Streamline

by Jennifer Lane

  “Only ten plebes still up, Leo,” whispered Benito. “Good job.” A violent tremor ripped through Leo’s torso, burning his abdomen.

  “Only four left,” Benito urged. “You can do this. You’re a badass swimmer — these putas don’t have a prayer against you.” As ten more seconds passed, a trickle of sweat dripped off Leo’s chin.

  Benito’s voice took on an edge of excitement. “It’s down to you and one guy to your right! C’mon, Leo, just a little more. Only a few strokes to the wall, amigo. Bear down. You want it.” From within the throes of involuntary tremors, Leo noticed a pair of running shoes in front of him. His company commander?

  He clenched his teeth as salty sweat slid into his mouth.

  “The other plebe just went down!” Benito hissed. “You won, Leo!” Then Leo heard a female voice. “Well done. You can stop at any time, Midshipman.”

  Oh, how he wanted to just let go and fall to the ground, stop the tremors. But he wouldn’t let himself. CS would’ve never let him off that easy. He hadn’t passed out or vomited yet, so he still had something left.

  She finally ended it. “Ten, hut!”

  Leo wearily drew himself up, his muscles quivering.

  “What’s this plebe’s name, Mr. Sour?” Ms. Nevington asked.

  “Midshipman Scott,” Sour replied.

  The entire company went silent as his commander hovered at his left. Her voice dropped to the softest whisper. “Impressive start, Mr. Scott. Let’s see how you finish.” His chest burst with pride, elated to be recognized by his CO so soon.

  She then stepped over to Benito and ordered him on his feet as well. Benito didn’t rise as quickly.

  “Midshipman Dulce,” Sour supplied, and Nevington nodded.

  “Mr. Dulce, how could you show up to Plebe Summer in an arm sling?”

  “I’ll be out of the sling in a week, ma’am.” Fury cut through her voice. “There’re only four answers a plebe should ever give: Yes, ma’am; No, ma’am; I’ll find out, ma’am; or No excuse, ma’am!”

  Benito sounded panicked. “No excuse, ma’am?” Nevington turned to Sour. “Whiskey, why’s he doing PT? Get him set up with marching tours in T-court.” Sour spoke softly, but Leo could hear what he said. “This MUFFIN’s a swimmer. He can handle this.” When she didn’t budge, he sighed and nodded. “Let’s go, Mr. Dulce.” As they departed, Nevington ordered everyone else on their feet.

  They endured more grueling exercises, pausing twice for water breaks, before a platoon commander took them on a run along the lengthy seawall.

  Leo had a feeling he’d get to know the seawall quite well by the time he’d become an ensign. Eight-minute miles were a pedestrian pace for him, but other plebes began falling to the wayside after the first twenty minutes, where squad leaders screamed at them to move it.

  Nevington surveyed the sweaty, shell-shocked company back at the PT field. “We obviously have some work to do before you pathetic losers are worthy of a Navy uniform. But we have to start somewhere, so go change into your whiteworks then report to the p-way for breakfast.”

  Plebes jostled Leo in their tight formation as they jogged inside Bancroft Hall. Soon he’d get some food. He was repulsed by his own smell, and his muscles were already shaky and sore, but he’d made it. He survived his first PT.

  Fifteen minutes later, when Leo realized his roommate was the one plebe late to breakfast, he cursed under his breath. Benito hadn’t arrived to the room by the time Mr. Sour had corralled them toward King Hall, and it must have taken him a long time to change into his uniform with one arm. Everyone stood at attention around the dark wood tables, and Leo’s stomach wasn’t the only one growling.

  “Midshipman Dulce!” Sour boomed when Benito finally slunk into the cafeteria. “Front and center.”

  “Yes, sir.” Benito scurried over to his squad leader.

  “What’s today’s breakfast menu, plebe?” Sour asked.

  For a moment there was only silence.

  “I’ll find out, sir,” Benito finally said.

  “All midshipmen besides Mr. Dulce will give me ten pushups.” Leo hit the deck, squeezing in with prone bodies everywhere to carry out the punishment. When he popped back up, Whiskey had moved on to his next question. “What is professional knowledge, Mr. Dulce?”

  “Sir, plebes will be able to summarize three newspaper articles, recite facts about the fleet, aircraft, weaponry, and the, uh, Marines, and recite the menu for each meal if asked by an upperclassman, sir.”

  “That is correct, Mr. Dulce. So why don’t you know the breakfast menu?”

  “No excuse, sir.”

  “Also correct. Give me another ten, plebes!” Leo dropped, ignoring the protests of his classmates. Poor Benito.

  Leo made a mental note to memorize the lunch menu so this would never happen to him.

  By the sixth round of pushups for Benito’s failed menu guesses, Leo’s sympathy began to wane.

  Sour was relentless. “What’s the breakfast menu today, Mr. Dulce?”

  Benito looked around wildly. “Um, grits, sir?” Sour burst out laughing. “Why on earth do you think we’d have grits?”

  “It’s a delicious southern dish, sir?”

  “We’re not in the south! Where are you from, Mr. Dulce?”

  “New Jersey, sir.”

  “We were on the same side for the Civil War, idiot. Drop and give me ten, plebes!”

  Finally Benito guessed scrambled eggs, sausage, and biscuits off the menu, which also included yogurt, bananas, oatmeal, and orange juice, and the famished plebes began shoveling down food.

  After their huge breakfast, Second Company gathered again in the quad.

  The hot sun bounced off the sea of white uniforms as the plebes repeatedly rehearsed proper saluting technique. Leo thought his long-sleeved tunic and round “Dixie cup” hat looked rather dorky compared to traditional whites worn by the upperclassmen. He knew Audrey would make fun of him when she visited in August — if he made it until then.

  After they’d practiced saluting and standing at attention for longer than an invitational swim meet, their company commander explained the leadership structure of the Academy: the Superintendent was a three-star Vice Admiral and beneath him, the Commandant of Midshipman was Captain Sean Tracker. One of Captain Tracker’s staff members served as the company officer for Second Company: Lt. Darnell Keaton.

  That name sounded familiar to Leo, but he couldn’t place it.

  Nevington told them they wouldn’t interact with these officers unless they’d “screwed the pooch,” so Leo determined never to meet them.

  Sour reviewed the Honor Concept of the Brigade of Midshipmen.

  “Offenses like stealing, lying, and cheating can result in separation from the Navy,” he told them. “Midshipmen are persons of integrity.

  They stand for that which is right.”

  “Midshipmen are persons of integrity,” the plebes repeated in unison. “They stand for that which is right.” Following lunch, the plebes had four hours of instruction in small arms and first aid. Leo’s heavy eyelids were much lighter once he held an M-16 rifle. The smooth, gleaming metal felt formidable in his hands, and it was frightening at first. The instructor informed the plebes they’d get to know their issued rifles very well as they spent time marching in formation with them.

  Just when Leo teetered on collapse, Nevington dismissed the varsity athletes to meet with the athletic director while the remaining plebes practiced that marching with those rifles they’d just learned about.

  The AD was a civilian who punctuated his speech with rousing shouts of “Go, Navy! Beat Army!” Most of them wouldn’t be practicing their sports during Plebe Summer, they learned, but they’d have three hours a day during the school year for practice with their team.

  “I’m won’t lie to you,” he said. “Varsity athletes have it tougher than other plebes. Division I student-athletes are often exhausted from the rigorous schedule, and you have all your military duties pile
d on top of that. You won’t catch a break from memorizing professional knowledge, preparing your uniforms for inspection, shining your shoes, hitting the barbershop, or drilling in formation.

  It’s not an option to miss class or practice. The only break you will get is eating evening meals with your teammates, who typically don’t harass plebes as much.”

  After evening chow, the plebes’ grueling day was final y complete.

  Leo and Benito sprawled on their racks after showering.

  “Is nine too early for bed?” Benito moaned.

  Leo chuckled. “That’s twenty-one hundred to you, my man. Just think, once the school year starts we’ll be in the middle of study hall this time of night.”

  “Ohhh…” Benito groaned and reached under his bed for something. He popped a pill then took a swig from his water bottle.

  “What’s that?” Leo asked.

  “Percocet. I haven’t taken any in a while, but my shoulder’s killing me.”

  Leo suddenly felt hot. He rolled over to face the wall.

  “You okay?” Benito asked.

  “Yeah. I’m, uh, I’m just thinking about how all this will start over again tomorrow. It’ll be a long six weeks.”

  “Sí. I guess we’ve been fully inducted into the Navy, amigo. ” Leo rolled back over and grinned. “Bienvenido to the jungle, baby.”

  54. Raison D’Être

  From the driver’s seat, Audrey glanced at Mrs. Scott.

  “I’m glad you could join us for dinner,” Leo’s mom said. “I want to thank everyone for helping Leo get to the Academy. At times I wasn’t sure he’d make it.”

  “I don’t know how much help I was.” Audrey sighed. “I didn’t really want him to go.”

  “You’re always a big help to my son. You’re his raison d’être.”

  “His what? I only speak Spanish, sorry.”

  “His reason for being.”

  Audrey blushed.

  “I know you miss Leo, but financially he didn’t have much choice.

  I’m hoping the Academy will work out for him.”

  “He seems to like it. His letters make those PT sessions sound almost fun.”

  “He is a bit warped, isn’t he?” They shared a grin as Audrey parked, but she winced when she noticed she hadn’t left much room for Mrs. Scott to maneuver her canes out of the vehicle. Thankfully Leo’s mother didn’t comment.

  Inside the restaurant, they found Mr. Shale and Matt already waiting for them. Mr. Shale held out a chair for Leo’s mother, and Matt did the same for Audrey, who giggled.

  “I got us a table for five, right?” Matt asked, returning to his seat.

  Mrs. Scott nodded. “Yes. Jason and Cameron can’t make it.”

  “Amy will be here once she finishes up at a crime scene,” Matt said.

  Mrs. Scott’s face lit up. “You’ve been dating Detective Easton over a month, Matt! What’s that, a new record for you? Tell us the juicy details.”

  Audrey leaned in eagerly.

  Matt shot her a withering look. “It’s going well, thank you.”

  “Sounds like Jason’s quite the matchmaker,” Mr. Shale said.

  Mrs. Scott beamed. “My son has many hidden talents. Just think, Matt — Jason would’ve never met your girlfriend if he hadn’t committed a crime. And then he got to know Amy even better because of James hurting Le — ”

  Mr. Shale broke the ensuing silence. “Jason sure knows how to turn a negative into a positive.”

  “Ah, Mary?” Matt asked. “What is James up to these days?” She sighed. “He keeps calling me, wanting to talk. But I — ” She glanced at Audrey and paused. “Audrey, honey, would you maybe take a walk outside for a bit?”

  Audrey frowned.

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I-- — I want to talk about parent stuff without burdening you. You certainly have enough to worry about these days.”

  Audrey sighed as she rose from her chair, and Matt grasped her arm before she left. “While you’re walking, how ’bout you figure out what you’d need to split to go under two minutes in the IM?” Audrey strolled around the parking lot, miffed. In his emails, Leo had been asking her what was happening with his parents, and she’d have nothing to tell him again.

  Following Matt’s instructions, she calculated times for each fifty of the individual medley as she walked the perimeter of the lot. She kept her head down and was startled when suddenly a man blocked her path. She looked up and gasped as she found herself staring into cool hazel eyes.

  CS’s voice was smooth. “You look deep in thought.”

  “Yes, Commander. I-I’m working out some swimming times in my head.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do great at FSU. Better than you did at the state meet, anyway.”

  Her cheeks flushed.

  He winced and opened his mouth, then closed it. “How’s Leo?” he finally asked.

  “He’s good. He, he likes it at the Academy.”

  “I knew he’d thrive there.” He nodded. “But I wish he’d write me.” And I wish you’d go away.

  “So, you’re having dinner with Mary?”

  “Yes, sir, Matt and Mr. Shale are here too.” His eyes narrowed. “Marcus Shale? What’s he doing here?” Audrey squirmed. “I, I don’t know? Mrs. Scott wanted to thank people for helping Leo.”

  CS looked over Audrey’s shoulder, and his jaw clenched.

  “Evening, Commander.”

  Audrey turned to find Mr. Shale right behind her. “Audrey, we’d like you to rejoin us at the table now.” CS clutched her shoulder, and she wriggled beneath his firm hold.

  “No need to rush out of here,” he told her. “I want to talk to Mary.”

  “Mary’s well aware that you wish to speak to her,” said Mr. Shale.

  “I don’t think now’s the best time.”

  CS’s hand brushed off of Audrey’s shoulder as he stepped forward.

  “Stay away from my wife, Shale.”

  “You have no right to tell me what to do.” Audrey’s heart fluttered. The air seemed to crackle with energy.

  “When it comes to my wife, I have every right in the world.” CS curled his hands into fists.

  “How’s everyone doing tonight?” A cheerful voice rang out behind them, and Detective Easton appeared. “Kind of hot to be standing around outside, don’cha think?”

  When the detective’s arm curled around her shoulders, Audrey finally exhaled. Detective Easton’s friendly smile did nothing to mask her forceful presence.

  CS inched away. “I don’t want any trouble. I’m just here to see my wife.”

  “I see,” Detective Easton said. “And did Mary invite you here, Commander?”

  He looked away, visibly attempting to control his breathing. “No.”

  “Do you know the legal definition of stalking, sir?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “I suggest you go home and look it up. This is not the way to get on Mary’s good side, showing up unannounced and harassing her dinner guests. It’s not the way to get what you want. Can I count on you to leave now, sir?”

  CS stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Will you tell Mary I need to speak to her?”

  “I’ll make you a deal,” she said evenly. “If you leave now, I’ll tell her that as soon as I see her.”

  “Fine.” He walked away, and Audrey’s shoulders slumped with relief.

  When they returned to the table, Matt leaned over to kiss the detective on the cheek before they all sat down.

  “So, you all ran into each other in the parking lot?” Mrs. Scott smiled warmly.

  Mr. Shale’s gaze shifted over to Audrey. “We ran into one other person as well.”

  Mrs. Scott paled. “James,” she whispered.

  When Mr. Shale nodded she turned to Audrey. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. The detective made him leave.”

  “The commander asked me to tell you he wants to speak to you,” Detective Easton reported.

  Audrey
noticed Leo’s mom’s eyes dart over to Mr. Shale. “Do you think I should call him?” she asked. “Will that keep him away?” Mr. Shale glanced up. “Uh…I can’t answer that for you, Mary.

  That’s for you to figure out.”

  “Why is she asking you what to do, Marcus?” Detective Easton asked.

  Mrs. Scott answered for him. “He’s a counselor. He gives good advice.”

  “That’s not the only reason.” Mr. Shale squirmed in his seat before taking a moment to compose himself. “I understand what it’s like to grow up in an abusive home.”

  Mrs. Scott patted his arm.

  “It’s why I feel such a kinship with your sons, Mary,” Mr. Shale told her.

  Audrey trembled, still feeling CS’s hand on her shoulder. She wished Leo could be here. She needed to feel his warm, strong arms around her. But she was also relieved to know he was miles away from CS. Leo was safe, no longer under his influence.

  55. Screwing the Pooch

  Leo whistled a happy tune as he strolled from the natatorium to his dorm room in Bancroft Hall, otherwise known as Mother B, he’d learned. When he realized he was whistling “YMCA,” he smiled so wide he had to stop whistling. Las Vegas was a crazy company commander, and her choice of blaring wake-up music that morning had made PT slightly more tolerable. Her allowing him to squeeze in a swim during letter-writing time made the day even better.

  Though he’d only had time to pound out five thousand meters in the ninety minutes she’d given him, it felt wonderful to be back in the water after two weeks of Plebe Summer. The pool had soothed his sore muscles and given him some hope that he could make it through the punishing mental and physical demands ahead.

  He was relieved not to encounter any upperclassmen on his journey, thrilled to avoid the endless professional knowledge quizzes.

  As Leo entered his room, he caught Benito shoving something into a duffel bag, looking guilty as hell.

  His roommate swiped at tears and appeared absolutely miserable — the lowest Leo had seen him.