"Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven." ~Lord Lucifer, Paradise Lost
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I roll up to Lee's and Abrams on the aluminum pool bleachers and chin check at my two new bleacher buddies in the local custom. Lee's chin checks me back, but Abrams is still hunched over with his head in his hands. He looks like death warmed over, and is clearly still struggling to suck air.
"So we're all on a team ...together?" Lee's actually looks scared to death like we are all crazy enough to make him go in the water. Espeically after he has clearly stated he cannot swim ...more than once.
"Relax Lee, no one is going to throw you in the water." I shake my head. "I'm taking your place in this relay race bullshit. All you have to do is just make sure you stay where I tell you to stay, got it?"
"Okay cool." Lee's breathes all kinds of relieved.
"What about you dude?" I nod down to Abrams. "How you doing down there?"
"Not so good." He starts wheezing back answers before I even ask. "I almost had an asthma attack from the chlorine. But I can swim, just not too fast or too long."
"Yeah I watched you, I know you can swim." I glance up at Lee's, who shakes his head back. Even Lee who can't swim at all agrees that Abrams doesn't swim for shit.
"If you have asthma you should have told Chad ahead of time, or at least brought your inhaler. At a minimum, you shouldn't have pushed yourself so hard." I add insult to injury. "That test wasn't timed freahmeat."
"But the stopwatch..." Abrams points out.
"Yeah, he just suckered all the chum like you into trying to kill themselves." I cut him off before he can't point out the obvious. "That stopwatch he keeps swinging around is just for timing kids he's interested in for trying out for the swim team. Thus this 'let's have some fun doing a relay race' bullshit. That was all for show, just to weed out the few freshmeat he wants to take a look at before the official tryouts."
"Oh...shit." Abrams wheezes, as it dawns on him that Chad has been flipping around the stopwatch, but never actually looked at it. Nor did anyone else fail, other than him for cheating.
"No shit." I shrug. "Oh, and I also might have mentioned to him that you were seriously offended when he brought Jesus up, and your parents are angry ACLU lawyers."
"Why would you do that guy?" Abrams frowns up at me, see's my tattoo's staring back and suddenly finds something at his feet way better to look at again.
"So he will leave you alone from now on, stupid freshmeat." I frown down at him to get the point. "Public schools are terrified of getting sued over religious discrimination, it's a thing."
"How is that discrimination?" Lee blinks up at me in confusion.
"He invoked The Jesus and Abrams being Jewish, duh?" Damn stupid flocking freshmen really don't know shit about the way things work in the real. It's no wonder they get picked on all the time.
"But I'm not Jewish, I'm an Episcopalian." Abrams gapes at me.
"Yeah well, you're Jewish now if you want Chad off your ass for the rest of the year." I shrug. "So either go march over to Chad and tell him I was wrong and to please keep screaming at you. Or go buy a gold David star and wear it proudly during gym, so that blazing idiot will leave you alone. Hell, he'll probably even pass your dumb ass out of fear of losing his job."
"Will that work if you're Buddhist? Cause I could totally be Buddhist?" Lee muses. "I think my grandfather was maybe Buddhist once...or something like that?"
"Maybe." I shrug. "But do you know any Buddhist lawyers around San Fall willing to sue anybody for discrimination?"
"No idea." Lee shrugs and scowls. "But I can ask my sister, she always knows stupid smart shit like that."
"Better luck next time then bro." I shrug back in kind. But when Lee clearly doesn't get the reincarnation joke, I pretty much figure Grandpa Lee's was probably a "Something" else.
"Heya, guys." The jovial Sporka heaves himself down on the aluminum bench, which actually stress-creaks in protest under his massive bulk. This kid is like Santa Claus fat, and if I had to guess he weighs well in excess of two hundred twenty pounds and not an ounce of muscle. He's so seriously overweight and out of shape that even the short walk over to the benches has left him taxed out.
"Heya, Sporka." Lee's chin checks the whale.
"Heya, Lee's." The whale double chin juts back. "Damn Abrams, no offense dude, but you look like my dog's diarrhea after we feed it Cheetos."
"Thanks, Spork." Abrams wheezes back.
"This is Dean." Lee's nods at me. "He's cool?"
"Heya, I'm Spork." The whale chin juts me. "Nice ink man, scary as shit. So what are you, like a Hells Angel in training or something?"
"Or something." I frown at the overly friendly fat kid. "You wanna swim this shit or what?"
"Yeah, I can swim." Sporka laughs with a great down to earth sense of humor. "Well, float mostly ...but I can float for a really long ass time. Like if this bullshit was a see who can float the longest race? Yeah, I would totally win that shit, hands down."
"Good, so you won't mind if I swim the race alone? And while I am getting everyone an A for the day, you and Abrams only job is to make sure that no one pushes Lee in the water. You think you can handle that?"
"Yeah no problem man, I'll just sit on him." Sporka laughs jovially and rubs his massive belly. "Ain't no one in this dumbass class near strong enough to move my fat ass once it sets down for an ass landing."
"Cool," I smirk. Because this jovial kid is seriously right about that fact. "Now which one of you wants to go out and take bets with the other kids that we win this bullshit relay race?"
"Bet on swimming?" Sporka snorts. "No offense to the Hells Angels or anything...but who the hell is gonna bet on swimming in a P.E. class, dude?"
"At five to one odds?" I do the simple math for them. "One buck makes you five, ten bucks makes you fifty, twenty makes you a hundred? And our team has you three and me? Lee who can't swim for shit, Abrams just got bitched out for cheating, and you? Who by your own admission are a flocking awesome floater. Who wouldn't bet against us?"
"Shit, I'd probably take that bet." Abrams finally perks up a little.
"Then your gonna owe me money after I smoke all these assholes in the water. None of the others are competitive swimmers, save for maybe Acosta. And maybe that tall lanky kid standing next to him."
"That's Mark Polinski, total douche bag at large. He thinks he's hot shit because his older brother was some kind of a water polo big shot from a couple of years ago." Lee intones coldly. "That guy seriously tortures and kills stray cats for fun in his spare time. No joke."
"Seriously, no joke. Polinski's a total psycho." Abrams agrees.
"Okay, so let's say anyone was willing to bet on this shit? What makes you so sure you can beat them all?" Sporka asks bluntly.
"Because I'm a Junior up against a bunch of little freshmeats." I thump the nautical star on my chest to drive the point home. "Not to mention I'm a lifeguard down at the Annex, so swimming is basically what I do for a living. How else do you think Chad knows me well enough to hate me to the point he gave me you three?" I point out. "Annex guards and Plungers like Chad can't stand each other...it's a thing."
"Sweet," Lee's intones like suddenly it all makes sense to him.
"Well, that does kinda explain all the scary tattoos, I suppose." Sporka points to the red nautical star on my chest. "I thought that star on your chest was maybe like a Satan gang thing?"
"Yeah, Sporka it's a Satan gang thing." I roll my eyes. "So get out there and start making bets. Remember to tell them you guarantee the money, not me."
"Wo, easy there scary Satan gang tattoo guy. There's no way in hell I can cover that kinda scratch. I have like twenty bucks to my name and that's for my lunch today." This garners Sporka's immediate negation of this plan, as he suddenly turns serious. "And trust me, you do not want to know me if I skip lunch. A hungry Sporka with low blood sugar is not pretty ...at all."
"He's not kidding, starving Sporka is seriously fugly." Lee's laughs in full agreement. "I've actually seen him cry 'is that it?' over the last piece of a ten-pound ice cream cake at his own kid sister's second birthday party."
"Take it easy, I'm covering the money, cause I am taking all of it." I counter evenly. "Unless you three want to chip in, then we can split the take."
"Please explain that to us ...very slowly." Sporka is smiling and I can see that he is suddenly very interested. So I nod back to the crowd of freshmeat still divvying themselves up into groups on the pool deck as we speak.
"I don't want them to know that I am fronting the money. Like you said, I am the scary Satan gang guy, right? So they'll all probably think that even if I lose, that I'll just beat them up and take their money anyways, right?"
"Yeah, pretty much." Sporka nods to the agreement of all things Satan Gang.
"So I want their money, not their fear. And Sporka's here seems like a pretty friendly trustworthy guy, so he takes the bets." I nod to Sporka. "You're way too friendly not to pay up, if we lose. Which we will not."
"Actually that's pretty smart." Lee immediately makes the connections. "I can probably cover half of whatever Dean can't cover, at least under a hundred bucks? I mean he's already swimming for me, so I might as well do my part."
"Okay, the Israelite's are totally in then. Well, at least the recently converted ones anyways." Abrams smirks. "But you cannot tell my mother I said that, Sporka. She'll have an aneurysm and send me to back to bible camp again. To get screamed at some more for touching myself to internet porn."
"Why would I tell you mother shit?" Sporka scrunches his face. "Man, I'd become a Muslim Jihadist if I thought I could get out of gym class."
"Then why the hell didn't you join band or art like the rest of the fat kids?" Lee quips back quick for everyone else.
"Because my mother is under the delusion that somehow showering with a lot of other guys will somehow give me the motivation to put down the video games. Maybe get out of the house and take a jog or some shit." Sporka gives a big belly laugh. "Like I give a crap about showing my enormously tiny penis off. Hell, I haven't even seen my nuts for a couple of years now. Be nice to know if all that itching going on down there is from hair or bugs?"
Both Lee and Abrams immediately burst out laughing at the self-deprecating humor of the Sporka. I am slowly starting to understand why everyone seems to really like the whale. There is just something about Steven Sporka that you just can't help but like. He's like the kind of jovial fat kid you just can't hate on, like a really rude and crude Santa Claus.
"Speaking of which." Sporka cocks his head at me. "So if you're like a Junior, why the hell are you with us in a freshmen P.E. class?"
"Needed a P.E. credit to graduate." I shrug. "So they stuck me in here with you morons and Chad."
"Oh yeah?" Sporka looks at me askance and I can see he is not totally buying into this piece of fiction either.
"Look we don't have time for this chatter, as Chad is gonna get this show going any minute now. So get out there and go take their money before he gets back." I nod towards the groups of chatting kids, sunning themselves warm on the deck.
"Alright." Sporka heaves himself up off the bench and put on a huge smile before lumbering off to do the dirty work.
I keep a side eye on Sporka as he makes the rounds between the small groups of chatting freshmen. I see a lot of shaking heads then Sporka pointing to Lee and then to me and making "he's crazy" circles around the side of his head. Now there's even more head shaking until he starts patting himself on the chest and making "I promise" noises to cover the bets. Then I see a few heads rocking back and forth considering the wager, eyeing the fearsome foursome. Sporka finally wanders through all the circles and lumbers back smiling.
"How much?"
"Seventy-five bucks total." He mugs proudly. "Suckered that piece of shit Polinski for twenty all by himself. So I hope to hell that you know what you're doing dude, cause I don't need another beef with that cat killer."
"No worries." I snort. "But you can remember everyone who owes what, right?"
"Please." He rolls his eyes. "I've pretty much known everyone here since we were in kindergarten. Well except Lee's, he's still a foreigner cause he moved here when he was like what nine?"
"I was twelve, you fat bastard."
"Well you looked a lot younger, must be one of those Celestial things? Like all your people are good at math and shit." Spork starts chortling along. "Like for years I just always assumed Lee's was one of those math violin playing Celestial prodigy kids. The ones they bump up a couple of grades cause he was so super smart and shit. At least up until we had math class together. It's a good thing you play baseball good Lee...cause you can't do math for shit."
"Five words." Lee holds up his middle finger. "Go on a diet you fat bastard."
"See what I mean man? You can't even count to five right." Sporka laughs.
"So I have to ask, Lee." I eye the kid cold. "How come you can't swim? For reals, no bullshit."
"Like I told that asshole over there, I just never learned. My parents are like straight up totally old country. Swim lessons or piano lessons?" Lees makes balancing hands scales "You want to guess which one we got to do as kids during the summer?"
"Yeah well, at least you can play the piano right?" Sporka snorts.
"I said my parents paid for lessons you fat bastard. I never said I actually paid attention." Lee snorts. "That was always my sister's gig."
"God what I wouldn't give to have piano lessons from your second smoking hot sister. My sweet Kelly is sofa king hot-hot to trot. And those lesbian librarian glasses are so damn sexy cool, it ain't even funny. I could just sit there and learn stupid shit from her forever." Sporka sighs wistfully. "Oh yeah Kelly, tell me all about global warming? Cause I got me some globes that definitely need some warming ...if you know what I mean?"
"Your sister is that chick that wears the red cat glasses? The Lee's Take Out chick?" I eye the lanky celestial kid.
"Yeah. Why?" Brother Lee's is suddenly not smiling anymore.
"I have her in a couple of my classes. She's cool." I mug.
"Kelly's cool?" Brother Lee's scowls and is clearly not thrilled about this "cool" judgment on his "second hottest sister" for some reason. Apparently, Sporka can say whatever he wants about global warming. But me saying his sister is "cool" is suddenly a serious cause for concern for this kid.
"Oh hell's yeah, Lee's second hottest sister is sexy cool." Sporka rubs his belly. "Cool, like cool ranch sauce on spicy barbecue ribs. Finger licking good."
"I'll make sure to tell her you said that Spork. You know how much she enjoys it when your fat ass comes by the buffet for all-you-can-eat Mondays." Brother Lee's counters.
"Hey easy there with the accusations there, Beethoven." Sporka feigns offense. "Some chicks dig a dude with an appetite for destruction, not just Lee's super skinny Celestial sisters. Besides who do you think paid for all those fancy piano lessons you ungrateful Celestial communist bastard?"
"Your fat momma," Lees counters quickly.
"I won't even dignify that with a response, cause I know how sacred cows are in your country."
"I'm Chineesey'ish not Indian, you fat tub of tard." Brother Lee's rolls his eyes. "And stay away from my sisters ...cannibalism is a crime in this country, you fat bastard."
"Why does everyone call me a fat bastard? My parents were married when they had me, I think? And speaking of marrying a good cook?" Sporka laughs his massive belly laugh and proceeds to detail out his master plan to marry Lee's "second hottest sister" and take over the Lee's family restaurant business.
As the insults between these three comrades keep going go back and forth, but I am barely paying attention anymore. Because I am looking at the pool office across the diving pool, where Brad Weston has suddenly appeared with my former old boss, Buzzy. Both of whom are walking around the back of the dive pool as casually as can be. Like they are doing a deck check looking for broken glass inside the gum? Even though neither one of them have the requisite gum-glass scrapping tools.
"Blaze me." I seethe at my own stupidity.
Of course, I shoudl have known that Chad wouldn't be the only one checking the freshmen talent today. That if Chad was running an impromptu swim meet out of season, that Buzzy would be lurking around trolling for talent too. So it seems that I just stupidly walked myself right into a massive pile of flocking Plunger crap.
"Problem?" Sporka is suddenly worried that he is gonna be on the hook for seventy-five bucks on my screw up.
"Chill, you're lunch money is still safe, Sporka." I reply dryly.
"Why, I'm not betting?" Sporka shrugs.
"Don't be such a Shylock, Spork." Abrams quips. "Or my new adoptive lawyer parents will sue the shit out of you and take all your food away."
"You know that's really racist, right?" Lees intones, frowning down at Abrams.
"Fine, I guess I can go on a diet today." Sporka sighs. "I can cover ten bucks, but that's it."
"Okay ladies, chatty Cathy time is over!" Chad bellows strutting around the deck. "Line 'em up boys and let's get this party started."
As the rest of the teams began to slowly assemble themselves at the blocks, I purposely take the far lane against the wall. Acosta, Polanski, and two other fly shoulder kids, that look like the only other real swimmers in this class line up in the lane next to me. I'm thinking thanks to Chad's little chat with Polanski, they think they have a game plan. Acosta is already stepping up as their first and second strongest swimmer nods over almost respectfully. Polanski the strongest swimmer is going to anchor for his team is smirking at me. So clearly Chad has been doing some trash talking in this kids ear while I was getting blue balls.
"You know the drill." Chad starts barking like a drill instructor. "First man dives in the water and goes to the other end and back. As soon as he touches this wall the next guy dives in and does the same, until the entire team as swum. First team to finish wins. Start when I blow the whistle ..." and of course Chad immediately blows the whistle before any of us are set to race. Because after all, that's the Chad thing to do.
Thankfully, I know the psycho well enough by now to be ready for his bullshit. As soon I saw he had the whistle in the side of his mouth and Acosta tense, I knew he would pull something cheap like this. So as the whistle blows, I dive straight in and slip under the surface, dolphin kicking out hard.
As my initial momentum starts to slow I switch over to my strong side as I rise out of the water for my first true breath. One breath later I am to the end of my first lap and I hit the wall, tumble turn and kick-flip fast shooting off from the wall towards the other side of the pool. A quick glance sideways across the pool tells me I'm far enough ahead of my closet adversary, Acosta, who has just hit the wall. And that's when I decide to really screw this race bullshit up. I roll onto my strong side, extend my arms straight out to streamline... and start to fish kick hard towards the shallows.
To an outsider, a swimmer utilizing a fish kick looks like a slightly spasmodic drunken dolphin. The controversial style of swimming looks both unnatural and disconcerting to see a human being move this way through the water. Right up until you realize that a fish kicker like me is the fastest thing in the water, and can lap you hard in a pool.
The vortices are an inevitable consequence of moving through water and are mostly counterproductive, impeding the swimmer's motion and slowing them down. The fish kick nearly does away with these, by pushing the water away to the sides and propelling the swimmer faster. Only a couple thousand people in the world can do this style effectively, and lucky for me I was taught how to fish kick by a crazy Ex-Navy Seal turned lifeguard in the ocean against the current with one hand tied behind my back. So in a pool with no current? Yeah, I am a blazing water god compared to these little lappers.
As I hit the far wall, I suicide turn off of it and I shoot off the wall towards the middle of the pool, passing Acosta going the other way. As we pass each other underwater, I can see the shocked expression on his face in passing. Like his eyes are seeing me blow past him, but his mind just won't let him believe this is actually happening.
As the fish kick is able to produce larger and more thrust in the water, my wake is strong enough to throw him off course as we pass in the water. Sure it's a dirty trick, but it's not like this is the Olympics or anything? It's bullshit Level 1 P.E. with a slightly psychopathic Tom Cruise wannabe.
The one problem using the fish kick is that you go so fast that it's easy to veer right out of your lane. And knowing Chad, he will take any excuse to disqualify me on some made up PE race rule violation, just because that's the kind of guy he is. Which is also the reason I chose the farthest lane next to the wall so I can bump off the wall if need be.
My biggest problem now is pacing myself, so I can swim through the churning bubbles of the lane next to me without losing my constant direction and crossing over lanes. So I try to visualize myself moving through invisible hula-hoops, kicking with equal strength on both sides to keep the straight course. I zone in on the wall in front of me and just keep moving through the water in the undulating rhythm. Breathing only when I have to at the turns, as I cut through the water like a razor.
As I burn the water bouncing back and forth between the walls, the only thing I do to slow myself down in comparison to the rest of the field is to use a slow suicide turn on the walls. It's arguably not as fast as the tumble turn, like that fancy flip kick turn you see on the Olympics? But the slow suicide turn has the distinct advantage of not having to time out my breaths. Before I hit the wall I pop up to take a breath, touch the wall and push off backwards, rolling over onto my strong side for the return trip.
By the last lap, everyone else in the pool is left in the bubbles behind me. I've now overlapped every team, save Acosta's swim team studs. So on my final turn, I go deep under the surface and increase my power to its fullest bouncing off the bottom at an angle towards the finish. The underwater wall is coming at me fast and I duck roll down, kick off the shallow bottom. Shooting up fast out of the water, I grab the edge of the deck and roll onto the deck like a frigging badass ninja.
Yeah, I know I am showing off like a complete asshole now. And as much as I hate to admit this ...it was worth it to see the look on Chad's face as I suddenly appear on the deck. Because now Chad is just standing there, with the whistle frozen in his mouth. He is just staring at me in abject horror, because he can't believe what he just witnessed.
One guy just blew away his whole team of lappers out of the water ...and Polanski isn't even wet yet. Acosta and Polanski, the only kids in the pool who probably have half a clue what I just did. Both of who are standing staring at me with their mouths opening and closing like a fish out of water. All the while my team of rejects are jumping up and down like Fearleaders on a spirit bender.