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Wilson walked into homeroom on the first day of his high school career and looked around at the faces. No one from his middle school was going to this high school- they all attended public Kennedy High- so he didn't expect to really see anyone he knew. After a summer of being mad that his father made him switch schools just because "it was better for him", which Wilson knew only meant "we can pay for it, so you're going", he was finally there.
Surveying the room, he was relieved to see Tyler. He was sitting by himself, so Wilson went over and took the seat behind him. "Hey."
"Hey, you're in this homeroom?"
"Yup."
"Cool. Hey, let me see your schedule." Wilson pulled out the piece of paper from his khaki uniform pants and handed it to Tyler, who quickly compared it to his own. "Lunch, gym, and English. We don't have to take gym, though, since we're on a team, so we can get study hall if we want. Just another benefit of swim."
"How do you know so much about everything, anyway? Scope it out before you enrolled?"
"No. My older brother went here. He's twenty-one now. Nothing's changed though."
The late bell rang and the teacher entered the room with a few stragglers who had lost their way. She was a middle-aged woman with mousy brown hair and a bottom the size of a park bench. "OK, quiet. I'm Mrs. Eastmond. Welcome to SCBA. Let's take attendance." Roll call came and went, the announcements blared, and Wilson departed along with the rest of the children to their first day of school.
All was uneventful until lunch. He had found Tyler, and after buying lunch they went to sit down together at a table in the unofficial "freshman" section of the cafeteria. Richie showed up out of nowhere and leaned against their table. "Boys. What are you doing?"
"Eating," Tyler answered plainly.
"You eat with us. There's a reason we have no much pull; we stick together. You break that pattern and you break the team and the entire dynamic of our fine high school. I implore you; come sit with us."
The other part of the cafeteria, the part Richie and everyone who wanted to be him sat at, was much nicer. The colors on the wall were happier, the tables were plentiful, and there was even a skylight. This was the part that housed all the upperclassmen by default, and was where the Dean showed the parents when they came to check out the school. The swim team had the center table- the center because they were there to show off. Wilson quickly learned that, besides himself and Tyler, these guys all had huge egos.
Richie addressed the table, like he normally did, as everyone began to eat. "There's practice after school, like there will be from now until Dooms Day… or the day when Abrams has a massive heart attack and we refuse to go back to practice because it brings back too many memories." They all laughed, half sincerely, half on cue. "And Friday, tomorrow, as I am sure you are all aware, is the Frosh Party, compliments of Danny. Seblowsky, not Jenastia." Again, the laughter. Wilson joined in this time. He felt he had to.
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After practice, the boys were all changing and showering in the locker room. Wilson had been a member of the team for a few weeks now, but he still felt like a bit of an outcast. Most of the younger kids resented him because he was regarded as some sort of swimming prodigy, and the older kids only fraternized with their kind. He only talked to Tyler in passing, and wasn't really sure if he would become a true friend or merely a swimming acquaintance. Either way, there was something missing.
Richie walked in, talking loudly with fellow seniors Jake and Steve. "You taking my sloppy seconds?" Richie asked Steve.
"Who, Becca? Please. She's been around…and then around again. I don't want any of that."
"I'd take her," Jake said.
Richie laughed. "I know you would. But you can't have her and neither can anyone else. She's mine. I saw her first."
"Whatever," Steve said and rolled his eyes.
"She's cute, though. You're lucky. Nice rack, and she puts out," Jake added.
"I'm not lucky, I'm Richie. But I have gotten lucky, if you know what I mean."
The boys laughed at the allusion to sex. The pool wasn't the only place where the team was active. They'd been that way for years now, at least the older guys. That was almost their hazing; they took in wholesome boys and corrupted them by forcing them to de-virginize themselves with a random girl of their choosing out of extreme peer pressure. That was the cycle of high school and, more importantly, the cycle of the team.
Wilson dressed as normal until Richie came over to his locker, two away from Wilson's.
"You'll be at Danny's tomorrow, right?"
"Yeah, I'm going."
"Good. My girlfriend's getting all the hot girls from CGP to come, and I'm bringing a keg. It's going to be great. Let's consider it your initiation. You swim well. If you party just as good, maybe I'll take you under my wing. You could be my new lackey. I'm always looking for one of those."
"What do you consider good partying?" Wilson didn't really want to be anyone's lackey, but he was interested in what becoming one entailed, if only for his own personal knowledge.
"Find yourself a girl for the night."
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Wilson showed up at Danny Seblowsky's house at 8:30. The party started at 8:00, but Wilson knew better than to show up on time. "Fashionably late" was the way to be. Plus, he was supposed to be the star of the night, the guest of honor if you will. They never show up exactly on time. People have to wait for them to arrive; it builds anticipation and excitement.
The house was dark, except for the headlights from outside streaming in through the window and a few strategic lights on on tables sporadically about the downstairs. There were some guys from school. But the girl to boy ratio was severely skewed in favor of the boys. It was about three to one; Wilson could not help but think that Richie had purposely saw to it that it turned out this way.
He walked around for five minutes, got himself a cup of beer (that he swore to himself before he arrived would be his only one) and continued to coerce through the mass of people until he stumbled upon Tyler.
"Hey man," Tyler said.
"Hey."
"Isn't this great?"
Wilson shrugged. "I guess so."
"You guess so? Did you see all the girls? You can't meet these types of girls at our school."
"Um, you can't meet any girls at our school."
"…Right."
Wilson laughed and turned his head to survey the fairly blackened living room next to him. The house was huge, and he barely was able to take it all in on his first pass through. That was when he saw her. Her strawberry blonde hair that came to her shoulders was what first caught his attention. It was different than everyone else's shade of mousy brown or over-dyed blonde. She was talking to a friend in the back corner of the room, so the next thing he focused on was her lips. Then her chest, hips, legs. Gorgeous to say the least.
"Who are you looking at?" Tyler asked, pulling Wilson out of his momentary trance. He gestured in her direction with his chin. "The red head?" He nodded. "Dude, that's Becca. That's Richie girl. Don't even look at her."
He tried, but he couldn't help it. She was so darn endearing. She must have noticed him staring, because she looked up and right at Wilson. Then she started walking over.
"Oh crap," Tyler started. "She's coming over here now. What did you do? Richie's going to kill you. Literally kill you."
Wilson heard him, but he didn't really care. Not at the moment anyway.
"Were you staring at me?" she asked innocently.
"No. I-uh-no," he stammered. "Well, maybe a little bit."
She smiled. "That's cute. What's your name?"
"Wilson."
"Oh. O-oh. You're that freshman Richie was telling me about. The one who swims really fast."
"Yeah, that'd be me." His mind raced. He didn't know what to say, or what he was allowed to say. Everything was spinning. "Are you a senior?"
"A senior?" She scoffed. "I'm a sophomore."
"Oh." He paused. "Fifteen or sixteen?"
"Sixteen," she answered confidently.
"Do you drive?"
"Why of course. I got my car last week. A silver Audi 100- new."
Wilson smiled. He didn't know much about cars, but he did know that was a pricey luxury brand and model. "Nice."
Richie popped up out of nowhere and snaked his arm around Becca's waist. Wilson sighed and so did she. "I see you've met Wilson."
She nodded. "Just telling him about my car."
"It's nice," Richie admitted. "Not as nice as my Mercedes, but nice- for her anyway." Wilson nodded accordingly. "Come on babe, let's go."
Becca knew what that meant, but fortunately for Wilson he did not. The pair went off alone, leaving Wilson and the rest of the party behind. Wilson stayed around for another hour or so, mingling with the rest of the girls and talking with some of the boys from his school. It was only the second day of school, and the first weekend, and already he had made some new friends. He wasn't oblivious either. He knew he had quickly risen to the top of the social ladder, and although he did not understand why, he was not afraid to embrace his new status. He had another drink, decided to stay until midnight when the party started dying down, and left just before it ended.
On his way out, he passed a Mercedes sitting in front of Danny's house. He stopped and stared at it, comparing his life to what he thought Richie's was like. Wilson was well-aware of how asinine and jerk-like Richie acted, but a small part of him wished he could be more like him. Everybody loved Richie. And he had Becca, a girl way too pretty to belong to him.
Wilson heard footsteps behind him and turned around. Becca was lazily making her way to the car, chatting it up with a few of her girlfriends. She quickly shooed them away as she approached Wilson and stood in front of him, silent.
"Where did you head off to?" he asked.
"Well, you know. Whatever Richie wants, Richie gets. And he, apparently, he wants me. Every Friday night, around ten, for about 20 minutes tops. Then he lays there and starts at it again."
Wilson was happy the darkness of the night was able to conceal the light shade of pink his cheeks were turning. "Oh."
She laughed at him. "You're adorable, you know that?" Again, he blushed. Becca reached into her back pocket of her jeans, pulled out a pen, and reached for Wilson's hand. "Call me sometime," she said as she scribbled down her number. "Or don't. Whatever. I'm sure I'll see you around." And with that, she brushed past him and got into the car. Wilson was amazed. She was bold yet reserved all at once; he was jealous. Jealous of a girl. How pathetic was he.
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A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Shannon. NAME! lol
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You know you want to see Becca again and ride in her Audi. Review please.
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