The Corps - Chap 2

[luvyalots]

Previously on The Corps...

link to Chapter 1

Evan's big brother Wayne started marching in the Allentown Cavaliers Drum and Bugle Corps. But unbeknownst to Evan, his mom signed him up to be on the truck crew with a young jock named Dylan.

Chapter 2: Bro

“Ok, so you got five different horns,” Dylan explained. “You got your trumpets, your mellophones, your baritones, your euphoniums and your tubas.”

“And what was the difference between baritones and euphoniums again?” Evan asked, gazing across the field at where the hornline was learning their first pages of drill. The two boys were hanging out by the truck, ready and waiting to be called when they were needed; that was their job during rehearsal. You never knew when a drummer needed a new drum head or a tuba player needed a dent banged out of his horn after colliding with a guard member. Therefore, Dylan had decided to use the free time giving Evan a crash course in drum corps 101. Dylan rolled his eyes as he went into the explanation for what was probably the nine hundredth time.

“The main difference between baris and euphs is the following,” he stated simply, as if he was talking to a five-year-old. “Baritones have a cylindrical bore and euphoniums have a conical bore.” Evan couldn’t help staring at Dylan’s lips as they moved, at his eyes as they brightened whenever he spoke, the way the bangs of his brown hair waved in the breeze. “You got it now?”

“Uh, and,” Evan stuttered, “and what is a bore again?” Dylan sighed, frustrated.

“Dude, you’re gonna have to know this stuff if you’re gonna be on the truck crew.” He pulled himself onto the truck – Evan couldn’t help but watch how Dylan’s biceps jumped as he did, how his pec muscles rippled; he really had a perfect body. “We’ll be loading this baby at two o-clock in the morning, in the middle of nowhere Iowa or some damn place and we’ll be about to drive six hours to our next show,” Dylan’s voice came floating out of the darkness of the truck. “You have to know this shit cold, man.”

“Right,” Evan answered. How did he get into this? Why did his mom volunteer him for the truck crew?

“In the meantime,” Dylan reappeared with a football under his arm and a smile on his face, “let’s loosen up a bit. I’m getting bored.” The way the sunlight hit his body, throwing shadows across his pecs and abs, nearly took Evan’s breath away. “Wanna play a little pigskin?”

“Uh,” Evan was about to tell his new friend that he sucked at football, but he was suddenly interrupted…

“Dylan, damn it, get me that phone list!” A barrel-chested man shouted as he jogged toward the truck, obviously very upset. Evan froze, not sure what he should do. It was the drill instructor and he had heard from his brother how much of a tyrant he was. He was also Dylan’s father.

“Sure, dad,” Dylan immediately sprang into action, shoving the football onto a nearby shelf and seizing a clipboard. “What’s up?” He grabbed hold of a handlebar and nimbly swung his body out to hand the clipboard over to his father.

“It’s Sikowsky,” he seethed as he took it. “No one knows where the hell he is. When is that idiot going to act like a drum major and be on time?” Mr. Parks turned away, snapping out his cell phone and cursing under his breath. Dylan made a face behind his back that made Evan laugh.

“What was that all about?” he asked once the man was out of earshot.

“Sikowsky’s gettin’ the hook,” Dylan grinned, his eyes shifting comically.
“What?” Evan stared at him, trying to read his expression. Dylan laughed, his abs tightening as he did.

“Kyle Sikowsky,” he continued. “He’s the drum major…or soon-to-be ex-drum major apparently.” He leaned his shoulder against the side of the truck and crossed his arms, shaking his head. “He’s on a roll; last weekend, he got caught…you know…” He held his thumb and forefinger together against his lips and sucked in sharply.

“Smoking?” Evan deciphered. Dylan nodded.

“The reefer.”

“The what?”

“You don’t…” Dylan stared at Evan with raised eyebrows, blinking. “The reefer? Pot?”

“Oh,” Evan replied, turning red. “Yeah.”

“So, anyway,” he smiled, “I guess we’ll have to start lookin’ for a new drum major.” He swung his arms back and forth and slapping his fist together. “But that’s not our problem. How ‘bout that football game?” He grabbed the ball and hopped down from the truck.

“Uh, sure,” Evan acquiesced, following Dylan out onto a nearby field…not able to take his eyes of the boy’s tight ass as he jogged away. “But…”

“But nothing,” Dylan shouted, turning back around. “Take off that damn shirt and go for a long one!” Biting his lip, Evan just stood there, feeling like the slob he knew he was.

“I, uh…” He looked down, his fingers nervously playing with the belt loops of his shorts. Dylan Parks was good-looking. Dylan Parks was muscular. Dylan Parks was everything that Evan Gamble wasn’t. How could he take his shirt off and display his gut of lard next to this model of physical perfection?

“Come on, dude,” Dylan urged, noticing his new friend’s hesitation. “All the guys in the corps take their shirt off. No one cares.” Evan looked around, over at the marching members who were busy working on a difficult move. Sure enough, every male on the field was shirtless, the heat of the summer being too unbearable to keep covered. But all of them were in better shape than he was.

That was one of the first things Evan noticed – nearly every guy looked athletic. Some were ripped like his brother, while others were bulkier like football players but nowhere near as flabby as he was. Either way, for band dorks they certainly looked pretty good. It must’ve been all the marching around they did all day. And that made Evan feel even more self-conscious about his body than usual.

“Come on,” Dylan repeated. “What, you have a bad tan-line or something?”

Evan sighed and slowly – awkwardly – stripped off his shirt and discarded it to the side, preparing himself for whatever was sure to come out of Dylan’s mouth. Instead, Dylan simply stood there, his head cocked to one side, looking at Evan with a blank expression.

“I know, I know,” Evan meekly admitted the obvious, “I’m fat.”

“Hey, hey, no, man,” Dylan quickly spoke up. “You’re not fat really. You’re just…just a little out of shape.” Evan looked up, trying to avoid contact with the other boy’s bright green eyes. He knew he had to search for a kind word; everyone always had to. “So,” he went on, “go ahead. Go for a long one!”

“I, uh,” Evan stammered, trying to stall some more, “I’m not very good…” Dylan laughed.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m not that great either. I just like playing.”

“No, I mean,” Evan corrected him, feeling embarrassed, “I’ve never played football before.” Dylan looked at him in disbelief. He started to say something but then caught himself. Evan felt like running away.

“Never?” he finally asked.

“No,” Evan answered, shaking his head. He bit his lip and looked down at his gut hanging over the waistband of his shorts.

“Then I’ll teach you,” Dylan said suddenly, shrugging. Evan’s head shot up. What? He couldn’t possibly have heard him right.

“I don’t know,” he objected.

“Aw, come on, bro!” Evan froze momentarily at being called “bro” by someone like Dylan Parks. The guy was a jock, standing there with the ball against his hip and showing off his perfect, muscular body. Why was he acting so friendly to him? Jocks aren’t supposed to act this way to guys like me, Evan thought. “Let’s start with throwing,” Dylan suggested, coming over to him.

“Ok.” What else could he say?

“Alright,” Dylan began. “First, put your fingers between the laces like this, making sure you have a tight grip.” Evan peered over to look. Oh, so that’s what those white lines on the football were for. “Now, when you throw the ball,” Dylan raised his arm, the muscle fibers in his shoulder twitching as he did, “start with the ball next to your ear, draw back and pull from your front delt so that you power the ball forward – you should feel the squeeze in your pecs – and then follow through all the way, like this…” Just then, he skipped back a few paces and immediately launched a driving pass that spiraled through the air just like on TV. Evan’s mouth dropped open in awe. “Now you try,” Dylan said, thrusting his chin at him. He blinked, trying to translate what Dylan had just said. What the hell was a delt?

Stunned, Evan jogged over to the football and bent over to pick it up. It felt weird in his hand, rough, hard…and it occurred to him that he had never even held a football before.

“C’mon,” Dylan called, clapping his hands together, “over here!” Evan closed his eyes for a second and flexed his jaw. Ok, what was it again? Fingers on the laces, arm at his ear, pull from the…whatever it was called. He did his best to emulate the textbook throw that Dylan had just performed. With a grunt, he threw the ball with all the strength he could muster…only to see the ball flutter to the ground halfway between the two of them.

“Damn it,” he whispered to himself.

“Um, ok, not…bad…for the first time,” Dylan scrounged for words. Evan felt like an idiot; he was completely out of his league. All he wanted to do was leave and go home. Hanging his head, he started wandering back toward the truck. “Bro, where you goin’?” Dylan trotted over, stopping him.

“I, uh, I don’t know,” Evan stammered, searching for an excuse. “I just, you know, need a drink.” He winced, knowing how lame that sounded.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up after only one weak throw,” Dylan said, handing him back the ball. Evan looked down at it in disgust. I don’t belong here, he thought.

“I don’t think I’m cut out to play football,” he shrugged.

“Oh, please,” Dylan laughed. “So maybe you won’t be a quarterback or anything like that. There are plenty of other positions.” He looked down at Evan’s gut – Evan immediately felt self-conscious again. “You might be able to be on defense, someone of your…size.”

“I’m fat,” Evan blurted. “Just say it.” Dylan smirked and looked away.
“Ok, so you’re not exactly cut like, well, me,” he cocked one eyebrow, “but if you lose some weight, put on a bit of muscle, you could maybe make a decent linebacker.”

“Really,” Evan looked over at him blankly; he wasn’t sure what a lineman was. But if it was anything like what he did in his dreams, that was fine with him.

“Yeah, I’m serious,” Dylan assured him. “I’ve seen it happen – kids like you end up becoming the beasts of the defensive line all the time.” Not overweight kids like me, Evan thought. “Listen…” Dylan leaned closer to him and lowered his voice “…you live near Pine Bluff, right?” Evan nodded. “Then why don’t you come over to my place this week and I’ll teach you some more basics of football? You might grow to like it. ‘Aight?” Evan stared at him in doubt.

“You want to teach me?”

“Well, yeah,” Dan shrugged. “Isn’t that what I just said?”

“YOU FREAKIN’ IDIOTS!” Mr. Parks voice suddenly echoed from across the field. The two boys looked over to see Dylan’s dad angrily kicking the empty water buckets and cursing up a storm.

“Shit,” Dylan realized, “we forgot to re-fill the water jugs!” Evan watched in terror as the man screamed with reddened face, stammering to get out his words.

“Stop lounging around and doing nothing. DO YOUR DAMN JOB!” he bellowed. The jugs bounced off the ground, droplets of water spraying all over the place. Evan was frozen with fear, though most of the rest of the corps was trying to hide their laughter. Easy for them, they weren’t the ones in trouble.

“Come on! Don’t just stand there!” Dylan urged him, brushing by his shoulder as he leapt onto the truck. “Get the water!”

“Yeah,” Evan muttered, following him up…though not as gracefully. Quickly glancing around the inside of the truck – he was still learning where everything was – he spotted the white five-gallon containers that were used to transport the water to the field. Dylan had filled them up during lunch, but it had been Evan’s job to lug them to the water table in time for the afternoon session. He had forgotten.

“Let’s go, move it,” Dylan pressed. Evan grabbed two of the containers and tried to pick them up…but they were way too heavy; he could barely even lift one of them off the floor let alone both at the same time. BANG! The container slipped out of his sweaty hand, tumbled off the truck and crashed to the ground, the water sloshing out onto the grass.

“Shit!” he hissed. Close to panicking, he heaved the remaining container with both arms and began staggering down the truck’s ramp.

“What the fuck!” Dylan hollered, coming up behind him.

“I’m sorry,” Evan pleaded. “It was too heavy and I…”

“Forget it,” Dylan said, grabbing the full container from him and effortlessly carrying it off the truck. “Just get the Gatorade and follow me.” Sheepishly, Evan obeyed, embarrassed that he screwed up so spectacularly…and that Dylan could carry the full container across the field as if it weighed a pound while he could barely lift it. Not a word passed between the two boys as they filled the jugs, poured in the Gatorade powder and stirred the mixture with a large wooden paddle. They still didn’t speak to each other as they headed back toward the truck.

“I’m sorry,” Evan finally repeated, desperate to break the silence.

“I said forget it,” Dylan replied calmly without even glancing at him. Still, Evan could feel his buddy’s disappointment. And just when they were starting to get to know each other. Disgusted, he retreated to the opposite side of the truck – the shady side – and sat down, his head in his hands.

“You alright?” a bright voice asked him. Slowly, Evan raised his head to see one of the color guard guys hovering above him. He wore the smallest pair of shorts Evan had ever seen, displaying a prominent bulge that was impossible to miss. Every inch of his deeply tanned skin glistened with sweat and it seemed like he had no body fat, as every single muscle was clearly defined. He rocked a rifle back and forth in one hand, his biceps rippling as he did. “You look a little pissed.”

“I’m fine,” Evan murmured, his eyes settling on the boy’s package. How could he not? It was right in front of him.

“By the way, my name’s Jimmie Perez,” he went on, crouching down so Evan could see him in the face. He was cute – lush brown eyes, soft lips and a broad, gleaming white smile. “You’re Evan Gamble.” Evan blinked.

“How’d you know my name?”

“Your brother’s a rookie in the trumpet line,” Jimmie smiled. “Frankly, we all think he’s kinda hot, so…” He bit his lip and glanced at the ground.

“You all…?” Evan repeated, a little taken aback.

“As in the color guard. We all noticed. Wayne has a nice body.”

“Yeah,” he agreed glumly, looking away again. The last thing he needed was to hear how great his big brother looked without a shirt.

“Dylie been getting to you?” Jimmie went on. Evan stared back at the boy, amused. Dylie? “Oh, we’ve all known him since he was little,” he explained, reading Evan’s expression. “His dad’s been on staff here for years and so of course, he’d always hung around.”

“Oh, right.” A smile began to crack on his face. Dylie. He’d definitely have to remember that nickname.

“Don’t mind the kid,” Jimmie continued. “He’s just a little jerk. Full of himself. Thinks he’s gonna get a lotta tail this summer.” Evan let out a snicker at how he said “tail.” It sounded funny with his slight lisp; the t was hit extra hard. “Though he probably will,” he added. “Dylan’s a little hottie now.”

“Of course,” Evan admitted sarcastically. He could just imagine the kid fucking some color guard girl in the back of the truck or something, the girl shrieking at the top of her lungs…just like in the porn videos Evan had “stumbled across” online one day. He remembered how he had been more interested in what the guy was doing than the girl. “He’ll probably get enough pussy to last him for years,” he muttered. Jimmie’s eyebrows twitched.

“You sure he wants pussy?” he answered in a way that almost sounded conspiratorial. Evan felt his heart nearly skip a beat and he stared at Jimmie with a startled look. No way!

“Are you saying that Dylan…?” he asked.

“…is gay?” Jimmie finished his question for him. Evan gave the slightest of nods, embarrassed that he had asked it.

Dylan didn’t seem like he was gay – certainly not like Jimmie and the other color guard guys. But then again, I might be gay, he thought, and I don’t fit the stereotype either. Plus, he had thought it odd that Dylan would notice his boner – and mention it in their very first conversation. Or was that just how jocks always talked?

“Maybe he is,” Jimmie shrugged, giving a little smirk. “Or maybe he’s just experimenting. Or…maybe I’m just screwing around with you.” He giggled and flicked his wrist down. “Nah, he’s still young yet. He has plenty of time to decide when to come out of the closet.” He laughed infectiously.

“Yeah,” Evan laughed along, starting to feel a little confused. What was the guy talking about?

“Well,” Jimmie grinned, rubbing his hand in the younger boy’s hair, “now at least you’re not pissed off anymore.”

“Thanks,” Evan blushed.

“Anytime. See ya,” he waved before turning away.

“See ya,” Evan watched him go, shaking his head at how his shorts rode his butt extremely tightly, and sighed. It didn’t make sense. He felt so comfortable around an openly gay guy like Jimmie, but could barely put together a sentence around a guy like Dylan. Maybe I’m not meant to hang around with guys like Dylan, he thought to himself gloomily.

“What you doin’ over here?” Dylan suddenly appeared from around the corner, nearly making Evan jump.

“Um, nothing,” he threw together a reply. “Just sitting.” He looked up at Dylan, at his soft eyes peering down at him. What thoughts were going on behind those eyes? Was he still upset with him for screwing up with the water? Was he forgiving him because maybe – just maybe – what Jimmie said was true and Dylan was gay and maybe – just maybe – he was admiring Evan the same way Evan was admiring him? Yeah, right…not with this body, he thought.

“I need to ask you something,” Evan ventured.

“Shoot,” Dylan consented enigmatically.

“Are, are you…are you…”

“…still mad at you about before?” Dylan completed the sentence incorrectly. Evan was going to object, but he didn’t know how to get the words out. “Well…” Dylan went on, sighing and shifting his jaw to one side in what seemed like contemplation. Evan furrowed his eyebrows. Maybe…

“I fucked up,” he reminded him.

“Dude,” Dylan grinned, “you’re a rookie. Rookies are supposed to fuck up.” He crossed his arms and looked off into the distance. Evan couldn’t help thinking how much he looked like a model when he did that. “My first year on the truck crew I was always fucking up. One time, I forgot to load one of the bass drums and someone had to drive from Dallas all the way to Tulsa to get it.” He began laughing softly as he sat down right next to Evan, his back against the truck. Evan could only imagine how pissed his dad must’ve been then.

Their shoulders were nearly touching and Evan could almost smell the scent of Dylan’s sweat from working all day in the hot sun. It didn’t smell like his sweat; it smelled almost sweet. Did all jocks smell like that?

“So, uh, how do you carry those jugs so easily like that?” Evan asked, trying not to sound as intimidated as he felt. Dylan looked over at him and grinned proudly.

“I’m stronger than I look,” he said, narrowing his eyes teasingly before laughing. For a second, it was almost as if he was hitting on him…or at least that was what Evan imagined. “I’ve been on the truck crew since I was, like, 7 and my dad manages a shipping company for his real job, so I’ve been lifting heavy shit for years.” He let out a soft growl as he flexed his upper body, tensing every single muscle. Evan nearly stopped breathing for a second. God, he was hot! “Plus, the ladies seem to like it,” he added, clicking his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He nudged Evan playfully with his elbow, making him laugh with him. Dylan smiled, his eyes twinkling brightly. Nah, he probably was straight; jocks always talked like that…right?

“I wish I looked more like you,” he grumbled out loud. He tore himself away from Dylan’s eyes. What was he thinking? How could he ever expect that someone like Dylan would be interested in someone like him, even if he were gay?

“You can start by losing weight,” he stated simply. Evan shrugged. Didn’t he realize it wasn’t that easy? Of course, he probably always had muscles or something, always had been athletic his whole life.

“I try,” Evan answered, glaring down at the blades of grass in front of him.
“Well, you don’t seem to be making much progress on your own,” Dylan observed. Evan glared back at him, a little taken aback by the jab. Dylan chuckled as he realized his reaction. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he explained. “I meant that I should help you lose some of that weight while I teach you how to play football.”

“Oh,” Evan said, feeling dumb. Dylan grinned and looked him right in the eye.

“Bro,” he stated boldly, “I’m gonna mold you into an athlete.” And with that, he leapt up and jumped back into the truck.

[mlbjock]

Very nice!

[CallMeCrazy]

I really like that this story has a sort of sweet beginning. And definitely some very real emotions. It's great!

[redroger11]

This story looks like it's gonna go somewhere. It sounds a bit like this is the course they never teach in High School. How to be comfortable in your own skin. A lot of the characters seem to have it down. Can't wait to see how you're gonna teach it to Evan.
Great story.
Keep Writing.

redroger11

[tagsnola]

... is a bit of a puzzle. And so was Jimmy. Funny, they both seem really nice and willing to go out of their way to make Even feel better about himself. I wonder how Evan's mom knew that putting her son on the Core truck crew would work out so well for him. At least, that's how it's looking potentially so far.

[Goldduck1985]

I actually got really mad at the drum major and he didn't even show up! haha

You see I was my schools Drum Major back in high school, and a guy like that would never had even made it past auditions the year before. I showed up 3 minutes late to a practice once and almost lost respect of my entire band for a few weeks there. If the band don't trust who's conducting them, then you get nowhere at all!

I'd also like to point out that not all the time are color guard guys gay, when i was dating our color guard captain I found them to be more comfortable with themselves than your average band geek. Hahaha those guys got to flirt more with girls than anybody else on the field because we (the instrumentals) always thought they were discussing flag techniques.

Being a straight member of the forums i simply enjoy reading the stories people come up with, and this one hits home, good job so far. You are actually pretty accurate with most of your details. One thing though, we never served anything other than water, the sugar in Gatorade deteriorates the inside of the instruments of course this is just in my band. We didn't have money to have chemical cleans except maybe once a year, and our marching instruments were also our concert instruments. Corps have a lot more funding than any high school program though.

wow thats my first post since joining...lurker alert

[luvyalots]

Originally Posted by Goldduck1985

I actually got really mad at the drum major and he didn't even show up! haha

You see I was my schools Drum Major back in high school, and a guy like that would never had even made it past auditions the year before. I showed up 3 minutes late to a practice once and almost lost respect of my entire band for a few weeks there. If the band don't trust who's conducting them, then you get nowhere at all!

I'd also like to point out that not all the time are color guard guys gay, when i was dating our color guard captain I found them to be more comfortable with themselves than your average band geek. Hahaha those guys got to flirt more with girls than anybody else on the field because we (the instrumentals) always thought they were discussing flag techniques.

Being a straight member of the forums i simply enjoy reading the stories people come up with, and this one hits home, good job so far. You are actually pretty accurate with most of your details. One thing though, we never served anything other than water, the sugar in Gatorade deteriorates the inside of the instruments of course this is just in my band. We didn't have money to have chemical cleans except maybe once a year, and our marching instruments were also our concert instruments. Corps have a lot more funding than any high school program though.

wow thats my first post since joining...lurker alert

Thanks for the reply. When I was in corps, they told us that water only wasn't enough and that Gatorade (and its rivals) replaced electrolytes and such that we lost during rehearsal. The best thing was to alternate between water and Gatorade. One guy concocted his own drink that used orange juice, seltzer water and salt. Tasted disgusting, but it supposedly worked.

[Ender]

As I read him Dylan seems to be a member if that rare breed... A truly nice guy... If he is gay he is very deep in the closet and I think that is easy to understand... his Dad is always there, always yelling, and I don't think he would be happy to find out his son is gay and my guess is Dylan plays the roll of a jock as he does to make his Dad happy. Playing the part of the cocky jock stud for his Dad to to keep any friction between them minimal even thought that's not who he really is inside.

I actually had a "Dylan" in my life once... He got me in into workin out seriously, actually making significant gains, taught me several useful things that I knew but didn't really believe... that it is possible to a Nerd and a Jock, not all Jocks are taller than me, sometimes you have to step back an say "fuck it", and I could get myself in shape and actually start to look like a Jock and not turn into one of the assholes that my time in school a lot more like hell then it needed to be... but instead of us both being kids or teens I was in my about 35 and he was about 25....

Sorry I've drifted into babble mode and I'm not sure where I was heading...

Dylan seems to have most of his world pretty much figured out and under control... and is a lot like I would like to be but I have trouble believing he is really that cool. and figure he must be faking part of the image he presents to the world... and wonder what will make him crack...

Ender

[tagsnola]

Originally Posted by Ender

As I read him Dylan seems to be a member if that rare breed... A truly nice guy... If he is gay he is very deep in the closet and I think that is easy to understand... his Dad is always there, always yelling, and I don't think he would be happy to find out his son is gay and my guess is Dylan plays the roll of a jock as he does to make his Dad happy. Playing the part of the cocky jock stud for his Dad to to keep any friction between them minimal even thought that's not who he really is inside. . .
Ender

... I wish *I'd* said that!

[MAZIVKAROLY]

Looking forward to the next chapter. Dylan does seem too nice to be for real, as a contemporary dude, but who knows what life will bring along?

Looking for more hunk development, esp. of Evan, of course.

[tagsnola]

Originally Posted by MAZIVKAROLY

Looking forward to the next chapter. Dylan does seem too nice to be for real, as a contemporary dude, but who knows what life will bring along?

Looking for more hunk development, esp. of Evan, of course.

... but I guess that's where the *fantasy* comes in. Frankly, I find a story about a character with a soul and some empathy and concern for other people and their feelings kind of appealing.

[tallguy417]

I love the suspense and ambiguity! You've set up a plot with loads of potential.