Caught Running (8 page)

Jake smiled slightly and said, “I'm always fine
last night
,” barely able to stop the snicker as he elbowed the man. “See you tomorrow, man. Thanks for the ride."

Shaking his head at Jake's banter, Brandon raised a hand to wave. “Bye,” he said quietly, reminding himself to stow these odd twitching feelings and get back to the real world. He moved to shift the car into reverse.

Jake gave a wave and stepped away from the car, then gave a little hop and banged on the roof, leaning over to open the door and stick his head back in. “Coach's night tomorrow,” he said to the man. “We're coming here after practice. Pizza, beer, more beer..."

Brandon startled when Jake hit the car, but had his breath back by the time he was done talking. He had to smile, just a little. “I guess since I'm a coach, I'm invited. Should I bring anything?"

"Only if you have a certain type of beer you like or chips or something. Seriously, it's just an excuse to drink. If you bring any Zima or shit like that, you'll get beat up,” Jake teased with a wink.

The look on Brandon's face was one of mute horror. “Don't tell me Jonathan did that."

"No. Troy did it,” Jake laughed, grinning widely at the man as he leaned over and looked through the door.

"Jesus Christ. Where did he go to school? If you were caught drinking something like that at Tech you'd have been dumped off an overpass onto I-75,” Brandon said, still cringing.

"He swears it was a joke,” Jake snickered. “I just think he's a closet queer,” he giggled with a shake of his head as he stood back up and gave the car another slap with his hand. “See you tomorrow, man,” he said with a smile in his voice, turning to head into the house.

Stuck in place, Brandon just watched Jake walk up the stairs, intensely glad the other coach wasn't looking at him at that moment, because he was sure all sorts of things he didn't want seen were written all over his face. Closet queer.
Fuck
. Brandon ran a hand through his hair and pulled out of the driveway. He really hoped Jake had meant what he said in a somewhat affectionate, teasing manner, rather than a dirtier, more ignorant meaning.

Brandon had heard enough of that to last a lifetime.

"Morning, Mr. Bartlett,” one of the bouncy little cheerleaders greeted the next morning. “Morning, Coach,” the boy walking with her said, nodding at Brandon respectfully and smiling as they headed for their seats.

"Katie,” Brandon said distractedly, ticking her name off the list, but Jimmy's greeting caught him off guard, and he looked up. Pushing his glasses up, he had to rally. “Ah, good morning, Jimmy."

"Morning, Coach,” came another greeting almost immediately, followed by a smattering of other good mornings as the kids filed in. The first class of the day usually saw tired kids trudging in and flopping down with grunts. But every boy who had been at tryouts the last two days greeted Brandon that morning in a semi-cheerful manner.

Blinking, he remembered what Jake had said about the players always being in class, and looking at his grade book, he had to admit the coach was right. They all had perfect attendance. Pleasantly surprised, Brandon moved to his desk off to the side of the room to grab his teaching list for the block. “All right, break into groups of four, please, and pull some desks together for each group. We're doing interactive exercises today.” It was one of the activities Brandon consistently received positive feedback on: Students working together on something besides book work. He personally felt they learned much more by
doing
rather than seeing or hearing. Musing, he got them started on a variation of Biology Pictionary and let them go, listening in on each group.

As the first class of the day got started, the speaker near the door crackled to life for the morning reports. The voice droned on with the usual announcements, the person speaking obviously aware that no one ever listened to these things. At the end, the voice read, “And Coach Campbell would like to remind the student body that the next person caught throwing wet wads of toilet paper at the ceiling of the locker rooms will be ... wait, can I say that over the speaker? I'm not sure I can say that.” There was a clearing of a throat and a mutter that couldn't be understood, and then the kid said, “Just don't do it again, trust me."

A few of the boys in the class snickered quietly, trying not to make a lot of noise but obviously familiar with whatever threat their coach had used. Brandon's brow shot up. He could just imagine what Jake had said he would do. Shaking his head, he chuckled, tapping Cynthia on the head and pointing to the trash can for her gum without having to say a word. Too bad Troy couldn't find other upperclassmen to keep reading announcements along those lines. It would be amusing enough to keep him going all morning.

As he walked around, Brandon noticed that one of the baseball kids was having trouble drawing, using his left hand instead of his right. He was about to say something when he saw the kid's right hand. His fingers were taped. The teacher stopped before commenting and just watched, not wanting to interrupt. It was awkward for the boy, he could tell, but the kid got it done, and the other students guessed correctly. Brandon smiled and patted the kid's shoulder. “Good job,” he murmured before moving on to the next group.

"Thanks, Coach,” the kid muttered automatically.

The rest of Brandon's day went much the same. Third block, a cheerleader had to sit with her leg extended because she was wearing a knee brace. Fourth block, it was a softball player with a wrist brace. Fifth block, a lacrosse player with a black eye. The teacher couldn't figure out how he'd missed all this before. It was all right there in front of him. It wasn't that he'd thought badly of the kids or didn't pay attention to them, it was just that he hadn't noticed the injuries or the way the kids dealt with them. That embarrassed him a hell of a lot. In the nine minutes before sixth block, Brandon crammed papers and files into his pack, snagged the duffle from under his desk and headed out to the gym and the ‘beloved’ health class. He had plans for the anatomy lesson he figured the students would get a hoot out of, and since he was still trying to build rapport with them, he figured some fun would go a long way toward helping that. He got to the classroom in the gym complex just a couple of minutes before the bell.

Somewhere in the maze of hallways that connected the gymnasium to the locker rooms, offices, and classrooms, an angry bellow echoed off the tile and out through the open doors. It sounded again, clearer this time, accompanied by running footsteps. “Snakes in the grass,” an amused voice said to Brandon as he stood in the hallway. The science teacher turned to see the School Resource Officer leaning against the wall in the dark end of the corridor, his handcuffs and gun seriously out of place in the school hallway. Another shout echoed and a door slammed somewhere. “He's been after those little shits for weeks,” the cop said with a laugh.

"What's going on?” Brandon asked, stopping outside the classroom as students filed in past him.

"Kids loitering in the locker rooms, that sort of thing,” the SRO answered. “Hell, they're more scared of Campbell than they are of me.” He laughed softly as he put a Pepsi can to his lips and spit tobacco into it discreetly.

Brandon had to grin. “Hell, I know I am,” he said. His smile grew when a couple of kids smashed through the double doors just past them and raced toward the breezeway leading back to the main building.

The SRO laughed hard as the kids flew by him, and a moment later the doors were pushed open and Jake came stalking out. “Little bastards,” he growled, completely unaware of the presence of anyone else until he turned around. “Next time just shoot ‘em, man, I won't tell nobody,” he huffed to the cop. Brandon and the SRO looked at each other before dissolving into laughter. “Shut up!” Jake called grumpily as he pushed through the other pair of doors and into the large gymnasium. “
Get the hell off that rim
!” he bellowed suddenly as the doors creaked closed behind him.

The two men left behind just kept laughing until the bell rang. “Welcome to the nuthouse,” the SRO said before sauntering off. Brandon went into class still grinning and grabbed up his grade book. What a hoot. Sitting on the edge of the front of the desk, he took role, still trying to match names to faces.

"Ladies and gentlemen. And
Rodney,
” Brandon had to call to one kid staring out the window. The student jerked his head around while the others tittered. “Today we're going to learn about anatomy."

There were giggles and whistles in response to this news. The only kids in the rowdy class being quiet were the several girls who were batting their eyelashes at Brandon and the two kids who had been at baseball tryouts and knew Brandon as a coach.

"All right. Did anyone read the assigned pages? There were only five,” he reminded them. “Raise your hands if you did."

A few hands raised, a few throats were cleared. “I looked at the pictures!” one kid offered cheekily.

Brandon waved Cheeky up to the front. “What's your name? Larry Wallace? Okay.” He looked back at the few hands and chose one of the quiet girls. “Come on up, Melissa. The purpose of this exercise is to identify parts of the body by their proper name."

Melissa blushed mightily as she was called to the front of the class, but she shuffled up obediently and stood there as Larry grinned at the rest of the class, drinking up being the center of attention. Brandon noted the reactions of his two ‘volunteers'. “The rule of the exercise is to touch the piece of anatomy with one finger."

There was a ripple of giggles and Melissa blushed harder. “Are you sure, Mr. Bartlett?” she asked in a slightly squeaky voice.

Brandon squeezed her shoulder supportively. “If you break the rule,
Larry
,” the teacher emphasized to get the kid's attention, “meaning, if you cop a feel, you get to choose between two results."

"Get slapped or keep going. Like that's anything new,” Larry responded with a snicker.

"You either get to explain your actions to Melissa's father or Coach Campbell,” the teacher answered.

Larry's smile fell, and his shoulders slumped as the rest of the class snickered. Brandon continued. “Of course the same applies to Melissa. I can just see her explaining why she grabbed Mrs. Wallace's baby boy's butt, right? Right. So. Are you two comfortable demonstrating the exercise or shall I ask for different volunteers?"

Both kids nodded dubiously and glared at each other in mutual silent warning. Brandon barely restrained his chuckle. “Oh. And did I mention we're keeping score?” he asked innocently.

Both kids squeaked again and another ripple of snickers went through the room.

An hour later, loud cheers echoed down the hallway, despite the closed classroom door. They would stop, then erupt. Stop, then erupt again. Then there'd be booing. Then cheers again. And then chanting: “Ry-an, Ry-an, Ry-an, Ry-an” and “Go Nelly, Go Nelly, Go Nelly, Go Nelly!"

The door jerked open suddenly, and Jake stuck his head into the room, glancing around with narrowed eyes at the kids and Brandon. The desks had all been pushed to the sides of the room, making space in the middle for the guy and girl who faced off. The other students, divided by gender, grouped on opposite sides, cheering on their ‘champions’ while Rodney kept score on the whiteboard. Brandon sat on the edge of the desk, one foot on the floor, the other swinging as he pitched out words, anatomy book in hand, glasses mostly slid down his nose.

"Okay. Girls 4, Boys 2. Ryan: Deltoid,” Brandon challenged. Nobody had heard the door open over the cheering. Ryan considered carefully, looking over the girl's body, then reached out with one finger and prodded the front of her shoulder. The girls groaned and the guys cheered as Brandon said, “Correct,” and Rodney added a tick mark next to Ryan's name.

Jake raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat. “Is there
fun
being had in here?” he asked pointedly.

Brandon looked up with a smile while some of the students called out greetings to the other coach. “Girls 4, Boys 3. Nelly: Humerus,” the science teacher said. The girl wilted, but the others cheered her on. After a moment she shrugged, stuck out one finger and touched Ryan right on the tip of the nose.

Jake raised the other eyebrow and met Brandon's eyes briefly, seeing that he obviously had this under control. He'd have to apologize for interrupting later. “Carry on then,” he laughed softly as he pulled back out of the doorway.

Right before the announcements came on, there was much happy female shrieking and male groaning. When the bell rang, the students left, most bouncing and saying “bye” to Mr. Bartlett as they went, commenting on the “instructional” exercise. Once they were gone, he chuckled and started pushing the desks back into line.

Through the open door more shouting could be heard and laughter echoed off the tiles. “If God wanted you to hang from the rafters he'd have given you tails, you damn monkeys!” Jake shouted. The smile in his voice was obvious as more laughter met his words. P.E. teachers were likely the only ones in the school system who could cuss at a kid and not get in trouble. A moment later, Jake was standing in the open doorway and leaning against the frame with a small smile.

Having heard the now more familiar Campbell-bellow, Brandon glanced up as he shifted the desks back into place. “Hey,” he greeted.

"Hey,” Jake returned with a small smile. “Sorry about barging in earlier,” he offered. “Usually in these parts when there's yelling it means the teacher's been hung from the ceiling by his toes."

"Not by his tail?” Brandon joked. “They're good kids. I'm glad they enjoyed the game. Helps make them more at ease with me, at least.” He straightened up and stretched before shoving his glasses back up his nose. “How was your day?” he asked politely, looking at Jake curiously.

"There's a reason we're not allowed to torture kids anymore,” Jake groused seriously. “I gotta run, got bus duty today,” he practically growled. “See you in a bit."

Left behind, Brandon reflected on how much he'd laughed the last three days. He just couldn't help it, especially with Jake's insane sense of humor. With a sigh he sat at the desk and pulled out his folders, settling in to do some—hopefully most of—his grading. He had an hour before he had to be on the field.

So fifty minutes later he was in the visitors’ locker room, stripped down and just into the white baseball pants when he started stretching. He wanted to be ready to run the suicides, and it was easier to do it here than out at the field. Jake had said they'd be narrowing the team down today. He distracted himself from the slow stretches by mentally reviewing his notes on the players.

Jake was doing his last survey of the locker rooms before classes were let out to clear them of anyone that shouldn't be in them, and he pushed through the door with catlike silence and crept into the rooms. He peered around the first rows of lockers and into the showers and found no one, then stepped through into the other bank of lockers to find Brandon there, half dressed and stretching out his long legs slowly.
Jesus
.

The coach stopped short and blinked, a rush of lust assaulting him before he could stamp it down. He swallowed heavily and watched for a moment longer before retreating quietly, licking his lips nervously as he pressed against the cinderblock wall near the sinks.
Wow.
He knew he should creep back out of the rooms before Brandon sensed someone around, but he couldn't seem to force himself to move. He couldn't remember ever being hit that hard by the desire to pounce on someone before. Just like that, right out of the blue. Was that what that niggling feeling had been the last few days? Unrealized lust? Christ.

Sighing quietly, Brandon slowly bent over at the waist, grasping the backs of his thighs, eyes closed. After holding the position he straightened and stretched both arms up into the air, groaning when his neck popped. He yawned involuntarily and grunted, shaking his head to try to ward off the doze as he held the stretch.