Date: Wed, 25 Sep 2013 09:52:41 -0400
From: Ronyx <ronyx@woh.rr.com>
Subject: Birds Don't Sing Before a Storm  Chapter 6

The following is a work of fiction. Any similarities to anyone are purely
coincidental. The story is intended for a mature audience. It may contain
profanity and references to gay sex. If this offends you, please leave and
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Birds Don't Sing Before a Storm     Chapter 6


When we entered Wentworth's class, I immediately noticed Curtis and Rodney
huddled together. Rodney glanced over at me, so I assumed that Curtis had
told him about our exchange in the hallway.

I realized that there was no way I was going to be able to get along with
the two brothers. I had been in their house two days, and neither had ever
attempted to talk to me. Since we were about the same age, it would be
reasonable to expect us to bond. However, they viewed me more as a nuisance
in their home than a potential friend. Judging by the number of friends
they had, I guess they didn't need one more- especially someone who also
made no attempt to speak.

Mike pointed to a desk and told me to sit down. He then crossed the room to
talk to a few other guys. In fact, looking around, there were no girls in
the classroom. Since Wentworth hadn't shown yet, the room was rather
raucous.

When he stepped through the door, everyone scattered to his seat. An
instant hush filled the room. He stood and looked around until his eyes met
mine. A smile appeared on his face.

"Mr. Barnett," he announced cheerfully. "Glad to see you here." I couldn't
respond because I was too embarrassed. Everyone in the class had turned to
look at me, except Curtis and Rodney.

Mr. Wentworth passed out paperback copies of Wuthering Heights. We assigned
to read three chapters by the end of the period; however, no one
did. Instead, he went around the room talking to the guys. From what I
could tell, this was the way he normally conducted the class. When I asked
Mike about it, he said, "Who cares if we don't read that stupid
book. Everyone will get an `A' anyway, whether we read it or not."

Wentworth came over to me, pulled up a chair and straddled it. "Good to
have you here in class, Casey," he said. "I put in a special request." Mike
pulled his seat around so we were in a small group.

Mike looked at me and said, "We gotta talk him into playing ball,
Coach. I've already mentioned it."

Mr. Wentworth reached out and gripped my arm. My natural instinct was to
pull away, but I didn't. Since he was doing it in a room filled with other
guys, I figured he didn't mean anything by it.

"Nice," he said as he pressed on my upper arm. He looked over at Mike and
said, "I think he would make a great pitcher."

Mike exclaimed excitedly, "I was thinking the same thing."

I pulled my arm away and rubbed it. "One thing, Mr. Wentworth..."

"What is this Mr. Wentworth shit," he admonished me with a laugh. "Call me
Coach like all the other boys."

"Okay, Coach," I said. "I really have no desire to play baseball. If I
watch it on television, I fall asleep."

"Playing and watching are very different." He looked at Mike and
smiled. "We have had a championship team for the past three years, and
we're going to have another this year." Mike nodded in agreement and
high-fived the coach.

Mike looked over and pleaded, "We need a relief pitcher really bad." He
looked over at Curtis. "Crawford wears out after about five innings. We
need someone who can relieve him."

I glanced over at Curtis who was sitting in the middle of a group of guys.
Everyone seemed focused on whatever he was saying. I shrugged my shoulders
and replied, "I don't think this is a great idea." I looked over at Mike
and added, "Look what just happened in the hall."

Coach gave Mike a puzzled look. "What happened?"

Mike laughed nervously. "It's Monica," he said. "Curtis saw her talking to
Casey, and now he thinks Casey is moving in on her."

Coach looked at Curtis and asked, "I thought they broke up last week?"

"They did," replied Mike, "but he still doesn't want her dating anyone
other guys. He's calls her at night and makes threats."

"I don't think you have to worry, Coach," I replied. "I'm not interested in
Monica."

The coach looked over at Mike and laughed. "I bet you're not," he said
jokingly. There seemed to be a knowing look exchanged between the coach and
Mike. I was beginning to wonder if Mike was gay, and his coach knew about
it. Mike had made a few comments since we met that seemed flirtatious.
Now, though, I wasn't sure if I was willing to play along. I hadn't been
out at my other school, and I didn't intend to out myself here. Besides,
Curtis and Rodney didn't seem like the kind of guys who would want to live
with a gay boy in their midst. I looked over at them as Rodney was
animatedly talking about something. The other guys laughed when he put his
hands on his chest and imitated a girl with large breasts.

`No,' I thought to myself. `Coming out could be dangerous.'

When the bell rang, Mike told me that we could eat lunch together in the
cafeteria. Several other guys joined us from our fourth period class. Mike
introduced me to them as we walked down the hall.

He playfully hit a tall boy in the ribs whose face was covered with
acne. "Pizza Face here is our first baseman. You can't miss him if you
throw the ball to him." I looked up at the guy as his face reddened. It
highlighted his blemishes even more. I felt sorry for him, because he would
be attractive if not for the unsightly acne on his face.

He introduced me to another boy who was extremely short. He couldn't have
been much more than 5'4". He looked impish with blond hair and an upturned
nose. "This is Pip," he laughed. "Short for pipsqueak."

After shaking his hand, I laughed and asked, "Don't any of you guys have
normal names?" I looked over at Mike and asked, "What's yours?"

The two other boys said in unison, "Ass bandit!"

They laughed uproariously when I asked, "What's that mean?"

Pip looked around, and then leaned into me and whispered so no one around
us could hear, "Don't drop the soap and bend over to pick it up in the
shower, or you'll find out what it means."

My eyes widened as I looked over at Mike. He shrugged his shoulders and
laughingly said, "What can I say?" The tall boy poked him in the side and
laughed.

When we walked through the cafeteria, several students looked up at us and
stared. Mike stopped at almost every table and gave them a friendly, "How's
it going?" He introduced me to many of the students. He always added that I
was going to be on the baseball team.

We went through the food line, and I purchased a hamburger and fries. My
father had given me money for lunch that morning. I still had several
dollars left over. It was enough to buy some snacks after school to eat on
the walk home.

As I was following Mike and the others to a table across the cafeteria,
Lane jumped up from a nearby table and came running over. He grabbed my arm
and insisted that I come eat with him and his friends.

"Not today," I said dismissively. "I'm eating with some of the guys I just
met."

A saddened expression appeared on his face. "Okay," he mumbled as his
shoulders slumped and he walked dejectedly away.

I ate at a table full of baseball players. While basketball and football
dominate most school sports, baseball appeared to be the most popular
here. The table I was sitting at seemed to be occupied by most of the star
athletes, that is except for Curtis and Rodney. Several guys asked where
they were, so I assumed they normally sat with them. I guess they chose to
sit elsewhere since I was sitting at their table.

I was instantly bombarded with questions. Everyone wanted to know why I had
come to North Carolina in the middle of the school year. I attempted to
evade their questions with vague answers, but I think Mike was beginning to
understand. He knew it wasn't because of a divorce, but I don't think he
had figured out yet it was because my mother was a homophobic bitch.

They also seemed surprised that Mike and Coach Wentworth were trying so
hard to recruit me as a baseball player when I told them I didn't even like
baseball. Mike kept assuring him he had an eye for talent. The more we
talked, I was becoming certain he had an eye on more than just my
talent. Even a few of the guys made a few crude gay jokes directed at him,
and he would just laugh them off. It was becoming more evident that he was
out, and that his teammates didn't seem to care. Their attitude made me
feel more comfortable around them. In my old school, a gay student would
have been bullied and ridiculed. I didn't feel that would happen here.

Fifth and sixth periods were typical boring classes. I always hated
Spanish, and I could never understand why counselors were so adamant about
students learning a foreign language. One told me once that we were
becoming a more diverse nation. They couldn't give me an answer when I
asked them why I should learn their language. I argued that they should
learn ours instead.

Law class seemed interesting, but the teacher made it boring. She talked to
us as if we were a bunch of first graders. We had already had American
History, so we were familiar with the Constitution and our rights. She made
everything she said sound like it was a new and innovation thought. I was
going to raise my hand and tell her she didn't have to be so condescending,
but I figured I would probably be sent to the principal's office. Look what
happened the last time I challenged a teacher.

I almost did end up in the principal's office during gym, if it hadn't been
for Coach Wentworth. The class was very unstructured. After arriving, he
assigned me a gym uniform. All the other guys had already dressed by the
time I did.

When I entered the gym, there were two separate half-court basketball games
going on. When he saw me emerge from the metal doors, Mike instantly called
me over and told me I would be on his team. The other teammates I had met
at lunch.

However, Curtis and Rodney were on the opposing team. Each time the ball
was thrown to me, Curtis would intentionally foul me with a harsh elbow to
the ribs or back. Since there were no referees, and Coach Wentworth was
nowhere to be seen, no one called the fouls. After about ten harsh blows, I
had finally had enough.

As I was going for a lay-up, Curtis elbowed me in my chest. I fell to the
ground and gasped for air. Mike and several others rushed over to see how I
was. When I'd caught my breath, I jumped up and rushed towards Curtis. I
pushed him so hard he fell to the floor.

He got up, stood before me and shouted, "What's wrong with you Mother
Fucker?"

I pushed him again and hollered angrily, "You're my problem, Douchebag"

He charged me and tackled me around the waist. When we fell to the ground,
he started pounding me in my back. I managed to break free and straddle
him. I hit him several times before Mike, Rodney and several other guys
pulled me off him.

Suddenly, I heard a whistle blow from across the gym. When I looked over,
Coach Wentworth was running across the floor. He looked at me and then at
Curtis, who was still on the gym floor nursing his jaw. Coach shouted,
"What the hell is going on out here?"

Mike grabbed the coach's arm and walked him away. "Nothing, Coach," he
insisted. "Just a little misunderstanding is all. You know how Crawford
is. He gets a little too rough with the elbows."

The coach turned and looked back at the floor, and then at me. "Barrett,"
he hollered as he pointed to the gym door. "My office. Now!" He turned and
stormed off.

I looked wildly over at Mike. The first day in school and I was already in
trouble. "Don't sweat it," Mike assured me. "His bark is worse than his
bite."

As I headed across the floor, several guys were helping Curtis to his
feet. He looked over angrily and said threateningly for the second time,
"This ain't over, Asshole."

Coach Wentworth was sitting on the edge of his desk. A metal chair was in
front of him. He pointed to it and told me to sit down. He studied me for a
minute before speaking. "Listen, Barrett. I know I'm young, but I've been
around the block a few times." He stopped, and I wasn't sure if he wanted
me to say anything, but I decided not to speak.

"I'm a pretty good judge of character," he continued. "I can look at
someone and know that there are things bothering him." He jumped from the
side of his desk and walked behind me. "I don't know yet what's bothering
you, but eventually I'll find out, or you'll just tell me when you want me
to know."

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, but I batted them away. The last
thing I wanted was for Coach Wentworth to see me crying. He put his hands
on my shoulders. "Curtis is an asshole." His comment surprised me. I had
the impression that Curtis was one of his favorite players. "He'll always
be an asshole." He squeezed my shoulders tighter. "You're better than that,
I can tell."

He walked around and sat back down on the side of his desk. I looked down
because I knew tears were still in my eyes. "I want you on the baseball
team because I have a feeling you're one of those kids who think the world
has shit on him." I reached up and wiped tears falling from my cheek.

"I don't give a damn if you can catch a ball, or pitch like Roger
Clemons. I just want you to feel that you're successful doing something."
He paused, and I could sense he was waiting for me to reply.

I stood and muttered quickly, "I think I should go."

He said softly, "Sit down, Casey." I sat back in my chair and hung my head
once again. "I'm not trying to upset you," he assured me. "I just want you
to know why I want you to play baseball for me. Besides," he added, "I
still think you've got one hell of an arm, and I need a relief pitcher."

I laughed slightly and said, "I've never thrown a ball before."

"Then," he remarked, "Let me teach you." He held out his hand and said,
"Deal?"

I hesitated a minute before shaking his hand. "Deal," I replied.

"Good," he said as he jumped from his desk. "Come by my office Monday after
school. I'll take you out to the field and you can work with Jimmy Buckner,
my starting pitcher. If he can't teach you how to pitch, then I don't know
anyone else who can."

I rose and stood before Coach Wentworth. "Thanks," I said softly.

"I mean it, Casey," he replied. "If you ever need anything, my door is
always open." I nodded my head and picked up my book bag off the floor.

As I was leaving, Coach stopped me. "Casey," he said. "Just so you know,
Mike is a player. Be careful."

My face reddened as I nodded and responded, "Yes, Sir."

I went back out to the gym, sat in the bleachers and watched the other guys
play basketball. Mike kept looking up at me. I know he wanted to talk to me
about my conversation with Coach Wentworth. When Coach stepped out and blew
his whistle, Mike walked over and sat down beside me.

He asked worriedly, "You okay, Casey?" I told him that I was, and that
Coach Wentworth had just talked to me about my confrontation with Curtis.

"You can trust, Coach," assured Mike. "He's been there for me quite a few
times."

"I know," I replied. Mike asked if I'd like to go to his house after
school, but I told him I had promised Lane I would walk home with him.

"Isn't he Curtis and Rodney's little retarded brother?"

I stood and glared at him. "Don't ever call him retarded again," I spat
angrily. "Got it?"

"Geez, Casey," remarked Mike when he noticed how upset I was. "Chill. I
didn't mean anything by it."

"Well," I replied, "Just don't ever call him retarded." I climbed off the
bleachers and headed toward the door.

I went past Lane's class after school looking for him. Mrs. Chambers said
he left a few minutes earlier. I hurried out the door and looked around for
him. When I didn't see him, I began walking home.

I didn't know his routine. We were supposed to meet up and walk home
together, but I didn't know if he left with someone else. I knew he didn't
ride home with Rodney and Curtis. They were probably at basketball
practice.

I walked quickly down the sidewalk toward home. After about three blocks, I
saw him trudging along with his backpack slung over his shoulder. When I
hollered out his name, he didn't even turn.

I ran to catch up with him. When I approached, I could hear him mumbling to
himself. I grabbed his shoulder to stop him. "Didn't you hear...?" I
stopped when I saw he was crying.

I knelt down before him and asked worriedly, "What's wrong, Buddy?"

"I'm not your buddy," he cried as he turned and hurried away. I ran and
stopped him again.

I asked again, "What`s wrong?"

He looked up, wiped tears from his eyes and replied sadly, "You're like
everyone else." He wiped his eyes again. "I thought you were going to be
different."

I was puzzled because I had no idea what was wrong. "What are you talking
about, Lane?"

He started sobbing as he stood before me. "You think I'm stupid like
everybody else," he cried.

I reached out and pulled him into my arms. He rested his head on my
chest. "I don't think you're stupid," I whispered softly into his ear.

He mumbled, "Then why wouldn't you eat with me at lunch? I saved you a
seat." He started crying harder. "You're afraid to be seen with me just
like Rodney and Curtis. They are always telling me I'm in the stupid kids'
class." I held him tightly as he sobbed into my chest.

"I don't think you're stupid," I said as I tried to comfort him. By now, my
eyes were filled with tears. For the first time, I was beginning to realize
the environment in which Lane was growing up. He had to hide in his
brothers' shadows because they were embarrassed to have a brother who was
not as athletic or intelligent as they were.

I then thought back to all the comments I'd heard in school about the
students who were in special classes. I was even guilty of making a few
myself. I used to tease Terry about riding the `short yellow bus' when I
tried to insult him. We would laugh about it; however, I didn't realize,
until now, just how demeaning those statements could be.

He looked up at me with a tear-stained face. "Then why wouldn't you eat
with me at lunch after I saved you a seat. Donnie got mad because I
wouldn't let him sit beside me."

I took him by his hand and led him over to a nearby ash tree. I looked to
make sure no one would get upset if we sat in their yard. I sat down, and
then patted the ground beside me. Lane sat and scooted toward me until we
were closely touching.

"This was my first day at school," I told him. He looked at me and
nodded. "And it wasn't very easy for me. I made a friend and he wanted me
to sit beside him."

"But I saved you a seat," he replied as he looked up and pouted.

"But you said you normally sit with your friend, Donnie, right?" He nodded
his head. "And I need a friend to sit with me."

"You could have both sat with us," he said.

"You're right," I replied. "We could have, and now thinking about it, we
probably should have. You're just as much a friend as Mike is." A smile
started to form on his lips.

He hopefully asked, "I'm your friend?"

I put my arm around his shoulder and pulled him into me. He relaxed his
head on my neck. "You're my best buddy," I assured him.

"So you don't think I'm stupid?"

"Of course not," I responded as I pulled him tighter to my side. "There's
nothing stupid about my best friend."

He pulled away and looked at me with a broad smile. His eyes were twinkling
from his former tears. "I'm your best friend?"

I replied with a smile, "The bestest friend a guy ever had." I stood and
extended my hand and pulled him to his feet. "Let's go home, Bestest
Friend."

He continued to hold my hand as he skipped beside me. "Okay, Bestest
Friend," he giggled.


* * * * * *

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