The Clubhouse - 3. Crime and Punishment

Tristan could count on one hand the number of times he had been called to the front office. The first time was during his freshman year. He’d been in the middle of an Algebra test when he was asked to come pick up his lost retainer. The second time was on the first day of his junior year. His father had dropped off his brown-bagged lunch which he’d left on the kitchen counter.

Mrs. Becker was a kind-faced woman with tortoise shell glasses and bright red lipstick who operated the front desk. Without a word, she stood up and ushered him towards the office behind her.

“Have a seat, Mr. Goolsby.”

Tristan shrugged off his bag and took a seat. Everything, from the books on the shelves to the plaques on the wall, were carefully arranged. Tristan noticed a picture of Mr. Townsend, his wife and his twin daughters standing next to the Golden Gate Bridge, each wearing identical blue T-shirts and smiles, sitting on edge of his desk.

Mr. Townsend wore a light pink dress shirt with the sleeves hiked up and a pair of slim-fit chinos. Tristan noticed how prominent the veins were in his forearms. He’d once overheard a group of girls talking about how hot Mr. Townsend was with his shaved head and goatee. They’d even gone as far as to call him zaddy which Tristan later had to Google. Sure Mr. Townsend was attractive. Handsome even. But Tristan wanted Superman. Not Clark Kent.

“It was brought to my attention you weren’t in class yesterday,” he spoke. “Care to tell me where you were?”

Tristan had rehearsed this scene in his head so many times in the last 24 hours. When his father had come home on his lunch break to find him lying on the sofa in the den, Tristan had told him he was sick – which wasn’t exactly a lie considering he’d left the locker room feeling sick to his stomach. After his dad gave him a Sprite and a pack of peanut butter crackers, there was no further discussion over the matter. Jason Goolsby was not the type to give the third degree. That job had been left to his wife.

“I got sick.”

Mr. Townsend rubbed his chin as he began pacing back and forth behind his desk.

“You do realize it’s against school policy to just leave in the middle of the day without being properly dismissed. You are my responsibility between the hours of seven and two. If something were to happen to you -.”

Tristan looked at his feet. He’d had perfect attendance since Kindergarten. So what if he ducked out early He was entitled to at least one afternoon of dozing in front of the TV.

“Since this is your first offense, you will serve three afternoons in detention starting this afternoon.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Townsend quit pacing and looked over at him. Feeling the other man’s eyes on him, Tristan slowly lifted his head. The intense look Mr. Townsend had been wearing moments earlier had fallen away.

“Everything alright, Mr. Goolsby?”

Tristan wondered if he knew about the incident in the locker room. Gossip tended to spread like wildfire in the hallways of Minor Springs High School. Mr. Townsend was looking at him, expectantly. He knew it was his job to ask these questions but judging by the look on the older man’s face, he looked genuinely concerned.

“I’m fine.”

Mr. Townsend continued to watch him. Tristan figured he was trying to decide if he believed him or not. A few moments passed and then Mr. Townsend moved towards the door.

“Have Mrs. Becker write you a note and go straight to class.”

Tristan quickly gathered his bag and squeezed past the assistant principal.

“Mr. Montgomery, you’re up,” Mr. Townsend called.

Finn Montgomery sat in one of the chairs in the lobby outside the front office. Tristan watched as he walked past the front desk in the direction of Mr. Townsend’s office. In that moment, it had occurred to him he’d never been in such proximity to the guy. He knew Finn was tall. He’d seen him standing in the hallway between classes and in the cafeteria. What he hadn’t realized was just how fit he was. Underneath that ever-present green and white letterman jacket were muscles stacked on top of muscles.

Tristan watched as he disappeared into Mr. Townsend’s office. He wondered what they were meeting about. Was Finn in trouble? By all intents and purposes, Finn Montgomery was a boy scout. He spoke to everyone and everyone seemed to like him, even the teachers. He was also extremely hot with dopey dark brown eyes and a killer smile. He also had the best head of hair on a guy in the entire school. Wavy dark curls Tristan had the urge to run his fingers through every time he saw him. If Greek gods existed, Tristan was 99.9% sure Finn was one of them.

“Make sure you give this to Coach.” Mrs. Becker handed him a folded piece of paper. He noticed her nail polish was leopard print. “We’ll see you after school in the library.”

Tristan took the paper and told her thank you.

The main hallway was empty as he walked towards the gym. He checked the time on his phone. By now everyone in his PE class were out on the football field which meant he could change into his gym clothes without any awkwardness.

He turned down a side hallway that connected the main building to the gymnasium. The walls were made of Plexiglas and offered a view of the courtyard where upperclassman gathered between class and during their lunch break.

The gym smelled like sweat and stale body odor. He reckoned the stench was universal to ever gym at every high school across the country. His footsteps echoed off the super high ceilings as he moved quickly across the basketball court.

He paused outside of the locker room and listened for any noise coming from inside. After several moments passed, he pushed opened the door and stepped inside. The area looked like a bomb had gone off. There were crumpled khakis and polo shirts and shoes strewn all over the hardwood floor. There were towels hanging out of open lockers. He noticed a pair of orange and blue boxers lying on top of an open gym bag.

He headed to the back of the room and noticed the door to his assigned locker was half open. In his haste to get out of there the day before, he wondered if he’d neglected to shut it. He sat his bag down on an available bench and pulled his locker open the rest of the way. His heart stopped.

At the bottom of his locker were a pile of jockstraps, each smeared with something brown. Tristan’s stomach churned as his gaze shifted from the pile of soiled underwear to something even more disgusting on the inside of the door to his locker. The same brown stuff was smeared across the inside of his locker door. It was like someone took their finger and used brown paint to write with.

Tristan looked behind him to see if anyone else was seeing what he was seeing but the locker room was empty. He reached for his bag and started towards the door. He was halfway across the basketball court before he remembered his meeting with Mr. Townsend. He couldn’t skip school again. Not even his dad would buy the sick excuse again.

Hot tears stung his eyes and he turned around to head back to the locker room. The message was still there when he jerked open his locker. So were the jockstraps. He wanted to vomit right there. Right there in the middle of the locker room.

He stormed over to the sink area and ripped several paper towels from the dispenser. He used them to pick up the pile of dirty underwear. Upon closer inspection he could see that it was pudding. Chocolate pudding. He swallowed back the bile stinging the back of his throat. He threw the soiled jockstraps into a tall trash barrel along with the paper towels.

Tristan’s last order of business was to use a clean towel he found stacked on a shelf near the shower area to clean off the pudding smeared on the door to his locker. He’d been called names before. Some of them silly. Some of them particularly harsh. None of them hurt as much as a certain six-letter word.

As he rid all traces of pudding and slander from his locker, he wondered what would happen next. There were exactly 36 days until graduation. He’d been crossing the days off on the calendar in his bedroom. He had exactly 36 days to bear the unbearable. He’d gotten this far without throwing himself into one of the minor springs. None of this would even matter in 36 days. Surely, he could make it until then.

Tristan closed his locker and quickly changed into his gym clothes. With his Walkman in his right hand and the note from Mrs. Becker in his left, he exited the locker room.