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 1

Prologue

Hill Street High School was built in the early 1990’s in response to the town’s recent growth. Too, the old school was a remnant of the 1920’s, and looked it. The town had eventually given in to the inevitable and voted in a new school.

The new building had everything. As befitted area weather, it was totally enclosed (except for the athletic fields, of course). Yet its public areas never felt claustrophobic, for it relied a great deal on glass. The cafeteria was large and clean, the library well-stocked even with fiction, and the gymnasium included an indoor pool.

Perhaps the most unusual change from old to new concerned the lockers. The architect had visited the old school and had been shocked at the students crowding into too-narrow hallways made even worse by the lockers lining each wall. They were nearly impassible, and the man vowed not to carry that over. Instead he placed larger lockers in the gym’s changing rooms, and the rooms themselves were much expanded. There was a second, smaller changing room for each gender in case of overflow. Each student would use a single locker there, accessible at any time. In return the hallways would be clearer, quieter, with plenty of room on the walls for announcements, art, or displays. The architect felt the extra space needed for the expanded changing rooms was more than justified, and the students more or less agreed.

The architect put his heart and soul into the school, this community building for the good of all. The workers who built it were the same way. After all, they were a local firm; it’d be their kids going there.

All that care, all that attention, can have an effect. At Hill Street High School, it did. The place gained something of a soul of its own. It took care of the students -- the computer lab had almost no technical problems and the cafeteria food was unusually tasty. It took care of the teachers -- school supplies such as pencils and books were never in short supply and everyone’s drink of choice was available in the lounge. And it took care of itself. Litter was infrequent and disappeared quickly. The same could be said of graffiti. Each of the three janitors thought another had taken care of it. Sometimes they were even right. Everything was perfect.

And the school was happy.

But nothing lasts forever. Eventually the growth stopped, then reversed. Families moved away, and the changing rooms were not as full. As chance would have it, far more girls ended up moving away than boys. The secondary girls’ changing room became entirely empty. Other families moved in, but again more boys than girls enrolled. The boys’ secondary changing room approached capacity. And then, one day, passed it.

And the school was not happy.

Part 1

But the school learned how to fix things, how to mold the students and faculty, as well as parents that came onto the school grounds for conferences and events. The school craved order and adjusted the student population; the adjusted families seemed happier and the school gained in confidence. Then the school learned that simple adjustment wasn’t always the answer; the case of two students, Danny Halding and Bree Miller, convinced the school that one person’s happiness couldn’t be at the expense of another’s. The love that grew between those two students filled the hallways with happiness. And the school learned. Sometimes, happiness is more important than order. And, when people are happy, things tend to be put into order without much effort.

The students were happy, the teachers were happy, the parents were happy, and the school was happy.

All was well …until the McMahons arrived.

***

There was no way they were going into there, declared Thomas ‘Tear-em-up’ McMahon. His younger brother Patrick agreed.

“Not gonna put no McMahons in no girly room,” he growled, as much as a fourteen-year-old could.

“Don’t worry, Pat. We’ll talk to this Harris guy, straighten things out,” his big brother chuckled.

‘Big brother’ really only applied to the three years that separated the McMahons. Like their father, they were compact. ‘Rugged’, their father Frank called them, no giant himself. They were sturdy, kept that way by their home diet of large quantities of meat and potatoes, served up by their long-suffering mother Kathleen. The boys were a stocky and pugnacious group–the McMahon Men, as Frank called them–and had been within an inch of being thrown out of their last school for fighting. They’d already been thrown off the football team for roughhousing, although Frank had declared the team and their coach ‘a bunch of pussies’ and said his boys were too good for the lousy team.

Now they were at Hill Street High, the last school in the district that would have them. Frank had called in a few favors to keep the boys from being sent to Valley, a ‘continuation’ school that was the district’s dumping grounds for sociopaths and pregnant teens. There were others there, but since Frank McMahon declared his boys were neither sociopaths–he’d had to ask about the word’s meaning–or pregnant, they would be in a mainstream school. So Hill Street High gained two new students–and an assistant football coach.

***

The school had been enjoying September. The hallways and classrooms buzzed along cheerfully, with everybody feeling a new sense of purpose after the long hot summer. The school even adjusted room temperatures so those that faced the sun were cooler. Students didn’t nod off and performed better. The school had worked to keep the fields from turning brown over the summer, and the football team practiced daily and hard on the lush green turf.

But there were disturbing sounds coming from the halls. The school was used to dealing specifically with one disturbance, one problem, at a time; this came from three–and one was an adult. The school would have to study this carefully.

***

“Mr. McMahon, we–”

“That’s Coach McMahon,” Frank said proudly.

Mr. Harris took a moment to calm himself. “Yes, I understand that Mr. Mulroney on the school board recommended that you join our coaching staff. Traditionally we’ve only called Bill Anderson ‘Coach’, as he is head coach.”

“And a piss-poor job he’s been doing, too, pardon my French,” Frank nodded. “And don’t worry; I’ve already told him this to his face. Three and eight last year? Two and nine the year previous? I’m here to shake things up, get a winning season. And not just because my boys will be playing. Gonna shake things up,” he said again. “And I do go by the name ‘Coach’–the boys learn respect.”

“Yes, well, ‘shaking things up’ …can be counterproductive sometimes,” Mr. Harris said, trying to regain control. “But district regulations must be observed. Any new athletes transferring in must spend a season as junior varsity before being named varsity. And I’m concerned about …is Patrick the younger boy? He shouldn’t even be eligible for the junior varsity team as a freshman.”

“Patrick plays better than the pussies you’ve got on varsity. I’ve never seen such a …” He snorted. “It’s like a bunch of damned hippies out there.”

“Please, Mr. Mc–Coach McMahon,” Mr. Harris tried again. “Don’t use words like ‘pussies’. At least within the hearing of students. It violates district code and could lead to lawsuits.”

“The truth is the truth, and if it leads to lawsuits, it should be considered an honor to defend the truth.”

Mr. Harris disputed the truth of calling the football teams ‘pussies’, but didn’t want to get involved with the coach’s last statement.

Frank took this as agreement–or perhaps surrender. He smiled. “So it’s agreed. Tommy will play varsity, Patrick will play JV. Now, about that joke of a locker room ...”

“Which locker room?” Mr. Harris asked, although he already knew what the complaint would be.

“My boys will not be stuck in some girls’ locker room!” Frank McMahon thundered.

Mr. Harris was about to retort but felt a wave of calm. Suddenly he knew how to proceed. “Coach, how’s your math?”

“My what?” The question had taken Frank by surprise.

“Your math. Can you …here; let me get a piece of paper.” Mr. Harris turned his back on the blustering coach and got a piece and a pencil and wrote down some numbers and turned back. “Our student population is pretty stable. So, allowing for a few students leaving or joining us due to unforeseen circumstances–like your two boys–here is the student breakdown as of last week.”

He pointed out the numbers to the coach.

“Our school was built in earlier times, with a lower population, and we’ve expanded and modernized to the maximum possible within the Fire Marshal’s and other civic codes. Seven-hundred and fifty students. Last week we were at seven-thirty-one; with your two boys we’re at seven-thirty-three so we’re still within acceptable limits.”

“Yeah, so? I don’t care how many students are here, unless they play football. I’m talking about the locker room.”

Mr. Harris held up a hand. “I understand, and that’s what I’m getting to right now. We can accommodate seven-hundred and fifty total but not lockers for all of them. This school was built in a time before the custom of school lockers started. The district added what they could, but there’s just not enough physical space to put more. We looked into having a portable unit added, with nothing but additional lockers, but there were district zoning problems. All lockers have to be within the physical school itself. So we tried having students share lockers, but a number of lawsuits ended that, due to invasion of privacy.”

“The district’s used to those lawsuits; shouldn’t have mattered,” Frank scoffed. “Just uptight hippie parents.”

Mr. Harris ignored that comment and explained, “These went beyond the district, all the way to the state courts.” To placate the man, he said, “I agree that the district should have been able to handle it. But the point is, even siblings can’t share lockers, under the terms of the state court’s decision. So it’s back to one-student/one-locker. And that’s the problem, but one of the architects found a room that could be used for overflow, a sort of combination room. For regular lockers and changing for gym use, I mean. And that’s the room we’re talking about.”

“So? I don’t see the math you were going on about.” He sneered the word.

Mr. Harris felt the calm again and pointed to the numbers he’d written. “Total students, as of this week, seven-hundred-thirty-three. Total lockers available in the main hallways? Seven-hundred-thirty.” He drew a line under it. “What’s left?”

“Three,” Frank said with disgust. “Oh, my boys are two of those? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Exactly what I’m saying,” Mr. Harris said, as he wrote ‘3’ and circled it. “Now, the overflow room accommodates twenty additional lockers. That brings us to our capacity of seven-fifty. Any additional students use that locker room; they’ve been using it for years. There’s only one boy still using it, Danny Halding. Good kid. Senior. Anyway, your boys would be the two others.” He shrugged. “There’s a separate shower and bathroom there, too; all of the students have quite liked the room.”

“But it’s pink and girly!” Frank nearly yelled.

“I agree the tiles are pinkish now, but that’s just from fading over the years. My understanding is that it was built as a unisex room. There have been girls in there as well as boys over the years with no problems.”

“Wait–girls as well as boys? At the same time?”

There was a slight pause and then Mr. Harris chuckled. “Oh! I see what you mean! No, no; they weren’t there at the same time. On the rare occasion where the overflow students were a boy and girl, there was a staggered time arrangement, and very soon another locker opened up in the main hallways. As I said, the students were always reluctant to leave the room; it worked well for them.”

“So you’re saying that my boys may only have to be in the girly room for a short time?”

“May have to; I can’t guarantee that, but you really should stop thinking of it as a ‘girly’ room. It’s just an auxiliary, an overflow. That’s all.”

Frank’s eyes narrowed. “Well, as long as there’s no guff from anybody for using that room …” He left it hanging, his threat implied.

“No ‘guff’ at all,” Mr. Harris smiled. “Never had any; can’t imagine any. To the students, it’s just a locker room; that’s all.”

“Well, if there’s no guff and they can move into another locker …”

Mr. Harris held up a finger. “If one becomes available.”

***

The school was both relieved and concerned. Relieved that it was able to calm the principal and nudge him into showing the student numbers and bringing Danny Halding into the discussion. Concerned that this coach-person was so disagreeable.

And disagreeable parents bred disagreeable children, as the waves of unhappiness swirling around the McMahon boys attested to. Already the older one had knocked some books out of the hands of one boy. The school had acted swiftly; the boy angrily bent to pick up his books just as a locker above him would have opened into his face. The boy considered the fallen books to be lucky and happily went on his way, the bully having helped him dodge an accident. The younger boy called a girl a horrible name, but the school had fired off a quick bell-test that had drowned out the boy’s horrid word.

But the McMahons were trouble, and the school disliked trouble intensely.

***

“Stupid-ass locker room,” Tommy grumbled.

“Yeah,” Patrick said, nodding.

Another voice said, “It’s not so bad.”

The McMahons turned to see Danny Halding walk in and head to a locker down the row. He was a senior, tall and good-looking. Probably smart, too. The boys disliked him immediately.

Danny said, “First day I saw the place, I thought ‘what the hell?’ but it’s pretty cool, actually.”

“Yeah?” Tommy challenged. “Tell me what’s so cool about a girls’ locker room?”

Instead of rising to the challenge, Danny laughed. “Dude, I don’t know about you, but I’d think any guy wouldn’t mind checking out a girls’ locker room!” The boys looked confused, and he went on. “But I know what you mean. It’s just old and faded, not pink or anything. And it’s not a girls’ locker room; it’s just a locker room. Right now it’s got three guys in it, so you could call it a boys’ locker room, actually.” He chuckled. “But you don’t have the hassles with your locker like they do in the main hallway. Nobody slams into you or anything.”

“Like to see ‘em try,” Tommy glared.

“Yeah,” Patrick added.

“You guys are brothers, right?” Danny said, still smiling. “I’m Danny. Danny Holding.”

“We’re the McMahons,” Patrick said. “I’m Patrick and he’s Tommy. They call him ‘Tear-em-up’ on the football field.” It was a nickname their father had coined; he hadn’t come up with one for Patrick yet.

“Tear-em-up, huh? Cool! Oh, hey! Your dad’s the new assistant coach, then, right?” Danny nodded. “Sure hope he can help us win more games!”

His enthusiasm was infectious; even Patrick found himself smiling. “Yeah, he will.”

“Got that right,” Tommy added. “So you’re saying we won’t get any crap from anybody for having our lockers in here?”

“Shouldn’t,” Danny shrugged. “I never did. And there were guys here before, and some girls–well, they didn’t get any crap. But I know what you mean. No; nobody ever gave anybody any problems. I think some of ‘em envy it. Especially having a shower to yourself.”

“Should shower with the team,” Tommy declared.

“Yeah, I agree with you there, and maybe you can,” Danny nodded. “But the thing about the showers is that there’s towel-snapping and junk like that, jokes and stuff, and the next thing you know you’re late for class.”

Both McMahon boys were no stranger to that; they could only nod.

Danny said, “I figure, nobody wants to hang in their locker room. Having the place to yourself, it’s in and out, zip-zip, and then I go hang at my girlfriend’s locker.” He chuckled. “She used to be in here, actually. But a girl left–her dad got transferred–and Bree was assigned to her locker.” Now he laughed openly. “It was about the time we started going together; they didn’t want us here all alone!”

The idea of teen sex in the locker room went a long way to defusing the McMahons’ resistance to the room; in fact, the idea that maybe a girl would transfer to Hill Street and join them made it all the better.

***

The school blessed Danny Halding yet again, and sent another cosmic apology for ever trying to adjust him. His girlfriend Bree–who had been Danny’s best friend Brian at their previous school–had been given a locker in the main hallway for precisely the reason Danny gave. Although the school had no power outside its grounds, it took advantage when the Ramirez girl moved away and gave Bree her locker.

Unless the McMahon boys calmed down, the school would have to make some adjustments. It wasn’t as concerned with numerical balance as before, as much as a spiritual balance. It could always adjust the numerical balance, but disharmony bothered the school.

And now it was feeling great disharmony from an unexpected area–the green playing fields.

***

“Ya pansies! You’re lagging!” Coach McMahon roared at the last two boys running the perimeter of the field. “I told you all three laps. I’m telling you two, do another!”

“But …but …” one of the boys gasped, turning to Coach.

The other boy gasped, “Don’t do it, man; don’t say anything!” He continued to run as fast as he could, which wasn’t very fast.

The first boy ignored the advice and loudly called, “It’s too hot, Coach!”

“Two more for you!” Coach McMahon roared back.

“But I …I …”

The boy’s eyes rolled in his head and he twisted and staggered two steps and fell, heavily. The other boy turned to see, stopped, and began running to the fallen boy.

“Back to your laps,” Frank snapped. He walked to the boy. “What’s your problem, son?”

The boy didn’t answer. Frank leaned down and nudged the boy. The boy roused slightly, turned his head and vomited.

Frank stood up in disgust. “You’re sick. Should have said something. Messing up my track like that …”

He turned and scanned the field. Leaving the heaving boy, he walked over to where the Head Coach working with the quarterback and punter.

“Hey, Bill,” Frank said. “Got a sick kid.”

“Huh?” Coach Anderson said, turning to look at Frank and then past him. “What happened?”

“He’s sick; flu or something. Puking over there. Couldn’t run worth beans; should’ve said something.”

Concern furrowed Coach Anderson’s face. “Jensen’s a good kid. He knows better than to work out when he’s sick, especially on a hot one like today.”

He got up and to Frank’s disgust, Coach Anderson actually ran to the fallen boy. Frank thought it showed weakness. He walked up as the Head Coach helped the Jensen boy shakily get to his feet. Meanwhile, the rest of the team had finished their laps and collapsed on the grass. Frank spun and began walking towards them, waving his hands.

“What the hell you think you’re doing? Never lay down. Walk it off; walk it off.”

The other boy that had been running with Jensen finished his extra lap and stopped, bending at the waist and putting his hands on his knees, breathing deeply, then straightened and with his hands on his hips, walked in a small circle, catching his breath.

For the first time, the boy seriously thought about quitting football.

***

Absolutely unacceptable, the school thought. To cause such discord, and to make a boy sick was inexcusable. The new coach was a monster, it thought. His boys didn't feel right, either. Perhaps they were a family of monsters. The school had never felt such an assault before; an assault on harmony, on balance, on happiness. It wasn’t certain that it could adjust all three McMahons at once. But it was the father who had the most contact and influence over other students and his own sons; it would have to focus on him and let the boys sit tight for a bit. Usually the school liked gradual moderation, but the coach’s influence had to be nullified quickly.

***

“You know, there’s a difference between motivating and just yelling,” Coach Anderson said, sipping his coffee in the teacher’s lounge.

“Oh, I’m not just yelling; I want the fear in the boys, too,” Frank replied, taking a too-big bite of coffee cake, crumbs falling to his chin.

“No. Fear doesn’t work. There’ve been enough studies and enough teams examined to know that it doesn’t build winning teams.”

“Excuse me for pointing out, Coach,” Frank said with derision, as he spat a few crumbs. “You don’t exactly have a winning record to prove your point.”

The Head Coach felt anger and disgust for this man, but it washed away. He nodded. “Not the last two seasons, no; we were a game or two ahead three years before that and made the playoffs the year before that. It depends on the mix of kids we get, but there’s also been a shift in the district.’

“What, you’re saying the district supports losing seasons?”

“No; I’m saying the district came to the conclusion that the purpose of an athletics department is not to turn out NFL players. It’s to round out a student, keep them fit, and help them move into college. That’s where they turn out NFL players. Every so often a school will have a student that goes all the way.”

“I disagree. Not with the last part; I think the NFL is a great career opportunity and we should do everything we can to prepare our athletes for professional performance levels.”

Coach Anderson disagreed with the idea of the NFL as a ‘great career opportunity’–the statistics were overwhelmingly against a young athlete having a career if he focused entirely on football–but held that for another time. He held a hand up.

“Westmont is the football powerhouse here. Five district championships, two state titles. Shoreline is like us, either a losing season or break-even. So which has the better prospect for a kid that wants in the NFL?”

“Westmont, hands down. I’ve been to a bunch of their games. You’re right, there; they are a powerhouse. Damned good team.”

“Well, they seem so, but here’s the point. With all their trophies, Westmont has not produced a single NFL player. Not in twenty years; not one guy has gone all the way. A lot of scholarships and the guys went on with their lives, but not in football. Shoreline, in the same twenty years? Three made it to the NFL. So the trophies aren’t everything, as far as the NFL goes.”

“Shoreline? Three? I don’t believe it.”

The Head Coach ticked them off on his fingers. “Jake Randall with Miami. Dwayne Butterfield with the Patriots. Darryl Stangelini with the Forty-Niners. All from Shoreline.” He grinned. “You know Mike Blanton, the new QB for the Bears?”

“Sure, outta Stanford.”

“Outta Hill Street High, first!” Coach Anderson grinned, pointing to the tabletop. “My first year here.”

Frank’s eyes widened and then narrowed. “No way.”

“Yep,” Coach Anderson nodded. “A good kid. Little weak in the legs at first. But the point is, the majority of high school football players don’t go to the NFL.”

“My boys will!”

“Maybe Tommy,” Coach Anderson nodded. “Needs work on his game. Patrick …well, he should be in freshman ball.”

“See, that’s where I disagree. They don’t call Tommy ‘Tear-em-up’ for nothing. His defensive skills are solid. And I really don’t agree with you about Patrick. He plays hard and shouldn’t be held back.”

“It’s not being held back. It’s the physical reality. He doesn’t have the size or speed.” He paused. “Or the motivation, so far.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Frank’s eyes narrowed.

“I’ve seen your boys together. Patrick obviously idolizes Tommy. But he mainly follows. I haven’t seen him lead on his own.”

“Thanks for that, Coach,” Frank nodded. “I know now where he has to work. Speed and motivation.”

He thought, and I’ve got the belt at home to motivate him.

***

The school was horrified. It knew two things from experience with adults: It was hard to get into their minds at first, and adjusting family dynamics could only work if it could get both husband and wife on the grounds. For this reason, it was time to work a different angle.

***

“May I have your attention, please?” Mr. Harris called out, and the room noise subsided. He smiled. “I want to thank you all for being here for our first Teacher Night, and what we hope will be the start of a new tradition. I want to thank District Commissioner Wakefield for suggesting it.”

There was polite applause.

Frank looked around the room. “Bunch of stuffed shirts,” he mumbled to his wife.

Kathleen McMahon thought the group looked lovely; certainly they were better dressed than her husband. She’d wanted him to put on a tie but he’d refused, even telling her she was getting ‘too gussied up’ when she’d put on her one church dress. She felt dowdy compared to the other wives, but she was, sadly, used to it.

“Suppose we should mingle?” she suggested to Frank, who half-snorted.

“What would I have to mingle with? Only one I need to talk to–besides Harris–is Anderson.” His eyes studied the Head Coach, in a dark suit, white shirt and red tie. He looked like a damned banker, not a coach. His wife was pretty and probably sold real estate, he chuckled to himself. Talk to Anderson? Not a chance. “And I don’t even need to do that. I talk to him enough on the field.”

“Well, I’d like some more punch,” his wife said. She paused, and when he didn’t volunteer to get it for her, she sighed. “Can I get you anything?”

“Naw; I’m fine,” Frank said, raising his little plastic cup.

As Kathleen headed towards the punchbowl, she couldn’t help but overhear the comments from the teachers and their wives or husbands. Sometimes it was about a car, or something about where they worked, or a new housepainter they recommended, but often it was either about their children or their students. Statistically they were probably equal between boys and girls, but as she moved through the room, most of the comments were about wonderful daughters or girl students. This one was so pretty at her graduation, or that one is such an accomplished violinist. And all along, how thoughtful they were, and how friendly, and how pretty, and how proud the adults were.

Kathleen felt bitter envy wash over her. She had two lumpy, loutish sons and a lumpy, loutish husband. She would have to continue to suffer in silence. Perhaps her boys might surprise her and give her something she could brag about at next year’s Teacher Night …

But it would have been so nice to have at least one daughter …and maybe two would have made all the difference in the world. Maybe made a difference in her husband, too.

***

The school felt the McMahon woman had been nudged in the right direction. It was time to focus on the main source of disharmony. But it couldn’t ignore the boys, either. They were disrupting classes and were feared in the hallways already.

***

“What the hell?” Tommy yelled as he stared at his locker.

“What?” Patrick said, opening his own.

“This. Did you do this?” Tommy said, pointing.

“What?” Patrick said again. “Your books?”

“Naw; this,” Tommy said, gingerly pulling out some white fabric between thumb and forefinger.

Patrick stared at it. It was girl’s underpants. Panties, he corrected himself. With lace and a little bow.

“No, I didn’t have …” Patrick looked at his brother. “I swear to God, Tommy; I had nothing to do with that! I don’t even know your locker combination! You sure you didn’t get lucky or something?”

Tommy frowned and then stared at his brother’s opening locker. Patrick followed his gaze and actually jumped back a step. There, on the pile of clothing, was pair of white lace panties.

Patrick stared. “What the …”

Before he could say the obscenity, Danny came walking in and headed towards his locker.

“Hey, Holding, very funny,” Tommy called out.

“It’s Halding, actually,” Danny said. “And what’s funny?”

“This,” Tommy said, waving the panties.

“These,” Patrick said, nodding towards his locker.

“Oh, the prankster’s back,” Danny nodded. “My first year, there was somebody messed with the lockers for awhile.”

The McMahons moved as one towards Danny. Tommy said menacingly, “Only prankster I see here is you, Holding.”

Danny didn't correct him on the name. “What’re you talking about? I don’t even know your combinations.”

“You been here, what, three, four years? You’d have time to learn them,” Tommy said threateningly.

“Yeah. You could know them already,” Patrick added.

Moving suddenly, Tommy slammed Danny against the lockers with his forearm across Danny’s throat.

“I think you’re the prankster,” he growled. “Gimme back my underpants!”

Danny thought about how ludicrous the statement was but kept calm. “Don’t have ‘em. Tell you what. Let me see if he hit me, too.”

Tommy’s eyes narrowed.

Patrick said, “Who hit you?” He paused. “Oh; the prankster?”

“There is no prankster,” Tommy said, “Only this guy!”

But he backed off and Danny straightened up and spun the combination to his locker, keeping his body blocking the numbers from the boys. He opened the door. Tommy rushed and pulled it open quickly. There, hanging on a hook, were a matching pair of white lace panties.

Danny laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Patrick glared.

“He probably …he probably got a three-pack!”

The McMahons didn’t see any humor, although a vision of a three-pack of brightly colored panties flashed through Patrick’s mind.

Danny shrugged. “I learned the only thing to do is wear the damn things. Or go commando if you want. The guy gets bored after awhile and things are back to normal.”

“You wear ‘em,” Tommy challenged.

“I will,” Danny nodded. “I learned it’s the easiest way. Then, no hassles.” He looked at the guys. “I’ve gotta get changed for gym.” The McMahons didn’t move. Danny shrugged. “You wanna watch?”

The challenge worked; they both retired to their end of the locker room. Danny got into shorts and regulation tee and headed out to the fields.

“We’re gonna be late for class,” Tommy said.

“What about these?” Patrick said with disgust.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going commando,” Tommy said, tossing the new panties in the trash bin.

“Yeah, commando,” Patrick nodded.

***

The school congratulated itself for listening so closely and taking action, adding panties to Danny’s locker in time. The McMahons never figured that if Danny had been the prankster, it would have been an easy set-up to divert suspicion. But Danny was such an obviously nice guy, even the thuggish McMahons knew he wasn’t responsible.

There were two other lessons learned: The boys were now aware of a prankster, and that Patrick would always mirror his big brother. Therefore, all of the attention should be focused on the big brother.

After the father …

***

During the regular Parents’ Night, Kathleen spent some time as the Coach’s Wife and some time alone, as the mother of two students, while Frank stayed in the gym to talk with parents. As the Coach’s Wife, she could feel the dislike her husband had generated in the boys and their parents. Usually it was mothers who were upset, but several fathers also called Frank’s rough coaching methods into question. They had been through high school and college sports themselves and knew that Frank’s methods were extreme.

After a time, Kathleen felt so embarrassed to be on the receiving end of things that she excused herself to speak with the boys’ teachers.

“Yeah, sure, go on,” Frank said with a wave of his hand.

Kathleen’s lips tightened. “Since you’ve taken the coaching position here, you haven’t paid any attention to their schooling, only to the football teams.”

“So? That’s where they have the greatest potential. Who cares if they can conjudate a verb or know what country Sweden‘s in?”

Kathleen had only a high school education; she’d dropped out of college to marry the football hero Frank McMahon. But even she knew the word was ‘conjugate’ and that Sweden was a country. Her lips tightened even more.

She’d left the gym to avoid future embarrassment, but felt embarrassment of a different nature in the classrooms. Her sons were mostly C- and D students, although Patrick had surprised everyone once with at B- in English. When she looked at sample papers in the various classrooms, she knew how vastly superior they were to the work her boys produced. Well, academics weren’t important in the McMahon house, she thought.

Then she corrected herself. Why weren’t they? And wasn’t she part of the McMahon house, too? And weren’t academics important to her? They had been, at one time, but after years of living with Frank …

She sighed and walked on. Depressed about her boys’ school performance, she decided she’d just look at the families. And then she found yet a new form of embarrassment–stemming from how radically different the McMahon household was from the families she saw. Polite, friendly boys proudly showed off their work, receiving hugs from their mothers and handshakes from their fathers. Boys whose eyes radiated intelligence and …and a kind of future. But it was the girls who made her most embarrassed about the McMahon shortcomings. The girls were so sweet, and all seemed very pretty, and so loving with their families, that Kathleen felt pangs of jealousy, envy, and a great sadness that she hadn’t had daughters.

Perhaps that would have been the answer. If Frank had given her daughters, she could have molded the family dynamic more to a loving one, rather than the blustery macho posturing she lived with. All the yelling. All the anger. Anger all the time …

***

The school was astonished at the anger in the gym. Parent Nights were usually placid, happy affairs with a lovely buzz of shared community, and the school and all within concluded the night with a warm sense of contentment. But people were arriving determined to ‘give that coach a piece of my mind’–as the school heard from many thoughts–and as much as the school attempted to dampen the anger, it had no effect; the collective rage was just too strong.

***

Frank McMahon yelled, “Because winning is the only thing that matters!”

“What about teamwork?” one father yelled back.

“What about good sportsmanship?” another yelled.

Frank laughed. “Good sportsmanship? That’s a phrase invented by losers to give them excuses for poor performance. Look, everybody, hold it down!”

He held both hands up to stifle the crowd, who refused to stifle.

One woman called out, “Are you trying to turn my son into someone like yourself?”

“He could do a lot worse!” Frank snapped back.

***

The school was appalled. Never, NEVER had anything like this happened before. Peace and harmony was impossible to achieve; everyone was so fired up that any sense of calm was impossible. The parents’ rage was too great for the school to calm. And nothing the school did seemed to have any effect on the red-faced, yelling coach. So the school had a radical thought: Maybe go the other way …maybe nudge the anger up just a notch, just a bit …so even a dullard like Frank McMahon could finally understand the truth–that it was his coaching methods that were at fault, not the parents’ perceptions. Ramp things up just a tiny bit so it would be obvious to him and he would back off and see the light …

***

“Failure to achieve is not going to be rewarded!” Frank roared. “Now, I know a lot of you come from that whole thing about ‘character building’ and that nonsense where the kid gets a trophy just for showing up, like those hippies that play soccer–”

“Did I hear you right?” one man demanded. “You said ‘hippies that play soccer’? I’ll have you know my son played on a select team that won the state championship–”

“In soccer,” Frank sneered. “Not a real sport. Running up and down with a ball. Kindergarten stuff.”

“Soccer is the most popular sport in the world!” a woman declared, shocked.

Frank snorted. “That’s what they want you to believe! Nobody plays it outside of posh little suburbia, with your pretty SUVs and all that. Not a real sport like football.”

“Soccer’s called ‘football’ everywhere else in the world, you idiot!” one man raged.

“It’s not called it here because football is football!” Frank raged back. “But I’m not here to tell you that football is a sport–hell, we all know that. It’s to say that the days of coddling little girly boys is over! We’re turning out football players, not faggots! And as long as I–”

“Faggots? Did you actually say that?” another man yelled. “You’re a disgrace!”

“I’ll tell you what’s a disgrace!” Frank roared, his face turning purple. “This idea that you can win football games without sweat. Without blood and effort and not being held back by faggot ideas like character building,” he sneered. “Which is just another word for losing!”

“It’s two words, you cretin!” a woman shouted. “And you’re wrong anyway!”

“I’m not wrong! Your whole way of doing things is–is …”

The crowd stared as he froze, mouth open with white flecks of spittle dotting his purple chin, tilted his head at an extreme angle, swayed, and plummeted to the ground, hitting a desk with his head on the way down.

For a moment, nobody moved towards him.

***

The school was as shocked as the crowd of angry parents. There was a suspended moment and the school immediately flooded the room with a soothing feeling, expending every bit of energy it could. Another suspended moment while the school tried to think what to do about the fallen man. It knew that it could affect the physical nature of the people within its grounds, but it seemed beyond its power to save Frank McMahon. For too long, the school had been concerned only with maintaining equilibrium, it berated itself. Just to harmonize between boys and girls, children and teachers and parents. It took a nudge here, a suggestion there …It didn’t know what to do about a stroke victim.

Just as the people were calming, the school calmed, too. It was all how you looked at something, it suddenly reasoned. The school knew from exposure to the tirades of the Coach that his was an iron will driven by ignorance and fear. The school had not been able to break through to Frank McMahon but perhaps the fact that he was unconscious …

Tentative feelers were extended towards the man and the school recoiled at the disaster that had boiled in his brain. The school was aware of its own physicality; it knew about its own furnace and air circulation system, and so on; and it knew when things were wrong, and would adjust accordingly. The feeling from Frank McMahon was very wrong, and therefore the school could tell that Frank’s systems were shutting down.

Frank McMahon would be dead in minutes.

The school ceased the calming influence–the screaming had died down and people were dialing 911–and began a full-scale attempt to save Frank. The school knew that even this horrible man did not deserve to die, and that the negative energy of his death would affect everyone and the school itself.

Thinking of Frank’s body like the school’s own machinery, the school looked to analogues while keeping heart and respiration going. The physical complexity of the human brain was a shock to the school, who worked with thoughts and feelings and emotions but not arteries, veins, and tissue.

Got it! A rupture there, like a break in a steam line that had once threatened the school’s boiler …and the bleeding was stopping. The school reduced circulation to a bare minimum, like dimming lights to conserve energy but not quite turning them off.

In the distance, sirens grew louder.

End of Part 1

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

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 3

Hill Street High School was frustrated that the school grounds defined the school’s authority and abilities. If only the school could help things along with students at home. At least the school could get parents in for conferences regularly and sometimes more often. But how to do it with Frank McMahon and his wife at home? It wouldn’t do to have another bogus financial mistake. Ah–but she was a parent, too, right?

Kathleen McMahon was relieved as the counselor went on about how well both boys were doing academically. She’d had years of despairing counselors, and always left their meetings with the shameful feeling of having failed as a parent. But today was a wonderful meeting as the counselor sorted through the teachers’ comments and added her own. The upshot was, whatever they were doing, keep doing it. The dismal performance of the boys in the past was well documented, and the turnaround was astonishing. The counselor knew what she wanted to say but couldn’t: That without the influence of Frank in their lives, the boys were flourishing. But she was able to tell the boys’ mother that in terms of grades and new friends, they were doing well.

‘Blossoming’ was actually the word she used.

***

The first thing Tommy thought about when he looked at the bra was ‘tear-it-up’, like the nickname his father had given him, ‘Tear-em-up’. And Patrick called him ‘Tear’ anyway. The bra hung in his locker and was the first thing he’d noticed when he opened it. He was alone in the locker room, of course, and walked out of the showers, dried off and wrapped the towel around his chest. Automatically he walked to his locker but then corrected himself.

It’s over here now, he thought. For some reason his locker had seemed really high but now he was in a lower locker a few down from his old one. Vaguely, he remembered complaining to Administration about it …hadn’t he? He must have, right? Because they changed it, right? But hadn’t he used the old locker just this morning?

Then he remembered the smile Dave had given him this morning so thoughts of locker changes faded. Tommy sighed. Dave was so cool! He was really lucky that Dave was his friend. No, it was more than that. There really wasn’t a word for it …they were buddies, but more than that …and the way they said so much between them just with their eyes! And the way his heart raced when he saw Dave, like this morning. He hoped Dave felt the same way; he hoped he did. Tommy would have to come up with a new name for how Dave and he were friends. Because it was so …special!

Then he opened the locker.

And there was the bra.

His initial instinct was to look around to make sure he was alone and then grab the bra and tear it up into pieces and hide it in the bottom of the garbage can and then–

Tommy shook himself. Tear up the bra? But it was so pretty! Creamy ivory satin, with the prettiest little bow in between the cups. It looked yummy. He reached out and gently felt a cup. It was yummy. He had to try it on! He just had to! Even if it was just the prankster putting it there …

That didn’t feel right. Why would some prankster put it there–it was his bra, wasn’t it? He couldn’t quite remember wearing it before, but he sure was going to now, he thought happily. It was so yummy …

He took it off the hook and without thinking, slipped his arms through the straps and reached behind and did the clasp. Of course it was his bra, he reasoned. It fit and he knew how to wear it and it felt so good. The jiggle that had been bothering him the last two days was gone. Good, friendly, familiar support.

Familiar? He frowned, then shrugged. Whatever.

He must have been wearing it today, because his panties matched. Duh! He was so glad that Mom had taught him and Paddy how to wash their lingerie. This set was so nice and he shuddered to think about just shoving it in with jeans and detergent. Mom was so thoughtful, and he was learning so much! They all were. Well, everybody except Daddy. He just lay there going ‘murf’ and …well, it was hard to tell, but it looked like his eyes were swinging between looking full of rage and then looking full of misery. Hard to tell anymore, like the last time Tommy had seen his father …

Tommy had come into the master bedroom to collect a blouse for Mom. It was hot in the house; since Daddy’s stroke, he got cold all the time so they kept it warmer. So Tommy wore shorts–these khaki ones that Heather and he had found at that new boutique at the mall. They had a cute flare to them, and for some reason they reminded Tommy of shorts a really hip summer camp counselor would wear. The kind of counselor that would have a blouse with the ends tied across the tummy, and hair up in a ponytail? Really good tan? The thought had made Tommy try putting his hair up that way. He stood staring at it in the bathroom mirror, wondering about maybe going to a tanning salon, as Patrick had passed by on his way to meet up with Rachel.

“Looks really cute, Tere!” Patrick smiled.

“You think so?” Tommy asked, still turning his head side to side, watching the ponytail swing.

“Really,” Patrick nodded. “Rachel and I are going to the park. You want to come?”

“Thanks, but I’m going over to Heather’s. She wants some help with her Winter Ball gown.”

“God, the Ball!” Patrick said. “I just wish …”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, since both boys were dateless. Then he brightened. “Hey, I know! Maybe you and Luke could go together, you know, stag? Maybe be more fun that way. Going with your best friend, I mean.”

“Well, Rachel’s my best friend, but …well, yeah, Luke is, too, but in a different way. Kind of like you and Dave.”

The ponytail stopped swinging as Tommy dropped his chin to his chest. “Yeah,” he sighed heavily. “Be really cool if Dave and I could …go …”

There was a moment of sadness and something else between them, and then Patrick said, “I’ve got to get going.”

“Yeah,” Tommy nodded, still depressed. “Well, say hi to Rachel. And thanks, Paddy.”

“What for?”

“Just …thanks,” Tommy smiled and for some reason felt like crying.

And it would be okay if he cried. If Patrick saw him cry. If he shared that with him. It would be okay. Good, even.

But not good to cry in front of Daddy; Tommy knew that it sort of should be, but Daddy always looked so angry. But then, Tommy couldn’t really remember a time when his father wasn’t angry …

His thoughts ended when his mother called out that since he was already upstairs, could he get her turquoise blouse for her? She needed to sew a loose button and so Tommy went to get it.

So that he wouldn’t startle his father by coming into the bedroom unannounced, Tommy knocked and called out, “It’s just me, Daddy. Mom needs me to get something from her closet.”

There was a loud ‘murf’ followed by a couple of other sounds. His father had been laying propped up against pillows, watching TV, and when he saw Tommy he sort of jerked and dropped the remote. It was hard to tell if he’d dropped it because he didn’t need it, or because his hands couldn’t hold it, or because it was his attempt to hurl it. He did that sometimes when his team lost on ESPN; they were afraid he might hit the TV and blow it up! But he was staring or glaring or something at Tommy.

Tommy had the cute shorts and a red tank top. And still had the ponytail. He stopped on the way to the closet and looked at his father.

“What is it, Daddy?”

His father twisted awkwardly to the nightstand and fumblingly picked up the notepad and stylus. Kathleen had found one of those pads with a plastic sheet over it; you could write with the stylus and pull up the sheet and clear it. It was cheaper than all the wasted pieces of notepaper that Frank would litter the floor with.

Furiously, Frank clenched the stylus and haltingly wrote out ‘godam fa’ before a strangled ‘murf!’ sound caused him to sag, dropping the pad to the bed.

Tommy looked at the pad and then at the television. “What were you trying to write? Um …Falcons? Farve? Um …I can’t tell.” He lifted the sheet, erasing it. “There you go, all ready for you again.” He put the pad and stylus next to his father’s hip, picked up the remote and wrapped his fingers around it. It was a special kind they’d found, with huge square numbers. “There you go, Daddy!” he smiled brightly as he stood. “Well, I’ve got to get Mom’s blouse for her. Then I’m going over to Heather’s. Paddy already took off to meet Rachel. So you better hold onto that!” He nodded to the remote and smiled.

Going to the closet, he easily located the blouse and took it out. It was such a lovely shade of turquoise, and Mom was so pretty in it. Hey–he had his mother’s coloring, didn’t he? How would it look on him? He held the blouse against his chest and looked in the full-length mirror. The color was good for him, but not the blouse itself. It was kind of an ‘old lady’ cut, as Heather called such adult clothing. The color did look nice with his khaki shorts, though, but something …something bothered him. He thought about it as he spun and left, his father’s growled ‘murf’ sounds fading behind him. By the time he handed the blouse to Mom, he knew what it was that had bothered him.

He’d called Heather and begged a half-an-hour extra, then took a quick shower. He’d asked Mom for the razor and gel that he used now; she’d given him some advice and a small bottle of baby oil, too. So he’d felt smooth and sleek and felt like bouncing as he walked to Heather’s. His ponytail bounced, but his chest did, too. It had been getting so kind of puffy lately, which was nuts because he’d already lost so much weight–very nicely, too, thank you very much!–and was exercising up a storm in PE.

And his legs had gotten great comments in PE and he’d been so happy when he came out of the shower but all of that didn't match how happy he was now as he wore his satin panties and bra. He pulled on his pants, some really cute baggy capris that Heather and he had gotten in different colors. They were almost like cargo pants; his were khaki and Heather’s were white so they joked that he was a carpenter and she was a painter but they were great for hanging out in the committee room after school, planning events.

When Tommy pulled his top over his bra, his happiness increased. Now the scoop-neck made sense! He could see the creamy swell of his boobs and they were in the bra and Tommy couldn’t wait for Dave to see how he looked now! Tommy buckled his strappy sandals and noticed that the polish was chipped on one toenail.

Have to fix that!

***

The school knew the contents of the books in its library. One of them had the phrase ‘curious and curiouser’. If the school could giggle to itself, it would, as it thought that as far as the McMahons were going, things were going ‘excellent and excellenter’. Things were nearing balance; this was the home stretch. And speaking of stretching, Patrick and Luke seemed to be doing very well.

***

Patrick stared at the skirt. It wasn’t his, was it? But it was in his locker, so it must be. He never …he’d never worn it before, right? Didn’t he wear Rachel’s diggers this morning, the ones that fit so tightly? Yes, that was right; he remembered how happy he was that she’d given them to him and today had been the first day he wore them. He recalled when they had found them. They’d been hanging out at the mall, and passed by Rachel’s favorite store and there were these new manikins in the window and Rachel had turned to him.

“God, Patty! I have got to try those!” and she’d pulled him in by the hand.

The clerk had given Patrick some odd looks and he thought maybe it was because of his clothing. He wasn’t as hip as Rachel; her family had money. All he was wearing was flats and some blue plaid walking shorts and a pink polo with the collar up under a white hoodie. Rachel had told him, ‘Collar up, hair up’ and his hair was swept up in a loose chignon. He was learning so many new words from Rachel! He really liked the look, especially because his new earrings were visible.

A couple of weeks ago, right after the last conference with their counselors, his mother had taken both boys to the mall for some winter clothes. The funny thing was the heat wave had lingered, as if summer refused to surrender. They just couldn’t wrap their heads around long woolen shirts and down parkas, so they went to the food court for a snack. There were a lot of cute guys and girls there and they talked about the fashions and Kathleen had told them how pleased she was with their counselors reports of the boys’ improvement. Then, smiling widely, Kathleen had led them to Claire’s. She stood watching with a happy smile as her boys got their ears pierced, and she joined in the giggling fun of choosing new earrings as part of the package deal.

Patrick had just moved from those gold ball studs to small hoops and loved the look. With his hair up they caught the light prettily. And while Rachel sorted through the boutique’s racks, he smiled back at the clerk and her face softened and they began discussing the styles on the manikins.

Rachel found a pair of black denim clam-diggers that looked great on her, like a second skin. They ended just below her knee and had the cuffs rolled up. Patrick was happy for her, and Rachel loved those jeans for three whole weeks. Then her brother had somehow washed and dried them. Rachel had brought her hamper to the laundry room and had begun sorting things out when Greg called. By the time she finished her call, her brother had thought he was being helpful and had added the basket contents into the wash. To him, jeans were jeans. Hot water, high heat …and in one cycle, Rachel’s tight diggers were now too tight.

The strange thing was …they fit Patrick. They’d been hanging out in her room after school and Rachel was grousing about her brother’s ‘help’ and then she looked at Patrick differently. He was a bit shorter than she was, so maybe …

And the pants fit really well. Tight, but they were supposed to be. Good thing Patrick was smaller than Rachel! He dimly recalled that when he’d first met Rachel in Dance class, her eyes came to about his chin. Hadn’t they?

Maybe not, he reasoned. Her clothes fit him so maybe she was growing. They had a lot more fun now that they could share things–well, not really share, because Patrick had so few clothes. But his mother liked Rachel very much and approved of them hanging out and sharing things.

So the diggers were now his, and Rachel had convinced him that his legs screamed for ‘strappies’. Another new word he had to learn; he thought it sounded either kinky or silly but the first time he tried them on in her bedroom, he was hooked. The strapped sandals had about a two-inch heel and now he was taller than Rachel, he grinned at her. But she was pulling out something called ‘pumps’ and suddenly she was taller than he was and they just giggled about a ‘height war’.

Rachel had said, “Careful, Patty! You don’t want to be taller than Luke!”

Patrick giggled at the thought. He had a vision of towering over Luke and reaching an arm around Luke’s shoulders, like in a kindly-uncle, big-brother-y kind of way, and suddenly it was all wrong. No uncle, no big brother, and he didn’t want to be taller than Luke. He liked being smaller than Luke. He liked the idea of Luke’s arm going around Patrick’s shoulders. Being cuddled. Being protected. Being …cherished.

And, yes, he had worn the diggers this morning, he was sure of it. But here was a denim miniskirt and the diggers were missing from his locker. Good thing he’d shaved his legs, he thought, remembering when Tommy told him that he’d shaved. As if I couldn’t tell, Patrick grinned to himself. Tere’s legs looked great! And his did, too, now–so there!

It was so funny to think of, now–that first time. He didn’t usually use the shower in the changing room, not since quitting football. He just didn’t get sweaty like he used to. But for some reason the teacher had let Dance out ten minutes early.

Rachel had fanned herself as they left the gym. “Whoo! Pretty stinky!” she giggled.

Playfully, Patrick had raised an arm, sniffed his pit, and pretended to gag.

“God, Patty, you’re so funny!” Rachel grinned, slapping his forearm with her fingers.

That did it; with the early dismissal it made sense to grab a quick shower. As Patrick was stepping out of his soffe shorts, he thought about Rachel’s legs. They were so smooth and his own legs were so disgusting and maybe he could ask Mom …

The thought trailed off because as he stepped into the showers, he saw a can of shaving gel and a pink razor. Maybe they were Tere’s? Then he saw the label said ‘Flirty Mango’ and thought of a pretty yellow skirt of Rachel’s that she’d said was that color. That’s all it took! And how hard could it be, if the girls all did it? Guys, too, from what he heard …some of the swim team. That led him to think about gymnastics, and Luke …

Before he knew it, he was sliding his jeans up and his legs felt fantastic! There had been some lotion that he’d found in his locker; he didn’t remember getting it but it seemed to do the trick. Must have gotten it when he got the Secret deodorant–it was strong enough for a man, right? He’d giggled at that, but his underarms felt great, too, and he was proud that he hadn’t nicked himself even once. Now I can wear sleeveless tops, he’d thought happily as he went to class.

Then he’d complimented Tommy and his brother had smiled and told him he’d started shaving. Patrick had giggled at that statement.

“No, I mean …” Tommy protested and then grinned. “You silly! Not my face, my legs! You really should, too, Pat. Your legs are really cute!”

Patrick just smiled and nodded a thank-you, secretly pleased that his legs were already shaved. It was one of the first things he’d done without checking with Tommy first, and it made him proud. And, yes, his legs were cute, and it was a shame to cover them up with jeans.

Even capris or clam-diggers only hinted at how cute his legs were …like the diggers that he thought he’d worn that morning, as he stared at his locker.

He stepped into the skirt and zipped it and swung it into place and God, yes! Legs looked great, strappies looked great, and this raspberry sweater top was so cute. As Patrick brushed his long blonde hair–he loved that now he could reach behind him and grab the ends–he thought he looked a little pale. He’d have to ask Rachel if she had something he could use. At the least some lipgloss!

He slung his bag over his right shoulder and cradled his books in his left as he left the locker room. Down the hallway and to the left, Rachel was at her locker.

“Hey, Rach, do I look okay?”

Rachel regarded her best friend. “God, yes! I hate you, Patty. It’s official now. That skirt is killer on you!”

“Thanks, but, um …didn’t I have the black diggers on this morning?”

Rachel started to say something and then her face smoothed. “No. Yesterday. You told me you were going to wear your new skirt today. That’s the one you got at Wet Seal, right?”

“Yeah,” Patrick nodded absently. “When you got your brown boots.”

“You should have bought those heels, babe!” Rachel grinned. “So cute!”

“Couldn’t afford ‘em,” Patrick shrugged but frowned.

“I know; I know, babe,” Rachel said soothingly as she rubbed her friend’s shoulder.

Poor thing just doesn’t have the money she should to dress better, Rachel thought sadly. But I’ll help where I can. Then she spotted Luke walking towards them.

“I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up,” Rachel grinned. “And he’s twenty feet away!”

Patrick’s smile burst like fireworks as he spun.

Luke was also smiling widely. “Hey, babe. Looking good!”

Patrick blushed a little and swayed to and fro; his skirt followed the movement. “You think so? Thank you, Luke!”

“You look so good, you deserve something,” Luke grinned as he leaned closer.

Without thinking about it, Patrick leaned forward and puckered and they kissed once, quickly and dryly.

Rachel tried to sound gruff. “Hey there, hey there; no PDAs allowed at Hill Street High School–unless I get some, and Greg’s not here, so knock it off.”

The three laughed and as they turned to head off to class, it was the most natural thing in the world for Patrick to slide under Luke’s arm as they walked.

Really glad I wore this skirt today, Patrick thought happily.

***

Yes, things were happy all the way around, or almost, the school thought. There were some adjustments to be done here and there and how the school wished it could help things at home. It had long ago gotten over any guilt for Frank McMahon’s stroke; it had been obvious that it was long overdue and was completely natural, brought on by Frank’s intolerant personality. The school had several thoughts on how it should be handled, if at all. If there was some way to get Frank onto the school grounds again, that would do it. The school had thought that maybe planting the idea that Frank’s recovery might be aided by coming to a team rally. Then the school might be able to ease things at the McMahon household.

But the school had never broken through to Frank; granted, he was weaker now, but from what the school had learned, the McMahon family was significantly happier. Quieter, more loving. Yes, there was an unhappy presence in the upstairs bedroom, but it couldn’t do more than mumble and write nasty notes.

Better to leave things alone, the school thought. Frank could not harm his family further.

Meanwhile, Kathleen was quite pleased with her pretty children.

***

“Oh, honey; I was hoping you’d avoid that,” Kathleen said with dismay.

“Avoid what?” Patty had asked.

“Avoid looking like a raccoon!” came from down the hall.

“Not helping, Tere!” Patty called back.

“Or a dead Goth!” came right back, accompanied by a giggle.

Kathleen rolled her eyes. “Teresa! Stop hassling your sister,” she called out. Then she looked at her youngest and sighed. “Sweetie, you’re so pretty; you don’t need to trowel on the makeup. I know it’s new, it’s fun, it’s exciting, but it’s like …gilding the lily.”

“I don’t think it’s too extreme,” Patty said, looking at herself in the mirror. Then she admitted the truth. “Yeah, it is a bit much. But it’s such a hassle to take it off and put it on again.”

Teresa appeared, leaning against the bathroom door, grinning. “Oh, listen to the freshman, already tired of her makeup.”

Patty stuck her tongue out. Teresa returned in kind.

“Girls, girls!” Kathleen laughed. “Look, it’s new to all of us, but let me ask you this. Patricia, are you ugly?”

“Huh? What? Mo-ther!” Patty frowned.

“Teresa, are you?”

“No,” Teresa said simply, running both hands through her hair. The action made her breasts rise.

Kathleen said, “Stop trying to be a centerfold. Alright, you girls listen. Think of a really pretty cottage. Then add a little touch of new paint here and there, a little trim of tree branches, and you can see just how pretty the cottage is. That’s you two; you’re both very pretty and because of that, less is more. Don’t cover up the pretty cottage with too much paint.”

“Yeah, Patty, don’t cover your cottage,” Teresa teased.

Kathleen said, “On the other hand, don’t show too much cottage. Are you going out dressed like that, young lady? Don’t let your father see you like that; you’ll give him a coronary!”

Teresa wore a tiny black miniskirt and her new black heeled boots and a white ribbed sweater.

“Um, yeah. Just over to Heather’s,” Teresa shrugged.

“And then to the Burger Barn to meet Dave,” Patty grinned, getting her own teasing in.

Kathleen saw Teresa loading for a retort and held up her hand. Her girls knew the sign and were quiet.

“Thank you. Teresa, I will allow that skirt if you put some tights on.”

“Mom, they’re in the wash!” Teresa complained.

“I got a three-pack,” Patty said. “Haven’t worn the white ones yet.”

“Thanks, sis!” Teresa smiled happily.

Kathleen turned to Patty. “And you, young lady, will remove the makeup and then re-apply correctly.”

Teresa was feeling kindly to her sister with the gift of tights, so she tried to smooth things. “Hey, Patty? Here’s something you didn’t think of: Nothing makes you look like a makeup newbie as much as raccoon eyes. You’re not Avril Lavigne or some punker, so it makes you look like a seventh grader that just got her first makeup kit.”

“Yeah, guess so …” Patty half-grumbled.

Kathleen gently stroked the back of the head of her youngest, marveling yet again at how soft and silky her long blonde hair was. “I don’t know; I think she’s as pretty as Avril Lavigne.”

“God, I wish!” Patty said fervently.

“The important thing?” Teresa said. “Luke thinks you’re as pretty as Avril!”

They giggled and Teresa left to put on the tights while Patty reapplied her makeup. She came out to show her mother, who approved. Kathleen was just heading into the bedroom with some pillowcases.

“Want to say hi to your father?” she asked, in the way of parents expressing their desire.

“Sure,” Patty said, although she always felt slightly creeped out by her father.

Then she would feel guilty about that, but he was so unknowable these days. She knew the doctors and physical therapists had said he was ‘trapped in an unresponsive body’ but he’d been so active. Coaching those football teams and stuff. Now he was a mostly-silent husk that flared up in angry grunts. At first, he’d moved slowly between three fixed points in the house: The kitchen, the bathroom, and the bedroom, where he spent most of his time. He’d made it out to the living room a few times but everybody had felt so uncomfortable with him there that he didn’t repeat it. And now he seemed to stay in the bedroom; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him anywhere else.

‘Unresponsive’ was the doctors’ word for it; ‘unknowable’ was Patty’s word for it, but ‘unlikeable’ was more like it. He didn’t fit in as family anymore. Patty had only the haziest, dim memory of a lord and master yelling at everyone and everything, and the three McMahon women cringing and scurrying around to meet his approval. There was something wrong somewhere with that thought, but it wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on.

The McMahon women lived their lives in the rest of the house, full of happy chatter and cute clothes and cheerfulness and love, and then there was this black hole of misery alone in the bedroom. Patty really sympathized with her poor mother having to practically wait on the guy hand and foot, but then, that was marriage. For better or worse, in sickness and in health.

One thing was for certain: Luke would never treat her that way. Or Dave with Teresa. He absolutely cherished that girl! You could tell in just five seconds how much he cared for her.

They’d doubled to the movies, and as Patty snuggled next to Luke–after giving him a very nice kiss!–she was so grateful to her sister. For some bizarre reason, Patty had completely spaced out on her period. She actually couldn’t remember her last one! Obviously it was a month before today, right? But she couldn’t remember. And for some reason there wasn’t a tampon in her purse. Didn’t she always carry at least one? But her sister to the rescue–Teresa had given her one and she’d quickly inserted it and fortunately she had another pair of panties in her locker, and she was good to go. She’d gone to the mall with Luke and they’d rendezvoused with her sister and her boyfriend, and the four went to the new version of High School Musical and it was good to get the tension out.

The Winter Ball tension …because it was tomorrow night.

Patty sighed with happiness and giggled to herself at seeing Luke’s eyes dart to her rising and falling breasts. Well, he’s gonna see a lot more of ‘em tomorrow night! The dress was perfect, and Rachel and Kelly and Sandy all said she was nuts if she didn’t get it. Icy blue with the tiniest of rhinestone straps and a sweetheart neckline that was killer with that new pushup bandeau bra she’d found at Victoria’s Secret …and her heels. It was amazing that anything so delicate could hold her as she would be dancing in Luke’s arms …

She sighed happily again and glanced a few rows over to her sister who was getting her ‘pre-movie kisses’ in. God, they were so cute together!

For her part, Teresa was deliriously happy. Dave’s kisses made her almost dizzy, but along with the dizziness was an urge, a craving, a wanting of him. She wanted him, pure and simple. All of him. All she could get. She wanted his lips on hers, she wanted his tongue in her mouth, and she really wanted his fingertips on her breasts. Oh, and his lips, too! But what she wanted most of all–what she absolutely had to have, and was going crazy with thinking about it–was Dave inside of her. She could only dream about what his manhood looked like, and it gave her hot sweaty nights. She actually liked the term ‘Manhood’, because it wasn’t just the physical objects, the anatomy. It was the masculinity contained within, driving into her. Dimly she recalled some playground thing–probably some rude boys she’d overheard–saying ‘it’s not the meat, it’s the motion’ and that was true for her. The motion she was most interested was Dave going in and out of her and oh God she had to stop thinking about that or she’d go crazy!

It was going to be hardest tomorrow–and then she immediately giggled at what that implied.

“What is it, Tere-bear?” Dave asked in a whisper.

He wasn’t the type to use names like that, but Teresa had shyly told him she liked it, so he used it.

“I was just …thinking about tomorrow night.”

“You’re going to be gorgeous, babe,” Dave smiled. “Heck, you’re gorgeous right now!”

Teresa blushed happily and snuggled under his arm, reaching up to hold his hand with both of hers, her tiny fingers and long pink nails contrasting nicely with the rugged tan of his male hands. She sighed with happiness as the theater darkened further and the previews began. Just for a moment, she looked back and up at her sister, entwined with Luke. They really were a cute couple, and he seemed like a really, really nice guy.

He’d just better treat her sister right!

***

The school enjoyed weekends. It could relax, rebuild, regroup, and think about things.

Of course, tomorrow night would be the Winter Ball. Tomorrow morning the students involved in the various committees would meet early to finish decorating, and then dash home to transform themselves into handsome young men and beautiful young women. It would be heavenly and dazzling and school dances always went off without a hitch and everybody always had a good time, the school included. It could almost warm itself in the glow of happiness from the students and teachers. Just a few hours and it all began …

In the meantime, the school thought about the year so far.

The angry darkness that had appeared with the McMahon males was gone. Frank, the turbulent center of the dark, was now completely out of everything, trapped in a hell made of his foul personality and his own body. The rough, nasty boys were gone, thank goodness. They were pretty, charming, intelligent girls, with many friends and two very good, very strong boyfriends. It was nice that any rumors about Luke being gay by being a gymnast and taking a dance class were over. The school had always known that he was a nice guy. And Patty was dazzled by Luke, just as he was by her.

And Dave was a very good guy as well. He’d shown that when he’d recognized the reality of the love shared by Bree Miller and Danny Halding and had stepped aside, and had been kind of on the edge of things ever since, even as he was preparing to go to Stanford after graduation. The school couldn’t know what the future would bring for any of its students, but Dave should go far. And that would be heartbreaking for his girlfriend Teresa, who was only a junior. But if their love was as strong as the school was feeling from them, they very well might make it as a couple. Perhaps even marry, as the school was certain that Bree and Danny would.

Still, the school felt that the girls’ mother Kathleen was getting the short end of the stick. She was so nice that her pain should be lessened somehow. To be reduced to being a nurse and maid for a man that she’d stopped loving–long before the stroke–wasn’t fair to her. And it was just her nature to continue that unfortunate relationship out of loyalty and a sense of duty. The school had felt how strong that was within her, and was proud of her, but also sorrowed for her.

The last time she’d been to the school, to drop off a book that Teresa seemed to have left home–so unlike that girl!–the school had taken stock of Kathleen. No, she would never leave Frank, or arrange for his hospitalization somewhere else. Even if it drained all the family’s finances, she would persevere. In the meantime, she took such joy and pride and happiness from her girls that it balanced the misery that was Frank, in her mind. But she would continue to hold the family together, because it was her nature and because she owed it to her beautiful daughters.

***

There was a part of Kathleen that dreaded Teresa growing up so fast, and being so involved with her boyfriend. But even there, she was happy for her daughter, because Dave was a genuinely nice guy who was so obviously in love with Teresa that it brought tears to Kathleen’s eyes. Too soon, Teresa would be graduating and maybe, just maybe, following her heart to Dave.

And little Patty–she had to stop thinking ‘little’ that way! She wasn’t really little as much as she was petite, and so very pretty. Kathleen had pleasant thoughts about Luke, too, even as she was surprised he was a gymnast? And took Dance? And wasn’t gay?

She had it on very good authority on that particular point–Patty herself. It wasn’t through a mother-daughter conversation, although Kathleen loved and craved those with her girls.

She’d been watching Frank, just watching him, her thoughts rolling around going nowhere in particular. He’d fallen asleep so she took the opportunity to mute the damned ESPN for a time. Then she just sagged under the situation and sat thinking, her hands limp in her lap. She’d been so silent that the girls had come home and didn’t know she was there. It was rare that they were both home at the same time in the afternoon; they had so many girlfriends now as well as their boyfriends. And yet they kept their grades up!

Kathleen heard the girls in the kitchen; the house was so quiet she could hear most of the conversation and then all of it as they made their way to their rooms. Patty was telling Teresa how much she loved Luke. That’s as simple as it was, and as monumental.

There was a moment where Patty’s voice faltered and she’d asked, “Is this all …wrong, somehow?” and both Kathleen and Teresa knew that she didn’t mean something about Luke; Patty had meant something wrong with the universe, or the way things were right now.

Kathleen loved Teresa’s remark; she’d calmly said, “Well, if it’s wrong, it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to change a thing. I love Dave too much to change.”

Patty had agreed they were a ‘magic couple’ and Kathleen thought warmly of the love behind that statement. Once again she was humbled that both of her daughters loved and supported each other, and had found wonderful guys, unlike the man she’d …

As she always did, Kathleen felt guilty even thinking that, and listened as her daughters chatted as they walked to their rooms.

Patty moved from the general to the specific, asking Teresa if her breasts reacted the way Patty’s did when Luke touched them. Kathleen drew her breath in, staying as motionless as possible as she thought, ‘My baby! She’s only a little girl!’ but instantly she knew the truth of it. Her youngest daughter was growing and, yes, a cute boy touched her pretty breasts and she wanted to share things with her sister. It was natural and loving and so female and–

–and Frank was awake and startled her with an agonized ‘murf!’. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought it was a plaintive wail of despair. What on earth could cause such misery? Had he heard the girls talking? No; it had to be about his own situation.

Certainly not about the happy girls’ chatter. Unless it was the father of a pretty girl who was upset at a boy touching his daughters’ breasts; maybe that was it.

She turned to look at Frank, whose flaccid body was trying to tighten and was twitching a bit. It almost sounded like he was whimpering; that whatever was bothering him disturbed him so deeply that whimpering was the only response available.

And even then, his eyes didn’t meet hers.

He didn’t usually even look at her anymore; his eyes were fixed on the TV. She wasn’t really sure if he was unable to move his eyes or just didn’t bother looking at her. Often the only thing that moved, for hours, was his finger twitching over the remote control. Usually it was just on ESPN darned near round-the-clock. At first she had followed doctors’ orders and turned the TV off when it was regular bedtime; they wanted him to stay in the normal day-night cycle of the family. But he’d murfed and twisted and was so angry that she told him–told him!–that he could have the TV on; the light wouldn’t bother her, but it had to be muted. Each night, she got ready for bed and at the last minute, took his remote away, muted the TV, put the remote on the table near her and went to sleep, trying to not think about her husband, preferring to think happily about her daughters.

***

The school delighted in the pretty McMahon girls but mourned for Kathleen, but it took solace in some of the things it had found in the outskirts of Kathleen’s consciousness when she’d last visited the school. They were things that she wasn’t dealing with right now, and had made a determined effort to not think about. That had the effect of making them more substantial and noticeable to the school, even though they were ephemeral wisps of thought to Kathleen at this point.

They were things the doctors had told her. Well, not so much ‘told’ her as much as ‘prepared’ her for. Things to watch out for in Frank, little indications and signifiers, clues as to his overall condition–and the condition was not good. From what the school picked up from Kathleen’s memory, the doctors felt that Frank was a prime candidate for further strokes. Specifically, little ones, unlike the massive seizure that felled him. These were like tiny hairline fractures in porcelain, spread out from the area of the original cerebral incident. Tiny bleeds, actually. Not enough to cause a ‘before and after’ type of event, like collapsing in the gym from the stroke. These were miniature leakages and would only make their presence known when the cumulative effect became evident. And by then it would be too late; nothing on earth could save him.

The school scanned Kathleen’s mind as well as the library’s medical books, along with the wonderful internet terminals in the library, and knew the truth.

Frank McMahon was dying. Frank was slowly entering the darkness. He no longer left the bedroom. Kathleen had begun feeding him in bed, gently spooning soup into his slack mouth and wiping his chin. Later she would slide a plastic sheet under him and then remove the soiled diapers he was forced to wear. Soon, Kathleen would come in to find him unmoving, or–God forbid–wake up next to him, cold and pale and dead. Because the school was convinced, from what it had learned from the minds of the McMahon females, that Frank’s ‘murf’ sounds were in fact screams. It was Frank being Frank, yelling and blustering and threatening and browbeating and they were screams every bit as vehement as his tirades had been on the playing field, or on Parents Night when his rage had felled him.

Just a lot quieter and confined to one sound.

But each of those screams–because ‘murf’ might mean ‘Thanks for the soup’ but more likely was a bitter blast of venom–each scream caused another tiny cerebral rupture. It wasn’t the stroke killing Frank as much as it was Frank killing himself by not changing. The school had been unable to change him; how could it hope that he might see the light? It was Frank’s nature, and his nature was killing him.

Overall, the school felt confident in the diagnosis that Frank would not last the school year. The school didn’t wish him ill; after that terrible Parents Night, it had gone over its actions in detail and knew that it had no complicity, no culpability in Frank’s stroke. It was just the type of man he was. But there was more to it–Frank was just bad luck. Bad luck for his family, the school, and himself. And knowing that recovery was not possible, the school wished for a speedy and painless end for him, to close the Frank McMahon chapter in everyone’s lives.

And that meant that Kathleen would be freed from the prison she was in. Perhaps …perhaps …

The school grinned to itself. Yes; the new Biology teacher, Bill Stanton, had sadly lost his wife to cancer three years before. Patricia was in one of his classes and …yes; the school checked the grading. She was currently at B+ and almost certain to finish with an A. Still, there would be reasons for the widowed Kathleen McMahon to talk with her daughter’s biology teacher …

Yes, they’d all have to wait out Frank’s death sentence. Meanwhile, his daughters were blossoming and soon their mother would, too.

Hill Street High School was content.

The End