Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Chris Cline, September 2016

“Now this is where I think we can exploit the defense, Tyrell we will have you … Tyrell …. TYRELL!”

Chris kicked Ernie in the leg underneath their desks. “Hey, man what-” but he stopped when he noticed the look on his Coach’s face.

“This isn’t nap time, Tyrell.” He walked through the room until he was practically nose-to-nose with his wide receiver. “You just bought you and your teammates an extra fifteen suicides to close out practice today.” There were a few disgruntled whispers and barely audible groans, but Coach Groff ignored them. He pressed on unperturbed, “Now if we want to beat Coatesville this Friday, we can’t afford ANY mistakes,” he paused to flash another menacing look in Ernie’s direction, “As I was saying …”

“Tyrell, if you fall asleep on game day, then Coatesville’s linebacker is going to use your rib cage as a home for his pet lion.” Later that afternoon, Ernie was doing an impression of his coach to the great approval of his teammates. They were roaring with laughter as Chris approached the locker room, having just said good-bye to Melissa.

“This is what we need to do to their running backs!” In the middle of a less authentic imitation of Coach Groff, Jacob Naughton reached down and grabbed a small, frightened looking freshman by his back pack and lifted him into the air. Again, the crowd of football players laughed manically in support.

“Put him down, you idiot,” Chris remarked, exasperated as he reached his teammates. “I really don’t want to have to run any more suicides today.” Reluctantly, Jacob lowered the freshman who scampered away quickly out of sight as soon as his feet made contact with the ground. Slowly, the crowd refocused their attention on changing for practice.

“You better be careful bossing me around Cline or I’ll be picking you up next.” He was talking only to Chris, but made sure to speak loud enough that the others around him could hear.

“Maybe once you start out-repping me in the weight room, I’ll take that threat a bit more seriously.” Chris smiled and grabbed his helmet from the top of his locker. “See you out there stud.” And he smacked a flabbergasted Jacob on the behind before exiting to the practice field.     

Ben Havleck, February 2016

In gym class, the Bloomsburg students were beginning to prepare for the upcoming Spring Presidential Fitness Testing. At the end of March, each student would be testing their overall ability in a series of exercises: pull-ups, push-ups, stretching and a one-mile run. As part of the “training routine”, each class began with five minutes of jogging. Or as Ben thought, five minutes of unnecessary pounding that he couldn’t even count towards mileage. Then, the period would end with some type of fitness contest in the final few minutes. It was designed to incentivize everyone to give their best effort. A difficult thing to salvage from a high school gym class.

Today’s lesson was scheduled to end with a pull-up contest. This was ideal for someone like Ben. His ratio of strength to body weight was spectacular. Spreading out to the different pull-up bars in the room, groups of students began to take their turn in the challenge. A few students took their turns before Ben. A girl from the field hockey team did five; another boy from Ben’s Spanish class did two.

Once they had cleared, he jumped up to the bar and began to bang out reps. He wanted to carefully gauge his effort. His competitive fire drove him to make sure he posted a respectable number, but he also did not want to be seen as a try-hard gym class hero. He settled on a strong, round number in 10 and then dropped to the ground, letting the next person in line step up. Although the girl originally slated to go after him refused to be the one who followed a performance like that.

Eventually, the class reconvened at center court to discuss the results and end for the day. Ben tried his best to seem passive and disinterested, but was secretly eager to learn the outcome of the challenge. He scanned around the gym, picking out a few athletes from the other clusters who could have potentially topped his mark.

“Alright, how’s everyone feeling? Anyone’s arms burning?” There was a murmur of unenthusiastic response before Miss Cross, the class’s gym teacher, resolutely pressed on. “Now I’d like you to raise your hands if you did at least five pulls ups.” A little less than half the class raised their hands, including Ben and the girl from the field hockey team who had preceded him.  “How about six?” A few hands went down, “Seven?” Quite a bit more fell, “Excellent! Did anyone get to eight?” Now there were only four left, “Nine?” Only Ben and one other boy continued to hold their arms in the air while the other two students dropped their outstretched hands, trying to hide mildly disappointed looks behind apathetic demeanors. “Wow that’s really great you two. Excellent work. How many did you do Tyler?” She spoke to the other boy, Tyler Lloyd, who was the star shooting guard on the Bloomsburg basketball team.

“I did ten, Miss C.” he replied with a slight air of cockiness.

“Very good, and Ben?” she turned her attention to him now. He paused, slightly uncomfortable with the gaze of the class focused on him.

“I also did ten.” He looked down sheepishly at his feet as he spoke.

“Well how about that, a tie! Marvelous work, gentlemen. Now for next class I’d like-”

“Wait, we aren’t going to have a tie-breaker?” It was Tyler who spoke up. Then he added in something of a mock whisper, loud enough for everyone to hear, “I think we would all like to know if this kid can repeat his magical feat.” A couple of his friends snickered by his side.

“Well … I suppose there is no good reason not to …” Miss Cross looked slightly nervous as she spoke. Clearly, she had also been wondering if Ben’s result was artificial and did not want to risk embarrassing him in front of the group at large by asking him to try again. But amidst the turmoil, Ben found himself suddenly confident.

“Sure, I’ll do it.” He stepped forward to the front of the crowd, smiling at Tyler as he spoke. It was as though this slight on his strength had awoken a slumbering beast within him. There was a slight twinge of anger, but the predominant emotion was excitement. At first, Tyler looked somewhat taken aback by the sudden surge of confidence from his opposition, but he swiftly distorted his face into a smug expression of self-assurance.

Walking up to stand beside Ben, he said, “Ladies first” and playfully bowed, extending his arms and gesturing towards the closest pull-up bar. Joking or not, it was a smart decision: going second was a decisive advantage. The first to grip the bar was competing against himself, but the second was competing against a concrete, objective standard. The same reasoning applied to running. It’s easier to lead then to follow.

But Ben did not have the natural closing speed to wait around and let others lead. He had to take hold of a race and win by crushing the spirit of his opponent. Before Tyler could find out the number he had to surpass, he would need to have already given up.

Ben hoisted himself onto the bar. The plan was to go quickly, confidently and smoothly. He sped rapidly through the first five, then through five more, all while trying to relax his body. He wanted it to appear as though his pull-ups were as effortless to him as standing there watching was to the crowd of his peers. Whispers of surprised admiration were beginning to grow behind his back, urging him on, fueling his adrenaline. As he approached 20, Ben could feel his muscles starting to fatigue and his body began to breakdown. Finally, he accepted that he was running out of gas. With concerted focus, he clung to proper form just enough so that only he knew how drained he really was.

 He banged out the 25^th rep as aggressively as possible and then dropped as casually as he could manage to the ground. Collecting his thoughts and calming his face, he turned for the first time to see a mixture of shock and awe from his classmates. He smiled and, although it was quite painful, mimicked Tyler’s earlier bow while gesturing at the bar. There were a few chuckles from the crowd, but none came from Tyler. His previously smug grin had been replaced by an ugly mixture of shock and anger. He took a tentative half step towards the bar, before pausing and then relenting.

Clearly frazzled and desperate, Tyler reached down for some shred of remaining arrogance and retorted weakly, “Yeah well … I could do all those pull ups too if I weighed sixty pounds.” And he trudged off into the locker room.

“To be fair your mass and height do likely give you a substantial advantage in body weight exercises.” P.J. and Ben were at their usual lunchroom table in the cafeteria. He had overheard of Ben’s triumph in the prior period’s Chemistry class. News was traveling quickly.

“Well maybe if he spent a bit less time doing bicep curls while staring at himself in the mirror …” Ben’s arms were aching from his efforts and the lactic acid build-up was making it hard to eat his lunch. Of course, he viewed it as a more than worthwhile sacrifice in exchange for the pride of sticking it to a schoolyard bully. He bit down into his apple and tried to avoid spraying juice all over himself. A group of girls from the basketball team was sitting across the room and he could have sworn he noticed one point at him briefly in the middle of the conversation, causing her friends to turn and stare as well.

Ben focused his attention deliberately on his fruit, trying to escape the sensation that he was being watched. He opted for a change in subject. “Did you hear they’re making another Transformers movie?”

“I did notice that. They showed a trailer last night on the Discovery channel.” The two began to pack up their things as lunchroom dismissal was beginning. “What did you think of the first films?”

“Eh, they were just really … loud. Too intense for me. I tend to leave Michael Bay movies feeling like I just got into a boxing match at a Linkin Park concert. Think I’ll withdraw from Round Two.” They funneled themselves into the mass exodus of bodies from the cafeteria. The narrow stretch of hallway usually caused a post-lunch traffic jam.

“I think writing those scripts has to be difficult. I mean, how are tiny humans supposed to have any sort of realistic impact in a battle between gigantic, super-powered monsters?”  Before Ben could respond, three hulking figures forced their way through the crowd, pushing P.J. aside into a group of freshmen as they went.

“Talking about us, Havleck? Although ‘super powered’ may not be a strong enough verb to describe how we operate.” It was Tyler Lloyd, flanked by two of his cronies from the basketball team.

“I think you may mean ‘adjective’. ‘Super powered’ is a descriptive word which-”

“Oh I’m sorry, nerd,” Tyler reached over and plucked the pencil from behind P.J.’s ear. He snapped it cleanly in half and casually tossed it over his shoulder. “How about ‘destroyed’, want to give a lesson on what part of speech that is?” His cronies laughed harshly. P.J. muttered something about it all depending on context while staring blankly at the floor, avoiding the groups gaze.

Ben stepped in between them. The hallways were starting to clear as the crowd around them evaporated. “Hey why don’t you guys back off?”

“Why don’t you guys back off,” the taller of Tyler’s two friends mimicked him shrewdly while the other laughed.

“Feeling like quite the tough guy after today, huh?” Tyler smiled maliciously. “Well don’t get too comfortable, pull-ups ain’t gonna help you in a real fight.” The hallway was empty now and the second bell for class was likely to ring at any moment. Tyler started menacingly at Ben, who stared back, unwavering.

“I saw you’re true colors today, Ty. You’re not so tough yourself, you’ll quit as soon as things get a little uncomfortable. Looks like you’re more afraid of me than I’ll ever be of you.”

“Sounds like Mr. Big Shot needs a little reminder of how things work around here.” His friends on either side cracked their fingers aggressively and moved to surround Ben and P.J., the latter of which was slowly cowering further and further into the wall behind him.

“Hey!” There was a yell from down the hall and a teacher came running down the hall. It was Ben’s history teacher, Mr. Cook. “What do you think you’re doing? Get to class! All of you! Or I’ll be writing detentions for next week!” The group scattered to their respective hallways, P.J. positively sprinting straight ahead while the heavier of Tyler’s thugs brought his thumb threateningly across his neck. Ben ignored it and coolly turned the corner for class. This isn’t over, is it? He thought to himself. And with a groan, he turned the handle and opened the door to 5^th period English.

After a fantastically ordinary afternoon, Ben slugged his way into Math class to close out the day. His arms were still bothering him and the weight of carrying an afternoon’s set of books was not easing his pain. He dropped into his usual seat and slipped off his bag, halfheartedly preparing for class. As he absentmindedly massaged his left shoulder muscle, a voice next to him snapped him back to reality.

“Still sore?” she said playfully. Ben quickly tried to think up a clever response, but his mind was blank. He settled on a noise that ended up being part-laugh, part-grunt of affirmation. Very smooth, he thought to himself. But Nicole seemed unphased and continued as if it was normal for a teenage boy to make the same sound as a dying animal. “Tyler has always been a little too cocky for his own good. It’s nice to know someone was able to put him in his place.” She flashed a beautiful toothy smile. “I’m just upset I wasn’t there to see his face when it happened.”

Ben laughed. Although it sounded nothing like his normal laugh. “Well-you know-we were just doing some pull-ups … I’m sure in the grand scheme of things he-” As he gestured with his hands, he knocked his pencil off the table. Frantically, he reached down to get it and, in his haste, nearly slipped out of his chair onto the floor. He emerged back to visibility red in the face. In an attempt to save an ounce of dignity, he responded, “I guess I have a talent for pull-ups.”

“Yeah it sounds like it. Did you really do 25? What are you some type of gymnast or something?”

“No actually, I’m a distance runner.”

Looking puzzled, she opened her mouth to respond but instead was interrupted by the second bell and the arrival of their teacher at the front of the classroom. She gave him another small grin and then returned her focus to the lesson: a lecture on the “chain rule”. Ben took careless notes for the rest of the class, the highlight being when he wrote the derivative of sin(x) was equal to “Nicole”.

Well, today could have been much worse, he reflected on the afternoon’s events while jogging to work. I could have been punched in the face by Tyler Lloyd.

On second thought; I think I might take a shot to the nose if it meant I could sit in a chair without falling …

Jimmy Springer, September 2013

“3:01 … 3:02 … 3:03 …”

“What the heck, Springer?” he spat between gasps for breath.

“I knew you were an idiot, but I didn’t think you were deaf, too.”

“Don’t be bitter because you can’t hang at five minute pace …”

“Oh wow Glenn, I thought Coach was the only one on Boy Wonder’s d-”

“C’mon let’s jog, we don’t have a lot of recovery left,” Glenn cut across his teammate as the group began a labored jog back towards the opposite end of the track. Jimmy trotted along in awkward silence. He had yet to say a word all practice.

High School is a unique time. It's a mix of 18 year old, legal man-children and 14-year-old barely teenage boys who are still fascinated by facial hair. Most of the time these entities are separated by the boundaries of grade level, but on the cross country team there was no such distinction. When you get on the course, it’s one race and the fastest man wins. No matter what your birth certificate says.

“It's about how big they are, not how much hair you got on ‘em” Glenn Fisher said in between breathes as he and his younger teammate slowly jogged around lane 6 of the track. Jimmy managed to squeeze a laugh in between his panting. “We are a good team. You make us better. Anyone who can’t accept that should get out of the way.” They reached the 200 start line and stopped, turning to wait for a trio of other runners. None of whom looked particularly happy.

“30 more seconds boys.” Coach Ames was checking his watch, looking up at the incoming stragglers. The newcomers reluctantly lined up alongside Glenn and Jimmy. “Not you, Springer,” Coach Ames pulled back his freshman stand out by the back of his t-shirt. One of the older runners looked back and smirked. Jimmy looked sullen.

“Coach I'm fine, just let me-” He tried to argue, but Ames cut across him.

“3 ... 2 ... 1 ... Hit it boys!” The quartet set off without their youngest member, leaving coach and athlete alone in tense silence. Once the runners rounded the first curve, clearing themselves from earshot, Coach Ames turned to Jimmy and gave him an understanding look. Speaking softly he said, “Jimmy, has anybody ever told you running is 90% mental?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“Well that's a myth. It’s something people who aren’t particularly talented made up so that they will believe they can beat somebody they really can’t. People who say that are either overly optimistic dreamers or untrustworthy liars.”

“But ... You told me that Coach,” Jimmy responded sheepishly. To his surprise, his Coach smiled widely.

“So which one do you think I am?” He left Jimmy blinking and confused as he shouted a lap split to the passing runners. Then he turned back to his youngest pupil. “So?”

“Um ... the dreamer?” He mumbled awkwardly. “I -well I don't think you’re a lair ...”

“So have a little faith in the plan Jimmy! You can trust me. I've got big optimistic dreams for your future.”

Jimmy rode his bike down the street, moving slowly from heavy legs. The day’s workout was beginning to set in and he was beginning to regret not taking Fisher’s stretching speech more seriously. The sun had already disappeared from the sky before he changed course to circle back toward his home.

He pedaled casually, alternating between the left and right side of the empty road. It was blissful. Alone with his thoughts, enjoying the peaceful silence. He continued down a side street, passing a dog chained to a tree. A man smoking a cigar. A teenager getting out of his car.

“Jimmy! Hey, Jimmy!” The yelling broke his serenity. He let out a deep sigh as he rotated his bike and hit the breaks. He knew the voice and he did not have much interest in talking to the man it belonged to.

“Hey Matt, what’s going on,” he said emotionlessly as the teenager approached him. The boy strode cautiously yet determinedly forward, making a concerted effort not to look away from Jimmy's eyes.

“Hey ... Um ... What are you doing out this late? Extra cross training?” Matt said awkwardly.

“No, I needed to get out of the house. My parents were fighting and I ...” He didn't feel the need to continue. He had already shared much more than he would have liked.

“Look,” Matt pressed on determinedly, disregarding the complaint. “I'm sorry about the way I’ve been acting toward you. I didn't mean to be such a jerk ... I just ... Well I don't like to get beat ... Especially to a freshman ...” He was rambling a bit, but Jimmy could tell his intentions were genuine. “But that's my issue not yours. We need you.” He finished confidently.

“Um-thanks. It’s not a big deal, really. I’m sure if it was the other way-”

“No, it is a big deal.” He reaffirmed. “I don’t want you blaming yourself for something that’s not your fault.” Together they stood in near silence, the sound of a barking dog the only reminder of their location. “We’re going to have a little party at my house for the Eagles game next week. You should come by. All the guys will be there. It can give you a chance to get to know everybody a little better.”

Jimmy gave his teammate a searching look. Am I ready to be friendly with this guy?

“Um … I’ll try to come. Assuming I don’t have too much work.”

Matt smiled and took the non-committal response in stride. “Alright, great!”

“Cool, I’ll talk to you then. I gotta get back home or my parents will freak.” And Jimmy turned his bike to pedal home, his legs a bit lighter than they had been moments before.           

Mark Miller, September 2016

Mark ran briskly through the meadow as a pair of butterflies flew carelessly across his face. It was an easy and relaxed amble. He almost felt like he was floating. Then, he was floating. Drifting upward towards the small, brick house that sat atop the hill. Gracefully, he landed among the clouds. A petite, pretty woman with long brown hair was standing by the door, apparently waiting for him. She smiled at him as he approached.

“You didn’t have to wait for me, Emma” he said, returning her radiant beam.

“It’s quite alright,” she replied, speaking with a delightful accent, “I’m finishing my book on Lancaster history. I checked it out weeks ago for a bit of light reading.” But her voice was trailing off, her image starting to blur. And someone was shaking him violently …

“Hermione?” Mark mumbled staring up at his trespasser from his position on the bed. Slowly regaining awareness of his surroundings, he noticed Jayson’s face a few feet away.

“You still down to do a long run today?”

Mark sat up to look out the window. It was almost completely dark outside. “What time is it?”

“It’s a little before six,” Jayson replied, turning to grab a pair of socks from a chest of drawers. “I wanna get this done before it gets too hot out.” Mark noticed his brother was already dressed in full running attire, including his sneakers and a bulky GPS watch.

“Seriously? Can’t we sleep in and then complain about how we should have got up early because it’s so effing hot out. You know, like a normal person.” A pair of socks hit him in the face.

“C’mon, show some hustle,” Jayson continued to throw clothes to his brother, “The sooner we start, the sooner we are done.”

“I’m going, I’m going” Mark threw his shirt on inside out and complimented the look by putting his shorts on backwards. “But just know: I gave up being married to Emma Watson for this.”

“Well then …” Jayson put his arm around his younger brother as he finished putting on his last sock. “You really need to sort out your priorities.”

Together the Millers ran along the side of the road, traversing their five-mile neighborhood loop for a second time. Today, Jayson would be going for fifteen miles while Mark would join him for the first ten. By this point, Mark’s body had finally woken up, his muscles feeling loose and warm. Too warm in fact. A drop of sweat fell from the tip of his nose. Dang it, Jayson was right. I hate it when he’s right.

The pace was still manageable, but as the duo had gained momentum, things had quickened. Once Mark finished, Jayson would likely drop the hammer for the final circle. Together they worked their way up a large hill to the east of their house, climbing towards a small park through which they would detour. Each brother daydreamed silently to himself, visions of glory dancing through each imagination. Mark was on Hershey’s final hill, distancing fictional competition and turning to face an invisible finish line at the end of the straightaway. The rush of adrenaline flooded to his lungs, causing him to increase the pace slightly alongside his brother, who matched the move. Wordlessly, they consented to a quicker effort, cruising through a gradual downhill and turning back to the main road. Here, the simple, mindless grind was interrupted.

“Hey Sam, what time is it?”

“I’m not helping you with this stupid joke.”

“That’s right … it’s Miller time!”

Sam Berkow and Ian McPearson were running towards them on the opposite side of the street. They crossed over and greeted their teammates, reversing course so that the running group doubled in size.

“Nailed it, Ian,” Mark said with a smile as they pressed on. He noticed that he and Jayson’s pace had definitely been quicker than the modified speed that they had now taken on. “What happened, I thought you didn’t run on Sundays?”

“He found out I’ve been running on Sundays,” Sam said, looking back over his shoulder. He and Jayson were leading Mark and Ian in a two by two box. “How far along are you?”

Jayson looked down at his watch for the time. “Probably pretty close to nine. How about you guys?”

“Maybe like …” Sam looked down at his watch, pausing as if he was doing some mental math, “Half a mile?” The Millers laughed.

“Well Mark is going to drop off once we circle back by our house and I’ll have a few more to get through if you want to join?”

Pacing along the street, the group continued to sweat through the heat.

“It’s brutal out, huh?” Ian complained, “We should have woke up earlier.”

Mark flashed his brother a pointed look. Striking up simple conversation kept his final mile entertaining before he reached his front yard and rolled casually to a stop. To everyone’s surprise, Ian stopped with him, already laboring despite the short distance covered.

“I’ll catch up with you later,” he said as Sam and Jayson turned to check his progress.

“You ok?”

“Yeah … just probably ate too much cereal or something,” He waved them away half-heartedly. … “Just keep going. I’ll see you back in our neighborhood.” After sparing one last confused glance, the two seniors trekked on, picking up their conversation where it had previously terminated.

Mark eyed Ian apprehensively as he sat down on the grass. “I hope you don’t think I’m gonna let you destroy my bath-”

“Calm down, dude, I’m fine.” Ian joined him on the ground, suddenly looking incredibly excited. He looked quickly around him before continuing. “I went to Siedel’s party last night.”

Mark raised his eyebrows and copied Ian’s caution by checking the surroundings. Jayson and Sam were nearly out of view. “How was it?”

“Dude, it was great,” He smiled widely, “It was amazing. One second everything is awkward and then all of a sudden, we were all best friends!”

“Alright, well there’s no need to shout,” Mark replied in a hushed tone, checking his neighbors’ yards carefully.

“Sorry, sorry,” Ian dropped his voice as well. “But Mark, you gotta come with me. The next one’s in two weeks when his mom goes out of town again.”

“I don’t know … it seems a bit risky doesn’t it? I mean if we get caught, the school will kick us off the team.”

“Don’t worry about that, he’s super chill with all the neighbors and stuff. Unless somebody narks on us, it’s like impossible to get busted.”

“To be fair you said the same thing about sneaking into an ‘R’ rated movie.” Mark stood up and brushed some stray blades of grass from his body. “Anyone else we know who was there?”

“Mostly seniors honestly, but there were a couple people I recognized. That kid Bryan from French class, that thrower named Max, the one girl from our Bio class who sits in the front row and-”

“Wait, the girl?”

Ian hopped up off the ground. “Yeah man. Tons of girls. Apparently we’ve hit the age where we hang out together.” He walked gleefully to Mark’s side and threw his arm around his shoulder. “If you come with me next time, we can wingman for each other! I’m very smooth with the ladies …” He stretched out his free hand as if he was running it across an invisible, flat surface.

“Well now I’m sold,” Mark said sarcastically, pulling himself out from under his friend’s arm. “Coming from the guy whose first kiss was with his cousin …”

“We’re step-second cousins; we’re not even related by blood-”

“Regardless, count me out on this one, stud.” He walked towards his front door, “And hey, enjoy the rest of your run.”

“What …” Ian looked confused for a brief moment and then realization dawned on him. “Oh crap.”

GO TO CHAPTER SEVEN