Catholic, Reluctantly (The John Paul 2 High Series)

by Christian M. Frank

  And eventually, since the manager was hovering near their table, he did. “Don’t expect me to give you a ride home!” he said as he stomped out.

  She waved at him cheerfully. “See ya!”

  She was alone. People were staring at her, but she hardly noticed. She was too astonished with herself. I can’t believe I just did that. She hadn’t even come close to losing her temper. Tyler had done all the yelling.

  Allie looked down at their food, and realized that she was hungry. Her mom had given her some money, so she could pay the bill. But she had no idea how she was going to get home.

  Celia’s got a license.

  Thanks, Truth Guy, Allie thought happily. I think I might like you.

  “Celia? It’s Allie. I have a favor to ask you…”

  Allie turned to the food, and dug in. It was the best meal she had ever had.

  Thanks a lot!” Allie said as she got into the front seat of the Costain minivan about twenty minutes later. “You’re a lifesaver!”

  “No problem,” Celia said, looking at her curiously. “Uh…you can make it up to me by telling me what’s going on?”

  “Tyler brought me here on a date,” Allie said, checking her mascara in the passenger-side window. “But he started hitting on the waitress, so I dumped him.”

  Celia stepped on the brake a little too hard and Allie almost bashed her head on the dashboard as the minivan jerked to a stop.

  “Oh! Sorry!” Celia said hastily as she pulled out of the parking lot. “So…you broke up with Tyler?”

  “Yep,” Allie said. “Broke up.”

  “Oh…I’m sorry?” Celia said tentatively.

  “Don’t be,” Allie said, smiling. “He had it coming.”

  “So…you’re alright?”

  “I’m fine. I just needed a ride home.” Allie took a deep breath. She felt unbelievably light and happy; the happiest she had felt in a long time. She felt like dancing, or dressing up, or going shopping.

  “Hey, Celia!” she said. “Let’s go shopping tomorrow! Me and you!”

  “Really?” Celia said. “Oh, I’d love to, but…”

  “What?” Allie said. “Come on, Celia, me and you never have fun together.”

  “No, it’s just that…” Celia sighed. “George and Brian are going to the Sectionals tomorrow, and I promised George I’d come…”

  “Oh yeah, the Sectionals,” Allie said. “Can I come?”

  “Isn’t Tyler going to be there?”

  “Yeah, so what?” Allie said, and then laughed out loud. “I don’t care.”

  And she didn’t.

  “Are you sure someone’s here?” George’s mom said as they pulled up to Sparrow Hills’ main entrance.

  “Sure I’m sure,” George said, opening the door and stepping out. “Coach said someone would open the gym for me.” It was a cold, fresh morning, and he felt rested and ready for the day. It was funny, but big meets relaxed him more often than not.

  He shouldered his bag, jogged over to the main entrance, and sure enough, the center front door was unlocked. “It’s good!” he shouted, waving at his mom.

  “All right! See you later!” she called back, and started to drive away. “Good luck!” Then she was gone.

  As he made his way through the silent, darkened hallways, George found his thoughts turning back to Allie. I wonder how her date with Tyler went last night. Probably great. Okay, maybe I’m just being jealous.

  Suddenly he heard voices echoing down the hallway. Who’s that? I didn’t think there was anyone else here this early…

  He turned the corner and ran right into Flynt and Brock.

  “Hey, Peterson!” Flynt said. “About time you got here!”

  “Hey, Flynt,” George said warily. “What do you mean?”

  “Dude, didn’t you get the message?” Flynt said. “Coach wanted the varsity squad to come at nine to load mats and stuff into the bus.”

  “Really?” George said. “I was just coming in early to practice..”

  “Don’t you think you’re ready?” Brock said.

  George shrugged. “Never hurts to be prepared.” He had no intention of telling Flynt and Brock about meeting Brian early to practice.

  “Whatever,” Flynt said. “Anyway, for once I’m glad to see you, Peterson. Only four guys showed. Come on.”

  They went down the hallway, talking and laughing. George followed, annoyed. Why didn’t Coach tell me about this? I thought we’d have the whole gym to ourselves.

  Wondering where Brian was, he checked his watch. Flynt and Brock led the way over to the closet in the back of the gym where the mats were stored. It was the size of a small garage and held stacks of wrestling mats, volleyball poles, hockey goals, and even gymnastic equipment. “We got to get all the mats out of here.” Brock pushed open the doors. “Come on.”

  Still preoccupied, George stepped into the closet and looked up.

  There stood Tyler, looking right at him. His face was a little pale, but he grinned. “Hey, Peterson,” he said. “How’s it going?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, George saw Flynt lunge for him. He spun around to meet him; but Brock leapt on his back, and then Tyler pinned his arms to his sides. For a moment George grappled, trying to stay upright. Then he fell beneath the three of them. Pain shot through his shoulder as it made contact with the hard wooden floor.

  Tyler laughed. He grabbed a handful of George’s hair and jerked his head up, hard. “Does that hurt?” he growled viciously.

  “What…are…you doing?” George said between gritted teeth.

  “I’m just having fun,” Tyler said. “Just like you’ve been having fun with my girlfriend.”

  “I have not been having fun…” George started to say; but Tyler stuffed a dirty sock into his open mouth, and Flynt smeared a piece of duct tape over it. He tried to reach up and rip it off; but he was too well pinned.

  “We gotta get some rope or something,” Flynt said. “There’s not enough duct tape to tie him up.”

  “Check over there,” Tyler said to Brock, and George seized the moment to struggle, twisting in their grasp, until they lost control of him for a moment.

  Flynt snarled. “Whoah!” he heard Brock yell. “Hold him!” Tyler barked.

  A moment later George was pinned again, dazed and trying to get his breath back. Flynt was on his stomach and Brock was sitting on his head while Tyler rummaged in the closet.

  Brock had his face mashed to the floor and George could no longer see what was happening. All he could do was lie there thinking of all the things he wanted to say to them, and wish that Coach Lamar would walk into the gym. Maybe Coach Lamar was in his office right now, going over stuff for the Sectionals. If only I could make some noise!

  He saw Tyler’s feet again, and then something dropped to the floor: rope, white nylon cords from the volleyball net. “Here,” Tyler said. “Flynt, you tie him up. Brock, help me hold him down.”

  Brock’s chest pressed down on George’s shoulders, immobilizing them. Then Tyler dug his knees into George’s calves painfully, pinning them to the floor. George struggled again, but this time there wasn’t any loosening of the grip. Flynt yanked his hands back and crossed them together. “Hold his hands!”

  Brock and Tyler held his struggling wrists, as loop after loop of cords was wrapped around his wrists, swiftly and mercilessly. Then his wrists were yanked down cruelly, and Flynt said, “Okay, give me his ankles. No, cross them. Yeah, like that.” He sounded so calm and unruffled that it was almost frightening.

  George’s ankles were pulled up off the ground; he tried to kick, but Tyler had too good of a grip. Then the cord went round and round his ankles, and then it too was pulled tight. George’s legs were bent backwards now, off the floor; he tried to pull them down, but only succeeded in stretching his arms painfully.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” Flynt said, satisfied. “Got him hogtied.”

  “What do we do now?” Brock said.

  “Shove him behi
nd the mats where no one’ll see him,” Tyler said.

  Flynt and Brock heaved George over a stack of mats and dropped him onto a wrestling mat in the back corner of the huge closet.

  George struggled, rolling back and forth on the mat as he tried to yank an arm or leg out of the knots.

  “He can still move,” Brock said in a worried voice. “He might make enough noise to give us away.”

  “Hold on a sec,” Flynt said. “You got any more rope?”

  A few moments later, Flynt wrapped a loop of cord around his neck and then tied it back to his legs. It wasn’t tight yet, but George knew that if he tried to pull free again, the cord would strangle him.

  “Saw this in a movie,” Flynt said. “Pretty cool, eh?”

  “Great, fine, whatever. As long as he stays quiet,” Tyler said. “You know what we’re going to do with you, Peterson?” he said, putting his face was level with George’s.

  George didn’t even try to reply. He concentrated on meeting Tyler’s gaze, trying to ignore the anger, hate and shame surging through him.

  “Nothing,” Tyler breathed. “We’re just gonna leave you here. Let you sweat a bit while we give Burke what’s coming to him. After we’re done with Burke, maybe I’ll let you out; maybe I won’t. I haven’t really decided yet.”

  George’s words were smothered by the gag, which turned them into a barely audible growl. Tyler only laughed grimly. “Coach told me you and Burke were coming in early to use the gym, and I was just thinking last night…”

  He put a heavy hand on George’s neck, and pushed. For a moment the cord around George’s neck tightened, and he couldn’t breathe.

  Panic welled up in him…and then Tyler let him go. “I was just thinking that if Peterson is always interfering with my business, maybe I’d just interfere a bit with him. So you want to make Burke a man? Well, I’ll un-man him. Not that it’ll take too much work.” He stood up. “See you around, Peterson. Enjoy the show.”

  He vanished behind the mats, and George heard the door creak closed behind him. Then he was alone in the darkness.

  George struggled in vain for a few minutes, but it was no good. Then the door opened. He twisted his head around, trying to see; but the pile of mats that was hiding him blocked his view.

  Suddenly he heard Brian’s voice. “Uh…what are we doing?”

  George’s heart froze. He struggled again, and tried to yell through the gag. Brock coughed loudly to hide the sound.

  “I told you, dude,” Flynt said casually. “We’re setting up some mats for a demonstration. Come on.”

  “Oh, okay,” he heard Brian’s voice say. “Have you seen George around?”

  “George? No,” Brock said. “Were you supposed to meet him here or something?”

  “Hey!” Brian’s voice suddenly was full of alarm. “What are you doing-hey! Stop!” George heard a scuffling sound, some grunting, and all the while Brian’s voice yelling, “Hey! Hey! Let me go! Unhand me! I’ll—”

  “Shut up, Burke,” Flynt said, and there was silence.

  “We got something for you. Stay right here.”

  Flynt appeared above the pile of mats. He grinned at George and snatched up a plastic bag that had been lying there. He pulled some items out of the bag: a bra, a blonde wig, and a pair of high-heeled shoes, then scrambled back over the mat. “Take his shirt off, Brock. We got some new clothes for the homeschooler.”

  With his heart pounding and his face growing hot, George had to listen as they stripped Brian’s shirt off and forced him into the bra. Then they ripped off his shoes and jammed the high heels on him. Apparently the shoes were too small; Brian cried out in pain as they did so.

  George leaned up as far as the cord would let him and caught a glimpse of Flynt grabbing Brian’s face with one hand. Brock plopped the wig on his head.

  “And now the final touch,” Flynt said, and pulled something else out of the bag; something small that George didn’t recognize immediately.

  “No!” Brian gasped. “No, stop it!” Brock broke out laughing as Flynt put lipstick on Brian’s face.

  “It’s our new mascot!” Flynt said, and laughed gleefully. George was forced to let himself fall back on the ground, choking for breath.

  “What now?” Brock said.

  “Most of the squad’s probably coming in right now,” Flynt said. “Go get them. Tell them you got something to show them!”

  Brock ran off, and Flynt stayed there, keeping Brian pinned to the ground. George heard deep shaky breaths coming out of Brian.

  “Aw, are you scared?” Flynt said after a while. “Sowwy, Bwian, but Peterson ain’t here to help you this time. You wondering where he is?”

  Brian made no reply.

  “I saw him just a little while ago. He came in before you did,” Flynt said. “He said you would be coming in. Poor guy, he was so tired. Kept complaining about how he had to sit with you all the time, holding your hand. I felt sorry for him. I wonder where he went.”

  “Where is he?” Brian said, and his voice was angry. “Did you beat him up too?”

  “I told you, Burke,” Flynt said in a mock-patient voice. “He must have taken off. He said he was so sick of you always hanging around, pretending to be a wrestler.”

  George’s heart seemed to twist in his chest. God, please don’t let Brian listen to him…please…

  There were footsteps and voices as the other wrestlers came into the gym. He heard Flynt jerk Brian to his feet and shove open the door. “Hey, check out the homeschooler!” he yelled. “He just found his real self!”

  Laughter greeted his words, and catcalls followed.

  “Woo! Woo! Nice!”

  “Looking good!”

  Flynt must have let Brian go, because George heard feet pounding on the ground, the high heels making an odd clocking sound as Brian half-limped, half ran from the gym. There was more laughter.

  George turned his face to the wall. He didn’t even want to think anymore. Someone—probably Brock, he guessed—closed the closet door, and he was plunged into darkness.

  But he could still hear what was going on. “Nice one, Flynt!” he heard Tyler say. “A sight for sore eyes!”

  Suddenly he heard another voice: Coach Lamar’s. “Hey! What the hell is going on here?!?”

  There was dead silence. “I don’t want to believe that I just saw that,” Coach Lamar said. “Tyler, you want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure, Coach,” Tyler said, and something about his voice told George that he was trying hard to appear stern and serious, and not laugh. “Okay, idiots! Who dressed Burke like that?”

  “We didn’t do it!” several voices responded.

  “Okay, who let him dress like that?”

  Laughter broke out again. “Okay, that’s enough,” Lamar yelled. “That’s enough, do you hear?” After a long pause where you could hear a pin drop, Mr. Lamar spoke again. His voice was thick with fury. “I’m ashamed of you. Every one of you. Here we are, on the day of the Sectionals, and are you acting like a team? Are you acting like men? I don’t think so!”

  “And if I ever find out who did this,” Mr. Lamar continued. “I will personally make sure that they never wrestle again. You got that?”

  There was a surly mumbling response from the team. “I said, you got that?” Mr. Lamar said.

  “Yes, sir!” came the response, louder now.

  “Good,” Mr. Lamar growled. “Get your gear and get your butts on the bus. Now!”

  George’s heart sank as he heard the sounds of the team moving out of the gym. He realized that there was no way Tyler, Flynt and Brock were going to let him go now; at least, not until Mr. Lamar had calmed down. And that meant that he was going to miss the Sectionals!

  George was so full of anger that it took all of his self-control to restrain himself from struggling too much; he knew what would happen if he did. Okay, think. How am I going to get out of this?

  He tried to move his feet experimentally. No g
ood—he couldn’t move them back at all without tightening the strangling cord. But he could move them forward a bit. Would that loosen the cord that was tied to his wrists?

  No, it wouldn’t. It was tied too tight. He was so frustrated that he kicked down his feet in rage, and the strangling cord tightened again, choking him.

  With a supreme effort of will, he forced himself to stop struggling. Okay, Okay. Calm down. You can do this…

  Then he heard footsteps: one pair of footsteps. Someone was coming back. George tensed, trying to keep down the irrational hope that someone had seen him and was coming to free him.

  The door creaked open, and something was tossed into the closet. “Here’s your gear,” came Tyler’s voice. “You heard Coach, Peterson. He’s on the rampage.”

  He walked over and untied the cord around George’s neck. “That Flynt is an idiot,” he muttered. “I can’t have you dying on me, Peterson.” He straightened. “I gotta run. You know, the Sectionals and all. Too bad I’m going to have to wrestle your guys for you. Carrying the team to victory by myself, as usual. Hey, catch!”

  With a laugh, he tossed something at George’s face. “Maybe you’ll find someone in there to keep you company.” It was a Playboy magazine.

  Tyler waved mockingly and shut the door. George listened to his footsteps as he jogged out of the gym.

  Then George rolled over, kicking the Playboy out of his vision. He swallowed against the gag, and listened. So this is what you get for sticking your neck out and being Catholic.

  Nothing.

  Failure.

  “Wow,” Celia said, looking up as the three girls got out of her car. “This is a big school. You must feel right at home, Allie.”

  “No way,” Allie said. “This is a city school. I’m from the suburbs.”

  “Me too,” Celia said. “Cities always make me nervous.”

  “Oh, you guys are so lame,” said Liz, slamming the car door. “This is exciting.”