smell of my dad’s Swedish Meatballs.   

The instant I smelled it I knew it was already too late for me.   Dad knew I had done something stupid.   This was my last meal.

OK.   That’s probably a little melodramatic.   My dad is not much of a cook.   He can make about five things really well and he doesn’t stray from those five things for love nor money.   Under normal circumstances he doesn’t cook at all.   That’s what mom is for, I guess.   On special occasions though he can be cajoled into making one of his five meals.

The only time he cooks without being talked into it is when he’s really mad.   When I backed into a police cruiser he made lasagna.   When I accidentally started the hay in the loft on fire we got Pancakes.   When I locked Josie in an old storm cellar and she ended up crying and covered in spider bites...   well he spanked hell out of me and I went to bed without supper, but I smelled Taco Pie.   I don’t know where he picked up the habit but as soon as I smelled that delicious aroma I knew I was in trouble.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one who had noticed the pattern.

“Fuck,” mom said under her breath only to immediately cover her mouth and blush, “Sorry, sweetie.   Crap!   What happened!” she asked in hushed tones.

Before I could answer a pink comet with a long blond tail zipped down the back stairs and into the foyer.   Josie smashed into me with a crushing hug.   “I’m so glad you’re alright!   Dad got a phone call from someone about an hour ago and then he started cooking!   I’ve never seen him make so many meatballs before!   It’s just horrible!” she buried her face in my chest and I was afraid she was going to cry. Instead she stepped back from me and said very seriously, “What did you do?”

“What?” I have to admit that with both of them glaring at me I panicked a little.

“AJ...” they said in unison; placing hands to hips.

They looked, moved and sounded almost exactly the same.   Images of Dr.Evil and Mini-me sprang to mind and I started to laugh.

This was a mistake on my part.   Girls really don’t like to be laughed at.

“AJ?   Jackie?   That you?” Dad called from the kitchen.   When he did mom and Jojo stopped trying to glare me to death.   Saved by my executioner.   Awesome.

“Yeah, Dad.   It’s us,” I shouted back.

“Well get your asses in here.   Suppers getting cold,”   He didn’t sound angry but he had dropped the ‘A’ word around Josie, when he was neither watching a game nor working on a vehicle.   Not a good sign.   Mom and Josie started toward the kitchen at resigned pace.   When dad really gets upset, he tends to spread it around so everyone can enjoy.   Mom would push back if he went too far but it was still unpleasant.

When we reached the kitchen table where dad had laid out his feast I finally saw just how upset he must have been.   There was a ten quart dutch oven full of meat balls and a platter heaped high with mashed potatoes.   Everything looked awesome.   He had even made salads for us.   Dad sat at his place at the table looming over it like always.   My dad is a big man.   He’s over six and a half feet tall and weighs god only knows how much.   He has some extra padding around the middle but he’s still a block of muscle.   His blue eyes glared at me from over the spread and the crease of his mouth was all but covered by his beard and mustache.   To be honest my dad scares me a little bit.   He hasn’t really done anything to earn that except be big and loud but that doesn’t seem to really change anything.   Strong as I am I know he could break he in half without even trying.   Mom and I stood gawking at the pile of food and ominous glower in front of us, too stunned to proceed.   Jojo was better prepared and reached her seat first; Mom and I drifted over more slowly.

Before my butt had more than grazed the seat dad said, “Help your mother with her chair,” it was a perfectly reasonable thing and he didn’t raise his voice but I bounced out of my chair like he had told me there was a snake on it!

I quickly helped mom get her chair in place and was about to sit down when I remembered what had happened the last time I had ticked dad off.   He bounced me out of my chair a half dozen times for this and that. “Anything else before I sit down, dad?” I asked as politely as I could.

The quirk at the edge of his mouth told me that I must have just passed some test or another; I was still in trouble but any points I could get would help.

“Corn in the oven.   Milk in the fridge. Ice cream in the freezer in the garage,” he said curtly.

“JP...” mom said in her warning tone.

Dad started shoveling food onto his plate. “Fine.   Corn.   Milk.   You can get the Ice Cream later.”

“Could I have tea instead of milk?” Josie asked timidly.

“No,” dad said immediately.

“JP...” mom’s warning was getting louder.

“Water would be okay too...” Josie quickly added.

“Fine.   A water for Josie,” he began eating without waiting for anything more.   “Hurry up!”

“Yes sir!” I hustled over to the fridge to get the milk and water pitcher and then carefully pulled the corn out of the still hot oven.   Once everything was delivered, I slowly sat down but either dad had his mouth full or that part of the ritual was done.   I shoveled a considerable amount of food onto my plate and began eating.   I hadn’t realized just how hungry I was until I smelled the meatballs.

We ate in silence with furtive glances being tossed about as we all waited for the bomb to drop.

When it did it hit more softly than I expected.

As the meal was wrapping up, dad said, “So I got a call from Coach Wiese a little bit ago. Anything you want to tell me AJ?”

I sighed and pushed my plate toward the center of the table.   My meal was over.   “I won’t be dressing for next game,” I said very quietly.   Josie and mom both gasped.   I really expected dad to come unglued but he didn’t; it was obvious that he was mad but not as much as I would have expected.

“And why will you you not be dressing for the next game?” he asked evenly.

I bit my lower lip and squinted one eye.   I knew he wasn’t going to hit me but his yelling could be almost as bad.   “I did something stupid in the weight room.”

“Oh, AJ!” mom interjected, “You know better than that!”

Awesome.   Guilt for desert.   My favorite.

“What did you do, boy?” Dad asked and I could hear the simmering anger coming to a boil.

“I accidentally tossed a bar bell over the cradle,”

“How much over the cradle?”

“A foot or two. I don’t really know.   I wasn’t really paying that much attention,” I winced at my own words.   Being inattentive was almost as bad as screwing around.

His voice began to rise, “How the hell do you ‘accidentally’ toss 300 pounds two feet in the air AJ!   I’ve gone over the rules of the weight room with you how many times?   I know Coach Wiese takes it seriously.   Why the fuck don’t you!”

“I do!” I responded with a mixture of anger and fear.   Tears were threatening to flow.   God I hate it when that happens!   I get upset and my eyes start to water like a girl!   Gritting my teeth I tried to force the tears away. “It wasn’t like that!”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Jojo had curled up in her chair and was rocking gently with her face buried in her knees.   Why did he have to be such an overbearing asshole?   I can’t believe he made her cry!

I can’t believe I made her cry.

God, I fucking hate myself.       

“Josie.   Let’s go braid your hair, sweetheart,” mom said, taking Jojo’s hand as she stood.   Josie was weeping quietly and tucked her head into mom’s shoulder as they left.   “Don’t worry sweetie.   Everything will be okay.   AJ and your father,’” she glared at dad as she referenced him, “just need to work this out.”

“What was it like then AJ?” dad continued heedless of mom and Josie’s departure.

“Brian Peters got on my case and started talking trash and I just got so mad...”

“So you risked throwing everything we have worked for away because some guy gave you a little flack?” he stood up from the table, “What are you going to do in a game Aaron!   Are you going to go nuts every time someone insults you!   I thought I taught you better than that!”   he loomed over me and I could no longer hold back the tears.

I didn’t blubber or break down but I did cry.

“Me?   I catch crap about me everyday!   I don’t care about me!” I shouted jumping to my feet.

Dad’s posture changed.   I had challenged him in a very primal way and he didn’t like it.   “What could he have possibly said to make you act like such a fucking retard!”

“He called Josie a whore! OKAY!”   I shouted.   “He said that you and I were shit and that Mom and Josie were whores!” I tried to clear the tears from my eyes with the heels of my hands.   My anger started to wane and I continued more quietly. “He pinned me to the bench and he started talking about Josie and...”   I sniffed and rubbed my eyes again trying to regain control. “He pushed me until I snapped.   I know what I did was stupid but at the time I just wanted him to stop talking.   I pushed as hard as I could and at the same time he must have either pulled on the bar or at least stopped pushing.   I’m really sorry dad.   I’m stupid and worthless...”

“That’s more than enough of that,” dad said sternly but the anger was mostly gone.

I sniffled and nodded “Yes sir.   Sorry about crying like this.   Sometimes I just can’t stop the stupid tears.”

Dad quirked the side his mouth, “Your mother was the same way.   She’d get in a towering rage and the tears would be streaming down her face.   God she hated that.”

“Really?”   I blew my nose on a napkin and sat down, “I don’t remember mom ever doing anything like that.”

“Not Jackie,” dad shook his head sadly, “Your birth mother, Carrie.   Jackie has other things happen when she gets upset.”

“Oh,” I sat contemplating this new bit of information about the woman who had given birth to me.   Jackie and Carrie were identical twin sisters.   Carrie was the responsible one who went to college, met a boy and got married.   Jackie’s path was different.   I could never get a good grip on exactly how it had gone but unrepentant hedonism seemed to be pretty close.   When my birth mother died a couple days after I was born both mom and dad were pretty messed up by it.

Jackie ended up helping to take care of me while they were grieving.   It was supposed to be a temporary thing but a couple years later they got married.   I only found out that mom wasn’t my mother a few years ago when I asked them if I was a bastard because they didn’t get married until after I was born.   

You find the damnedest things when gathering information for school projects.

They had promptly changed the subject but a couple days later they sat me down and explained what had happened.   Carrie had apparently miscarried a couple times prior to me and the doctors were concerned there could be complications.   She wrote me a letter in case the unthinkable happened.   Mom had stood clutching that letter and started bawling when she finally worked up the nerve to hand it to me.   It takes a lot to really get mom that upset.   I don’t know what she thought was going to happen when I read the letter but it obviously scared her.   I read it and I could tell that the woman who had written it loved me with all her heart.   It was a good feeling, even if it did make me cry a little, but it didn’t make her my mom.

“What are you thinking about AJ?” dad asked quietly.

I shrugged, there was too much to try and relate it all, “I guess I aways just figured that Mom and her sister were more alike than not.   I’m just trying to figure out how this,” I pointed at my red rimmed eyes, “fits in with who I am.”

“Mmmmm...” dad nodded, “Your mother was a wonderful person AJ.   Jackie is a wonderful person.   I wouldn’t trade my time with either of them for the world,”   he looked me in the eye. “I wouldn’t trade you or your sister for anything either,” he blew out a breath and then popped a stray meatball into his mouth.   A few moments passed in silence as he chewed. “Nothing like that incident in the weight room ever happens again.   I don’t care how hard he pushes; you don’t push back.   You can’t afford to risk your future because some gorilla talks smack about your family.   It hurts, but it’s just words.”

“Yes sir,” I said glumly.

He sat quietly for a moment with a far away look on his face, “Damnit.   No!”   I looked at him in confusion.   “You have to stand up for yourself, son.   A meat head like that will never get bored with it.   If you look like a victim, people will treat you like one.   If someone pushes; you push back, just be smart about it.   Act.   Don’t react.   Understand what I’m saying?”

“I think so...” I said, a bit leery of this very reasonable advice.   

“Good.   You want some ice cream?” he smiled and I could see that the anger was gone.

Against my better judgment I opened my mouth, “Am I in trouble?”

Dad considered this for far longer that I was comfortable with, “Not this time.   Coach Wiese and I talked when he called me earlier and I agree that it’s his place to penalize you as he sees fit.   That does not mean I am happy about what happened and you can believe that by all that is holy if you ever pull a bone head move like that again you will regret it, but for now I’m willing to let it go.”

“Awesome!” I smiled and received a sour look in response. “Sorry sir.”

“You’re still sitting out next game, boy.   I wouldn’t feel too happy about things,” he said seriously.

I slouched in my chair.   He was right.   As usual.

Dad walked toward the door, grabbing his jacket from the coat tree in the corner of the kitchen.   “I’ll go get the ice cream.   Why don’t you go see if your mom and sister want some.”

Smiling more cautiously, I got up and headed to Jojo’s room.   God I hope she isn’t still crying.

---

~oOo~

---

In the end it all worked out.   Mom and Josie played dress up, which seems to be a very serious thing for girls.

I doubt the Supergirl shirt Josie squeezed my mom into will ever recover.

We all had ice cream, I finished the homework I had left, did my evening stretches and it was time for bed.

With the exception of getting in trouble at school and the resulting aftermath it was a pretty typical day really.   If I hadn’t been helping mom at the studio I would have probably been running around the near pasture with a tire strapped to me or whatever else dad thought up for the day.

---

~oOo~

---

At around two in the morning I woke up with the worst cramps I’ve ever had.   My legs and arms began to spasm but it was the pain in my pelvis that really killed me.   I arched and stretched, trying to find some way to ease the pain but it just got worse.

I’m used to pain.

I’ve been playing sports since I was six.   I’ve broken bones, sprained joints and even got a concussion from running head first into a concrete wall.   These cramps were like the most painful moment from when I broke my leg but they didn’t stop.   The pain kept building and everything I tried just seemed to make it worse.   Eventually I couldn’t stifle it any more and cried out.   Josie was there quickly, with mom and dad not far behind.

They asked me a bunch of questions but I was so out of it I can’t really remember any of it clearly.   I remember dad and Josie crying.   The sight of dad in tears always sticks with me.   Mom left and when she came back she forced me to drink something that tasted like really bitter Seven Up from a small glass bottle.   Dad sent Jojo for a heating pad, or maybe she came up with that on her own.   I writhed in my bed, crying in pain while my mom held me tight.   I thought the pain would never end but just when I didn’t think I could take anymore, the world just turned off.

...to be continued...