Naked In School: About Ron -- Monday Morning

Naked In School: About Ron

© Copyright 2003 by silli_artie@hotmail.com

This work may not be reposted or redistributed without the prior express written permission of the author.

A work of fiction, meant for adults. Read something else if you are not an adult, or are offended by stories with sexual content. Then again, if all you’re looking for is in-out, in-out, in-out, you should probably read something else. I welcome constructive comments. Enjoy.

Monday Morning

Joyce

Monday morning as usual was pins-and-needles for me; I got to school almost an hour early. Donna, my administrative assistant, parked next to me and we walked in together from the staff parking lot. Ed’s and Elizabeth’s parking spots, our principal and assistant principal were already occupied.

“Ready for another round?” Donna asked me.

“Are they ready?” I replied with a smile.

“Good morning, Joyce,” Ed greeted me with a nod as I entered the office. He had our stack of folders, this week’s participants in The Program.

“Good morning, Ed, Elizabeth. Decided who you want?”

Elizabeth smiled. “We decided you get Ron, the Japanese boy.”

I overemphasized a frown. “He’s not Japanese -- he was born in San Clemente, and his mother’s maiden name was Mendoza.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I know -- but the last eleven years?”

I held out a hand to Ed. “Yeah, I understand. I’ll take him. I want to review his file once more. Ed, I imagine you want Miss Benjamin?”

“Rank occasionally has its privileges,” he said, trying to look haughty.

All of us chuckled. Teri Benjamin was one of the best looking Seniors in school, a cheerleader.

Donna added, “I’ll have assignment sheets for all of you in ten minutes.

“Thanks dear,” I told her. I opened my office and went in.

The ceremonial empty cardboard box was already on my desk. In under an hour, it would contain sophomore Ron Hanson’s clothing.

Unless -- no, we’d decided last week. It was his shot in The Program. I glanced in the box. Yes, there was a Program pamphlet in it.

I dropped my bag by the side of the desk and sat down to review his file.

This was our high school’s fourth year of participation in The Program. The first two weeks of this school year had gone well. In less than an hour six students would enter the Administrative offices. Most would figure out what was up before they got here. They would leave sans clothing, spending the remainder of the week in The Program, also known as Naked in School.

We start selection the preceding Wednesday. Ed, Elizabeth, and I meet with our Socio-biology teachers. They’re really the core of The Program, working with the kids every day. Not only do we review the progress of the current group, we make our first cut for the following week. Usually it’s two, male and female, from each of the 10th, 11th and 12th grades. Oh, we’ve deviated -- last year we had four Juniors at once, the Eidson twins and two Junior girls to go with them. Then we did one particular clique of girls all at once, nipping a potentially unpleasant situation in the bud.

While Elizabeth and I both have the title “Assistant Principal,” I’m the resident psychologist. It’s my responsibility to prune our selections, interviewing teachers, examining all the myriad factors. Occasionally when Ed asks me, “Why?” the only thing I can tell him is that it’s a gut feel, one way or the other. I’m lucky -- he’s backed me every time.

Kids at this age are such tinder boxes -- tightly-wound bundles of conflicting desires and needs, driven by raging hormones. Yes, we want to open them up, but we have to be careful. That’s why I’ve recommended against going with the Partner model some schools have adopted for The Program. I want to see another year or two of experience with it.

That’s an exciting aspect of The Program -- while the basics are set, implementations differ slightly. The Program is evolving, slightly differently at different schools. Some schools have gone with Partners. I sighed -- others, including our school, had evolved Angels.

But back to Ron -- his guardians wanted him in The Program. I wanted him in The Program. I knew we were taking a risk -- I was taking a risk -- I didn’t have a complete history on him as we did with other students. Ron had spent the last eleven years living with an aunt and uncle in Japan -- Mormon missionaries. He returned to the States four weeks ago to complete school in the U.S.

I’ll admit it -- I wasn’t sure how to place him at first. We had reports from his Japanese schooling, and from the home-schooling his aunt had provided. She was superb -- a BYU English Lit major who was teaching English in Japan. But aspects of his behavior didn’t match what we saw on paper. We gave him the standard battery of tests we’d use for a Section 504 evaluation.

And we realized we had a gifted but possibly troubled child on our hands. We scheduled him accordingly. Oh, we had some glitches, but we rectified those. I’d watched him these first weeks, and talked to his teachers. I had the feeling that there was a lot of anger wrapped up inside Ron. Bev Foster, his Socio-biology teacher agreed. His interactions with other students were almost nominal for his age -- almost. Yet he shuts down in the presence of school administrators and some teachers. His command of the English language, written and oral, is superb, yet when I interviewed him, it was difficult to get more than a few words out of him at a time. It wasn’t blunt aspect. It wasn’t obstructive-defiant. It was something else.

One of our initial missteps had been placing Ron in a beginning French class. Yes, that was a mistake; I don’t know what we’d been thinking. We quickly remedied that by lining up a Japanese instructor from State College to work with Ron. I’ve observed Joe Hamada working with Ron, and Ron has been articulate and animated, smiling. Joe agrees that he’s a very bright kid.

Ron doesn’t smile a lot. He hasn’t made friends yet. I keep wondering if we’re pushing too hard, but my gut says to do it, and Bev agrees.

Ron had a rough time the first two weeks of Phys Ed. The first month of Phys Ed for 10th graders is a quick screen to spot candidates for team sports. Unfortunately for Ron, the focus was mainly on American team sports. Still, Coach Levy thinks he’s in superb physical condition, showing speed, agility, flexibility, and determination. He thinks Ron will do extremely well in the track portion, and in swimming, which is this week.

I glanced up. Ed and Bev were in my doorway.

“Last chance to pull him out,” Ed suggested. “We’ve got quite a few weeks in the year.”

I looked to Bev. She looked at the ceiling. Thanks, dear!

“My gut says now,” I told them.

Bev gave me a big smile. “So does mine.”

Ed nodded. “Okay ladies. No turning back.”

Ed walked away. Bev came in and sat in a guest chair.

“I’m one of your monitors,” she told me.

I smiled. “That will help. Has he opened up more in your class?”

She sighed and frowned slightly, intently. “Yes and no. He interacts with other kids, yet I feel he’s holding back. I still feel there’s something pent up inside that kid. I’ve quietly counseled him to look me, and others, in the eye, and he’s doing better, but it’s hard for him. I’ve talked to the other safe teachers, and they’re working to reinforce that.”

I nodded. The spectrum of students was reflected in the spectrum of teachers. Just as we had students, and their parents who ranged from enthusiastic about The Program to pulling their kids from school, we had a similar spectrum of teachers. Plus, we had a group of teachers that Bev and I felt were trying to subvert and/or sabotage The Program while feigning support or indifference to it.

“Last I spoke to Ron, he wouldn’t make eye contact, or give me more that a three word reply to a direct question,” I suggested to Bev.

She smiled. “That was a week ago. I think I understand better -- we should talk with Joe Hamada -- I think it’s cultural. Test results clearly show Ron understands what’s going on. He made a wonderfully snide double-entendre last Thursday that shot over the heads of most kids in the class -- demonstrating mastery of language and a sharp sense of humor. Working with other students, or with written materials, he identifies and responds to indirect questions. Yet it seems that when he’s in the presence of, call them superiors, he only responds to direct questions, and as tersely as possible. He does pretty well with Mary Emery, me, and Coach Levy. But Tom Martin and Don Lang are older men, and he tends to drop back to clam-up mode. I’ve spoken with both of them, and they’re working on it. Tom told me that while other kids respond to his, “What do you think?” questions, Ron doesn’t, yet on more direct questioning it’s clear to him that Ron understands the material better than his classmates.”

We talked for a few more minutes, drifting into possible candidates for next week, and review of last week’s kids.

Coach Brown joined us. He’s new to the school, a fence-sitter with respect to The Program.

“Good morning, ladies,” he greeted us.

“Good morning, Jonathan,” I replied.

We made small-talk for a few minutes. We heard the usual mix of kids in the office, and heard them getting cleared out.

“Places, everyone!” Ed’s voice boomed out.

I looked to my colleagues. “Here we go. Another week.”

The hard part -- sitting and waiting, too late to second-guess.

The silence was shattered a minute later by the sound of the hallway door opening and a young woman shouting, “No fucking way!” We looked at each other in surprise and amusement. That was a typical reaction.

A minute or so later, Ron came into my office. Jonathan closed the door.

Ron is tall for his age, and slender. His hair is short, almost a buzz cut. He has blue eyes, and a gorgeous tan.

“Good morning, Ron,” I greeted him.

He stood before my desk, staring at the box, the box which would soon contain his clothing.

Most kids are in a state of psychological shock at this point, realizing it’s their turn in The Program. I went through my usual speech, reminding him how his guardians had signed him up, and we’d all reviewed The Program the first week of class.

When I told him it was time to disrobe, he did so without complaint.

Oh my -- what a tan! And there couldn’t be an ounce of fat on that young man; I could see why some of our coaches were interested.

I also saw the scar on his abdomen -- “T” shaped, going from one side to the other just below his ribs, the vertical section staying to the right of his navel, ending above his pubic hair. We’d seen scars before in The Program; his wasn’t bad. He was a well-hung young man as well.

I asked him if he had any questions.

He paused for a moment, then reached into his backpack. He pulled out swim goggles.

“Ah, I need these in the pool, for swimming,” he managed to say, still not making eye contact.

Jonathan stepped to his side. “I’ll give those to Coach Levy, Mister Hanson,” Jonathan told him.

And to my amazement, Ron said, “Thank you.”

Jonathan told him, “These are protective equipment and permitted under The Program.”

Ron amazed me again, saying, “Good.”

“Anything else?” I asked.

Now he stood there, silent.

“Ron, if you have any questions, please come talk to me, or to Beverly, any time.”

He stood there.

“You may go,” I told him.

He sort of bowed, picked up his bag, and went out the door.

I sat down and sighed. I was confused. Bev was smiling, nodding her head. “Bev? Do you understand what happened?”

Bev sat down, looking to Jonathan. She turned to me. “I think so -- we need to talk to that Japanese teacher. You addressed him as ‘Ron,’ right?”

I nodded. “Yes?”

“And how did Jonathan address him?”

I shook my head. “I wasn’t paying that much attention.”

“Well, I was! Jonathan called him ‘Mister Hanson.’”

I still didn’t get it. “Explain, please.”

Bev nodded her head seriously. “You used his first name -- familiar, almost speaking down to him. Oh, I know, you’re trying to be friendly, cut the tension. But Jonathan spoke to him more as an equal -- and he responded! I’m sure it’s a cultural thing, and I need to know more.”

It made sense. I turned to Jonathan. “Comments?”

He held up the goggles. “These are very well used. This kid is a swimmer -- his build says it, and these scream it. When does he have P.E?”

Bev answered, “Fifth period, right before lunch.”

Jonathan nodded. “I’ll talk to Pete and Natalie -- one of them should be there.”

I nodded -- they were our swim coaches. Jonathan waved and headed to the gym.

“Bev, watch that boy for me?” I asked softly.

She smiled. “Of course.”

The bell rang. Five minutes until class started.

Bev got up. “Got to scoot -- seniors first period; we’ll hear about the weekend’s parties.”

I picked up the box with Ron’s clothes and took it to the desk in front of Ed’s office. Our principal was standing there, a puzzled and somewhat bemused look on his face.

“Why Ed, did something go wrong with Miss Benjamin?”

He half smiled, shaking his head a bit. “I thought I’d find out, we’d all find out, if Miss Benjamin was a true blonde...”

It took a few seconds for me to puzzle it out. “She’s shaved?” I don’t know why I found that so surprising.

“Smooth as my newborn granddaughter,” Ed responded with a smirk.

I chuckled. “But quite a bit better developed...”

He raised his eyebrows and let out a deep sigh. I broke into laughter, and he joined me.

Ron

“You may go,” the assistant principal said.

I nodded and left her office.

In the admin area I saw a girl sitting in a chair near one of the other offices. She was naked except for her shoes and socks, blushing bright red, book bag in her lap, pouring furiously over the pamphlet.

The straps of my backpack didn’t feel too different from the bag I’d carried for diving most of the summer. It felt a lot like walking to the boat early in the morning, the cool air around me. I’d wear tabi and sandals tomorrow. As for walking around naked -- when I stayed with the Ushida family, we walked naked to the bath house. The last few weeks in the boats, we’d been naked part of the time.

I opened the door separating the quiet of the admin offices from hallway chaos. It was bustling with kids. I heard whistles -- a mob waiting to see who was in The Program. It was usually a guy and a girl from each class.

“Bitchin tan!” a guy called out.

I had classes to attend.

The first one was English with Ms. Emery. I took my seat -- cold, but not as bad as getting into a small boat at the crack of dawn.

Ms. Emery brought me a notebook and a pen and told me my assignment for the week was to keep a diary.

I was the first in the class to get tagged for The Program this year. Ms. Emery spent some time talking about keeping a diary, writing tips on the board. We spent the rest of the period writing.

I was still writing when the bell went off. I gathered my stuff and headed upstairs to the other end of the building for physics.

I heard some giggles, and felt hands brushing me as I went up the stairs. From somewhere behind me I heard a girl shout, “Don’t touch me!” Another of this week’s victims, I guess.

Mr. Lang in physics nodded to me as I came in the room. Some noises from the crowd, but class went on.

The shit hit the fan in Socio-biology. It is a weird class, for a number of reasons. The rest of my classes, except for phys ed, are accelerated/gifted. This one and phys ed are mixed, with some real winners in it, and by that I mean jerks and droolers. It’s not really sociology, it’s a mix of current events, development and sexuality, and other random stuff. We spent the first week of class talking about The Program, it’s history, it’s goals, who liked it, who did not. Last week had been current events. Ms. Foster tagged me to bring in and translate articles from the Japanese press, giving that perspective on world events. That had been fun.

But when I got to class, I saw the box at the front of the room. It was about half a meter on a side, and a third of a meter high. I put my bag down and took my seat. It was still a little warm from the previous class.

“Oh shit,” said one girl as she came in and spotted me. I recognized her voice -- Dana, definitely not in the gifted program. Like our Math teacher jokes, she can’t add or subtract, but she won’t have any trouble multiplying.

Ms. Foster waited until the bell rang. “Good morning!” she said loudly, to quiet the class. A few kids kept giggling and snickering.

“You’ve noticed our Mister Hanson is in The Program this week, the first in our class for this year. Let me remind you that all of you are eligible for The Program this year -- I’ve checked. I strongly suggest that you treat Mister Hanson, and all students in The Program, the way you would like to be treated when it’s your turn -- and that could be next week.”

I looked at her. That quieted things down a bit. She smiled and nodded.

“Mister Hanson, would you remove your shoes and socks and stand on the platform?”

I stood up and the whistles started. Fools. I could to this for a week. I’d been through worse. I stood on the platform, moving until I felt a little more comfortable. I took a breath and waited. Whistles, clapping, laughing, Dana yelling out, “Oh yuck!” Some guy, I think it was Kevin, said, “Cool -- what’s he stuffed with, rice?” I looked at the clock in the back of the room.

“Mister Hanson -- raise your arms in a ‘T’ please,” Ms. Foster asked.

I did that, palms up.

She talked about me for a while, telling the class what good shape I was in, having me turn around a few times. Then she asked for questions.

“What’s with the wicked scar on his belly?” someone asked.

Ms. Foster said, “If you have a question, you should ask Mister Hanson, directly and politely.”

“Okay. Ron, what’s with the scar on your belly?”

I took a breath. “I had part of my spleen removed when I was little,” I told them.

Ms. Foster talked about surgery and surgical scars for a bit.

Dana asked, “What are the funny spots on your right shoulder.”

“Scars,” I said.

“Like from what?” she asked.

I looked to Ms. Foster. “I don’t want to answer that,” I whispered to her. My hands went cold.

She looked at me with a little smile. “Ron, it sounds like a reasonable request to me.”

I felt the muscles in my jaw tightening. I tried to keep from making fists.

“Yeah, from what?” Dana asked louder.

I took a breath and looked at her. “When I was three, my step-father used to burn me with the end of his cigarette. When I was four, he beat me so bad he ruptured my spleen and part of it had to be removed.”

I heard Ms. Foster gasp. I looked at her. Kids were making all sorts of noise, but I barely heard them. “And he beat my mom and baby sister to death,” I told her quietly.

Beverly

I stood there in shock, trying to comprehend what Ron had just said. I knew I had to get control of the situation and turn it around, fast. Looking at Ron, I could see he was holding his jaw tight. I could see muscles in his shoulders twitching.

I looked to my class. Kevin was laughing and making gestures like putting out a cigarette in the palm of his hand.

“Kevin!” I called out, deliberately using his first name. The class snapped to order, even Kevin.

“Get the other platform and join us at the front of the room,” I told him with a smile.

He looked around. I pointed to the platform. “Now!” I snapped.

I looked over my class. A few of them were still snickering. One of the girls, Gwen, looked like she was about to cry -- no, she was crying.

“Uh, what now?” Kevin asked.

I smiled and he turned pale. He had some brains, it seems. “Okay Kevin, we’re going to do some comparative anatomy. Strip. Now.”

The hoots and catcalls started up again. I didn’t take my gaze off Kevin. “One,” I said softly. He took off his shirt. The class noise got louder.

I turned to them. “Remember this when it’s your turn in The Program,” I told them. That worked -- it usually does.

Kevin stripped and stood on the platform, next to Ron.

The comparison between the two of them couldn’t have been more stark, and I explained it in detail to the class. Ron, or Mister Hanson as I was careful to call him, was fit and trim, with little or no fat on his body. From my years of yoga and Pilates, I could tell his posture was superb. Kevin, and that’s what I called him deliberately, was a pale, overweight couch potato. I talked about posture, muscular development and muscle tone, even skin condition.

At one point, Kevin got an erection. I commented on how that was quite natural for boys, trying remain professional. Dana was the one who yelled out, “And it’s still smaller than Ron’s!” That brought laughter, and a rapid deflating.

I noticed Ron -- he was standing at the front of the platform, his toes curled over the edge. That was a comfortable position for him. Why?

We were about out of time, thank God. “Thank you, Mister Hanson, you may be seated.”

Ron nodded -- was it more of a bow? He stepped off and headed to his seat.

“Stay where you are, Kevin,” I said crossly. I made my concluding remarks to the class, letting him literally swing in the breeze. When the bell sounded, I said, “Mister Hanson, would you remain for a moment? The rest of you are dismissed.”

Kevin scooped up his clothes, dressed, and scooted out of the room faster than I could believe.

One of the girls, Gwen, was slow to leave. She seemed to be hanging back. I walked to Ron’s desk. When there were only the three of us in the classroom, I looked at her and asked, “Gwen?”

Gwen

I couldn’t believe it; I couldn’t believe they could be so mean, so hurting. It was wrong. I don’t know Ron any more than anyone else in school even if we are in most of the same classes. But still, what they did hurt, and it was wrong.

When class ended, I knew I had to do something. I just didn’t know what. My legs wobbled and my stomach was tight and weird. But I stayed back; I had to do something.

Ms. Foster looked at me. I thought she cared -- how could she let that happen? I felt the tears starting again. She called my name. I couldn’t say anything; I stepped closer.

She sat next to Ron. “Mister Hanson,” she said, “I didn’t know -- I’m sorry.”

That made me brave. I stood next to Ron. “Ron,” I said, managing to talk, “What they said and did was wrong. I’m sorry -- I really am.” I leaned over and kissed the top of his head, just like I’d kiss my little brother. Then I ran out of the room so they wouldn’t see me cry. Why would anyone hurt him?

Beverly

God bless that girl -- I could see tears streaking her cheeks as she ran from the room.

“Ron, look at me, please,” I asked. He looked up. His expression was neutral, as it was most of the time. I observed closely -- his jaw was relaxed. No excess moisture in his eyes. Was it that he didn’t react emotionally, or that he couldn’t react emotionally? I wasn’t sure.

“Ron, would you like to talk to Ms. Kelsey about this?”

He shook his head. “Not now.”

I nodded. “Ron, I’m so sorry. Yet what you did showed incredible courage and strength. Ron, please don’t let anyone push you into things that hurt -- not even me. It was not a reasonable request. You’re going to be stretched this week, but you don’t have to be hurt. It’s hard for you, but please say ‘no’ to those things. Will you do that for me?” I tried to smile.

He maintained eye contact. A slight smile formed on his face.

“Yes, I will,” he told me.

I sighed. “We both know kids are going to make fun of you. Ms. Kelsey and I, the whole staff, are here to support you. If someone bothers you, tell us. I know you’ll make it.”

He nodded. “I will. I’ve been through worse,” he told me.

I almost cried. I managed to keep a professional face. “Enjoy your break. I’ll see you later -- but please, if you need help, talk to me, or Ms. Kelsey, or someone.”

He nodded, then collected his bag and left the room.

My God, he has been through worse.

Joyce

I shook my head, my hands trembling a bit as Bev left my office. What had we done to this poor kid? I flipped open his file. The only medical notes we had on Ron were that he was up-to-date on inoculations and in good health. I slammed the file shut. Incompetent bastards!

Of course I’d had him in front of me, and could have asked.

“Donna?” I called for our secretary.

She stuck her head in the door. “Yes?”

“Please call Joe Hamada at State -- he’s tutoring Ron Hanson in Japanese. I need to see him this afternoon, as early as he can make it.”

Donna nodded. “Right away.”

I pulled up Ron’s schedule -- Math with Tom Martin. That should be pretty stable; Tom was older and ran strict classes. Next was P.E. -- they’d be at the pool. I should watch that.

I picked up the phone and tried to reach his guardians. Both were out. His uncle was out all week. Damn. I left a message for his aunt to call me back. I reminded myself why we didn’t provide any warning to selected students or their families.

I called Shirley, my favorite librarian. I asked her to search news reports for the San Clemente area over a range of dates, looking for the name Hanson. I could hear her fingers tapping away on keys as we spoke. She told me that was Orange County, California, and the area was served by a number of newspapers with online records going back that far. When she asked what I was looking for, I told her she’d know when she saw it, and if she did, she’d understand how important it was to keep it quiet. She understood, and she’d give me a call -- she’d done similar research for me in the past.

Oh shit -- I had to check with the cafeteria; I’d asked them to have rice dishes available this week. I got up, and told Donna where I was headed.

Ron

I walked right to math and had my snack there. Mr. Martin came in the room a little early. He nodded to me, that’s all, and started writing stuff on the board. He kept the class to math. When class ended, he asked me to stick around. He told me he’d make sure the room stayed open and available so I could have some peace and quiet during our break if I needed it. I thanked him.

But now I had to dump my bag at my locker and get to the gym. I was scared for a moment -- my lunch money was in my pants -- but I remembered that lunch was free for those in The Program.

People whistled, called, touched, and grabbed as I went through the halls to my locker. I saw one other naked person, but I thought he was a senior I’d seen before walking around naked.

As I opened my locker (I’m lucky, I have a top locker), I felt a hand on my bottom. I heard a girl say, “Ooh, nice tan!” After I put my bag in my locker, her hands went to my shoulders. “Nice muscles, too.”

I turned a bit as I closed my locker, making sure it locked. She was about an inch taller than me, dressed in black, black hair with some blue and pink streaks -- I guess they call that “goth.”

“Thanks,” I told her.

She looked at the rest of me. “Ooh, very nice! You have a girlfriend?”

I laughed a little. “Nope. I’m Ron.”

“I’m Gloria. Where’s your next class?”

“Gym,” I told her.

She was headed that way too, so she took my arm and we walked together. She babbled on about getting picked for the Program last year during the winter when it was cold, and how one of the cheerleaders had been picked and she’d heard that she was shaved “down there,” how she didn’t like her English teacher, and ... and ... and....

We got to the gym door and I turned. She grabbed me by the arm. “You don’t use that door this week,” she told me.

“Thanks.” I’d forgotten -- I had to use the girls’ door. We walked some more.

“See you at lunch?” she asked me.

“I’m easy to spot,” I told her.

She raised her eyebrows. “You sure are...” She ran a hand over my front before she stepped away.

When she touched me like that, it sent shivers through me. Some girls giggled as they went around me into the locker room. I glanced down -- I was about half erect.

I didn’t have a locker to use, but then I didn’t need one. The girls’ side wasn’t the mirror-image of the boys; I was surprised. I figured out where I’d pick up a towel, and put my shoes and socks on top of a locker between the towel cage and the showers.

All around me girls were getting undressed. When they saw me they made noise, some squealing, some laughing. Some turned away from me. One gave me a big smile and pulled her top off right in front of me. A few made comments about my tan.

I spotted the sign for the pool and headed that way, following some girls in swim suits. Looking at a couple of them, why did they bother? Why not just go naked? Their suits were small enough it didn’t make much difference.

I don’t know if I’d been nervous or what. But when I stepped into the enclosed pool area, I could feel a difference. I felt comfortable and nervous and excited all at the same time. The time I spent with Ushida-san, I was at the pool a few hours a day swimming.

He yelled at me, always pushing me to do more, do better. Yet when I told people I was leaving, he and his wife were among the few who told me they were sorry to see me leave.

I saw Coach Levy talking to a woman who must have been a coach as well. He was wearing a swimsuit and a T-shirt. Kids were sitting on the benches near the side of the pool. I took a seat. A girl sat on one side of me, a guy on the other.

The sound of the indoor pool focused me somehow -- that big hollow sound with voices echoing. The smells too -- they were familiar, even if the sounds weren’t. I smiled -- I still expected Japanese, not English. I hope I got to go in the pool soon; my arms and legs were twitching, anxious and ready to go. It was a nice setup, a full-sized eight-lane pool with a separate pool for diving.

We waited until the bell. Then Coach Levy waited a little more. He blew his whistle to try to get everyone to quiet down.

“Welcome to the pool!” he called out, smiling. “This is where we’re going to be for the next two weeks. The way we grade swimming is real easy.” He pointed to the pool. “You swim from one end to the other without stopping or touching the bottom, you get a ‘C.’ You swim one lap, that’s down and back, without stopping or touching the bottom, you get a ‘C+.’ One lap, two different strokes gets you a ‘B.’ If you want an ‘A,’ you swim two laps and show me at least three strokes. If you don't know how to swim, we will teach you. That’s all there is to it.”

He looked over the class, then walked to where the woman coach was standing, next to the starting blocks.

“Mister Hanson! Would you like to show us how it’s done?”

I stood up automatically, surprised. I took a breath, my hands shaking a little. I walked over to them.

She handed my goggles to me. “It looks like these are old friends,” she said with a nice smile.

I nodded. “Yes.” I took them and swished some water through them.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Fly, back, breast, free,” I told her, pointing up and back twice as I stepped to the block for lane 2. I could feel the energy as I took my position and slipped on my goggles. I stood there, shaking my arms, waiting, starting my race breathing.

“Ready,” she called. Hearing English surprised me -- I took my starting position, forcing oxygen into my lungs.

A whistle blew and I flew off the block and into the water. It felt so good to be in the water again! I felt so full of energy the first time I broke the water for the butterfly. My first turn was smooth and sharp as I went into the backstroke. I’d done mostly backstroke yesterday in the pool, but I felt so much more alive! Breaststroke isn’t my best; I tried to fill my lungs as best I could, getting ready for the final turn. I didn’t hit the turn as good as I wanted, but I could tell I was flying on the final leg, breathing only when I had to, feeling the burn spread from my lungs through my whole body.

My hand touched the wall and it was over. I floated on my back, holding on to the side as I caught my breath.

When I looked up to Coach Levy, I knew I was smiling. He was smiling too, as was the woman standing next to him -- and she was holding a stopwatch!

I started to get out; Coach Levy helped me.

That was when I noticed that a lot of the kids were cheering and whistling.

Coach Levy clapped me on the back. He yelled to the rest of the class, “That’s an ‘A+’ performance!”

The woman took me by the arm. I sat on the Lane 3 block, catching my breath.

“What do you have seventh period?” she asked me.

I was still catching my breath, and I felt better than I had any day so far at school. “Individual study -- Japanese,” I told her. “Why?”

“Would you mind changing it to this period? Could we do that?”

“I can ask. Why?”

She smiled and shook her head. “I want you on the swim team. You swam really well.”

I closed my eyes for a moment and thought of Ushida-san. “With practice, I will do better,” I told her. That’s what Ushida-san told me, day after day.

Gwen

I saw Ron sitting on a bench next to the pool. There wasn’t any room for me to sit next to him. Coach Levy was talking to a woman that I knew was also a P.E. coach, but I didn’t know her name. He gave his intro to swimming, telling us how things would be graded.

Then he called Ron! The woman handed him these goggle things; I couldn’t hear what they were saying to each other.

When he stepped up to the starting box he turned into a different person; I could tell. The way he shook his arms, the way he breathed, the way he looked down the pool -- so intense!

When the woman blew her whistle, he flew off the box and into the water! I couldn’t believe how well he swam! Soon most of us were on our feet, watching and cheering. He made it look so smooth, so effortless, cutting through the water.

But the best was when he was done. A lot of us were still cheering and clapping. When Coach Levy helped him from the pool, I could see a smile on Ron’s face. He was smiling! And it was a big smile, a happy smile, the first one I’d seen on him in three weeks of school. Seeing him smile filled me with a warm tingly feeling. If it felt so good, why did I feel like crying again?

Next: Monday Afternoon
Rev 9/16/2003

Great!	Okay
Kinda weird	Not sure yet.	Not for me.