The Changing Room universe, also known as “Changing for Gym”, was created by Xoop and added to by Maggie Finson and Dustin C. I was intrigued by the power of the school, but also the limitations. I wish to stay true to the universe but nudge things a little further; I have referenced characters from the last two in the series, “Slipping In” and “Slipping Out”, and used the traditional opening as Prologue.

Hill Street High School has always worked its wonders on the students–perhaps faculty might be involved as well?

Changing for Gym: Family Affair, by Karin Bishop

Part 2

The McMahon boys were back in school two days after their father’s stroke. Danny Halding was just leaving the locker room when they entered.

“Hey, guys, I’m so sorry about your dad,” Danny said gravely.

Both boys nodded and said, “Yeah.”

They sat down heavily and began dressing for football practice. Patrick just stared at the clothes.

“But what’s the point?” Patrick sighed.

“We do it for Dad. For Coach,” Tommy said simply.

But whether he’d said that because he really believed it or because he knew Patrick needed to hear it, it all fell apart at the next day’s practice.

It was obvious that with Frank McMahon gone, Coach Anderson’s methods were back in force. Tommy was disgusted by the emphasis on plays and teamwork; he’d been taught it was brute strength that won games. After he’d blown a scrimmage by smashing a rusher so hard the kid was dizzy, he was called to the sidelines.

Coach Anderson surprised him by not yelling; instead he called Tommy over and softly said, “What’s the news on your dad?”

Tommy swallowed his anticipated rebuttal and answered. “They’re moving him out of ICU tomorrow, maybe the next day. They said it’s a miracle he didn’t die. But he’s a fighter,” he said with determination.

“Yes, he is,” Coach Anderson nodded, looking into the distance. “Look, Tommy; I know you’re unhappy about your father and you have every right to be. But don’t carry that onto the field.”

“I didn’t,” Tommy said, more whiny than he meant to be. “He rushed and I took him out.”

“The play wasn’t to ‘take him out’; it was to keep him busy. While you’re blocking him, the two of you are both occupying space their team can’t fill. You took him out and you didn’t see Randall come right around you and he sacked your QB. That was the purpose of the play.”

“My purpose is to prevent the enemy from crossing the line,” Tommy said hotly.

“Not the enemy, son; they’re just the opposite team. And today, it was one of our own. If you had given him a concussion, we lose that player for the next game.”

“So what? It’s football, man.”

“High school football, not war.” Coach Anderson was getting more stern.

“It’s pussy football is what it is!” Tommy spat. “They call me ‘Tear-em-up’ because that’s how you play football! But this is pussy football!” he yelled again.

Coach Anderson bit back his first response and said evenly, “I think you’re still upset about your father, and I understand. Take a week off, get your head together. See you the fourteenth.”

“My head’s together now!” Tommy cried vehemently.

“No, son, it’s not–as proven by how worked up you’re getting. Take the week off.”

“The week? Hell, I’m taking the season off! I quit your pussy team! Good luck winning even one game without me!”

Tommy stomped off the field with Coach Anderson shaking his head sadly as he watched.

And of course, as soon as he heard, Patrick quit his team that same day.

***

After the paramedics had removed Frank, the school had spent the next two days in a state of numbed shock. It was if the school was a little child, huddled in a corner with its arms wrapped around its legs, rocking in misery.

But the sharp pain of disharmony from the football field snapped the school’s isolation.

It had work to do–

Children were hurting.

***

Tommy stared at the panties. Well, he thought, the prankster that Halding had mentioned had at least waited before resuming his old tricks. Presumably even the prankster had sympathy for the McMahon family. He fingered the white lace panties. He wasn’t in football any longer; both he and Patrick had their schedules redone. After-school sports occupied the last period of the day; it was only available to members of the teams. With the McMahons quitting, they had to be integrated into regular PE, which meant that some of their classes had to be changed, and there was a scheduling nightmare for Liz Baker, the school secretary.

Now Tommy and Patrick didn't share PE times; Tommy had regular PE, a co-ed class that did different activities each week, but Patrick had to take the Dance class. It was the only option for his schedule. He’d yelled and screamed but quieted down when it was pointed out that athletes regularly take dance training to improve their agility. What had really done it was that one of the boys in the class, a gymnast named Luke, had challenged Patrick to a contest. Patrick had been grumbling loudly, saying things he thought his brother would say, when Luke issued his challenge. The first was pushups. Patrick had roared with laughter at the thought that the slender boy could beat him. Just look at him, he mentally sneered. Skinny and probably a faggot–what am I saying? Of course he’s a faggot; he’s in dance and he’s in gymnastics–not even a real sport!

However, the catch was …the pushups were vertical, handstands against the wall. Pushing your own weight straight up. Patrick did four and a shaky fifth before collapsing and rolling to avoid smashing his face. Luke whipped out ten and, upside down and grinning, looked at Patrick and asked if he wanted more. Patrick sneered it was a trick.

“Well, then, how are your legs?”

“Better than yours!” Patrick snapped back, but somehow that phrase sounded weird …

“Race to the wall?” Luke nodded to the opposite wall of the gym. “And back again?”

“You’re on!”

Another student was roped into being starter and the class watched. The teacher was allowing this to continue because she felt it was important. Patrick’s grumbling could become infectious and disrupt the class for the whole semester. Besides, the teacher was intrigued to watch the results. Patrick ran as fast as he could; Luke slapped the opposite wall and passed him in the other direction. Patrick had slapped the wall and turned, determined to make it up in a sprint to the finish, when the class cheered as Luke crossed the line.

Patrick walked back to the starting point, fuming.

Luke ignored that and said, “One more. Just standing.”

“Standing?”

“Sure. The running thing …maybe you’re better at distance than I am.”

“Got that right!” Patrick growled–but it came out whiny and not at all the way he’d wanted it to sound.

“So, we just stand, okay?”

Patrick’s eyes narrowed, looking for a trick. “Just stand?”

“On one leg. You choose..”

“What, like a stork or something?”

“Sure. Or the Karate Kid, or whatever.”

Hell, I can stand, Patrick chuckled to himself. Sure, like the Karate Kid, ready to kick some ass!

He didn’t last two minutes before losing his balance, twisting and falling out. He cried no fair! and Luke agreed to try it again, even on the same leg. Patrick made him change, and this time Patrick passed the two-minute mark and a few seconds later fell out of balance.

Luke just stood. “See, the deal is that balance thing? That comes from this class.”

The other students looked at the teacher, realizing why she’d let it go on. Luke continued, “The strength and speed thing? That’s from gymnastics. You dissed my sport and I wanted to show you that we’re stronger than you think. So, will you settle down and let Ms. Burman start her class?”

After that class, Patrick sat in his locker room and stared at the panties in his locker. He felt so demoralized, so un-manly, that he sighed and put them on. Tommy never had to know.

But Tommy was already wearing his panties; he’d remembered that Danny Halding said it had happened to him and he seemed okay. Besides, Patrick would never know.

***

Excellent, the school thought to itself. We’re off and running. It would be nice to get the mother back on the grounds, but how? Perhaps her husband’s office …

***

Kathleen McMahon looked around the little office that had been her husband’s. She’d been called and gently asked to box up his things; the district had arranged for a new defensive coach to join Coach Anderson and he’d need the office.

She sat in Frank’s chair and looked around at the football …junk he’d managed to decorate with, in just the few short weeks he’d been here.

So where did it get you, Frank? She’d asked herself that ceaselessly since his stroke. He was having some rehabilitation in the hospital and would be sent home in a week, maybe two. Coordination was affected; his hands didn’t quite work. Her heart had broken watching him fumbling and trying to pick up pegs to put in a board, the physical therapist looking on supportively. Then Frank’s anger had flared and he’d dashed the whole board and pegs to the floor. Kathleen was used to that sort of rage, but even then she noticed how uncoordinated his movement was.

But she felt guilty about his speech–it was gone. Frank could only make mumbled sounds, no matter what he was trying to say, it came out as ‘murf’. Oh, he could still write, but while he hoped to write a raging torrent of abuse, he could only manage one crooked, squiggly letter at a time, and he rarely finished a sentence before howling a ‘murf’ and throwing the pad across the room.

Kathleen felt guilty because she was enjoying the silence. Finally–finally–she didn’t have that bellow in her ears, in her house, in her family. She and her boys had lived with it for so long …And only as she began relaxing a bit did she realize how tighten screwed-down she’d been, how squeezed dry, cringing with anticipation of another outburst.

But the tirade on Parents Night had been Frank’s last.

***

The school was pleased that things could proceed in a positive direction, now that the McMahon boys had separate gym periods. It was vital that each discover their own identity, and that could never happen with things the way they were. Patrick idolized his big brother, and Thomas was deathly afraid of failing his father. Now with the father out of the picture, the boys could become their own people–and certainly not the way their father had planned.

The school had felt guilty for perhaps being responsible for Frank McMahon’s stroke, but a comment from his wife to Mr. Harris had eased the guilt. She had said in passing that their doctor had warned Frank for three years that he was in danger of a stroke or heart attack, and ‘could blow at any time’. The school had been thinking that by increasing the anger of the parents, it had also increased Frank’s anger and brought on the stroke, but on closer examination, the school remembered that Frank had always been impervious to even the school’s strongest urgings. Frank hadn’t been enraged by the school; it was all his own rage–and led to the vein in his head blowing out.

Now with Frank out of the picture, the school could begin changing the family dynamic.

Kathleen McMahon also had some plans for changes at home, beginning with her children’s meals.

***

“Aw, Mom, where’s the meat?” Tommy groused.

“Yeah, Mom,” Patrick added.

Tommy leaned over to his brother and quickly whispered the sexual joke, “It’s not the meat, it’s the motion!”

Patrick laughed and glanced at his mother.

Kathleen ignored them as she scooped out the tuna casserole. “You’ve been getting too much meat as it is. Not good for you. And you weren’t getting enough fish. It’s not much, but it’s a start. We’re going to start eating healthier around here.”

“Mom, we eat healthy!” Tommy said.

“Meat and potatoes are like the best things you can eat!” Patrick looked at his brother and got a nod of approval.

“Too much of anything isn’t good. Besides, the doctors say that your father’s diet may have contributed to his stroke.”

Frank was upstairs in bed staring at the TV, mumbling ‘murf’ every so often at an ESPN commentator.

So the boys began eating better, and they were also surprised that their ‘pussy gym classes’, as their father used to call anything that wasn’t organized sports, were making them fitter. They began slimming down and actually felt more energy than they remembered having.

There was another factor of home life–laundry.

Patrick was getting ready for bed one night and quickly removed his pants and then his panties. They were yellow nylon with a lace panel. He loved how they felt, but felt guilty when he thought about his brother finding out. That prankster had hit his locker the second day after the boys returned, and after gym everyday there was another pair of panties, different colors and styles. Because they no longer shared gym periods, Patrick couldn’t check with his brother, but remembered the guy Danny had worn them and the prankster stopped. So Patrick blushed, looked around the empty locker room, and pulled on his first pair of panties.

The rest of that afternoon, it was all Patrick could do to pay attention in class. He hadn’t cared about grades before, only football, but he was thinking since he was off the team–he felt a flare-up of self-congratulation–maybe he’d better study. But the thought of panties, and the feel of them, and the thought that the girls next to him, Molly and Samantha, wore panties just like his!

Then he thought ‘no, they don’t–mine are much prettier!

And he had no idea where that thought came from, but before he could pursue it, he was called on to explain somebody’s theorem or something.

Every new day brought new panties, and so far Patrick had been able to hide them in his laundry. But his hamper was empty, and to put the yellow panties in all by themselves? He might as well plant a neon sign. He stuck them under his mattress just for the night and would figure out what to do with them. But first he had to brush his teeth, and went towards the bathroom only to see Tommy ahead of him, closing the door. Patrick would have to wait, and remembered that Tommy had told him about something in Sports Illustrated that he meant to show him. Tommy’s door was open, and the brothers had always been kind of casual about each other’s room.

Patrick went into Tommy’s room, looking at the most likely spots for the magazine. Where it should have been was an issue of Seventeen. Patrick stared at it and blushed, and thought that Tommy was probably using the pictures to jack off to. He heard the bathroom door opening, and quickly took two steps away from the weird magazine and found himself staring at his brother’s hamper. There, peeking out under the blue shirt Tommy had worn that day, was a pair of pink lacy panties.

“What are you looking for?” Tommy asked as he entered. There was an odd tone to his voice.

Patrick was slow on the uptake. “I just …I, um …” He looked at his brother. “You said you wanted to show me something in SI.”

“SI?”

Now that was a shock! It was Tommy that had always used the initials for the magazine. Patrick regrouped. “Uh …Sports Illustrated?”

“Oh, thought you …” Tommy frowned. “Thought you meant something else. I think it’s in Dad’s room.”

The boys were extremely nervous about ‘Dad’s room’. Their giant, their rock, reduced to a fumbling mumbler in a bed …it was heartbreaking and yet they felt a curious disassociation from him. He was like an active chess piece that was now off the board–although their father would never think of playing ‘a faggot game’ like chess.

Patrick shrugged. “I’ll get it later, then.” He started to move towards the door but couldn’t resist one more glance at Tommy’s hamper.

“Oh, crap,” Tommy said softly. “You saw ‘em.”

“The prankster got you?” Patrick asked with a neutral tone.

“Yeah. Right after we got back. I figured, what the hell, it’s only for a short time and–wait a minute!” His eyes narrowed. “You too, I bet.”

Patrick blushed furiously and nodded quickly. “Every day.”

“Was today’s pink?”

“Yellow,” Patrick said, and the strangeness of the whole thing caused him to burst out laughing.

Tommy joined him, laughing, “Well, I guess we each have our own color scheme!”

Their mirth subsided and somehow Patrick felt closer to Tommy than he remembered feeling in a long, long time.

Maybe Tommy felt it, too. He sighed. “They feel real good, don’t they?”

There was the start of a blush and a denial but something tilted inside of Patrick. “Yeah, they do. I had trouble concentrating in class the first day or two.”

“Yeah; I know what you mean. Are you doing your laundry so Mom doesn’t see them?”

“I tried, but she did my hamper already today.”

“I got sloppy the third, fourth day in. She found ‘em. You know what? She just said, ‘These are pretty’ and added ‘em to the rest of the load.”

“So …she knows?”

Tommy nodded. “I don’t think she cares. She just cares that they’re clean!”

***

The school was pleased when it probed the boys’ thoughts the next day at school. Ah, finally over the panty hurdle, and the McMahons were supporting one another. Good. Now they needed to make associations, connections, beyond each other.

And perhaps time to move ahead with things …

***

“Luke’s not gay?” Patrick gasped.

Rachel shrugged. “No. Why did you think he was?” She went back to gently pulling Patrick’s arms.

They sat facing each other with their legs wide and feet up against each other’s, sole-to-sole; neither of them had splits but they extended arms and each took turns stretching out, gently pulling the other towards them.

Into Rachel’s crotch, Patrick had furiously blushed when he thought that the first day. Then he amended that to wondering what panties she wore, if they were as pretty as the ones he had in his locker. Lilac cotton with lace sides and the prettiest bow–

Oh, right; she’d asked why he’d thought Luke was gay.

“Well, uh …gymnastics, and dance …”

Rachel giggled. “I could see how maybe you thought that, but …gee, he’s a stud!”

“A stud?” Patrick gasped again, breathing into the pain of the stretch.

“Oh, yeah!” she giggled again. “Marcy went out with him last year, and Kelly–oh, God!–the stories she had about things they did this summer! They broke up when she got hot for Devon, you know, the freshman quarterback? And Shawna really wants a piece of Luke!”

They went on, sharing information about classmates and giggling as they stretched. But now Patrick was stealing glances across at Luke, who was stretching with Bailey, and Patrick felt a flame of hatred seeing Bailey. Who was a perfectly sweet girl that he liked talking with …usually.

At lunch, Tommy was staring at his History quiz. He’d gotten a B. He’d never gotten a grade that good before! But his staring didn’t go unnoticed. Dave Smithwick walked over and leaned down.

“Can’t believe he gave you that, huh?”

“What?” Tommy said, startled, and for some reason turned the paper face-down. “Sorry; didn’t hear you.”

Dave smiled. “You had a look of shock at your paper. I’m guessing you thought you’d done okay and the teacher nailed ya.”

“Something like that,” Tommy said, uncertain why he wasn’t just coming out and saying that he’d done better than ever. Maybe he was …ashamed that he’d had low grades?

“I’m Dave. Dave Smithwick. I work in the tutoring center here. If you need a little help, that’s the place.”

He was a good-looking senior, much taller than Tommy. And now that the McMahons were eating better and slimming down from their bulk, Dave seemed more solid somehow. Dependable?

And why did he think of that word?

Tommy covered his confusion by nodding. “Yeah, maybe …the tutoring center. When are you there?”

Not ‘when is it open’, but ‘when are you there’ …but it didn’t bother him as much as he’d thought.

Dave told him the hours, and Tommy said he’d see him this afternoon.

***

Associations made, connections tightening. It would be good to get the mother in somehow. So a call was made for Kathleen to see Mr. Harris about a ‘disbursement form’ of some sort; only when Mr. Harris handed it to her did they realize it was a simple refund of thirty-three cents, not the $3300 that it had seemed to be when the call was made. Mr. Harris apologized and they had a chuckle about decimal points and then caught up on Frank’s progress–or the lack of it. Kathleen was grateful to hear Mr. Harris’ report that both boys were doing well and making friends with both boys and girls.

Meanwhile, the school was nudging Kathleen into several new areas, and as she drove home, she felt a great sadness sweep over her. She actually pulled to the side of the road as a sob escaped her, and she dabbed at a single tear. Mr. Harris had said the boys had friends that were girls, and she had thought, ‘oh, girlfriends!’ like romantic, and then she’d thought, ‘oh, girlfriends!’ like the wonderful loving support she’d had with her own high school girlfriends. And the thought that her boys would never experience that closeness that girls shared, and wasn’t it a pity that they hadn’t been girls. Then they would be able to experience all the joy of girlhood–yeah, the pain and sorrows, too–before their lives settled. No, they wouldn’t settle–not the way she had with Frank! Her girls would stand up on their own two feet, and make something of themselves, as strong, independent women. And pretty, she chuckled to herself at her own ego. My girls would be pretty, too!

***

“I like that top,” Tommy smiled at Patrick.

“Thanks, Tere!” Patrick smiled. It was a pale yellow polo shirt that Patrick had found in his locker after dance class.

It was his new nickname Patrick had come up with; he’d remembered how their father had wanted everybody to call Tommy ‘Tear-em-up’ so Patrick had shortened it further. But his spelling grades had never been good, and in his mind it was spelled T-E-R-E even though he pronounced it ‘Tare’.

Tommy giggled. “I thought you were stuttering or something the first time you called me that. Now I kind of like it.”

Patrick smiled at his big brother. “Cool. And I like those way better than your old jeans.”

Tommy put one toe forward and swiveled a hip, pivoting to show the side and back. “Yeah, I think they look pretty good.”

The jeans had appeared that morning after gym. At first he’d thought it was the lighting in the room, because they looked darker than his regular faded jeans. When he held them up, he saw some nice stitching on the back pockets; red roses. He loved roses, and smiled even as he pulled on the jeans. They were tight but stretchy and felt really good to wear, stretching with his movements, like when he reached up to get his shoulder bag from the hook at the top of his locker.

He seemed to remember that he used to just carry books or not even bother with them. But being off the football team and just a regular student, he’d begun focusing on his schoolwork and soon it just made sense to have a bag to carry his books and class materials, and had found a messenger bag in his locker that fit the bill.

The only thing was that he didn’t remember having to reach so high to get the bag off that hook.

Patrick didn’t notice; he was looking at his feet. His hair fell down, obscuring his view, so he tucked it behind his ears with his fingertips.

“These are really comfortable, Tere. At first I thought my feet would get cold.” Patrick frowned, remembering.

“Oh, God, Pat; don’t tell me you tried to wear socks?” Tommy giggled back.

Sheepishly, Patrick nodded and looked at his brother. “What was I thinking?”

“I really like the vamp,” Tommy smiled, looking at his brother’s black flats. “That detailing.”

“You ought to get a pair,” Patrick said. “Maybe we could hit the mall after school today?”

“Ooh, can’t,” Tommy shook his head. “I’m meeting Dave at the center.”

Patrick grinned. “Does he know that you really don’t need him?”

He’d meant it about tutoring, but Tommy’s smile turned into a frown.

“Yes, I do,” he said softly. “I mean …well, yeah, not for the tutoring so much. I mean, I still could do better in Biology, but I’m doing okay in my classes. I just mean …he’s a friend, you know? A buddy.” Somehow that word didn’t feel right to Tommy. “Kind of like you and Luke.” He shrugged. “Maybe tomorrow. The mall, I mean. Maybe Heather can come, too.”

“Can’t, Tere. Luke’s got a gymnastics meet in the gym. Against Franklin High.”

“I thought their season didn’t start until spring?”

“It’s something the coaches worked up between them, to sort of shake up the returning guys and sort of like an exhibition? To maybe interest new guys into going out for the team?”

Lately Patrick had begun adding an upswing to the end of his sentences, that made it seem like he was asking questions. It had caused one teacher, when taking roll, to ask with some exasperation, “Is Patrick your name, or aren’t you sure?” and had caused Kathleen to gently tell her youngest, “It makes you sound unsure of yourself. And like a bit of an airhead. Don’t be a stereotypical blonde!”

Somewhere, Patrick had a memory of having dark wavy hair, but that was silly. He’d always been a blonde, hadn’t he? Duh! he thought as he pulled a brush out of his locker and began brushing his straight blonde hair.

Tommy smiled. “All the brushing in the world’s not going to help my hair.” He glanced at the mirror on the door of his locker. He didn’t remember actually putting it there, but it was sure handy. His own light hair had some wave to it, and no matter how many times he brushed it, the waves stayed. They were kind of nice. Dave had said ‘cool hair!’ and Tommy had felt a rush of warmth. Silly, really. But nice.

Tommy added, “Maybe we can get our homework done early and get Mom to take us to the mall tonight.”

Danny Halding came into the locker room. “Hey, guys.”

“Hey,” both McMahon boys said back.

Patrick thought Danny looked particularly cool today, in his black jeans. No, that wasn’t right, he thought. What was wrong with it? Then he felt a smile inside. Danny didn’t look ‘cool’; he looked ‘hot’. Yeah, that was a better word for it! Hot. Then he giggled inside, thinking: But not as hot as Luke!

Tommy smiled at Danny. “Bree looks really good today. You two are such a cute couple!”

“Thanks,” Danny said, and gave both boys a smile that had some sadness to it. Maybe not sadness so much as …recognition? Something sort of bittersweet. “She’s the best, man.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said. “I was talking with her at the committee–you know, the planning committee for the Winter Ball?”

Patrick gasped. “You didn’t tell me you’re on the committee! Can I be on it?”

Tommy shook his head. “No; it’s for upperclassmen.” The last word sounded weird, as had Danny saying ‘man’. But he ignored it.

“Come on, Tere!” Patrick playfully whined. “Get me on the committee!”

Danny said, “I think there’s a committee for freshmen and sophomores. That’s the way it was when Bree and I were sophomores, anyway.”

“Cool! Thanks, Danny!” Patrick rocked up on his toes.

“No problem, Patrick,” Danny nodded.

“You can call me Pat,” Patrick smiled.

Tommy laughed. “We’re not too Irish, are we? Like every other guy on the streets of Dublin is either Tommy or Paddy.”

Something felt weird in the room. Something about the names.

Danny must not have felt it; he just laughed and closed his locker and headed out, saying, “Well, what’s that thing they say in Ireland? Oh, yeah. Erin go bragh.”

As he left the locker room, both McMahons stared after him, thinking about what the last word sounded like.

***

Really, one of the best decisions the school ever made was to allow the love between Bree Miller and Danny Halding to flourish. It was a true and nurturing love and its effects just radiated, increasing the overall happiness of the school and its students and teachers. And allowing just a touch of knowledge of the school’s abilities to be retained by Danny had been a good idea, allowing him to be an impartial observer of sorts. Through his eyes and thoughts, the school got an outside look at what had been an internal, individual relationship with the students that were adjusted.

The school knew it had overstepped when it had begun adjusting Danny. There was no reason for Danielle Halding to exist other than it was just the way the school had been doing things. It made much more sense, and was much more rewarding, to let Danielle go back to being Danny, and to allow the two former best friends Brian and Danny to fall in love as Bree and Danny. Over the years, the school had learned to value having Danny’s thoughts as a sort of regulator, an ombudsman or even a devil’s advocate, to make sure the school didn’t overstep again in its quest for student happiness.

Danny was aware of what was happening to the McMahons, and approved. There was a hint of sadness to his thoughts that the school picked up on, but after pondering on this for hours, the school finally comprehended that thought. Danny had been very mature, and was thinking about the adjustment of the McMahons to be a good thing but long overdue. That touch of sadness was the thought about the years the brothers had wasted in macho blustering.

And when Bree and Danny had become a couple, it had been awkward with Dave Smithwick. Dave was a good guy, but he’d been Bree’s first boyfriend and once she fell for Danny, things were just …awkward. Dave had graciously stood aside and the three had remained friends, but other than a couple of dates with a couple of girls, Dave had just stayed the odd man out.

Danny was sensitive to the ways of the school. He’d passed the tutoring center and had seen Dave and Tommy sitting with heads close together–closer together than usual for a couple of guys. And he’d seen the look on Dave’s face that morning as he watched Tommy walking quickly to class while he was chatting with Heather Jorgenson. Dave didn’t even look at Heather, but there was a very intriguing smile on Dave’s face which was returned warmly by Tommy. Then Dave had swiveled his head to watch the two pass and Danny had no doubt that Dave had been looking at the roses embroidered on the rear end of Tommy’s tight jeans.

Danny also had no doubt that Dave would soon have a new girlfriend–and that it would be good for both.

The school felt that happy excitement that meant ‘big things ahead’. Tommy and Dave were already friendly and getting closer. And things could improve for Patrick, too …

***

Rachel nudged Patrick. “I had no idea those guys could look like …those guys!” Her eyes sparkled as she watched the gymnasts go through their routines.

“Remember how Luke kicked my ass?” Patrick nodded, not taking his eyes off Luke.

Rachel giggled. “He sure did, Patty!”

Patrick heard it as ‘Paddy’ and there was something wrong about that–and yet something right at the sound of it. It was just their fun names as friends, like how he’d shortened hers to one syllable.

“God, Rach, did you see that?” he gasped as Luke did some flipping, twisting jump off the rings. “What the heck do you call that?”

That got another nudge from Patrick’s best friend. “You better learn. All the names and things. Got a feeling somebody’s going to be seeing a lot of gymnastics games this spring!”

“Competitions or meets, not games,” Patrick corrected and then grinned. “And judging by the way you’re staring at Greg Turner, you’re going to be right there next to me!”

“Could be, could be,” Rachel said thoughtfully, nodding. Then she couldn’t keep up the façade and giggled. “So you want to do something after this? Or are you and Luke doing something?”

“He’s got a dentist appointment; his mom is picking him up right after this.”

Rachel heard the disappointment in Patrick’s voice. “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie. Well, you can at least congratulate him, right? Just quickly, in the locker room?”

The thought of going into the boys’ locker room to congratulate Luke–no matter how well he did at the meet or not–just didn’t feel right. It was like he was …trespassing or something. He had his own locker room and really liked it, and hadn’t been in the boys’ locker room since …well, it had to be that last day of football.

He thought briefly about the first day of football, with his father being introduced and …Patrick sort of remembered feeling proud but mostly …ashamed as his father yelled at everybody, ending it with shouting, “So hustle, hustle, hustle!” and they’d all run out and why did he ever go out for football? And of course, he knew the answer: Because Tere went out for it. Because Daddy was the coach.

Wait, that wasn’t right; Patrick hadn’t come up with the nickname of calling Tommy ‘Tere’ back then. Or had he? There was something else that wasn’t quite right but it slipped his mind; something else about a name …

But congratulating Luke …that didn’t slip his mind.

“Don’t think I’ll see him in the locker room,” Patrick said, and then his mind suddenly thought of ‘what if Luke’s in the showers? Or just standing there toweling off, um …naked …’

Patrick shook himself. “I can’t desert you, Rach!” he grinned.

Rachel grinned back. “We’ll hang out at the entrance, then. Hey! We can be the first to wait for the gymnasts, the way the other girls all wait for the football players.”

“Cool!” Patrick smiled happily. He hadn’t noticed exactly how Rachel had phrased things.

They were talking about a really cute purse that one of the girls in Algebra had. Rachel said she liked it but wasn’t sure it would ‘hold all her stuff’. Patrick said he wasn’t sure about the way the girl had put it on when class was over.

“It looked too …tight or something, the way the strap went …” Blushing, he motioned diagonally across his chest.

“Between her boobs? You can say it, Patty,” Rachel chuckled. “Just a fact of life. You know that.”

“Huh?”

“Like your seatbelt,” Rachel said, watching the locker room entrance. “That goes down between your boobs, doesn’t it? And you–Oh! They’re coming out!”

Patrick didn’t ask the question that was forming. Like Rachel, he bounced on his toes a couple of times. A guy came out and passed them, then two guys–and one of them was Greg Turner.

Rachel cried out, “Great game–I mean, meet–Greg!”

“Huh?” the boy said, looked over, puzzled, as the other guy walked past them. “Oh. Hi, Rachel,” Greg said, and then like a light switch, he smiled. Even Patrick could feel the warmth and Rachel certainly did.

She said, “Patty told me that gymnastics was amazing and you were–uh, it was amazing!”

“Patty?” Greg said uncertainly as he looked at Patrick; then his eyes cleared and he smiled. “Hey, Patty. How’d you do on that History quiz?”

“Think I did pretty good,” Patrick said. “Hope so! But I was glad I could drag Rachel to the meet today. Can you believe it? She’d never seen gymnastics before!”

Neither had Patrick, but nobody needed to know that.

Rachel said again, “It was amazing!”

Greg’s attention and smile were back on her. “I’m glad you liked it. We barely took ‘em today, and everybody’s all out of shape. But it should be great when the season starts.”

“That was out of shape?” Rachel asked. “Looked pretty darned good to me!”

Greg and Rachel just stood there smiling at each other. Patrick felt the need to help things along.

“You know, Greg …Rachel didn’t know the names for some of your moves.”

“I could …teach you some,” Greg said. “Um–I don’t mean teach you to do them; I mean the names and stuff.”

“Cool! I’d like that!” Rachel bounced again, her arms straight as she held her hands.

Somehow, Patrick knew that Rachel’s arm placement made her boobs look bigger. There was a warm feeling there for some reason, but he didn't get a chance to think about it, because Luke just walked through the door, looking down as he zipped up his gym bag..

“Luke!” Patrick cried out, louder than he’d intended. He amended his volume. “Great meet. I know you’ve got the dentist thing, but I just wanted to say you guys looked really good out there.”

He blushed at what the last thing he’d said might have sounded like.

Luke looked up as Greg said, “Rachel and Patty are our new fans.”

“Cool,” Luke smiled. His face seemed confused for just a moment and then smoothed. “Thanks, Patty.” His smile warmed.

“I know you’ve got to go. Hope he doesn’t hurt you too much!” Patrick said. To the confusion on the others’ faces, he added, “The dentist?”

Luke’s smile faded a bit. “Yeah. I think the guy worked on oil rigs or something. Loves drilling.”

Everybody cringed automatically.

Luke grinned at their reaction.“Well, pray for me!”

He winked at Patrick and turned and left. Patrick watched him walking away, hearing only his racing heart.

End of Part 2