Leo couldn’t help but laugh.
Jason also snorted as he turned left onto their old street. He pulled the car to the curb a half mile from their home and turned it off. He stared straight ahead with his hands squeezing the steering wheel. An air of indecisiveness filled the car.
“I know you think I’m stupid for wanting to see him,” Leo said.
Jason sighed. “You’re anything but stupid. I just don’t understand why you’re taking his side.”
“I’m not taking anybody’s side! Why do I have to choose Mom or Dad? Can’t I have them both?”
Jason scratched his head. “I’m trying to wrap my mind around this, around why you want to see him — it’s like we’ve got different dads. The second he threw me out four years ago, the second he gave up on me, I gave up on him. I promised myself I’d never let him hurt me again. But you…you haven’t given up on him.” Jason looked out the window. “I guess it’s always been different for us. He actually gives a damn about you.”
“I’m sorry Dad’s like that.” Leo looked at his hands in his lap.
Jason turned to face him. “I never blamed you for Dad loving you more.”
“No, he doesn’t — ”
“He does, and you know it. Just accept it. I have. He hates me because I’m just like him.”
“No, you’re not! You — you care about people. You take care of me. You came back for me that night.” Jason sighed. “A lot of good that did. You conveniently forgot all the times I beat the crap out of you when we were kids.”
“I’m sure I deserved it. I was an irritant.”
“A what?” Jason lunged for Leo. “You never deserve to get hit!” He bunched Leo’s shirt in his hand, clutching his collar. “You never deserve that, you hear me?”
Leo shied away from his brother’s grip, and when Jason noticed his reaction, he immediately let go.
Jason sighed, looking down at his hands. “Case in point. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“It does, Jase. You’re nothing like Cast-iron Skillet.” Jason gave him a faint smile. “That’s a new one.” He started the car. “Let’s get this over with. You don’t leave my sight when you’re with CS, okay?”
“Okay.”
After pulling into their driveway, Jason joined Leo for the walk to the porch. Leo pressed the doorbell and the brothers waited.
“Awkward? Party of three?” Jason smirked.
Before Leo could come up with a retort, the front door opened wide.
Leo was surprised to see his father in uniform on a Saturday. “I’ve got to get to the base for a meeting.” CS shot them a disapproving look. “You’re late.”
“You know what, this is ridiculous,” Jason sneered. “I didn’t have to bring Leo here.”
CS’s eyes darkened with anger.
“Jase…” Leo stepped between them, watching CS. “We have to get going too, Dad. I just wanted to say goodbye.”
His father’s face softened. “Come in for a second. I have something for you.” He disappeared up the stairs.
Leo moved inside, but Jason hesitated a moment before crossing the threshold. Leo surveyed the spotless surroundings, shuddering when he saw his father’s study to the right. He closed his eyes and tried to push away memories of beatings.
CS returned, carrying a navy blue, folded-leather document protector. He placed it in Leo’s hands. “Open it.” Moments later Leo found himself staring at a diploma from the Naval Academy. Beautifully etched with gold writing, the letters Ensign James Scott gleamed in the hallway lighting.
“When things get bad, I want you to look at this,” his father said. “There’s a lighthouse when the seas get stormy. If I could make it through there, surely you can.”
“I can’t take this.” Leo’s hands quivered. “What if something happens to it?”
“Make sure nothing does,” CS ordered.
Leo sighed. “Yes, sir.”
Jason stirred next to him, and Leo prayed he’d keep his mouth shut.
“It figures your one magnanimous gift is your own freakin’ diploma,” Jason said.
Apparently not.
His father stared at Jason.
Leo stepped between them again. “It’s okay, Dad. We’ll be on our way.”
He flinched when CS hugged him, smashing the diploma between them. But this time Leo hugged back.
“When you get to the Academy, you’ll understand why I was so hard on you,” his father said in his ear.
Leo stepped out of the hug, his heart pounding. “I, uh, I’ll never understand that, sir.”
He ducked out the door and ran to Jason’s car, holding back tears as he clutched his father’s diploma to his chest.
52. Sweet and Sour
Those brown eyes pierced his heart.
Leo heard voices downstairs — more plebe swimmers arriving to the lieutenant’s home — and knew he should get down there to meet his new teammates. But it was so hard to return Audrey’s senior photo to his duffel bag. The transition from Pensacola to Annapolis had jarred him, and he hadn’t even made it inside the Academy walls yet. He already missed Jason, who’d just left to start the drive back to Florida.
He noticed a few other suitcases pushed to the side of the upstairs bedroom, and wondered how many swimmers would sleep in the house tonight before Induction Day began tomorrow. Lt. Winton, one of the company officers on the Yard, had been kind enough to allow the early-arriving swimmers to stay at his house. They weren’t allowed in their dorm, Bancroft Hall, till I-Day.
A noise in the hallway drew Leo’s attention. He looked up to catch a glimpse of someone entering the room, and he instinctively braced his shoulders and stared straight ahead, holding completely still.
“Yo, relax, hombre. I’m just your roomie.” Leo exhaled and examined the brown-skinned guy. Two aspects of his roommate immediately stood out: a friendly, toothy grin and a white sling over his shoulder, which held his left arm securely in place. His white tank top revealed bulging muscles as he let go of his bag to land with a thud at his feet.
Leo shook his hand. “I’m Leo Scott.”
“Benito Dulce.” He pumped Leo’s arm. There was a fullness and innocence to Benito’s face that made him seem younger than a college freshman.
“Wait a minute. How’d you know we’ll be roommates? We’re not supposed to find that out till tomorrow.” Benito winked. “Lt. Winton took me aside and told me to stash my bag up here, so I could meet my roommate. I think my stupid sling made him take pity on me.” Pointing to his shoulder, Benito shrugged. “Torn rotator cuff. Just had surgery three weeks ago.” Leo nodded, wondering how the poor guy’d survive Plebe Summer with his shoulder in a sling. His ass would be in a sling, more like it.
A short, heavy-set woman trailed in the bedroom, breathing heavily from climbing the stairs.
“That’s my mom.” He turned to her. “Es mi compañero de cuarto.” He looked blankly at Leo, clearly having forgotten his name.
“Leo Scott, señora.” Leo shook her leathery hand.
“Ah, hello.” Her smile rippled crow’s feet around her black eyes.
“I don’t speak English so good.”
Leo nodded. “Está bien, señora. Hablo un poco de español.”
“¿De verdad? You speak Spanish?” Benito’s face lit up. “We’ll get along great, amigo. I can feel it already.” He repositioned his duffel against the wall, grimacing as he jerked his shoulder.
His mother paled. “¡Ten cuidado!” Benito rolled his eyes. “Time to go, Mamá.” Mrs. Dulce patted Leo on the cheek. “Tienes ojos de ángel,” she said. “Azul como el mar. Cuida a mi hijo, por favor.” Leo grinned. So my angelic eyes are blue like the sea!
Benito stepped forward and urged her to the door, his cheeks aflame. “Sí, he’ll take good care of me. Mamá, go talk to Lt. Winton downstairs — you can embarrass me even more.” When his mother left, Benito scanned the small bedroom. “Are we all supposed to sleep in here tonight? That’s no
privacy at all, hombre.”
“Better get used to zero privacy. I hear we have to keep our dorm door open most of the time. No privacy for us lowly plebes.”
“Sweet. How am I supposed to get it on with the ladies? That’s whack, yo.”
Leo chuckled. “It’s the military, yo. Are you ready for this, man?”
“I was ready.” Benito col apsed on the twin bed. “Then my doctor told me I had to have surgery. Now I’m screwed.”
“What happened to your shoulder?”
“Overuse injury.”
Leo stared at Benito’s bulk. “What events do you swim?” Benito grinned. “You’re probably wondering how a gordo like me doesn’t drown, huh?”
“No…ahh…”
“I’m a flyer, but I’ve put on, like, twenty pounds since I had to stop swimming ’cause of my shoulder. I’m so out of shape, dude. It’ll be ugly when I get back.”
“I know exactly what that’s like,” Leo said, feeling instantly at ease. “I was out of the water for five weeks this spring.”
“Why?”
Startled, Leo clamped his mouth shut. He hadn’t planned on sharing anything involving his father. This was to be a fresh start, free of Calculating Schemer. “I had to get my appendix removed.”
“That sucks, man.” Benito’s gaze glided down from his face and landed on the framed photograph in his hand. Rising from the bed, he peered over Leo’s shoulder and whistled through his teeth. “Is this your lady? ¡Está buenísima!”
Leo blushed. “That’s Audrey.”
Benito came around him gave him a knowing smirk. “Aw, dude, you’re gonna miss her, huh?”
Leo’s smile faded. “Yeah, big time.” Leo sighed. “I already miss her.”
“I didn’t bring any pictures of my girl.” Benito plopped back down on the bed. “We just broke up.” He shrugged, doing his best to be nonchalant.
“What’s her name?” Leo asked as he returned Audrey’s photo to his bag.
“Lucia. She said she can’t do the long-distance thing.” He sighed.
“I’ll get her back though.”
With a knock on the open door, a sandy-haired midshipman stuck his head in the room.
“Gentlemen, hello.” He entered. “I’m Midshipman First Class Tom Sour, your squad leader in Second Company.” Leo snapped to attention. When Benito finally seemed to figure out he should follow suit, the midshipman was snickering. “Chill out, boys. We haven’t started yet. You can begin all that tomorrow.” Leo sat on the edge of the small desk in the room. “How do we address you, sir?”
“You call me Midshipman Ensign Sour or Mr. Sour. I’ll be one of the detailers overseeing your training for Plebe Summer. You can call midshipmen first class ‘firsties’ once the academic year begins.” He eyed them. “Welcome to the team.”
Benito grinned as Mr. Sour shook his hand. “I’m Benito — I swim the one and two fly.”
When Mr. Sour shook his hand as well, Leo felt the strength in his grip. “Leo Scott. It’s good to meet a senior on the team.”
“Yeah, I’m one of the team captains. I’m a sprinter.” Mr. Sour sized up Leo. “So what do you swim, Mr. Scott?”
“I’m a sprinter too.”
“Really.” Mr. Sour’s voice dropped on the second syllable. “What’re your best times?”
Leo swallowed, looked down, then met his eyes with a steely gaze.
“Twenty-point-oh in the fifty and forty-four-nine in the hundred.” A brief yet noticeable iciness flickered across Mr. Sour’s face.
Benito clapped Leo on the back. “You got skills, man!” Mr. Sour pasted on a smile. “Sounds like our free relays just got a lot faster.” He was suddenly all business. “You two ready for Induction Day tomorrow?”
“I hope, sir,” Leo said.
“We’ll soon find out. Report to Alumni Hall bright and early tomorrow.” Mr. Sour chuckled, and he disappeared out the door and down the stairs.
Leo exhaled. “Figures our squad leader swims my events. He hates me already.”
“What’re you talking about?” Benito said. “He seemed really nice.” Leo studied his roommate. He was going to be in for a shock once Plebe Summer officially began. Leo sensed Dulce and Sour wouldn’t be a palatable combination. He felt a flutter in his stomach, anticipating the start of his Navy career.
53. PT Redux
Leo heard a menacing howl in the recesses of his mind, followed by a guitar riff that built to an ear-splitting crescendo. Rolling over on his rack, he groaned.
“Leo!” Benito’s voice cut through his unconsciousness, and he bolted upright. “Welcome to the Jungle” blasted in the dorm passageway.
The threatening hiss of Axl Rose halted then he heard a crisp female voice: “Al Second Company plebes report to the p-way in sixty seconds, dressed in PT gear!”
Leo scrambled out of bed and flipped on the light. He flew over to his desk to wolf down a banana and tossed another to Benito, who caught it one-handed.
He grinned, pointing to his T-shirt and shorts as he shoved his feet into brand new white running shoes. “You were right, amigo.” Leo had shared CS’s advice to stuff down food at any opportunity and sleep in their PT clothes so they wouldn’t be late. As they reported to their assigned spots in the passageway, Leo noticed they were the first plebes to arrive. Squad Leader Sour gave him a cool stare before returning to his conversation with a female detailer just about his height, and Leo recognized her as the company commander.
“You ready for this, Las Vegas?” Sour asked her.
“Whiskey, I’ve been ready for years,” she said, then walked away toward another squad.
Whiskey Sour, Leo put together in his head. The Academy was rife with nicknames. But he had no idea why Tom had called her Las Vegas. And there was no time to figure it out as Mr. Sour started yelling at two plebes for being two seconds late then ordered the squad of ten to complete twenty pushups. Leo couldn’t believe Benito was trying one-armed pushups.
Next came the chaos of rack races. Mr. Sour ordered them to sprint to their rooms and strip their sheets. Once they reported back to the passageway, they then had to scramble back inside and remake their racks. Leo was fast enough to tighten his sheets and help Benito with his rack the first two races, but when they arrived to the passageway too late the third round, Mr. Sour ordered the entire squad to sit against the wall for two minutes as punishment.
Leo’s thighs burned, but he wasn’t panting nearly as heavily as some of his cohort. Suddenly his squad was on their feet and hustling down the stairs to gather with the rest of the company outside.
Behind them loomed Bancroft Hall, the largest dormitory in the world. The building they’d just left housed four-thousand midshipmen in almost five miles of corridors. The dorm even had its own zip code.
The company commander surveyed them as they waited for all the squads to assemble. She looked to be almost six-foot, with freckles and brown hair cut in a bouncy bob. Three men flanked her.
Platoon commanders, Leo reminded himself. He’d absorbed a lot of information during Induction Day.
After the company commander led them in a swift jog to the PT field, she addressed them. “Good morning.” She surveyed the group.
“Welcome to the Academy. As you may recall, I’m Midshipman Second Company Commander Viva Nevington. We’ll meet in the p-way every morning at zero-five-hundred hours.” Leo wondered how he’d be on time considering the detailers had forbidden watches and alarm clocks. He wondered if the likes of Axl Rose would be his new alarm clock.
“Next we’ll have at least ninety minutes of physical training,” Nevington resumed. “This will be the hardest time of your life, so get ready for it.”
As he listened to tiny groans and gasps, Leo felt a smile threaten to break through. Here we go. A thrilling energy coursed through him.
“Following our little workout this morning, we’ll dress in our whiteworks for more training,” Company Commander Nevington continued. “I’d like t
o introduce your platoon commanders and squad leaders who will oversee your conditioning. To my left…” Leo felt his skin tingle as it did on the starting blocks. He couldn’t wait to get this party started. But this was an endurance test ahead.
Chill out, amigo. He was a sprinter, and making it through Plebe Summer would be more like a marathon. He needed to rein in his excitement if he wanted to last through the next six weeks.
“Mr. Sour’s the leader for the Third Squad,” Ms. Nevington announced. “We have a storied history in Second Company, and you plebes are privileged to be part of it. I know I’m honored to be your commander, and we’re excited to have you on board. We’ll begin with jumping jacks.”
She had a platoon commander demonstrate the proper count for jumping jacks, and soon the company moved in unison. “One, two, three, ONE, one, two, three, TWO…” The breathing was much louder by the time they reached fifty.
Leo snuck a glance at Benito, who was moving his feet but keeping his arms by his side, trying to avoid jarring his shoulder. Sour snaked his way back toward them as a platoon commander demonstrated proper push-up technique. On cue, the company dropped to the grass.
Benito balanced himself on his right hand, and Sour’s feet halted near his head. “Keep doing one-armed pushups, Midshipman Dulce,” Sour ordered. “Spread your feet out wider.” Leo held his body motionless as Nevington cal ed out instructions. Counting out fifty, Leo was shocked to hear the grunts of worn-out plebes as bodies hit the dirt. Hadn’t his classmates taken the warnings seriously? They’d just be plain stupid to show up out of shape. His roommate’s situation, on the other hand, wasn’t due to a lack of planning.
Benito muscled through about ten one-armed pushups before he fell on his right side, exhausted. Sour screamed in his ear until Benito tried again, only to crumple to the ground. Seeming disgusted, Sour moved on to yell at another plebe for collapsing, and Benito stayed down, panting and sweating.
Meanwhile, Nevington told the plebes to hold the upright pushup position. Leo focused on his breathing as he held his arms locked straight at the elbows with his chin slightly raised. As the seconds ticked by, plebes fell to the ground, where their squad leaders advised them to stay. Leo trembled but held firm.
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