O’Melissokomos
The Bee Keeper

Hey, Sailor (mm hypno fet hum)

by Purplebootsgywr

Read the previous chapter

Coach Brady Lays Down the Law

"I trust that all of you fine boys have seen this", the coach bellowed, slapping down the school newspaper upon the locker room bench. His six prize swimming champions sat lined up in front of him before their lockers, each one attired in his own ridiculous sailor suit costume.

James, the one at the front of the line, glanced down at the headline. In bold letters it read:

SAILOR SWIMMERS FALLEN OFF DEEP END

and below that, the subheading:

Why do all our star athletes look like Popeye or Donald Duck?

Coach Brady paced back and forth, spewing obscenities and imprecations. "We've got ourselves a front-page story which lists--in detail--everything you boys have done wrong to get yourselves into this fix, why the judge ruled it, and several columns publicly reprimanding you as thugs and hooligans!"

The boys fidgeted where they sat, trying not to look their respected teacher in the eye. For they first time, they each simultaneously felt an emotion with which they were previously unfamiliar. Shame.

"And to make matters worse, he goes on with a full description of every damn disruptive and destructive thing you boys have ever done, EVER, during your athletic careers here at Bay Harbor High! Every damn thing! What, was this kid keeping a checklist all this time?" The coach snatched up the paper and ripped it open to the second and third pages. "Lookit here!", he cried, his finger stabbing at the page. "The little bastard's got interviews with over a dozen people in town who claim to have been personally harmed by your scofflaw antics. Over a dozen! And only one of 'em is a kid. All the rest are adults! Respected adults, I might add!"

"Those aren't all true", James said softly. "That old lady on Winchester Avenue did get her poodle back."

"Well, that's just ducky! We'll be sure to make you all marshals in the next Good Citizenship parade!" James's eyes shot back down to the floor.

"It's not all bad", Tom offered nervously. " Devon wrote a real nice op-ed piece about us."

Jeremy nodded vigorously. "That's true. Costume Rulings Scream of Set-Up. He wrote that."

"It's at the bottom of page 16." Tom reached for the newspaper. "Here, I'll show you, coach."

The coach tore the newspaper away and tossed it in a rumpled heap across the locker room. Tom immediately sat up straight and sealed his lips. The only sound was the squeak of so many rubber boots pressed tightly together as the six teammates squirmed under the silent assault of their coach's seething glare.

After three more passes pacing before them, Coach Brady spoke again. "I get the distinct impression that you boys are not taking this situation as seriously as it deserves."

"Coach, we--" That was as far as James got before Coach Brady spun around and shot him a look that could melt steel. James shut up, trying to look contrite.

"You all had ample warning, after what happened to James." He pointed an accusing finger at James's white uniform. "And if that weren't enough, Jeremy got nabbed right after that", he stabbed a finger at Jeremy's suit, "so you would get the point." Then he added with heavy sarcasm, "One would think." He marched down the row of sailors. "But nnoooooo! One by one, you all go right on getting into trouble and one by one you wind up in these--these Little Lord Fauntleroy playsuits! Every day people see you here in school and out on the street in those things and they know--they KNOW--what you've done! The sight of you day and evening in those getups is an insult to all I've worked for. You're a disgrace to this school and to this sport. You look like clowns, and clowns have no discipline, no self respect!"

As Coach Brady turned to pace the other way, he saw Eric's face crumpling and his lower lip quivering. "Son, if you break down and cry I promise you I will yank that hat of your down over your entire head and glue it in place!" Eric made a desperate little whimpering noise but he held it together and didn't cry. Not yet, anyway.

The coach went and got a chair from his office and came back and set it down, taking a seat in front of the six boys. "Now, I have had a frank discussion with both the school principal and Judge Lietermann. They are both in agreement that what's best for you boys now would be group counseling."

The boys all seemed horrified at the idea. "What, are they serious?". Tom asked.

"The only counseling we need is legal, we were all set up!", Gordy protested.

"Even if we did cause a little trouble before, that doesn't make us mental patients", Adam said.

Eric said nothing.

"I have been over all this with those in authority", Coach Brady said, "and the best way for us to make this all go away and get things back to normal is to go along with this. Let them have their little touchy-feely Head Games Classics and get it over with. I promised my support on this, so if you can't put your hearts into it, then at least pretend to. Discussion time's over. You're doing this."

"We don't even get a say in this??", Tom argued.

"Howcum nobody ever came to us with this first?", Gordy demanded.

"This is just bogus!", Adam groaned.

"I think that may be a good idea, coach", James said. All heads turned to look at him. Then James said to the boys, "If it's required then we have to do it. No use fighting it at this point, huh?"

"Glad to have the support of my team captain", the coach said. "Good to see you haven't all lost your good sense."

"It sure beats jail time", Jeremy conceded. "which would probably be the next thing they'd shoot for if we don't cooperate."

"Worse", the coach said. "Try suspension from the team."

The six boys sat silently, mouths tightly shut. The coach could not have hit them harder had he told them the authorities were bucking for the death penalty.

"Then it's settled. Your first session's tomorrow afternoon."

Jeremy nodded, "Whatever you think is best, coach."

"Be on time", he said gruffly, and tromped off to his office.

Tom, Adam, Gordy, and Eric were dumbfounded by James and Jeremy's sudden willingness to have their heads examined. Event he two boys themselves exchanged puzzled expressions that seemed to say, "Where did that come from?"

Tom crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. "I gonna hope here that you had a good reason for giving the thumbs-up to the psychobabble taffy pull."

Gordy leaned forward. "Care to share it with the rest of the class?"

Jeremy looked to James for the answer, unable to provide one himself. James sat up straight and said, "We'd better just go along for now. We go to this counseling thing, we pretend to take it seriously, we serve our time, we come back and swim." Then he looked over his men with a hard gaze. "Nobody wants to get thrown off the team."

Nobody could argue that.

* * * * *

Devon stormed into the newspaper room waving the latest edition like a banner of war. "What the hell is this?!" He marched up to editor Ramsey's desk and slapped the paper down right on top of Ramsey's latest spread out of cutout headlines.

"Hello, Devon", Ramsey said around his pen. "I see you've read the latest copy."

Devon leaned forward and tilted his head up at Ramsey, who was not moving to look his reporter in the eye. "Swimmers fallen off the deep end?? This is not what I put to bed last night!"

Ramsey spit out his pen. "Who ever said it was you who got to put the paper to bed? I'm the senior student here, I'm in charge of what does or doesn't go in the paper!"

"This is an attack piece! It's a personal assault in print that goes on for pages and pages! My story was unbiased and tried to at least give both sides of--"

"Your extended love sonnet still saw print." Ramsey riffled through the pages of the paper. "You can count up to 16, I assume?", he sneered, pointing to the page where Devon's conspiracy theory story ran.

"You were pretty liberal with the editorial scissors when you trimmed it, too." Devon snorted. "That's it, Oosdyke. I'm going over your head. I'm gonna talk to our advisor Mr. Guerrell. We'll see what he thinks of the way you've been runni--"

"He approved it."

Devon, who was about halfway out the door already, turned around. "What?"

"Mr. Guerrell approved my changes to the opening pages of this edition. He said yours read like a valentine. His words, not mine."

Devon breathed heavily for a moment, thinking, then said, "Well, he may still have a comment or two concerning the way you butchered my piece--"

"That wasn't my editing. It was his."

Devon's face darkened and his jaw tightened. He looked Ramsey in the eye and he hissed, "You don't have any idea what it's like to have a hero, do you?"

Ramsey met his stare. "And you don't have any idea what it's like to have a clue, do you?" SWAP. Ramsey smacked his hand firmly upon his desk, a piece of paper beneath his palm. He pulled his hand away to reveal what he'd been holding. It was a black and white photo of swim team captain James Nathaniels, cut into the shape of a heart, outlined in red. Devon felt his mouth fall open, his eyes bulge. Ramsey huffed a breath out of his nostrils. "I know you've always been supportive of our Gay-Straight Student Alliance, Devon, but you never said you were..." He retrieved his pen from where he spat it out and stuck it back in his mouth. "How long have you been in love with him, Devon?"

Devon was having trouble catching his breath, much less forming words. He pointed an accusing finger at Ramsey. "You--you had no right--you--what were you doing going through my private belongings--how-how dare--"

Ramsey was unmoved by Devon's flustered outrage. "I was getting the digital camera, Devon. The one you always stash away in your back locker, even though I keep telling you to put it in the locked filing cabinet." Ramsey reached into his pocket and pulled out a small white strip of what looked like torn lint and fuzz. He flicked it on top of the heart-shaped photo of James. "By the way, you need a new Velcro strip. This one's shot. Comes apart as soon as you open your door."

Devon picked up his photo of James with slightly shaking hands and shuffled out of the room, clutching it to his chest. He had just cleared the doorway when Ramsey called to him.

"Dev, wait." Devon looked back, embarrassed and uncertain what else Ramsey could possibly say. "Lookit, I get it now. You're into him, that's cool. You're gonna want to defend him. But you know I can't let you handle sports anymore. At least not his sport. I'm not being mean, it'd just be--"

Devon answered softly. "Conflict of interest."

"Exactly. But understand, to me this story--it's all about some jackass stuck-up jocks finally getting their comeuppance." He took the pen out of his mouth and pointed the devoured tip at Devon, "You prove to me it's more than that--with documented facts--and I'll run it. But love letters aren't a story, Dev. Get me a story, otherwise drop it. Got me?"

Devon nodded. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me. Mr. Guerrell says if you keep this shit up, you're off the paper. I get a story, or you get a grip. Now get." And the pen went back in his mouth, his eyes back on his headline strips.

Devon wandered back to his hall locker like a zombie, his eyes on the heart-shaped photograph of his hero and first real crush.

Counseling Sessions

The six Sailors sat in their individual sailor suits, in a circle of plastic chairs in the counseling office. They all sat quietly, an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air as they fidgeted and fiddled with the ties on their suits, rubbed the toes of the boots together nervously, making them squeak.

"Doesn't anyone want to begin?" The counselor, Mr. Winklebeem, was a round-faced, round-bodied man with a scruffy beard, several PhDs in psychology and counseling, and only a remedial understanding of how to dress himself. He wore a three-year old pair of khaki green slacks which barely matched his argyle sweater vest and came nowhere near to matching his purple plaid tie. He walked around the inside of the circle of chairs on slowly disintegrating penny loafers and tried to inspire the teen sports heroes to open up and express their feelings. After fifteen consecutive minutes of silence, it wasn't looking very promising.

"Why don't we try talking about these outfits of yours?", Winklebeem suggested.

"Why don't we talk about yours", Gordy mumbled, his chin in his palm.

"How do they make you feel? Why do you think you're in these sailor suits in the first place?", the counselor asked, circling the group.

"Because the new judge is a vindictive shit", Tom said. Gordy reached over and punched him hard on the arm. "OW! Dammitt!" Tom rubbed his arm. "How about I talk about how I feel about everybody hitting me on the arm all the time? Can we talk about that?"

James, who had been leaning forward with his forearms resting upon his thighs, looked up at the portly psychologist. "I think wearing my sailor suit makes me feel maybe the way I've made a lot of other people feel for a long time."

Winklebeem titled his head, interested. "Oh? And how is that, James?" The other boys perked up to listen to what their captain had to say.

James shrugged. "I dunno. Stupid, I guess. Small, worthless. Like I'll never be as good as anyone else because I fell like everyone's looking down on me now. Like anyone who looks at me can see I'm a loser. Just because I'm not like they are."

"And you say you think you've made other people feel that way."

"I'm pretty sure I have, yeah."

"And how do you feel about that?"

"Pretty crappy." James took off his hat and twisted it in his hands. "I hate the way I feel when I'm in this suit, which is like, always. I hate the idea that I ever made anyone feel like that." He ran one hand through his hair and put his hat back on. The other five Sailors listened intently, nodding.

"That's very good, James.", Winklebeem beamed. "Anyone else? Eric, how do you feel about your sailor suit? How does it make you feel?"

"Weak", he answered.

"Like I'm a target", Adam added.

"Yeah", Jeremy said. "Like now all anyone has to do to hurt me is look at me funny. Point, laugh. It's like I'm constantly reminded that I'm less than I should be."

"Maybe we are", James suggested. The others looked at him curiously.

"Could you clarify what you mean by that for us, James?"

"Maybe Judge Lietermann put us in these suits not just to humiliate us, but to show us that we are less than we should be. That we can be more, that we can be better, and we just weren't doing it."

"A wake-up call", Jeremy said. The boys all looked at one another, studying each other's reactions to that sentiment. Could that be right?

"Okay, then!", Winklebeem said, clapping his hands together with a moist slap. "We're going to try an exercise now." The boys shifted uncomfortably in their seats, not terribly keen on going through some foolish game of Falling Backwards For Others To Catch You or the like. Winklebeem squeezed out of the circle of chairs between Tom and Gordy. "I'm going to stand out here for this one, outside your circle." The boys made room for his girth to pass. "And I'd like you to share how you feel about each other."

Jeremy looked over his shoulder as Winklebeem circled behind him. "Share? With you?"

"No, with each other."

The guys just stared at each other for a few moments. This was not something they ever considered doing. They had no idea how to begin. Winklebeem tried to keep things going by saying, "Might I suggest an opening comment or topic thread we may find usefu--"

"I've always looked up to you."

All eyes turned. It was Eric who spoke. He was looking directly at James. James sat up a little straighter, surprised. "Who, me?"

Eric's eyes grew misty, and broadcasted genuine relief, as if he'd been waiting a long time to say it. "Yeah, James. You. The way you cut through the water when you swim, they way you never hold anything back when you're competing. And more than that, just the way you carry yourself, the way you're always so confident and sure of yourself. I always strove to be like you. You're the main reason I made it to the top level of the swim team."

"Me, too", Gordy chimed in. "I never would'a made the team if I wasn't trying to live up to your example."

Jeremy reached over and rubbed James's back with his palm. "You're not our captain for nothing, man. You've inspired all of us."

James bit his lower lip. "And I let you down."

Eric blanched. "What? You mean being the first one put into a suit? James, you didn't let us dow--"

"No, not the suit!", James said quickly. "But what led to the suit. I busted my ass to get to the top of the team. I mean, I love to swim, I freakin' love it."

"It shows", Adam said.

"But then it's like everybody in town's kissing my ass and giving me stuff and doing me favors and it's like I'm larger than life all of a sudden. So then I figure I have to act larger than life. And I get all cocky and high on the special treatment and then I start doing crazy stunts to make myself...I dunno, more like a legend than a person." James removed his hat and again started wringing it in his hands. "And then after I pull some stunt or do something crazy, I'm stuck trying to find a way to top it, to make myself even bigger."

Tom sat bolt upright. "That's the same thing with me!" Everyone turned to look at him, and he jerked back a bit, half expecting someone to hit him on the arm. "Really, I'm serious. I'd follow James's lead--not to shift blame or anything--and I'd do something wild or illegal and then I'd feel like the next time had to be bigger and badder. Like I had a rep to protect or something like that. I did that!"

Gordy rested a hand on Tom's knee. "We all did that."

James lowered his head, running the fingers of both hands through his hair, his hat still clutched in one hand. "And all we really ever did was hurt people."

"We're doing very well here today", Winklebeem glowed. "So right now I'd like to recommend something I call--"

James sniffled. "Like that poor kid Matt. God, what did I do to him??"

"I'm every bit as guilty as you", Jeremy said. He got up from his chair. "C'mere, man." Jeremy helped James out of his chair and then he hugged him, holding his friend and team captain close. "We're both in the same boat."

Winklebeem began to stutter. "--um, I call, uh, I c-call Hug Therapy."

Gordy reached over and embraced Eric. "If James hadn't inspired us both we would've never been friends, man. If that's not a good thing, I don't know what is."

Adam got up and hugged Tom. "You don't have to think you need to top yourself, buddy. Just be yourself. You're my best friend in the whole world."

Tom began to cry. "Man, I love all you guys so much. I don't know what I'd do without you. It's like we're all connected. You're part of me."

The six boys began changing partners. Sharing hugs with one another, expressing their feelings of friendship and dedication, then moving on to the next friend. Most of them started crying. Eric especially. When he and James hugged, Eric wept onto his shoulder and James stroked Eric's hair under his platter hat.

James cried as he held Eric tight. "I swear I'll change, man. I'll be a better inspiration, a better role model."

Jeremy gripped Adam, his forehead resting upon his shoulder. "Man, me too. We can all be so much better."

Tom clutched Gordy, the two looking like slow dancers, their heads pressed cheek to cheek. "We all will", Gordy promised. Slowly the boys shuffled together and held each other simultaneously in a group hug.

Winklebeem had moved to the opposite side of the room and watched from the seat of an overstuffed recliner as his little introductory therapy session took on a life of its own. He tapped his cheek with his index finger and tried to figure out just how he'd instigated this in hopes he could do it again with other problem kids. "Well", he said absently to himself, "I'm so glad we did this."

The phone rang, jarring the counselor's attention away from the six transformed boys.

"Yes? Why, hello, coach. Yes, I'm with your men now." A pause. "Well, it is a bit early to tell, this being their first session and all." The counselor looked over to the boys, who were now separated again into three couples, each hugging each other in fierce grips, clinging tightly to one another and professing their mutual heartfelt affection, respect and friendship. Eric was weeping openly as Gordy patted his back. Tom was squeezing his eyes shut as tears fell upon Adam's shoulder. James and Jeremy gripped one another's arms, their foreheads pressed together as each quietly muttered his appreciation for his friend. The counselor turned back to the phone. "But you know, I'd say we're making real progress."

* * * * *

Judge Lietermann hovered about the courthouse building like a buzzard. he liked to wander from room to room, past the various offices to make his presence felt. He had the impression upon his arrival in Bay Harbor that the entire town was too "folksy" too warm, too welcoming. Such attitudes often led to chaos and anarchy, he felt. He also felt that it led to privileged treatment of a select few, usually school athletes and city council officials. He wanted everyone to be certain that such things would not be tolerated in any area over which he had even the slightest influence. He may not be able to affect all the impropriety that he saw, but by God, he would affect and change all that he could.

The honorable judge made his way back to his own offices, where his legal secretary fussed about at her computer. "Your honor", she chirped nervously, "there are some gentlemen who wish to see you."

"Not this week", he grumped. "Have them make an appointment for later. Next week, perhaps. Possibly the one after."

"They're here."

He turned around to face the secretary, who hunched a little lower in her seat. "Here? You said they could come ahead and--"

"No, they came without making an appointment."

"Send them away."

"I think you're going to want to meet with them. They're in your antechamber sitting room."

Judge Lietermann made a grunting noise, then stomped ahead into his chambers with the intent of promptly dismissing whomever it was who had the audacity to break in upon the established routine of his day. He stopped short upon passing through the door. There in six small leather-backed chairs sat the elite swimming champions of Bay Harbor High School. Each one in his required uniform, looking neat and well-kept, each with his respective dog tags around his neck. The six boys had lined their chairs up against the left wall of the sitting room so that they could sit in an orderly line, also so they could be out of the way should anyone come and go through the room. The judge let the door slam shut behind him.

The boys were shaken out of their daze of waiting by the sound of the slamming door. James was on his feet first. "Officer on deck!", he said sternly, sounding very serious. The other five boys were up and in a respectful posture in another split-second.

"What is this?", Lietermann asked, his tone a suspicious hiss. He looked at his watch. "While I admit after having had the privilege of seeing first one of you, then two, three, and finally five do your song and dance, this would be the first time I would see all six of you perform..." and he let his voice pause there. "...as a team." He emphasized the word to stress what he felt got them into this fix in the first place. "Still", he added briskly, "you are considerably early. Your appointment with me is not for another hour. I cannot take time out to watch you now. Come back later, or you'll just have to--"

"We'll wait, your honor", James said, speaking for the team. "But that's only part of why we're here."

"Oh? And why would you arrive so precipitously, if not to--" He stopped there. "How was your first counseling session, then, gentlemen?", he asked snidely. "Do not expect to talk me out of that. You will be required to attend every session until your treatment is through and you have shown significant improvement."

"Of course, sir", James said. "And it went great, by the way." The judge raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"It was pretty cool", Jeremy agreed.

"Seriously, we didn't even know we needed counseling until we got there. So thanks for that", Tom said. Then he quickly added, "Sir."

Eric smiled broadly. "And thanks for asking, your honor."

Judge Lietermann's head was spinning. He wasn't sure quite what to make of this. If they were planning on some kind of reverse psychology fake-out, they were doing an incredible job, for they all sounded wholly sincere. The judge looked at his watch again, "Still, I am on a tight schedule and I am now two minutes behind. I will not see you carry out today's portion of your sentence until the prearranged time."

James grinned at him. "We'll be here when you get back, your honor."

His honor exited the anteroom through the door on the far side, closing it solidly behind him. As soon as he was out the door, he heard the sound of all six boys sitting back down. They had waited until he was out of the room to take their seats.

 

At the appropriate time, Judge Lietermann returned to the anteroom. He was right on time by the second, so whatever scheduling problem the boys' early arrival had caused, he was obviously able to rectify it. When he opened the door, Tom spotted him first, announcing to the others, "All rise." His tone was strong and direct, without a trace of sarcasm.

The judge took his seat and looked at the boys as they stood before him in their ludicrous costumes, looking very respectful. The bailiff appeared through the door next, wheeling the phonograph cart right up to the judge, who then waved him away. Lietermann poked at his ear for a moment, adjusting his massive hearing aid, then put the needle on the record.

"Do your song."

The boys did. And for the first time, it was wonderful. James announced to his team in a raised voice, "Like you mean it, gentlemen!" And in unison, they began.

I'm a little sailor, found far too proud!

I touted my worth way, way too loud!

They spread out just enough to allow themselves sufficient elbow room as they danced, and they sang out with full voice.

I once was a bad boy, never did good.

Didn't know how to behave as a real sailor should!

Their steps were sure and pronounced, and the judge was certain that at least four of the six boys were singing on key, or coming close to it. In fact, he suspected that they had done vocal warm-ups while waiting for him to return.

Now I'm properly dressed up nice and neat,

To do my little sailor's dance to the little sailor's beat!

I'll mend my ways and do my best,

To always do good whenever put to the test!

The entire song only took a minute or so, and their hearts were truly in it. Some things they may have been able to fake, but this was doubtlessly not one of them. They acted like the meant it because they did.

I'll be very much aware of whoever sees me,

I promise to become who I'm supposed to be!

I'll respect my community, and those in charge.

Feel compassion for my mates, let my heart grow large.

Judge Lietermann worked hard to keep his expression placid and appear unimpressed.

I'll be a good sailor now, and come what may,

Will live as such for the rest of my days!!

It took a greater effort upon the completion of their number for Judge Lietermann not to applaud. The judge began to rise, reaching to remove the phonograph needle from the record, when James called out again, louder than before. "Again, men! Two, three, four!"

I'm a little sailor, found far too proud!

I touted my worth way, way too loud!

The judge sat back down, perplexed. The second time through, the boys' energy actually increased. They began to smile, as if they were beginning to enjoy what they were doing, or at least understand it. After another full run through, the judge lurched forward quickly and yanked the needle from the record.

"Thank-you", he said, looking a little winded himself. "Three times is sufficient."

"Yes, your honor", James said. "Did we do okay?"

The judge refrained from admitting that they sounded excellent, especially considering that none of the boys were singers or dancers. "You have shown a small amount of improvement", he allowed. The boys smiled wide, a couple rocking happily back and forth on their heels. Tom flashed a beautiful smile at Adam and mouthed a celebratory "Yes!"

Judge Lietermann was about to shake the hands of the boys, or at least James's, and wish them good afternoon. But he silently reminded himself to remain on guard, lest this little performance turn out to be just that. He forced himself to look at them not as they were now, but as they had been. "I will see you at your next appointment", he said curtly. Then he waved his hand toward the door. "You may go."

"Thank-you, your honor", James said. "But with your permission, we came here early to ask a favor, if we may."

"I will not reduce your sentence", Lietermann snapped quickly.

The boys all responded in unison, a flurry of "Oh, no", "Not that", "We'd never suggest", "Didn't mean that", "Something else, sir", "Don't get the wrong idea" and "Please don't think that."

The judge sniffed, wondering what else they could possibly request. "Well?", he said impatiently. "What, then?"

And they told him.

Hi-Diddly-Dee, A Sailor's Life For Me

Two weeks later, the six sailors were very much transformed. They attended their counseling sessions three times a week, right after lunch. They went to the courthouse to perform their song and dance every day after school. Although Judge Lietermann finally laid down the law that they would only do their song twice through, much to the boys' chagrin.

They'd developed a new hobby. Every day they tried to greet and say something nice to anyone at school they could recall ever having been mean to. At first some of the meeker students shied away from them, uncertain what to expect and fearing a cruel setup, but it only took two or three class days before word had spread completely that the six elite Sailors were now the friendliest young men on campus. They also made an honest effort to speak with and be pleasant to anyone whom they would never have spoken to before. The goth kids, the metal heads, the debate team, kids from student council, and model U.N., everyone within reach was treated kindly. The boys even made an effort to learn people's names. The girls made out the best. As the swim team champs of old, the six boys went through attractive cheerleaders like gumballs. Now the handsome boys paid attention to every girl they passed. The skinny ones, the fat ones, the ones with bad acne, the ones who were just too darn plain to be noticed by anyone else. One sophomore girl with an appearance as plain and flat as a stucco wall almost keeled over from heart palpitations when Tom passed her on the way to the lunchroom and remarked, "Hey, Brianna. I like those shoes. New?"

The way they spent their spare time seemed relatively unchanged. More and more gatherings were held at James Nathaniels' home to hang out and drink. Neighbors could see the gaudily-clad boys enter James's home several times each week and were quite certain they knew what the boys were doing.

By the end of the third week, five of the six Sailors sat in James's living room, waiting for the arrival of their final member, Jeremy. They sat where they always sat, each in his favorite chair or lounging on the couch as in so many past times when they'd gathered with pilfered booze or porn, sometimes both. The bottles were already out and set around the room, Jeremy was due any second with the much-anticipated "goods", as they called it. After a few more minutes of tense waiting, the navy blue-clad sailor in the bright red boots came into the living room. Everyone perked up. James looked at his teammate expectantly. "Well?"

Jeremy yanked out a sheet of paper filled with his scrawl and a red letter neatly written in someone else's circled at the top of the page. "B+! The man has a B+, people! Behold the wonder of the 80 percentile!"

The six boys whooped together. "YEEAHH!", James roared, leaping up to give his friend a double high-five. James then turned and pointed to Tom. "Annnnd YOU, maestro!"

Tom grinned his beautiful grin and plucked from a beat up folder several sheets of paper stapled in the upper left-hand corner. "B on my paper on the Irish Potato Famine." More cheers.

James looked at Eric. "Dude, give us the goods."

Beaming with pride, Eric held up two papers. "B on the Science test, A on the Lit quiz." More cheers; a "Kickass!", two "Conrgats, my man!"s, another "Yeah!" and a rather enthusiastic "Tight!" Lots of high-fives and knuckle taps.

James plopped back into his place on the couch and said to Gordy, "You didn't have any tests or anything recently, did you?"

Gordy shook his head. "Not this week, but I remind all of you losers that I am the one who got the A-freaking-+ on the Algebra test last week."

James laughed. "And you suck at math!"

Then Gordy laughed. "I know! Who's more amazed than me??"

Adam smiled a sly smile, "And lest we forget, fellas, that tomorrow is my History exam. So...what are we here for, after all?"

James held up a hand to all present. "He's right, he's right. But first, to all the newfound success of the oh-so-handsomely attired Bay Harbor Sailors", he tipped his sailor's hat and he held aloft his bottle, "Salut."

"Salut!" Everyone clinked their bottles of IBC root beer and Jones flavored sodas before each slugging back a big gulp.

James let out a satisfied "Ahh!" in response to his swallowed drink, then began to sort the massive pile of books and lecture notes spread out before them on the coffee table and spilling over onto the floor. "I now call this study session to order", he said with mock pomposity. "History, wasn't it?" All present nodded their approval and hunkered down to work. None of them could remember ever having as much fun as these new sessions together had proven to be.

The neighbors outside remained quite certain they knew what the boys were doing. And they were wrong.

* * * * *

James stood at his locker, running historical dates and place names through his head from the previous night's study session while simultaneously going over notes he'd made on the abbreviations for the Periodic Table to better contribute to his next class's discussion. Jeremy walked up to him, leaning against the locker one over from James's. Jeremy had an armload of books under his right arm, a common sight for all of the six elite these days. "Hey."

"Hey." James arranged his pencil holder as he made sure he was prepared to chat intelligently about the chemical elements, but noticed something else he'd been studying far longer. "That was a pretty sad 'hey', buddy. I've heard too many of 'em to not know the difference."

Jeremy sighed. "Yeah. Having trouble with our whole 'Making Amends' thing we came up with. Y'know, going to all the people in town we've screwed over in the past. Got another door slammed in my face."

"Mrs. Hiotoshi?"

Jeremy nodded. "Totally trashed her corner storefront after we won regionals last year. I mean, I know the city paid for her repairs and all, but--"

"The storefront wasn't the most important thing that got trashed." James turned and looked at his best friend with sad eyes. "Was it?" Mrs. Hiotoshi was an immigrant who put great pride in making her own American Dream come true by way of that small corner store. Her pride and self esteem was equally shattered when Jeremy destroyed her building's facade.

Jeremy shook his head mournfully. "I sold the Testarossa. Gonna send her a check from a fictitious community group to pay for her to expand her store. Heard her talking about wanting to do that before."

James closed his locker, smiling. "Good for you, man."

"She won't know it's from me."

James shifted the books under his arm, placing the other around his friend's shoulder. "That's not what this is about, man." Jeremy smiled. Yeah, that was true. A couple attractive girls walked by, going out of their way to cross on the far side of the hallway, clear of James and Jeremy. At the same time, three boys from the water polo team walked by going the other way, making a point to go right by the boys, shoulders shoving against James's. The polo players looked back at the costumed boys, speaking loudly to one another about "gay outfits", "a little shoreline love", and "past time some navy boys went on leave, I guess".

Jeremy lowered his head, ashamed. "I thought this would be getting easier", he said. "But the comments still sting, James."

James hugged his friend to him closer, an arm still around his shoulder. "Maybe they're still supposed to. Mrs. Hiotoshi would say we have it coming. Her and lots of others."

"We deserve it?"

James looked his friend in the eye. "We've earned it. Now we need to earn the right to be seen as better than that. We just have a ways to go yet, is all." Jeremy smiled weakly, understanding. The two headed off to their respective classes, neither aware until they had to split off down different hallways that they'd been walking arm-in arm.

* * * * *

"Hey, assholes! What was that about?"

Devon stepped in front of the leering water polo players, blocking their path.

"What the hell do you want, string bean?"

"You can't talk to swim team men like that!"

They laughed. "Yeah, they're real MAN's men."

"Turn your butts around and go take it back!" Devon got right up in their faces. But not for long. That familiar hallway sound of flesh on metal rang off the walls as Devon bounced off a nearby locker door and fell to the floor.

The water polo guys looked down at Devon's limp form with disdain. "Fuckin' fag. You're as queer as they are." They sauntered off, exchanging disparaging comments about their former school heroes.

Devon picked himself up and tried to brush himself off, doing his best to ignore the stares and rolling eyes of the classmates all around him. Devon continued to trail the six Sailors throughout the day, keeping a respectful distance from his idols, stepping in to stand up for them each time they were insulted. He got shoved into three more lockers, received a wedgie, two slugs on the arm, and had a sign taped to his back for his trouble.

 

Ramsey wandered between his desk, the computers, and the back filing cabinets. He hadn't realized how much busy work Devon had been responsible for on the school paper, how much he kept things neatly catalogued, how up to date. Doing without him even for a couple days almost made Ramsey miss his organization skills enough to forgive him his blatant bias for the swim team. Almost. Ramsey chewed mercilessly on his pen (he had gone through three today already) and tried to determine where in the hell the archive photo files were on his hard drive. Were they even on his hard drive? His thoughts were broken when a small, paper-clipped stack of papers was plopped onto his desk.

"How about a new insight into an established situation? One that changes everything? Would that be acceptable?" It was Devon, standing in the doorway and looking very determined.

Ramsey twisted his pen to the corner of his mouth and said, "What's this?"

"My story. Our paper's story, if you print it." Then Devon turned away, his stride something between confident and frustrated. "So print it."

Ramsey picked up the pages and turned back the cover sheet to read what was beneath. With a sudden PHLOPT! Ramsey spit his pen out, sending it sailing over his desktop and across the floor. The title ran:

STANDING OUT TO STAND UP

an expose by Devon Hanidel

and beneath that:

We're all used to having heroes who stand tall to help raise us up. Nobody wants to see their champions look foolish or appear helpless. But sometimes our heroes are so brave, are so strong, that they deliberately take on lowly positions and bring themselves down just for the sake of understanding the downtrodden and making themselves easier for the rest of us to reach and relate to.

What followed from there was Devon's "insightful" take on the humiliation of the six elite sailors, claiming that they had come up with the idea of the sailor suits themselves as some kind of astounding act of heroism and self sacrifice.

"Goddammitt, Dev", Ramsey groaned, irritated beyond words. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a box of pens. 12 count box, down to 6. He plucked one out, making it 5, and popped the end in his mouth, instantly starting to chew. This had to stop. Ramsey flipped through the student/advisor directory for the off-hours office of Mr. Guerrell. As he found the correct room number, Ramsey thought of the photo he'd discovered of James Nathaniels, cut into the shape of a heart, taped inside Devon's locker. He shook his head. Ramsey looked down at the room number he did not really want to visit. But he knew he had to do something. He shifted his pen from one side of his mouth to the other, twisting the shaft between two fingers. Then he took Devon's so-called expose, slipped it into a large white envelope, and stuck a sticky note to it. On the small slip of paper he scrawled, "You really need to see this. Do what you have to to make this stop. -Ramsey Oosdyke"

Ramsey then sent an IM to someone in the building. Can you pick something up and messenger it for me? -RAMS

The reply came back in two heartbeats. On my way. -A/V KID

Ramsey took a big chew out of his pen, almost cutting down into the ink. "Sorry about this, Dev", he said aloud to no one, "but you leave me no choice."

* * * * *

He was cocky, tanned, and beautiful. He wore his hair nearly shaved and was at home with his very tones, finely muscular body. He strutted around in his Speedo as if it were a designer suit, having no trouble flirting in his near-naked state with any cute girl who happened to be on hand. He had wandering hands and a smart remark was never far from his lips. He was everything that a swim team Sailor traditionally was, or used to be. Which was precisely why he was here.

"So being new and all, I could use a tour guide to show me around", the cocky kid smiled, playing with the long hair of the giggling girl seated on the newly-polished pool bleachers. "You wouldn't happen to be available, would you?"

The girl hunched her shoulders, smiling at the handsome boy. She stuck a pinky in the corner of her mouth and snickered, "Maybe. I could be."

"Well, ya gotta be sure", he said. "I can't be left hanging without a reliable young sherpa on hand to guide me through this big, scary new school." He let his finger brush her shoulder and slide down her arm.

The girl almost squealed. "What's a sherp--", she began to ask. Then she looked to her right, toward the door from the locker room. "Oh. There they are."

The boy turned. "There who are--what the fuck?"

There in the doorway were Tom and Adam. They had only just arrived for practice and were not yet in their swim suits, which of course meant they were in their sailor suits. Their navy blues, white boots, red stripes, and gold flaps. Tom asked one swim team member who was already poolside, "Is the coach around?"

Adam added, "Cause he's not in his office."

The other teammate said he thought the coach may have gone down to the main office, but that he'd be right back. The two boys nodded and went back inside. The cocky boy stood up, mesmerized by the foolish-looking costumed jocks.

"Where are you going?", the girl whined, reaching for the top of his Speedo, tugging at it. "I thought I was gonna be your sherbert."

The boy shook off her hand. "Later, babe. I gotta check this shit out."

The boy trotted into the locker room where he found, among the other swim team members, the elite six in their individual sailor suits, getting ready to slip into their trunks. The boy started laughing venomously. "Ho-ho-hoooh! What the hell is all'a this, now?" All heads turned to look at the newcomer, frozen in the middle of what they were doing. Jeremy sat pulling off his red boots, Gordy was yanking off his dangling tie, Eric was in the process of removing his baggy shirt to reveal his ripped abs, his hat resting nearby, Adam was unfastening the tricky snaps of the fold-over flap on his tunic. James was still fully dressed, spinning the combination on his locker.

The cocky boy walked up and down the lockers as if he were looking over a museum exhibit. "Duuudes! What is this, you all belong to the Let's Dress Like A Big Dork club?? Holy muther-fuckin' shit, you look totally gay!" The group was stunned into silence. They were used to hearing such caustic comments outside the world of the pool, but never within the normally safe confines of their locker room sanctuary. The boy continued to laugh and point, taking in the ludicrous outfits of each swimming champ.

"Dig the boots!", he said, spotting both Tom's and Adam's footwear. "They all white, or--? No, they come in different colors!" He wandered over toward Eric, drawn by his brightly-colored boots. "Man! We got yellow ones over here! Christ, are those short-shorts ya got there, Donald?" Eric spun around, turning his back to the new kid, his face flushed with embarrassment. "Man, at first I thought there was some kinda mascot thing going on here, but six of 'em? No way! And your outfits are all different!" His voice took on the mock serious tone of a chastising parent. "Now, kids, if you're gonna dress up like a bunch'a little queers, you should at least try to match!"

James was in the boy's face in an instant, his eyes burning and indignant. "Look, I don't know who you are, man, but--"

"But I know who you are!", the kid gasped. "You're James Nathaniels!" James took half a step back, thrown by being recognized. But the new kid went on with his roll call. "And all'a you guys--Tom, Adam, is that Eric Whitman in the duck suit?" Eric cringed. "And skinny boy! Gregory, isn't it?"

"Gordon. Gordy."

"I do not fucking believe this. You're the reason I came here!"

James stepped back up to the boy's face. "And you are?"

"Listen up, men! We have a new face I'd like you to get to know." Coach Brady marched in, a clipboard under his arm. "This is Bradley Scott, who just transferred in with the hopes of joining our swim team. He's got quite the reputation in the pool where he's from and I trust you'll all make him feel welcome." The tension in the group rose with that sentiment, as it was Bradley who was making the Sailors feel unwelcome in their own home. "You might wanna go 'round an introduce yourselves", the coach suggested.

"Oh, some of us have already met", Bradley said, smirking.

"Well, good", the coach said back. "I'll see you out in the water in five."

Bradley followed the coach, whistling the theme from Popeye the Sailor Man, and chuckled a cartoonish "Hyuk-yuk-yuk-yuk-yuk!"

The six boys exchanged silent looks of irritation, but behaved as professionals and kept silent as they changed into their trunks.

 

"So what's with the little outfits, anyway?", Bradley said to James, standing next to him poolside.

"Punishment for breaking the law", James said solidly.

"What? Out here you don't get sent to prison, you get sent to the costume shop? What's that all about? I mean, seriously."

James kept his eyes ahead and tried to pay attention to what the coach was saying about the day's practice. "It was either this or something way worse. This way, we still get to swim."

"So I take it the dog tags are, what, accessories to your outfits? They just have your names, or your serial number? Lemme see." Bradley reached for James's tags, trying to lift them over his head. James grabbed his arm by the wrist.

"Don't touch the tags. I have 'em on by court order. They stay on."

"Geez, take a xanax. I didn't know they listed your sexual orientation. Sor-ree." James shot him a look of malevolence, then looked away. After another moment, James said something.

"Bradley Scott."

"Yeah, what's--"

"Bradley Scott of the Fiordville Mariners, right?" Bradley nodded. "I do know you!" James turned to look at him. "You were the guy who rigged your own homecoming floats to collapse last year. One of 'em caught fire. That was you, wasn't it?"

Bradley smiled wide. "They never proved anything."

James shook his head. "You'd never get away with that kid of shit here."

"That a challenge?"

"A warning. We have a judge here who will not put up with anything. Trust me on that."

"Sounds like you don't know what all I'm capable of."

"Sounds like you don't know our judge", James came back.

"Would you two gentlemen like to set up your own talk show on the side there or would you care to actually do some swimming today?", Coach Brady snapped at James and Bradley.

Bradley shot a look at James that said "Race ya", and the two knifed into the water simultaneously.

 

After practice, the entire team sat around the edge of the pool listening to the coach's assessment of their performance. "We're looking good, and more, we're looking ready for our upcoming meet. James, you and your six pals keep right on doin' what your doing and you'll do fine."

The boys smiled, happy to get a good response from someone. "Will do, coach", James said.

"And Mr. Scott", the coach said to the new kid, "not bad for your first day. Just give yourself a little more push and you'll be caught up to the elite here in no time." Bradley bristled at the comment, but just nodded, his mouth a thin line.

"The rest of you, not bad, either", the coach added in postscript. "Shower up, and we'll see you back here Saturday for the meet with Portview."

The group rose and moved toward the locker room, all except Bradley. The girl with which he'd been flirting earlier had lingered, along with several other female admirers, and she caught his eye with a playful wave. "Sherbert?", she said. Bradley leered at her and began to saunter over.

James placed a hand on Bradley's shoulder. Bradley turned around as James whispered to him, "You might wanna lay off her. She's a good kid. Pool groupie. But really naive. I don't want to see you hurt her or anything, lead her on. Do me a favor and find someone else, huh?"

Bradley pulled away from James, slapping his hand away. "Like a give a fuck what you want to see! And why would I do you a favor, anyway? Jesus, I can't believe you guys!" The other five Sailors stopped their departure to see what was going down, but James waved them away. Go on. No worries here. "I transferred here because of you guys's rep! I wanted to be one of the Bay Harbor hellraisers! I heard about what you did at your homecoming that time--"

James's voice hardened. "That's not me anymore."

"I'll say it isn't! Look at you! You're all pussies! All nice and polite and worried about what other people think? You and your little court-appointed jammies! What is wrong with you?? If some judge tried to put me in a set of those, I'd have shredded 'em long ago and fucking set fire to his house."

"Is that supposed to be impressive?", James asked. The girls behind him apparently thought it was. They were all swooning over Bradley's posturing.

"More impressive than you. I can't believe I ever admired you, any of you." He took one step closer to James. "Tell you what. Prove I'm wrong. prove you haven't lost it, man. Throw down, right here. Kick my ass." He looked at the water. "Or better yet, race me. Single lap, fruit loop. Let's go!"

James just looked the smartass kid up and down and let out a disgusted snort of breath and turned and walked away.

Bradley turned back to the girls and just shrugged. "Guess he knows who's the new man in charge around here, huh?" The girls all gathered 'round Bradley and gushed about how impressive he was. He told them to wait for him outside the locker room, he'd only be a minute getting cleaned up. He didn't know his timing would be off.

 

Inside the locker room, the six sailors exchanged high fives over their performance at practice. Eric and Gordy even shared a strong hug, apparently unmindful of the fact that in their Speedos the boys were very close to naked. At this point Bradley lived up to his reputation for being a relentless smartass, remarking loudly, "Lookit 'em hang on each other! You know what they say about those navy boys!" His cackle of hyena laughter echoed in the locker room, causing even those supporters of the six sailors to stare accusingly at the boys wrapped in their embrace.

Eric and Gordy looked back at the rest of the team, squirming uncomfortably as they quickly let go of one another. Tom and James exchanged a knowing glance, and with a grin on each of their faces, walked over to Bradley.

James and Tom towered over Bradley, who sat on the bench still cackling over what he saw as his tremendous wit. He looked up at the powerfully-built swimmers and seemed unphased by their imposing stance. "So, what now? You two queers wanna wrap your faggoty sailor arms around me, now? Wanna hug a real man?" Bradley laughed, but not for long.

In an instant, Tom had Bradley by the neck, his powerful forearm under the smart alec's chin, slamming his bare back against the wall. Bradley struggled, the laughter choked from his throat, as his feet kicked at empty air. Tom held him almost a foot off the ground. "Bradley, we need to have a little talk", Tom said. His voice was pleasant but firm, and if not for the fact that Tom had Bradley pinned to the wall, his expression could be described as entirely non-threatening.

Bradley choked, spitting out the words, "Ugh...what'ya...wan'...tok...'bout--?"

James stepped up to stand before Bradley and smiled warmly. "Bradley, we have the utmost respect for you as a swimmer and a fellow teammate, even if we're not what you might call friends. I just want you to know that."

Bradley squirmed under Tom's hold, trying to push away from the wall with his feet. Tom pressed Bradley's torso back against the cold wall with his palm spread across Bradley's abdomen. "Please do James the consideration of paying attention, Bradley. It's only polite.", Tom said. Bradley looked at Tom and nodded, his fingers clutching at the bulging forearm under his chin.

"...thorry...g'head..."

James continued. "Thank-you, Bradley. Now, despite your clear contributions to the team athletically, we feel that your derogatory comments about the current state of my and my friends' wardrobe is having a detrimental effect on our team spirit." James raised his eyebrows and made a sincere worried expression, as if to verify that Bradley was following his reasoning. "We just ask that you take some time to pause and consider your derisive comments before voicing them in front of the whole team and other onlookers. You can do that, can't you, Bradley?"

Bradley nodded slightly, his eyes beginning to pop, his face turning blue. "...shure...no prob'em..."

"Gee, we'd really appreciate that, you know. And we want to thank you for extending us that courtesy. As a fellow teammate." Bradley's struggling under Tom's pressing arm lessened as his breathing grew more constricted. James nodded to Tom, and Tom let the troublemaker drop to the floor.

James walked back to his locker as the other team members stared in awe, giving him a wide berth as he passed. Tom got down on his haunches and looked at the gasping and coughing Bradley. "I think it's great that you're gonna cut us some slack on this, Bradley. You need a hand getting back to the bench?" Tom offered a hand to his teammate and Bradley flinched, waving him away.

Bradley coughed harshly, whispering, "No...thank-you, Tom." The rattled Bradley then crawled back to the bench before his locker and hauled himself onto it.

Tom stood, flashing a beautiful smile as he said, "Well, let me know if you ever need anything else." Pointing a finger at Bradley, he assured him, "We're all here for each other, man."

 

The six boys were the last ones left in the locker room. They helped each other adjust their sailor suits, straightening ties, tucking trousers into their boots, fastening flaps.

"You boys know anything about this?" The boys turned to see Coach Brady waving a slip of paper as he exited his office, shutting off the lights behind him.

"Depends, coach" Jeremy answered. "What is it?"

"It's a notice from our newly-arrived Mr. Scott, who has decided quite suddenly to leave the swimming team in favor of the water polo team after a record-breaking single day. Any idea why that might be?"

The six boys exchanged looks that were not quite innocent. "Gee, beats me, coach", Tom said."

"He seemed to do pretty well at practice", Gordy mused.

"Maybe he was just, I dunno, intimidated by us", Eric said, adjusting his Donald Duck hat.

Tom raised his eyebrows. "We can have that effect." And he brushed a piece of lint off his big white rubber boots.

"Maybe he thought he just wasn't man enough", James ventured. "Some guys can be terrible when it comes to underestimating people. And themselves."

Coach Brady stuck his tongue in his cheek. "Uh-huh. Well, you boys don't underestimate the amount of sleep you need tonight. I need you all fresh for tomorrow."

"Never fear, coach", James said. "We're taking it easy tonight. Only a little bit of Lit and a dash of Trig, then we hit the sack."

Coach Brady shook his head. "Lock the door behind you." The boys did, but not after bursting out into almost ten minutes of solid gut-busting laughter. They had needed a good laugh.

* * * * * *

Devon made his way to the locker room before the big meet. He wanted to wish his heroes well before the event as well as let them know they had something special to look forward to in the next edition of the school paper. Hopefully, Devon could worm his way back into covering the swim meets and the two pieces could run in tandem.

It was still quite early when Devon entered the locker room, but he knew that the six elite often came in well ahead of time, so he had every reason to anticipate them being there. He wasn't wrong. No sooner did he cross the threshold of the pool locker room than Devon heard singing. And a strange clomping noise. Devon made his way around the twisting corner that was at the entryway of every locker room; that sharp turn that preventing anyone from seeing inside from the hallway as the door opened. As he made the turn, the singing got louder. Did someone have a radio or CD player on? If they did, it was set for something that played dated music, with some hints of doo-wop harmony. Intrigued, Devon hurried along past the empty row of lockers to the front of the room not far from the coach's office. Devon found where the sound was coming from. But in exchange for the discovery, he feared he may have lost his mind.

Clustered into the corner of the room was the six Sailor boys, in full costume uniform, singing some old song and dancing an old-fashioned jig. The whole group was smiling, some of them laughing out their lyrics more than singing, and projecting the verses with strong, focused voices.

I'll be very much aware of whoever sees me,

I promise to become who I'm supposed to be!

James noted Devon's entrance. He was the center of the semicircle the six boys formed, standing (jigging) a half step forward from the rest of the group, leading the way. James nodded to Devon, smiling, as if to say "be right with you", and went back to his...whatever it was he was doing with the other boys.

I'll respect my community, and those in charge.

Feel compassion for my mates, let my heart grow large.

Devon watched with a mixture of awe and horror as the boys stamped their rubber-booted feet against the tile floor and moved through what seemed to be a very embarrassing and demeaning choreography, except for the fact that they were all clearly enjoying it. Besides having a strong unified dance going, Devon noted that the boys even had a harmony of sorts worked out, with the stronger singers taking the lead and the other doing a type of backup. Had their faces not been the picture of perfect joy, Devon would have felt sorry for them.

I'll be a good sailor now, and come what may,

Will live as such for the rest of my days!

When they were done, all the boys stood at attention, arms stiff at their sides, and did a one-two stomp march on the floor, then hunched forward, threw their arms around each others shoulders and hollered out, "Sailors! YEAH!!"

What followed that was a hug fest, pure and simple. Every one of the Sailors stopped and gave great big bear hug to the other five of his teammates. After that was done, James approached Devon, saying, "Dev ol' buddy! What can I do for you?"

"Um...you can start by telling me what was that.."

James shrugged. "Oh, that. That's our rev-up thing. What we do to get fired up."

"It sounded kind of humiliating. The words did."

"Oh, originally it was supposed to be. Judge Lietermann ruled that we had to come to the courthouse and perform it for him every day. He has the music on this old phonograph record. We'd have to do it unaccompanied for our folks on the weekends. We have to keep a record of it."

"That's insane!", Devon spluttered. "That's cruel and unusual punishment! That's--"

"That's maybe how it started", James said, putting a comforting arm around Devon's shoulder, "but now it's different. If you listen to the lyrics--really listen not just to what they say, but what they mean, you'd see it different. We do. We go through our song and dance now whenever we can. Before meets, sometimes after practices, for no reason when we get together at each other's houses, before study sessions--"

"You have study sessions?!"

"Yeah. We do now."

Devon paused. "I heard background music. You said the judge had the music on an old record. If he has it, then how'd you--?"

James turned back toward his boys. "Jeremy. Tape." Jeremy lithely tossed a cassette tape over to James, who showed it to Devon. "One of the last times we swung by the courthouse, we asked his honor a favor. To let us record the record on tape so we could play it whenever. It was pretty cool that he let us, huh?"

Devon wasn't sure whether it was or not. "Yeah, pretty cool..."

"Jeremy's even got it burned onto CD now."

"And I've got it programmed on my iPod", Tom smiled.

"It used to be just a punishment", James said, taking his arm off of Devon's shoulder and placing it gently on his arm. "But now it's like, like--"

"A badge of honor?", Devon offered.

"No, that implies suffering, like enduring a nasty scar. Now it just really means something to us, is all. However...", James let his voice fade out to pique Devon's interest. It worked.

"Yeah?"

"The boys and I are thinking about decimating a house later. Maybe you'd like to join us?"

Devon's heart soared. At last! His heroes hadn't gone soft or lost their edge. They were still the bold hellraisers of old. Now they were going to go off and trash someone's house. Ha-ha! Devon could see it now. Eggs, buckets of slime, possibly bags of poo like in that movie. And they had asked him to come along! Glorious day!

Devon leaned forward. "You going after that judge's house? Finally gonna get him back?"

James made a disparaging noise. "Pshpptt! Naw, not that. We were thinking of signing up with Habitats For Humanity. There's a house on the South Side that has a crumbling foundation. It's gonna get torn down so we can rebuild it bette--"

James's announcement was shattered by a scream.

It wasn't a scream associated with pain, but someone was clearly frightened, possibly in trouble. It came from the pool. James took Devon by the shoulders and quickly, though gently, picked him up and moved him out of the way. "Wait here." James snapped his fingers and pointed toward the pool. The other five Sailors mobilized with him. With lightning speed, they were out the door, leaving a dazed Devon behind. The sight of James and his fellows in action, brief though it was, affected Devon. At the moment he was about to think his hellion heroes were lost, they acted as champions of a different sort than athletes, rushing to help someone who might be in need. Despite what he'd been told by his hero, Devon followed them.

 

"You squeal like a fucking little girl." Bradley Scott was in the pool area, dressed in only his Speedo and soaking wet. In his fisted hands Bradley clutched the shirtfront of a scrawny sophomore who had a digital camera dangling for his wrist. He was surrounded by the rest of the water polo team who urged Bradley on.

"Takin' pictures of me, think I wasn't watchin' you, fag? Think I don't know what you're after? Bet they're all crotch shots, huh? Huh?!"

"Kick the little faggot's ass", one of the other boys said.

"Get the camera, we'll get shots of you whuppin' him."

The boy was clearly terrified. Small, underweight, clad in glasses and a pullover sweater atop a collar shirt that must have felt boiling in the humid room. "No! It-it's not like that! I'm student assistant on the school paper! I'm filling in for Devon!"

Devon rounded the corner, and heard the sound of his name. He recognized the boy. "Charlie?"

James had been looking at the scene with hardening eyes, and turned back to holler at Devon. "Go back inside!" Devon just shook his head. No way.

"What the hell's the water polo team doing here?", Gordy asked.

"They had a practice before our meet", Adam explained. "But they should've been out of here by now."

The water polo team's back were all to the costumed Sailors, so they could not see that the swim team six had entered. Bradley pulled young Charlie right up to his face. "Hanging around us while we practice, watchin' us swim, gettin' off on it...you wanna be with us, punk? Maybe after I kick your faggoty ass we'll just throw you in the deep end, watch you sink. WHULP!"

Bradley was yanked back so suddenly that he dropped Charlie, who stumbled and slipped upon the wet tile floor. Devon skidded around the cluster of dressed and almost-undressed athletes to see if he was okay. James had grabbed Bradley by the arm, throwing him to the ground. In the speed that it had happened, the rest of the water polo team was unable to react.

James, towering over the fallen Bradley in his sailor's whites, looked down at him and said, "We don't act like this."

Bradley was badly shaken by the ease with which James had thrown him to the ground, but tried to laugh it off. "Heh. Maybe you don't, but I still have a pair." He pushed himself to his feet. "And you're just as big a fruit as the newspaper kid is. I'm--"

"A Sailor", James interjected. "Or at least you're supposed to be. Water polo, swim team, sailing, whatever. So act like a Sailor."

"I was, dickwad! Or have you forgotten what being a Sailor in this town means?"

James answered in a very controlled voice. "You can't forget what you never really knew."

"What I know is that you're in over your head, and my team has my back!" The water polo team did indeed begin to close in on James.

"Oh? And who's got theirs?", James asked in return.

Jeremy, Tom, Adam, Eric, and Gordy stepped up, arms crossed over their chests, daring the polo players to try something. Even in their colorful costumes, their physiques were still impressive, their athletic abilities immediately apparent. And there was more than that. A presence, a confidence and clarity of purpose that the polo team simply did not have. The strength of their identities alone was a bit overwhelming for the other jocks. Without anyone making a move or saying a word, the other team backed down.

"Guys? What are you doing? Guys?", Bradley realized too late that he was in it alone.

"Now apologize to Charlie", James said.

"In your dreams, Navy boy."

James's hand shot out like a cobra and took Bradley by the back of the neck. He whirled him around and walked him over to the small newspaper student. Bradley's bare feet slipped along the wet tile while James's rubber boots held fast. James forced Bradley down on his knees before Charlie to put him on eye level with the boy right where he'd been dropped.

"Apologize", James said. Bradley said nothing. James shook him hard, twice. "Apologize!"

"Alright, alright! I'm sorry! Jesus!"

James yanked Bradley back to look him in the eye and hissed, "That was hardly heartfelt. Think about what you're saying, Brad. It isn't just words. It's never just words. Everything we say means something." James twisted Bradley's head back to look at Charlie. "Look at his eyes, man. Look at the fear you put there. Try to imagine what he feels. What you made him feel." For added emphasis, James gave Bradley's shoulders just below his neck a hard squeeze. Bradley made a low groaning sound as James thrust him toward Charlie again.

"I-I'm sorry, man", Bradley said tenuously.

"Charlie", James prompted.

"I'm sorry, Charlie", Bradley said.

"For being such a dick to you", James prompted.

"F-for being such a dick to you", Bradley repeated.

"And for threatening you for no other reason than that you're different from me and because I think I'm superior to you." Bradley hesitated. "Say it."

"For th-threatening you for no other reason than that you're different from me."

"And?"

"And because I think I'm superior to you", Bradley conceded.

"But I know that I was wrong and I swear I will never hurt you or anyone else again."

"Aw, man, don't freakin' make me say tha--" James gave Bradley another squeeze. "Agh! Okay! Fuck me! IknowIwaswrongandIswearI'llneverhurtyouor anyoneagain! There!"

When James eased up on his grip, Bradley thought that was the end of it, but James continued. "You see, a true Sailor is there for other people, he knows that they're not there for him. He lifts others up, not tears them down. He always shows everyone respect, courtesy, and tolerance."

Bradley paused. "Uh, do I have to recite that whole--? What was it again, respect--um, what was the rest?"

James let go of Bradley's neck and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Just shake his hand."

Bradley extended his hand to Charlie, who looked at with disdain. To James, Charlie said, "Can't I just punch him in the face?" James just shook his head. Sighing, Charlie said, "Alright." They shook hands.

Devon helped Charlie to his feet and saw the young photographer off. James stood fully upright and extended a hand to the kneeling Bradley, who hesitated a moment, then took it. James hauled Bradley to his feet. James held onto Bradley's hand a little longer than he should have for helping a guy up, hoping Bradley would get the hint. He did, and they shook hands. James smirked, then made a suggestion to his short-term teammate. "Be better, man."

Bradley left the pool room, saying only "Whatever." But in the doorway to the locker room, he paused and looked back at James in his white sailor suit. In Bradley's eyes James saw something he was not accustomed to seeing. Respect.

 

Back inside the locker room, Devon found the place filled with swim team members getting ready for the big meet. James was at his locker, the other five elite nearby at their own lockers. Devon approached James, looking around cautiously. "Charlie get going alright?", James asked. Devon said he had. "He okay?"

"He thinks you're like some kind of god now", Dev smiled.

James laughed. "Naw. Just a guy tryin' to be a decent guy for once."

Devon almost commented on the "for once" qualifier that James had included in that statement, decided against it. Instead he asked, "Where's Bradley?", craning his neck around to see if he could spot him.

"That bird has flown." James grinned. "Didn't even shower. Just yanked his clothes on over his trunks and split." James turned back to Devon, smiling, and added, "Hope we haven't scared him off the water polo team, too." James took off his hat, placed it neatly inside his locker, began to tug his dangling tie loose. He then noticed something inside his locker and stopped. " Devon, there is something else we need to talk about."

Dev brightened. "Yeah? Really?" James took a few sheaves of paper from his locker and showed them to Devon. Devon saw instantly that it was the story he had just submitted to the newspaper. "Wha--my story! But, how'd you get it?"

"Ramsey Oosdyke had it sent over to me", James confided. "He can't print this you know, Devon."

"But if not--everyone thinks you're a bunch of dicks!"

"We WERE a bunch of dicks, Devon. And we got what was coming to us. Some might say not enough." Devon looked crestfallen and James stepped closer, putting his arm around him. Look, I appreciate what you're trying to do for us an' all, but not like this." James pressed the pages up to Devon's chest. Devon took them. James looked at Devon, explaining, "Ramsey took a chance by not reporting your story to your advisor. Your readers need to know that we wound up in these suits because we were headed down the wrong lane. We need to be honest about that--and so do you." James gave Devon's shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "You know we never would've chosen this", James added, "but now we'd never change it, either."

Devon looked down at his story, knowing it was nothing more than a carefully dressed-up bundle of lies and fond wishes. "All I ever really wanted", he lamented, "was a big interview with you guys."

"We can do that", James said happily.

Dev looked up at his hero, elated. "Really? I thought you weren't ready!"

James smiled. "We are. Now all we need to do is wait until a time when you're ready." James tapped the papers in Devon's hand, indicating what he meant, then gave Devon a supportive pat on the back. "Just let us know."

Devon knew in his heart that James was right. The majority of the swim team made their way out of the locker room and to the pool as the aspiring newspaper man and Sailors fan weighed what his hero had said, then folded up his (fictional) story and stuffed it in his back pocket.

"James, you know--" Dev looked up and found he had no voice. He tried to continue his sentence, but could only produce a low gurgling sound somewhere in the back of his throat. That was okay, as he could no longer recall what he was going to say.

Before him stood James at his locker, with the tunic of his sailor suit pulled off over his head. His abs were incredibly sculpted, his tone exquisite. Devon had seen James in only his Speedos many times, but had never actually seen him undress. Now he couldn't take his eyes away. "What was that, buddy?", he asked.

Devon could not answer as James carefully placed the suit top on a plastic hanger and tucked it away. Then he sat down on the bench and slowly pulled off his snug rubber boots. Off of his feet the footwear looked ridiculously oversized and clownish, but then again, Dev knew what they said about guys with big feet. James stood up and neatly set the boots down on the floor of his locker. "Did you wanna tell me something else?", James asked again. He then stood and allowed his baggy white pants to fall to the floor. the old-fashioned underwear beneath did little to hide James's package. Devon just made a squeaking noise and shook his head.

It was then that Devon noticed that all of the boys were in the process of switching from sailor suits to swim suits. None of them seemed in the least bit bothered by Devon standing around watching them as they changed. As James folded his trousers with care, Devon saw Jeremy shirtless and yanking off his own pants, Gordy casually kicking off his boots while simultaneously shucking his tunic, Eric stripped down to nothing more than his baby blue short-shorts, and Tom (heaven help us) was already buck naked and stretching, arms extended above his head and back arched.

"Well, just think about what I said, okay, pal?", James said, patting Devon once more on the arm. Devon, distracted beyond measure by the exhibition of male beauty around him, brought--or rather, forced--his eyes back to James. He almost swallowed his tongue. James stood naked before Devon, his tiny Speedos flung over one shoulder. The front of Devon's pants became unbearably tight. James was so fit, so toned, handsome, and his skin so very, very smooth.

"You'll remember, right?", James urged sincerely.

"I'll never forget it", Devon squeaked.

"Good man." James smiled at Devon and slipped into his trunks with practiced ease. "Better get a move on or we'll miss you out there", James remarked. "And we need our cheering section." Devon nodded vaguely.

The other five Sailors had all dressed in their swim suits rather quickly and padded out to the pool just ahead of James. Devon remained standing in the center of the locker room for nearly a minute, dazed and terribly, terribly aroused. Then he shucked off all of his clothes and ran with abandon to the showers. Skidding into the enclosed line of shower heads, Devon picked one at random, turned the water to freezing cold and cranked the knob to full blast. Beneath the icy gushing spray, palms pressed against the tiled wall, head hung low, Devon stood gasping for another three minutes.

* * * * *

The Bay Harbor swim team stood ready at poolside, looking trim, fit, and very prepared for their meet. The elite six took their places ahead of the others, a sight which usually evoked cheers of enthusiastic support from the stands. All it got this time was a smattering of polite applause. The daily appearances in their humiliating costumes had done more than its share of eroding the public's perception of them as unstoppable heroes. Still, the stands were packed, if due to nothing else from the school and the community than force of habit. A few people still looked on with hopeful anticipation of a stunning athletic event, but these were the die-hards, mostly alumni and relatives. Most others sat uncomfortably in their seats. Adults flipped absently through their programs, students fussed about with cell phones, the girls looked at their watches.

It was through this less-than-hospitable setting that Devon scrambled to his seat in the bleachers beside Charlie, and the student assistant on the yearbook staff, Killian. "Thanks for saving me a seat", Devon said as he took his place between them. Killian, a quiet boy who spent most of his time scribbling in his sketch pad, was doing just that while waiting for the meet to begin. He scrawled doodles of the swim team members, giving them capes and chest insignias. His opinion of the Sailors was similar to Devon's thought perhaps not as intense. Killian wondered why Devon's hair was wet, but simply chose not to comment on it.

The time had come for the match to begin, a moment when tradition dictated that the Sailors shouted a group cheer aimed at the opposing team to rattle and unnerve them. Since there were no cheerleaders at the swim meets (the onlookers usually took up that role), the swimmers themselves did the introductory cheer. It varied a little from year to year, but the essence of the message--you suck and we rule and therefore we're going to squash you--remained pretty much the same. Early on this year, James had written their new cry of, "An-chors aweigh, an-chors aweigh! We're gonna lay anchor in YOU today!

An-chors aweigh, an-chors aweigh! Think that you can beat us? NO WAY!!" It always got an extra cheer from the crowd and established the boys as badasses. Lately, James and the others had decided that it more accurately established them as jackasses.

The rest of the team gathered around the six favorites and started to chant. One or two of the boys even began, "An-chors aweigh, an-chors aweigh!" but James held up a hand to silence them. He then directed the group to huddle up into a big circle, facing one another rather than the opposing team. He whispered new directions, a new chant. Some of the boys made "icky" faces, uncertain if they cared for the new words, or their sentiment. But the confident looks from the elite encouraged them to go along with it. The huddle tightened and James led them with, "Sailors, Sailors, we're put to the test! It's time for the sailors to do their best! We're gonna swim hard, we're gonna do good! Time to behave like a real Sailor SHOULD!"

James, Jeremy, Tom, Adam, Eric, and Gordy all whooped and hollered "Yeah"s! and clapped after their new cheer, but they were the only ones. The other swimmers didn't know what to make of it, nor did the people in the stands. The coach looked on with a measure of concern. The opposing team laughed. Whatever these Bay Harbor guys used to be, it was obvious that now they were creampuffs. The Pelicans of Portview were certain they had themselves an easy win.

The announcer called the lineup for the first event, the 100 Yard Freestyle. Gordy, Eric, and Adam took their places in their respective lanes, hunched over their diving platforms and muttering encouragement to themselves as the rest of the team hollered theirs from poolside. "Do good, do good", Gordy said under his breath. "Do your best when put to the test", Adam told himself. "Time to behave as a real Sailor should", Eric repeated.

The starting pistol sounded, and the boys hit the water. The crowd that had been lackluster and distant only moments before became instantly alert. Gordy sped forward in the water, his spindly arms propelling him ahead like hydraulic propellers. Eric and Adam were nearly matched in their pace as they swam at a speed very close to Gordy's. All three boys touched the wall at the end of the pool at close to the same time, at least two body lengths ahead of their opposition. As they sped back on their return, the crowd was up out of the stands and on their feet cheering. The Sailors were making magnificent time as the fans cheered and Tom, Jeremy, and James shouted, "Do good! Do good!"

When the buzzer sounded, Gordy had won the event and Eric and Adam captured second and third place. The closest opposing swimmer was nearly five-point-six seconds behind Adam. Coach Brady looked at his stopwatch and was grinning ear to ear. The threesome climbed from the water and exchanged high fives and hugs with their teammates. The Pelican grumbled and looked at the floor.

The rest of the meet went very much the same. The 50 Yard Butterfly, won by Eric for the Bay Harbor Sailors. The 50 Yard Breaststroke was owned by Tom. The 50 Yard Freestyle was James's victory. The crowd was going wild, waving pennants they had planned to discard. The relay events showed the entire team working not so much like a well-practiced team as a force of nature, each movement flowing like a mighty river, crashing to final positions like an unstoppable wave. By the time they reached the 200 Yard Freestyle, there wasn't a person in the pool area sitting down. All eyes were on James. This event had always been his baby, or as they used to say in the pre-costumed days, his bitch. It was his tradition to raise his hands upon taking his platform, acknowledging the crowd like someone who'd already won the race. Sometimes he blew kisses to the ladies. This time he paused with Jeremy, and the two young men pressed their foreheads together, gripping each another on the back of the neck and whispered together, "Hearts grow large. Do good." As Jeremy took his place, James gave only one quick nod to his teammates, then another nod of respect to his opponents. It was a far more dignified and professional approach, but he still was met with a rousing cheer as he stepped onto the platform.

The pistol sounded and James launched himself forward through the air like one of the superheroes from Killian's sketch pad. His form was perfect, stiff and directed. He struck the water and sliced into it like a knife. Instantly, he was moving forward like a self-propelled torpedo. James had always excelled at this event, but even his prior top speeds were nothing compared to this. He left everyone behind, Jeremy included, and was already heading back on his second lap before anyone else in the water had touched the far wall of the pool on their first. No one present had ever seen anything quite like it. The usually stoic Coach Brady started roaring his approval, stopwatch in hand. The rest of the sailors were chanting "Do good! Do good!" with such force that it took on the sound of a long-held school slogan. In the end, James won by an enormous margin, and even second-place winner Jeremy came in half a pool length behind the team captain.

James crawled out of the pool looking fresh as a daisy. He ignored the cheers coming from the bleachers and instead leaned forward and offered his friend Jeremy a hand out of the water. Jeremy immediately latched onto James with a great bear hug. This caused all the other Sailors to come rushing over to congratulate James, burying him under hugs and shouts of praise.

The announcer was screaming as well. "James Nathaniels has broken not only his own records, but every record for this region! Bay Harbor is going to the regionals, ladies and gentlemen! James Nathaniels is taking us to the regionals!"

James hollered back at the announcer, "No, no! We did it as a team!" He pointed to his teammates, then to his coach, hoping the announcer would understand and amend his statement. He did not, but by then the celebrating had gotten so ebullient that no one seemed to care. James grabbed his teammates by the hands, and they marched hand in hand to the bleachers and together they pointed at the spectators, indicating their importance in the big win. The Sailors then broke all precedent by applauding for their fans.

Devon was going insane. He bounded up and down in the bleachers, hugging both Charlie and Killian, an arm around each of them. "Omigod, omiGOD!", he shouted. "These guys are my HEROES! James Nathaniels is an aquatic GOD!! Wooooo-HOO!!"

Charlie tried to peel himself away from Devon's death-grip buddy hug. "Um, it's great, man...but circulation...becoming an issue here." Killian allowed himself to be hugged by Devon, he just kept drawing as Dev's arms squeezed around his midsection. He was now recreating James as Poseidon, trident and all.

The sailors approached the Pelicans and shook hands with each swimmer, though they were clearly not pleased with their gargantuan loss. Still, being surrounded by a horde of screaming sailors fans and being shown such a blatant gesture of good will was not the time for anyone from Portview to lodge a public complaint. they shook hands solemnly and made a discreet exit.

Coach Brady was accepting congratulations from parents and other faculty members, smiling ear to ear and repeating his belief that the boys did it all themselves. No one believed him and he knew that. It was then that Coach Brady noticed that the representative of the court was standing nearby, watching. His manner was suspicious and he kept eyeing the Sailors who, except for their dog tags, looked wholly unaffected by their punishment. He drew his cell phone from his jacket and dialed the court house. "Yes, sir. I'm here now. No, I'd say even better than before. Breaking records and all. The problem may not be stemmed at all. Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. It may be exacerbated."

Coach Brady tapped the man on the shoulder. "And what exactly are you doing here?"

The rep said into his cell, "I'll call you right back."

Coach Brady went on, "The boys have on their little tags, as you can see, their ridiculous costumes are waiting for them in their lockers. What is there left for you to do?"

"Simply checking up. There is some concern that their change in attitude my be disingenuous in attempt to shorten their sentence. This type of excessive praise and hero worship may put them back I the position where they started--"

"Excessive??" The coach jabbed a finger at the skinny man. "Listen here, poindexter, these fine young men just achieved an incredible victory here today, and they did it through honest effort and discipline! I can't expect someone like you to appreciate what went on here today, but I'd damn well better not hear--"

"Coach?" It was James, still soaking wet, save for a towel around his shoulders. "Mind if the six of us duck into the locker room real quick?" James noticed the court rep and nodded to him. "Hey."

The coach looked at James oddly. The boys usually liked to stay out with the crowd as long as possible after a win to soak up the reverence. "You sure? There's still a lot of people out here wanna shake hands and take pictures."

"We'll be right back, I swear."

The coach frowned, but relented. "Make it fast."

James turned around to face his guys. "Double-time, guys! Let's go!" James and the other five elite trotted off to the locker room, much to the moans of the crowd. James hollered back as departed the room, "We'll be back in five! Don't move, folks! Five minutes!"

True to their word, the six Sailors were back in five minutes. Four minutes, forty-seven seconds, to be precise. And they were all wearing their sailor suit uniforms. They hugged girls (who suddenly didn't seem to mind their attire as much), greeted parents and teachers, even gave autographs to the younger kids who asked for them. Many of the grade schoolers wanted pictures taken with each of the Sailors, posing with each different costumed star athlete. Tom turned to Adam and, lifting a small boy onto his shoulders, joked, "We're like a set of action figures in a fast food kids meal!"

Adam replied, "Collect 'em all!"

Devon made his way down from the bleachers to move amongst his idols. He found James surrounded by appreciative girls as his hero signed cheap Sailor keepsakes with a marker. The push of the crowd swept Devon right up against James, which Devon did not mind at all. James flashed Devon a warm smile as he handed the foam Sailor's "We're #1" finger back its little boy owner. James put his arm around Devon and gave him a quick buddy hug before turning away to tend to other fans. Devon reached over and fingered James's dangling tie. "Even dressed like this, you--you guys are so cool."

James answered back, his voice raised to be heard above the crowd, "Clothes don't make or break the man, Dev. Even though it took this outfit for me to find who I really am. Your own appearance doesn't have to define you." James tapped his knuckles upon Devon's shoulder just as a couple parents steered him away toward more admirers. "Be your own man", James said to Devon.

Devon watched James as he was showered with praise and said quietly to himself, "I'd rather be you."

 

After maybe twenty minutes more of hob-nobbing, when the crowd looked more ready to set up camp than disperse, James brought the six costumed Sailors together before the throng and applauded their fans one more time. Then the six boys began shouting over the noise of the crowd, pointing to all the other students, to the younger brothers and sisters, to all the kids.

"Let your hearts grow large! Do good!"

It became their refrain and was soon taken up by those they were addressing. One little boy was seen doing a back-and-forth with his sister as his folks ushered them out the door. "Let'cher hearts grow large!" and "Do good!" The parents rolled their eyes but liked the new attitude the swim team displayed and liked even more that it was being picked up their kids.

Coach Brady noticed the court rep over by the now-deserted bleachers, talking on his cell phone. He listened closely enough to hear the rep say, "Yessir. Well, I may have been a bit hasty. No, that appearance at the courthouse may well have been genuine." The rep looked back at the six Sailors, who returned to the locker room, waving cheerfully at the departing crowd, hollering "thank-you"s. The rep said into his cell, "Everything appears to be order. Sorry to have concerned you."

Watching the court rep slink away, Coach Brady simply let out a small grunt of victory. "Hunh!"

* * * * *

When the boys walked into the locker room, a very spastic Devon was already waiting for them. "You GUYS! That was freakin' AWEsome!!!" He bounced around like a jumping bean, slapping their backs and throwing his arms around them with mad abandon. "Tom! You were so incredible with the Breaststroke!" He spun around and yelled at Gordy. "And Gordy! You did the 100 yard Freestyle so FAST!" Another bound. "Eric! That was SWEET! The way you won the Butterfly! Man!!" Then he saw James. All in his white sailor suit, that handsome face, the sheepish grin. Time stopped for about two seconds. Then came the bear hug. "JAMES!! You are the greatest swimmer EVER!!!"

James nearly got his breath knocked out of him when Devon latched on to him. "Whup! Whoa, easy there, tiger!"

"I am so, so proud of you", Devon gushed. "I mean, I always thought you were the best, but tonight--tonight you were better than the best of the best, I MEAN it!"

James started to peel his biggest fan off of him. "Hey, hey, hey, I appreciate the compliment, really I do, but we're kind of becoming attached here. I'm glad you came, I'm glad you had a good time, but it's okay to dial it back a notch--"

"The interview!", Devon interrupted, jumping back a pace. "I so have to do the swim team interview! Tonight!"

James wrinkled his brow. "Tonight? What, you mean like right now, tonight?"

"It would be perfect! I can see it now--it could run in tandem beside the coverage of your big win against Portview! It would be perfect!" Devon held his hands out, framing the front page in his mind. "And I could get a picture of the group of you, poolside! And there could be headshots of each of you, with little quotes form the article under each photo. NO! Different quotes, separate from the ones in the article!"

James rested a hand on the overexcited Devon's shoulder. "Okay, listen. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Nobody agreed to an interview just yet."

"But you HAVE to--!"

"Pizza. We'll all go out for pizza and then we can discuss it. I'm not saying yes, I'm not saying no." James patted Dev once more on the shoulder. "Just--we'll call it a little quality time with our staunchest supporter. Deal?"

Devon almost lifted off the ground. "Deal!"

James noticed Jeremy and Tom out of the corner of his eye, lingering near the corner lockers. Gordy, Eric, and Adam were not far away, sitting on the benches, fiddling with the ties on their suits, their hats, clearly waiting for something. Tom nudged his head in two jerking motions to his right. C'mon. C'mon.

James smiled at Devon. "Lookit, Dev, the guys and I really need to get cleaned up. The pizza can wait a few minutes, can't it?"

"B-but you guys already took a shower a little while ago, before you came back out in your suits."

"Speed shower", James clarified. "Just so we could meet with everybody. Lots of us still feel kinda dingy. I know I've got chlorine in my hair. We could use a thorough washing up. You won't begrudge us that, huh?"

Devon looked around the room. Everyone else was long gone. If nothing else, no one would have to wait for the showers. "How long?", Devon asked.

James made a little frowny-face, considering. "Oh, maybe twenty minutes." Jeremy cleared his throat loudly. "Maybe a half hour, round about there. You can wait a half hour, right?"

Dev sat down on one of the benches. "I guess."

James then took him by the arm, uprooting him, and hurried him off towards the door. "Great! So then, you wait right out here in the hall and we'll be out once we're all clean and lemony fresh."

"I have to wait in the hall?"

"Don't want to see us in the altogether or anything. We'd feel awkward."

"B-but I've already seen you--"

"Good! Great. So, we'll be right out. In half an hour. Bye!" James gave Devon a good shove out into the hallway and zipped back inside the locker room, closing the door behind him.

Devon stood there, confused. What had just happened? They hadn't promised to go out for pizza with him only to ditch him by going out another door, did they? No. That would've been the old Sailors, pre-uniforms. Devon paced around the hall, lingering at the trophy case near the gym. It was pretty full. Bay Harbor had quite a history of swim team victories. One plaque had a photo with it of the team from 1996, taken in the locker room. The locker room! Devon had an idea. He would interview the boys right now, in the locker room! It would be so boss! And he had always wanted to do a locker room interview.

Devon dashed back to the locker room and tried the door. It was unlocked. Sweet! He pulled it open and raced inside. He tore around the corner and past the laundry basket. He approached the lockers--funny, he didn't hear any water running from the showers. Maybe they were done already! He heard something from the head of the room, near the coach's office. Devon raced past the long line of lockers and rounded the corner to reach those up front. And there he found his team of heroes. Boy, did he ever find them.

There at the front of the room, pressed up against the corner lockers was Tom and Adam. They were both half-in, half-out of their costume uniforms. Tom's shirt was draped over a nearby changing bench, exposing his massive chest, his strong pecs and perfectly defined abs. He still wore his sailor pants and white boots. Adam still had on his shirt and hat, but his pants were tossed into a corner atop his own tall boots. The two young men were in the process of kissing one another with passionate abandon. Tom's powerful hands held Adam's face very gently as his tongue probed his friend's mouth. Adam's own hands explored the fine definition of Tom's muscular arms, tracing them up to the shoulders and finally pressing his palms against Tom's chest, then with one hand sliding up to grip the back of Tom's neck, Adam pulled himself forward to return Tom's kiss more strongly.

"You're so hard", Adam gasped, feeling Tom's muscles. "You're a fucking man of steel."

"That's not all that's hard", Tom said, taking one of Adam's hands and placing it over the crotch of his navy blues.

Adam inhaled sharply. "Up, up, and away, sailor."

The two rolled over one another against the lockers, shifting positions so that Adam was on top. Then Tom reached down and held onto Adam's inside legs and hefted him up into his arms, holding him up and Adam kissed him with even greater excitement, caressing Tom's face with his fingertips.

Devon stood with mouth gaping, barely able to process what he was seeing. He stumbled backward, bumping into another row of lockers, his presence unheard by the two impassioned boys. Devon turned to escape by way of the last row of lockers only to find his way blocked.

Lying there upon another set of changing benches was Eric and Gordy. The slender Gordy was atop the more muscular Eric, the two of them kissing one another with an abandon equal to that of their nearby standing teammates. Gordy's hands were at play in Eric's thick blond hair, fingers reaching in and out of the shocks of gold, massaging Eric's temples.

"God, I love your hair", Gordy said in between kisses. "It's like wheat or something. You are so soft and so strong all at the same time."

Eric took Gordy by the shoulders. Softly he spoke, taking in his breath in broken gasps, "What about you? So slim, so tight, but you're one tough guy." They kissed again, Eric pulling Gordy down to him by the shoulders.

Both Eric and Gordy were still in full uniform, but that was not about to last. Gordy knocked off Eric's hat, then pulled off his baby blue tunic. With the same ease and grace he displayed in the pool, Gordy slid down Eric's body and slipped of his big yellow boots. Then he slid back up to massage Eric's shoulders, tenderly kissing his face. Eric grabbed Gordy's hat and tossed it gingerly atop the lockers. He then pulled Gordy's shirt up, almost to his head, where Gordy removed it the rest of the way. Eric held Gordy by the waist, feeling his ribs, his pectorals, with his fingers.

"You amaze me", Eric said. "Even after all the effort in the pool, there's no stopping you. You've got, like, little machines inside you keepin' you going."

Gordy leaned forward, lightly fingering Eric's neck and face, kissing him again. "You keep 'em charged up, Wheaty." Eric's hands left Gordy's chest and reached up to hold the back of his head.

Devon's head was swimming. The scent of the locker room had always affected him; the mixture of sweat and chlorine, but this was beyond anything he'd experienced before. The heat emanating from the four of his six heroes, the unbridled passion, was more than the poor newspaper student could bear. He turned to run out of the locker room and ran headlong into another laundry basket. The cart tipped over and spilled its contents of towels and trunks upon the floor, the cart itself sliding sideways to crash into more lockers, then off the wall.

It was clear that Devon could be clanging symbols at this point and would still go unnoticed by the swim champs lost in one another's embrace. So another race to the showers for a cold blast would most likely escape the attention of the Sailors. Stumbling, bewildered, Devon scrambled to the showers, slipping and falling across the wet tile. He came partially up from the floor, the front of his clothing soaked, and saw two sets of sailor suits hanging neatly on a towel hook just outside the showers. One navy blue, one solid white. His gaze drifted from the two uniforms to the two figures standing in the showers.

There, chest to chest, stood Jeremy and James, stark naked and fully erect. Their bodies both hosed down and dripping wet, they clung to each other and explored their bodies. James's head was buried in the nape of Jeremy's neck, kissing him tenderly. Jeremy's hands hovered down by James's rear, massaging his ass. Behind them, a single shower head let flow with a steady drizzled, spattering upon the floor.

The two champions, bodies gleaming and slick with fresh water, massaged and caressed each other as James continued to kiss his former best friend, now his lover, on the neck, making his way up to his face, one kiss at a time.

Jeremy's head fell backward as he moaned softly with pleasure. Then, he whispered, "We ought'a tell the guys out there to keep it down. Your little pal's gonna hear us."

James pulled his head away from Jeremy, smiling. "He's gonna find out sooner or later", he commented, then he kissed Jeremy on the lips. "Might as well tell him sooner. Maybe tonight over pizza...what?"

James noticed that Jeremy's gaze had shifted to something to their side. James's eyes followed Jeremy's gaze and saw Devon standing there, his clothing front drenched, his eyes wide with shock, his lower lip trembling slightly. James took one step back from Jeremy but did not remove his arms from his boyfriend's shoulders. Jeremy swallowed hard.

"Dev..." James wiped off his face with one hand, sending droplets of water down to the floor. "Uh, I thought you were gonna wait out in the hall. Um, I guess you'd really like to know what's goin' on here, huh?" James looked at Jeremy, whose own expression was beginning to look a bit panicked. Turning back to Devon, James said, "Look, this isn't how I'd planned for you to find out, but...if you could give us another few min--"

"I'm not really in the mood for pizza", Devon said.

He then turned and walked away, like a zombie, dazed. The biggest fan of the Bay Harbor Sailors swim team wandered out of the locker room and found his way into the hallway. He then shuffled out of the school and down the street, his mind somewhere very far away, his feet moving by instinct. Devon's body brought him all the way to his house, some six miles away. He walked aimlessly around his block three times before he realized where he was.

Investigative Journalism

"So I suppose you're gonna want to write the story about this, aren't you?"

"Huh?", Devon came back into focus. "Say what?"

Ramsey looked at his former Sports columnist from across his desk. He was tapping his mutilated pen upon his desktop, then stuck it back in his mouth. "The big, dynamic, world-altering win of the Bay Harbor Sailors against Portview. I guess you want that one, don't you?"

Devon blinked, understanding what Ramsey meant. "Oh. Oh, that."

Ramsey wandered around the room, picking up stray files and CDs, organizing. "I have to admit they were pretty impressive. Serious record-breaking going on. But listen, Dev", Ramsey leaned forward, pen shoved to the corner of his mouth. "I'm more interested in the way they acted after the meet. You know? Them coming out in their humiliation suits--that's what I call 'em, their humiliation suits--and working the crowd, acting all nice and friendly. What was all that about? That was new."

"Fairly new, I'd say", Devon agreed.

"And that slogan they chanted", Ramsey pondered. "All that stuff about enlarging organs or whatever--"

"Let your hearts grow large. Do good."

"Yeah! Find out where that came from. No way those six yahoos thought it up on their own. See if you can get 'em to tell you what--"

"Can you give it to Charlie?"

Ramsey stopped short. He looked at Devon. "Sorry? What did you just say?" He chomped down hard on his pen, fingering it between thumb and forefinger, saying, "Because I could have sworn you just asked me to--"

"Give the story to Charlie", Devon reiterated. "I think I may be too close to it."

Ramsey sat down on the edge of his desk. "Too close to it?"

"Charlie should cover it."

"He's nowhere near the writer you are, bias or not."

"He was there, though. He saw everything."

"He won't have your insights, or your flair for phrasing."

"He's gotta start sometime."

Ramsey stared at Devon and saw that he was sincere. A bit exasperated, he conceded, "Okay. Might as well kick off his career on a story everyone's gonna read anyway." Ramsey made a note to call in Charlie to begin the story ASAP. Then he looked at Devon. "So, what about the six elite? They really gone all nice and caring, for real? What do you suppose made 'em act like that?"

"Or who", Devon mumbled under his breath.

"How's that?"

"Rams, mind if I go on assignment?"

Ramsey titled his head. "What, for this issue? It'd have to be a short assignment, wherever you wanted to go."

"No, next issue. Maybe the one after. I wanna make sure I cover this one right."

Ramsey frowned. "A story about the swim team?"

"Maybe about someone else."

Ramsey shrugged. Go ahead. Devon thanked him, and grabbing his notepad, headed swiftly out the door.

* * * * *

Devon had never been to the city's court house. He wandered around, going from floor to floor, room to room, increasingly confused by the endless array of plain black marquees with their flat press-on white letters identifying jobs and the names of those that did them, all completely unfamiliar to Devon. "All I want is to find the damn judge in charge of gay mind control of high school seniors", he grumbled. "You think they'd have a sign at the front desk at least."

Eventually, Devon saw a rather muscular, tall black man exiting what appeared to be a court room area. He moved with a certain confidence, as if he knew where he was going. He was wheeling a small cart with an old phonograph player upon it. A-ha! Devon sped up to approach the man, passing briefly to peek inside the court room. It was empty. Devon called to the big man. "Sir! Excuse me, sir! I was wondering if you could help me!" The man kept right on walking. "Sir! Excuse me, sir! You there pushing that cart!" The man didn't even acknowledge him. Finally Devon came right up to the man and tapped his shoulder. The man jumped.

"Holy Moses! You gave me a fright!"

Devon was just as shaken by seeing the sizeable man startled. "Sorry, sir. I was calling to you, but you didn't--"

The man held up one hand to pause Devon's words. Then he reached into his ears and removed two very tight-fitting ear plugs. "Can't hear a blessed thing through these things. Need them sometimes in my line. Tend to forget I have them in." He tucked them into his breast pocket. "Now, how can I help you, son?"

"I need to find a judge", Devon said.

"Well, we have no shortage of judges, tell the truth, son. Which one did you have in mind?" To actually tell the truth, there were only four judges total in the court house, and never all at the same time.

"Um, I don't know his name."

"It'd be helpful in finding him, you know." The bailiff smiled.

Devon scratched his chin, trying to recall the name of the man who brought down his heroes, in practically every sense of the word. Finally, he just said, "I'd like very much to see the judge who reduced our town hellions into clown-suited sailor boy goody two-shoes."

The bailiff's smile grew. "Well, now. We've only got one of them."

 

"There's a Bay Harbor High student here to see you, your honor."

The voice came from Judge Lietermann's intercom in his private chambers. He rolled his eyes. Not this again. He stabbed the button with his finger. "Look, you can tell Mister Nathaniels that he and his shipmates needn't come here to audition every new approach to their choreography for my approval. They can improvise all they want AT the appropriately scheduled time. Until then they can just--"

"It's not them, sir."

Lietermann paused. He pressed the button again. "It's a student, you say?"

"Yes, your honor."

"Well, what does he want?"

There was a quiet mumbling as the secretary conferred with the student in question. "His name is Devon Hanidel. He's from the school newspaper. He says he's here to do a story on you."

Judge Lietermann was about to tell the secretary to send him away, that the schedule was too full to allow for such foolishness. Then he stopped, and considered how utterly implausible that explanation sounded. And the judge had sufficient experience to spot a phony explanation from a mile off. Lietermann ran his tongue along his upper teeth, contemplating for a moment. Then the pressed the button again. "Send him in."

Devon walked into the judge's chambers, hand extended. "Your honor. Thanks so much for seeing me. I apologize for not calling ahead. This visit was rather sudden for me, too."

The vuturelike judge shook Devon's hand with a firm grip, then gestured for the young man to take a seat. The judge took his, asking slyly, "Now, why would anyone at a high school newspaper want to do a story on me?"

Devon sat down across from the formidable man and saw instantly that the judge had not bought his story. "They wouldn't", he said.

Judge Lietermann raised an eyebrow. "Ah. Honesty. An interesting and novel approach for a Bay Harbor student's first visit to me."

"I just said that to get in the door", Devon admitted.

"I figured. So you're really here for--?"

"I needed to talk to you."

"About?"

"Why you did what you did to the six coolest high school students on earth. Why you turned them into sailor clowns and how you changed them the way you did."

The judge swiveled in his chair, amused. "I must confess that even I am amazed at how effective the sentencing has been. It was designed for one thing and has gone far beyond its intention, albeit in a good way." He swung back to face Devon. "And I suppose you're now here, as they say, to get answers."

"I'm pretty sure I've got all the answers, your honor."

The judge stopped his chair. "Oh really?"

"I just wanted to make sure that I was right before I wrote it all down and exposed you to the world." Devon's tone was a challenge, and Judge Lietermann knew it was meant to either make him spill the beans or fill in the blanks in areas Devon had missed. But since "the world" didn't exactly describe the readership of the Bay Harbor High school paper, the judge was unconcerned. "Go ahead."

Devon stood up, taking on the important countenance of a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist. He put his hands behind his back and with a pronounced gait to his walk, paced before the judge's desk, saying, "Allow me to present you with my supposition, your honor." Judge Lietermann nodded, humoring him. "You, sir", and Devon pointed at the man, "were once a high school geek yourself, not unlike those whom the Bay Harbor Sailors so mercilessly picked on, once. You were regularly humiliated and treated as an outcast and perhaps--probably, in fact--experienced something at the hands of the popular jocks of your era that was so torturous, so dehumanizing, that you vowed revenge, whatever the cost, however long it might take to achieve it."

Judge Lietermann pursed his lips, intrigued. As Devon's story built, his pacing back and forth became more rapid. "Indeed, your honor, I would go so far as to say that you attended Bay Harbor High itself, and you were in fact tormented by the Sailors swim team of your generation. I can easily envision that you sought out each of these elite athletes for their connection to someone from your past. Was it their fathers, their uncles, or grandfathers who made your life such a living hell? Was it sheer hatred against them that drove you for years until you could mete out the vengeance that burned inside you for release? I think so!"

Devon stopped pacing and faced the judge head-on. "And THAT, sir, is why you have gone to such extraordinary lengths to bring low the swim team heroes of Bay Harbor High!" Devon stood there, accusing finger pointing at the judge who sat there silently. Devon was waiting for an answer that didn't appear to be coming. "Am I right? Huh?? What if we just trot down to the high school archives? Would we find your photo in an old yearbook perhaps? With a listing of Most Likely To Plot Revenge? Well, would we?!"

After a moment of silence, Judge Lietermann said, "Astounding theory." The judge removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, muttering, "What is it about journalism students that makes them so frightfully disconnected from reality?"

Devon caught the remark, wasn't sure what to make of it. "What do you mean?" The judge leaned forward at his desk, staring. Devon groped, "I mean, I'm right, aren't I?"

Feigning support, the judge explained. "So, you're saying that some mischievous group of senior high children from my generation ALL stayed in the same town in which they grew up?"

"Precisely!", Devon said proudly, then paused. "No, wait a minute."

"And each of the students had children who then also stayed in the same town their parents were raised in? Attended the same school?"

Dev's shoulders sagged. "Um, yes, but. Hang on."

"And this line of sedentary heredity continues until now, where the latest generation of children--who by amazing coincidence are all boys--JUST HAPPEN to be champion swimmers like their respective fathers were?"

Dev scratched his chin. "Wait. Tom's dad was from Oregon. They moved here his Junior year."

"AND", Judge Lietermann continued, "each and every one of these proposed boys would all be destructive hooligans in precisely the same manner as their predecessors?"

Dev bit the fingernail of his index finger. "And James moved here in his Freshman year! Piss!"

The judge leaned back in his chair. "Did you know I was born in 1932?"

"Crap. Really?"

"And that would put me in my high school years between 1948 and 1951." He began to swivel in his chair again. "And do you know when the cornerstone for your high school was laid?"

"Yeah, everyone knows that. 1972." Devon's face fell, he sat back down. The judge grinned. Devon blinked. "I'm not right, am I?"

"Not remotely."

Devon sighed. He'd blown his big theory. "B-but, then why, your honor? Why do all this? Why go to such lengths? You could've locked them up or fined the hell out of them, or, I dunno, stuck them with really lousy community service for the next ten years! Why do this to--"

"Your heroes?"

Devon stopped in his tracks. The judge had pegged him.

"That, you see, is the problem. There is far too much worship these days of those who should never be seen as heroes. We allow anything to happen off the athletic court or field provided our stars perform well when on it. I see it wherever I go. I am tired of it."

"So you're not from around here?"

"From Tuskegee, Alabama, originally. Lived in West Virginia for most of my life. I wanted to retire to someplace with lots of water. I'm rather fond of the water. So here I am." Judge Lietermann smiled. This time it wasn't quite so frightening. "You really do have a lovely town."

Devon frowned. "Thanks, I think."

"There are things that tarnish even the most picturesque area, however."

Devon's frown hardened. "Like spoiled kids who should be grateful for their gifts and abilities abusing them, and the people around them?", he said, anticipating the judge's thoughts.

"Like that."

"So you didn't pick Bay Harbor deliberately?"

"Oh, I chose this location quite deliberately, but not to fulfill some vendetta or by seeking out a town that was dominated by undisciplined high school athletes. It truly was for the beauty of the area."

Devon's thoughts began to connect. "But when you got here..."

"I found a town ruled by, terrorized by, a handful of swimming champions. It took no time at all to see that as long as that elite group won matches, as long as they filled trophy cases, they would be permitted by the town to do whatever they pleased, regardless whose rights and property were trampled in the process."

"And you could never get away with locking the guys up", Devon surmised.

"The town would descend upon me in an instant", the judge conceded.

"But you could humiliate them", Devon realized.

"It seemed to me a fitting punishment to put them outfits that matched their much-touted mascot namesake. And it would be a challenge to their supposed courage to appear in them publicly day after day. After all, it was only a costume..."

"Which you just happened to have with you? And in six variations? That's kind of odd."

Judge Lietermann laughed. "Oh, no. I'd lived here for several weeks before I took Judge Douglas's place. I knew I'd face the boys eventually. Truth be known, I didn't get the idea for their costumes until about ten days before Mr. Nathaniels was hauled in. I only had one other made--"

"Jeremy's suit."

"Yes, I believe that's right. But after him, I had the others made in a hurry." The judge got up, looked out his window, thinking. "And my word, what a change in them. Their grades are up, they've shown genuine civic mindedness, they're considerate of others. It's gone far better than I could ever have imagined."

Devon's voice became a bit deeper as he posed his final question. "So why did you make them gay?"

The judge turned back from the window, meeting Devon's eyes. "Excuse me, what?"

"They're gay now, you know. Totally gay. In fact, they're three couples. I'm guessing that part was done on purpose, too."

The judge placed his hands upon the back of his chair, collecting himself. he looked keenly at Devon, and said, "You'd be wrong." The judge stabbed the button of his intercom. "Send our bailiff to my chambers immediately, if you please. Have him wheel in the cart and a copy of the Sailors' Punishment Song." He looked at Devon again, who returned his gaze of concern. "And clear my afternoon schedule. There's something I need to look into."

 

The light faded outside the window of the judge's chamber. Within, takeout packages lay neatly upon a sideboard from the CornerStone Grille, one of the better cafe restaurants in town. The contents were emptied, the napkins wadded up into little balls. Nearby, Judge Lietermann sipped tea from a delicate cup of bone china, Devon slurped diet cola from a large paper cup.

"So it's the costumes, right? There's' something about the costumes, the cloth, the rubber boots?" Devon snapped his fingers, a light coming into his eyes. "There's some weird circuitry inside the hats that's been warping their minds, is that it?"

The judge fiddled with the dials of the old-fashioned phonograph, rolling his eyes at Devon's fanciful guesswork. "You should really consider a career in writing science fiction programs or designing video games. You're wasted in journalism." After he was finished adjusting whatever it was he had been adjusting, he wagged a finger to draw Devon closer. The judge indicated a small knob on the side of the archaic machine for Devon to activate. The judge hurried to his desk, reached into the top drawer for something and then had Devon turn the knob. Nothing. Then Devon was given the signal to put the needle on the record.

From the old, scratchy record came the 1920's voice of the man singing the Sailor's song about being a little sailor found far too proud. Devon had heard the guys sing it several times, but this was the first time he'd heard the song from the original source. He listened closely. The vocals were hokey, the singer's style extremely dated, but there was something about the lyrics. Yes, the lyrics, the words, beneath all that Vaudevillian silliness, had truly deep meaning. Devon could feel in his heart what the song was saying to him. He was a bit too pompous, too presumptuous. Who was he to barge in on an important man like the judge with his wild theories? He was acting so full of himself. He needed to show more respect to those in authority, to others in general. Look at some of the crap he regularly gave poor Ramsey Oosdyke at the school paper. He should apologize to him. And maybe spend more time with Charlie and Killian. They were such great guys. They tried so hard. He shouldn't keep neglecting them to follow the swim team around. God, he wished he knew the dance that went with this song. It'd really help him appreciate it more. Maybe James would teach it to him, and then he could show the guys on the pap--

There was a click and the music stopped. Devon was snapped out of his revere, and saw Judge Lietermann standing beside him, his bony hand upon the knob. The record had stopped spinning.

"What'd you turn it off for?", Devon demanded, then immediately regretted his tone. "I'm sorry, sir, it's just that--"

"You felt it, didn't you?" Devon wasn't sure what he meant. Felt what? "You felt the music, could sense the lyrics seeping into your heart", the judge said, answering Devon's unspoken question. "You began to see ways you could improve yourself, be a better person. Show proper respect."

"Yeah!", Devon said back. "Yeah, I did! I really felt like that! How--?"

"Subliminals."

Devon paused, processing that. "What, in that clunky old 45?"

"78."

"Whatever! You're telling me that old record is laced with sublims?"

"Hardly. The record is from an old stage show. I don't even recall how it fit into the original story. It has no subliminals." The judge lifted the top of the phonograph, tilting the record and needle on a hinged base. "But this does."

Underneath the record was a sophisticated inner working of wires and circuits, boards and tiny lights, all pulsing with no small measure of power and intensity, emitting something unfamiliar to Devon.

"I spent a good deal of time in the Navy, you know", Judge Lietermann explained.

"Electronics expert. Then later was assigned to intelligence work. That's where I learned about subliminal programming for behavioral modification."

"And why you like the water so much?", Devon ventured. the judge shrugged. Probably. Devon looked at the complex mass of equipment with awe. "This--this was working on me while the record was playing?"

"It was. Some people it affects very quickly, others it takes a while. I thought perhaps you might be one of the more susceptible. I'm a good judge of character, among other things."

Devon's face darkened. "So you think I'm weak?"

"I think you are basically a good person with no inherent need to rebel or show deliberate disrespect. Having no subconscious resistance to this type of message would make you more receptive to it."

"So...so your subliminal thing inside the record player...", Devon was still sifting through this new information, not quite at his solution.

The judge finished for him. "--carried out its program with the help of the record. They took the rather simple words of the recording to heart because the subliminals told them to. And it is further reinforced the more they listen to it."

"So howcum you're not dancing around like an idiot doing good deeds? You've heard it enough times!"

The judge showed Devon his sizeable hearing aid. "Sympathetic pulse. Cancels what the phonograph's hidden machine emits. For me, in any case."

Devon frowned. "Now I know why a court bailiff needs to wear earplugs."

"Now you know."

Devon turned to the judge. "So how does all this make them gay? And why would you do that??"

Judge Lietermann shook his head, returning to his desk. "That was not my intention. The subliminals were supposed to implant messages that would have various time-release triggers, altering their state of mind. All it was meant to do was make them more obedient, more honest, respectful." He paused. "It's odd, but the day they came here to request a taped copy of their song, I reentered my chambers before they stood to find them all in their seats holding hands." He shrugged. "I simply thought they were nervous."

Now curious, the judge laid out the lyric sheet before him on his desk. Devon rounded the desk to look at the words with him. The judge ran his finger down the page. "There's nothing here that's meant to change anyone's orientation."

"Wait", Devon said, "what about this line?" I once was a bad boy, never did good. Didn't know how to behave as a real sailor should!

"Strictly to improve general behavior. Not their feelings toward--"

"But, if you combine it with this part--" I'll be very much aware of whoever sees me, I promise to become who I'm supposed to be! "The whole meaning is altered."

The judge shook his head. "I don't follow you. That also is to guide their actions, to consider how their behaviors affect those who look up to them."

Devon snorted. "Damn, it really has been decades since you were in high school, hasn't it?"

"Now see here--!"

"If a guy--if ANY guy--in a high school today acts differently from anyone else, shows weakness, or God help him, dresses funny, he's labeled as a fag!" The judge just stared. Devon became exasperated. "Don't you get it?? As soon as they all started showing up in school in your little suits, they started getting razzed as being gay! And I mean by everyone! And you have them swearing to become what they're supposed to be according to how they're perceived!"

"That still wasn't the intent of the--"

"Cripes! And you nail it all home with this one." Feel compassion for my mates, let my heart grow large. "It's no wonder they feel hot for each other! You might as well have had them sing that they'd bend over and drop their pants! You really did make them all go gay!!"

The judge pursed his lips again, considered this, nodded. "Yes, I can see that. An unexpected benefit. A happy accident, you might say."

Devon's face went red. "A happy accident?!"

The judge sat, dismissing Devon's outrage with a spitting sound. "Pshht! I did research the background of each of these boys before I sentenced them and have kept tabs since. They hardly have a strong track record when it comes to respecting the ladies. I had thought they could do with a stable, supportive relationship of some kind. Mind you, I didn't expect it would be with each other."

"Any chance this could be undone, or it'll fade in time?"

The honorable Judge Lietermann pondered that, taking into account the taped copy of their song that had clearly picked up the subliminal coding. "It's doubtful." He slid the lyric sheet over to Devon, tapping the final words of the song. I'll be a good sailor now, and come what may, Will live as such for the rest of my days!

"You fucking wrecked their lives", Devon seethed.

"There's certainly no evidence to support that contention. Quite the opposite, I'd say. Grades are up, they're setting new sports records, they help their community--"

"I could expose you."

"By revealing a preposterous story no one would believe? And then you could well have to be brought before me, if only to apologize. And who would want all that trouble?"

Devon sighed. "I'd hate to be dressed up in my own sailor suit and put in front of that record player of yours again."

Judge Lietermann smiled. It was one of his scary smiles. "Keep your nose clean and you won't have to."

Devon snarled at the man, and spat out the words "Thanks for the dinner" with as much venom as he could. He made a big show of slamming the door on the way out.

Come Sail Away

James and Jeremy held hands as they strolled down the old disused road that overlooked Sanford Lake. The road, once used regularly by passing motorists and dried and cracked, was now a favorite pathway for pedestrians since the new overpass guided cars around the nearby dunes and over to the Sanford Street Bridge. The two swimming champions kept a leisurely pace, waving and smiling tot he occasional jogger or person walking a dog. The two boys garnered the odd stare and shake of the head, either from their sailor suit costumes or their open display of male-to-male hand holding. They walked for some time without saying a word, simply enjoying their surroundings, the sparkling play of sunlight on the lake, the sound of their boots upon the old pavement, the feel of their hands intertwined. It was Jeremy who broke the silence.

"You think this is why we always went through girls like Kleenex? We knew it was never real?", Jeremy asked. "That we needed to find each other?"

James brought their hands up and kissed the back of Jeremy's hand. "Could be." He let their hands drop, fingers still intertwined, then shrugged. "Or maybe we were just assholes." James yanked his hand free from Jeremy's and smacked him on the shoulder. "Tag! You're it."

The two boys broke into a sprint down the long and winding roadway, James in the lead. It was no easy thing to run full out in rubber knee boots, but neither boys seemed to mind too much. As Jeremy began to gain on James, his arm reaching out, just barely touching the back of James's sailor shirt, James ducked off the main road and dashed down into the crushed leaves and undergrowth to the side.

Jeremy laughed at the cheap escape tactic. "Oh, no you don't!" Jeremy used his swimmer's legs and launched himself after James. He tackled his boyfriend and the two rolled down a small incline, lost amongst the brush and tall weeds, to come to a stop beneath the overhanging branches of a small grove of trees. The two boys, their crisp sailor suits now covered in bits of leaves and budding plants, laughed full and loud. James clambered to his feet, his back braced against one of the trees. He offered a hand to Jeremy, helping him to his feet, then pulling his friend close to him. They stood there together under the canopy of branches, kissing tenderly as the soft breeze ruffled both the leaves and the ties dangling from their precious uniforms.

 

Tom and Adam fought fiercely. They were in Tom's basement, slamming small handled discs back and forth, lost in a ferocious game of air hockey. Two big bottles of Snapple flavored ice tea sat atop the bar nearby. Nether boy drank much of anything stronger these days. Tom shouted his threats at Adam. "You're goin' down, boy! You are goin' down!" With another swift and deft move, Tom scored the game point and threw his fists in the air. "Yes! I win yet again! I own you!"

"I demand a rematch", Adam said, panting.

"Your funeral." Tom smiled and Adam's heart melted. Then Adam reached for a pool cue, walking over to the table topped in green felt. "Ohhh no", Tom objected. "I suck at pool."

"Then you're the one going down this time", Adam smirked.

"My rec room, my choice of games", Tom stated, taking hold of the cue stick Adam held. Adam stopped and their eyes met. Slowly, Tom let his hand slide down the length of the stick to where Adam held it. Tom's fingers gently played atop his friend's fingers. Tom's smile faded and his eyes remained focused on Adam's. He licked his lips, saying softly, "You...you're going down."

"Maybe later", Adam responded, dropping his cue to the floor. He took Tom by the shoulders and the two young men kissed. Tom held Adam by the waist and hefted his friend up onto the pool table. Gently, he leaned his boyfriend back to lie upon the table. Tom scooted up onto the table himself, sliding up beside his friend, leaning forward to kiss Adam again.

With his broad smile returning, Tom said, "Everybody into the pool."

 

At dusk, Eric sat alone on a dock by the bay. He sat kicking his booted feet over the water, which in addition to his short pants, baby blue sailor suit made him look like a little kid. Eric sighed, thinking about how out of place he had always felt, even when making a name for himself on the swim team. He had already come to accept the idea that even amongst friends he would always be a solitary person, would always feel pretty much alone. He was glad to be wrong.

Gordy came and took a seat beside Eric, two plastic-topped styrofoam cups in his hands. "They didn't have the right stuff you like to have put in your coffee, so I got us both raspberry cocoas instead." He handed one cup to Eric.

"Thanks, bud." Eric took off his hat and set it in his lap, using it as a coaster.

Gordy put one arm around Eric and they sat in silence, watching a mallard swimming by. Eric said, "I find that with this uniform I have a new empathy for ducks. They're terribly misunderstood creatures, you know."

Gordy leaned forward a bit to look Eric in the eye. "Oh really?"

"Yeah. You ever watch when kids throw bread to the ducks? There's always a ton of brown girl ducks, maybe some ducklings, but you can only ever find one green mallard. You have to really look to find another boy duck. Sometimes you never find one."

Gordy drew Eric close and kissed him tenderly on the top of his head. "And sometimes you do."

The two boyfriends sat close together in one another's arms and watched the sun set, as evanescent ribbons of pink unfurled across the sky.

 

The headline of Devon's article was an eye catcher. MEN MAKE THE CLOTHES. This was possibly Devon's best work, and there was not a trace of fabrication or wishful thinking in it. It ran in the edition of the school paper that came not immediately following the big meet against Portview, but two weeks after. In the article the six elite members of the Bay Harbor High swim team spoke at length and candidly about how they'd been sentenced to wear their embarrassing sailor suits as punishment for legitimate wrongdoings. They mentioned how the sentence had changed their outlook, and their lives. They spoke glowingly of the benefit they got from becoming active in civic charities, and contributing heavily in time and effort to school groups like SADD (Students Against Drunk Driving). Sometimes the men of the swim team made presentations and hosted talks at the school groups.

"Especially at the Gay-Straight Student Alliance", James said beaming. When he'd said that, he absently rested a hand upon Jeremy's knee, a detail Devon left out of the article. When Devon asked if it was possible that the judge might lift the sentence under consideration of their good behavior and honest attempts to change, James said quickly, "I hope not! Even if he does say we can ditch the suits, I plan on keeping mine on." The others were quick to agree.

Tom offered, "Even if our teachers say we have to dress like we used to in school once the ruling's time has passed, that doesn't mean we still can't wear our suits everywhere else outside of school." All six boys felt the same way. Their sailor's uniforms were originally something they would have to live down, Devon recounted. But after better understanding what those suits were meant to represent, they felt instead the suits were something to live up to. With the swim team champs having learned their lesson, would their sentence expire? Judge Lietermann, the man who passed the sentence, was unavailable for comment.

Devon recalled the moment when he made a big show of putting down his pencil, of shutting off his small tape recorder. He asked his heroes, "What about--you know, your new...relationships? You gonna tell anybody?"

The boys were quiet for a moment, then James said, "We appreciate you askin' that, Dev. We don't want everyone to find out like you did."

Devon forced a smile. "Obviously not."

"But they're gonna find out eventually", Jeremy said. And taking James's hand, added, "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Let 'em find out on their own", Tom suggested. "It's not like we need an announcement or anything."

Devon grinned, recalling a favorite fantasy of his own involving James. "So who are you guys taking to prom?"

James smiles a beautiful broad smile. "If they don't know who we're into by then, they will at prom!", he said, rubbing the top of Jeremy's hand.

Jeremy smiled. "We've discussed it."

"Provided it's cool with the court, we're going in formal Navy dress whites. The shoes and everything."

"My ass!", Tom sneered. "Adam and I are thinking full dress blues!" They all shared their laugh and Devon restarted his tape recorder, trying to keep his eyes off James and Jeremy, who had eyes only for each other.

The article finished, as so many school articles about senior classmen did, with a question about their future. What was next for these fine young men? The boys avoided entirely the topic of the upcoming regional and state finals in swimming. Instead all six discussed the possibility of starting their own college fraternities or fellowships after graduation, based upon the lessons they'd learned from their sentencing. "You would join the organization with the motivation to do good work, for your school, for the community, in order to get a sailor suit.", James explained. "It'd be something to strive for, something you'd want to earn." The photo that ran under the headline showed all six men in their full uniforms seated upon the bleachers by the pool. The quote beneath the photo was from James. "Considering how we got 'em, let's hope that for now we're the last ones you see around here in these suits."

Ramsey put down the paper, which was hot off the presses, and smiled. He nearly bit his pen in two, forgetting it was in his mouth, then tossed it into the trash can. "Nice work, Dev", he said. "I'm impressed. This piece even makes me want to root for these guys." Devon thanked him graciously, then slinging his backpack over his shoulder, made his way out the door. Ramsey called him back before he had gone.

"Say, Dev! These six Sailors aren't the same tough guy, badass hellraisers they were before. You still wanna be like 'em?"

"Even more." Turning around slowly, Devon sauntered on his way.

Epilogue

Devon came into his bedroom at home to find his friends Charlie and Killian already waiting for him. Charlie was fussing about with his digital camera, checking through saved files. Killian sat upon Devon's desk, doodling in his sketchbook.

"Finally. Took you long enough", Charlie said, tucking his camera into his pocket."

"Meeting with Ramsey ran longer than I thought."

"You got it?" Devon pulled the school newspaper from his backpack and dropped it on the bed before the two boys. Charlie picked it up with two hands. "Sweeeet!"

Devon grinned. He had begun to notice how cute Charlie was when he was excited. "Nice job with the photo of the swim team, Charlie."

Killian darted over to take a peek. "What about my sketches? Of possible future uniforms? Did they make the cut?"

Devon nodded. "On page six, where the guys talk about how they got duplicate uniforms from the court, one to wear, one to put through the wash." Killian flipped pages rapidly to find them.

Charlie complained. "Hey! I wasn't done looking at my photo!"

"They're small", Devon warned. "And we couldn't run all of them. Just four."

"Still", Killian said, beaming, "like Charlie said, it's sweet." Devon ditched his jacket and let his friends look through the paper for a few minutes. Then Charlie asked, "Well, this is a big deal. You got your dream interview, we got our own newspaper credits. What do we do to celebrate?"

Killian chewed his lower lip. "What would the swim team do?"

"Feed the hungry", Charlie laughed.

The two laughed, but Devon ignored them as he retrieved a large black box from under his bed. "I have plans for us this evening if you're up for it."

"Sure", Charlie said. "S'up?"

Killian shrugged. "I'm game."

"Good", Devon said. He then upended the black box and spilled its contents onto the bed. Amongst the goodies therein were a bag of weed, seven open beer bottles still sticky with suds, a very malodorous bong, and a detailed printout map with driving directions the to the main street near Judge Lietermann's house.

Devon held up a set of set of car keys and looked at his friends with devilish eyes. "Now, here's what we're going to do..."

---

If you enjoyed this story, please write the author and let him know so he'll write more, at [email protected]

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