Status: New co-author: dreamshadow ! ! ! (not meant to replace Zeek in any way of course.)
Forgotten
Jonathan
"You wanted to see me, Coach?" Jonathan asked as he stood in the doorway of Coach Remson's office. Remson looked up from his computer. He was a portly man with an ever-growing bald spot on his crown, not exactly the poster child for physical fitness but a good coach nonetheless.
"Yeah, come in," the coach said, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk. Jon took a seat and waited. "I'm gonna cut to the chase," Remson began, "Now, your grades are fine, nothing to worry about, but half the team is failing. I need you to get morale up somehow. They look up to you, get them to do their damn homework and everything'll be fine."
"Yes sir," Jonathan said with a nod.
"Good, that's all," Coach said with a smile. Jonathan stood and made his way out of the office, through the locker room. He stopped at his locker to grab his dirty gym clothes; he would bring them home to get washed. He dropped the shirt as he pulled it out of the packed locker. Leaning down to grab it, he noticed something under the bench; white against the grimy blue floor tiles. He picked up the sheet of paper and flipped it over.
Jonathan was shocked to see a beautifully drawn sketch of himself. He could feel a dull heat creeping into his cheeks as he studied the image. He was completely naked on the page, each muscle clearly and perfectly outlined. He wondered who could have drawn it. In the corner was the date (two days ago) and for a signature: a small C.
Jonathan folded the paper in half, careful not to smudge the picture and put it in his locker. He grabbed up his fallen t-shirt and walked out of the locker room.
* * *
"He's such a fuckin' fag," Brett said with a guffaw as he pointed at boy across the classroom. Jonathan rolled his eyes but chose to ignore his friend’s rude comment.
“Coach Remson wants you to get your grades up otherwise you can’t stay on the team,” Jon changed the subject. Brett stared at him stupidly.
“Why does it matter?”
“Because if you can’t get your GPA up you’re not allowed to play. It’s just the rules,” Jonathan explained exasperatedly. It was Brett’s turn to roll his eyes. “Brett, come on, the team needs you. You’re one of the best players. Get your shit together or we’re screwed for the rest of the season.” Brett nodded sullenly.
Jonathan turned to his other friend, Jason. “Same goes for you, the whole team actually. The coach looked pretty stressed out about the whole thing. Just get your grades up enough so you can pass your classes, okay?” Jason nodded.
At lunch Jonathan tracked down the rest of his teammates and told them about the coach’s request. No one looked too happy about it but they all said they’d give it a try. The bell rang and it was time for P.E.
* * *
Jonathan walked into the locker room, sweating and exhausted after playing basketball for an hour straight. Yells and jeers met him as he rounded the corner to the showers. The entire gym class seemed to have congregated in section of the room.
“What’s going on?” Jonathan asked as he made his way over to the other boys.
“Teachin’ the fag a lesson,” Brett said, pointing to something on the floor that many legs were kicking at. Jonathan suddenly realized it was a person.
He watched, stunned, as everyone took turns kicking the poor boy that was lying on the wet tiled floor.
“STOP!” he yelled, pushing the boys aside and leaning down to see the thin frame of a boy with brilliantly red hair. The boy spluttered and spat blood from his mouth.
“Thanks,” he muttered to Jonathan as he slowly stood.
“What the hell is this?” Jonathan said as he turned to look at his classmates.
“He dropped his sketchbook. The fag’s been drawing pictures of naked guys. There was even a picture of you, Jon.” Jason informed his friend. Jonathan glanced back at the boy who was leaning against the wall for support, looking as though he might just faint. The pale outline of bruises had already begun to form on his bare chest and the eyeliner he usually wore had smudged and run down his cheeks. So this was the person who had drawn that picture of him.
“Just because he draws pictures you don’t like doesn’t mean you get to kick the living crap out of him!” Jonathan said, trying to control his outrage. He turned back to the boy. “Come on, get your shirt on, I’ll take you to the nurse.”
"Yeah, come in," the coach said, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk. Jon took a seat and waited. "I'm gonna cut to the chase," Remson began, "Now, your grades are fine, nothing to worry about, but half the team is failing. I need you to get morale up somehow. They look up to you, get them to do their damn homework and everything'll be fine."
"Yes sir," Jonathan said with a nod.
"Good, that's all," Coach said with a smile. Jonathan stood and made his way out of the office, through the locker room. He stopped at his locker to grab his dirty gym clothes; he would bring them home to get washed. He dropped the shirt as he pulled it out of the packed locker. Leaning down to grab it, he noticed something under the bench; white against the grimy blue floor tiles. He picked up the sheet of paper and flipped it over.
Jonathan was shocked to see a beautifully drawn sketch of himself. He could feel a dull heat creeping into his cheeks as he studied the image. He was completely naked on the page, each muscle clearly and perfectly outlined. He wondered who could have drawn it. In the corner was the date (two days ago) and for a signature: a small C.
Jonathan folded the paper in half, careful not to smudge the picture and put it in his locker. He grabbed up his fallen t-shirt and walked out of the locker room.
* * *
"He's such a fuckin' fag," Brett said with a guffaw as he pointed at boy across the classroom. Jonathan rolled his eyes but chose to ignore his friend’s rude comment.
“Coach Remson wants you to get your grades up otherwise you can’t stay on the team,” Jon changed the subject. Brett stared at him stupidly.
“Why does it matter?”
“Because if you can’t get your GPA up you’re not allowed to play. It’s just the rules,” Jonathan explained exasperatedly. It was Brett’s turn to roll his eyes. “Brett, come on, the team needs you. You’re one of the best players. Get your shit together or we’re screwed for the rest of the season.” Brett nodded sullenly.
Jonathan turned to his other friend, Jason. “Same goes for you, the whole team actually. The coach looked pretty stressed out about the whole thing. Just get your grades up enough so you can pass your classes, okay?” Jason nodded.
At lunch Jonathan tracked down the rest of his teammates and told them about the coach’s request. No one looked too happy about it but they all said they’d give it a try. The bell rang and it was time for P.E.
* * *
Jonathan walked into the locker room, sweating and exhausted after playing basketball for an hour straight. Yells and jeers met him as he rounded the corner to the showers. The entire gym class seemed to have congregated in section of the room.
“What’s going on?” Jonathan asked as he made his way over to the other boys.
“Teachin’ the fag a lesson,” Brett said, pointing to something on the floor that many legs were kicking at. Jonathan suddenly realized it was a person.
He watched, stunned, as everyone took turns kicking the poor boy that was lying on the wet tiled floor.
“STOP!” he yelled, pushing the boys aside and leaning down to see the thin frame of a boy with brilliantly red hair. The boy spluttered and spat blood from his mouth.
“Thanks,” he muttered to Jonathan as he slowly stood.
“What the hell is this?” Jonathan said as he turned to look at his classmates.
“He dropped his sketchbook. The fag’s been drawing pictures of naked guys. There was even a picture of you, Jon.” Jason informed his friend. Jonathan glanced back at the boy who was leaning against the wall for support, looking as though he might just faint. The pale outline of bruises had already begun to form on his bare chest and the eyeliner he usually wore had smudged and run down his cheeks. So this was the person who had drawn that picture of him.
“Just because he draws pictures you don’t like doesn’t mean you get to kick the living crap out of him!” Jonathan said, trying to control his outrage. He turned back to the boy. “Come on, get your shirt on, I’ll take you to the nurse.”