The pool has emptied considerably, and the last straggling families skirt past us. I watch their figures pass, willing them to stay and socialize longer. I can feel Dres's eyes on me, wonder what he's thinking, why he offered to drive me.

     It shouldn't matter. I should have the upper hand. Like how Dres is when we're in the kitchen together, how he moves languidly across the floor and talks like we do it all the time. That's how I should be. Cause this my place. This is my kitchen. I'm safe here.

     I should be fine.

     But no, yeah, it's not working like that.

     Dres turns to me, and says, rather bluntly, "You lied."

     I stare, questioningly. "Want to be more specific?"

     "You said you weren't being bullied."

     "I'm not," I say defensively.

     "I recognize the kid on your team. He's the same one that came into the shop that day."

     "And?" I ask, testily. "He's on the swim team, big deal."

     "I saw him shove into you."

     "That was an accident."

     "No, it wasn't." He points at me accusingly. "And your mom knows something's up, doesn't she? She doesn't trust them not to do anything. It's why she didn't want to leave you here alone."

     I swipe his finger away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

     Without his hand between us, Dres has the room to step closer so I have to step back. "Sure you do."

     "Nope. I think you're reaching." I step back again and Dres follows me like a magnet trailing metal.

     "I was there in the shop, Calvin. I heard what they said. I saw how they acted tonight. It all makes sense. They pushed you right out here but you lied and said you tripped."

     "You don't know what you're talking about."

     "Why do they do it?" he asks and he's close, too close for me to be able to think, to argue, to be anything but complacent for Dres. "Are they jealous of you?" His finger drags along the medals hanging around my neck. It brushes my bare chest, giving me goose bumps.

     I mumble something that he doesn't hear and he goes 'hmm?' but his finger keeps slipping off the metal, scorching my flesh, and he's so close I can feel his breath on my bottom lip.

     All of the adrenaline from the race has worn off and I'm putty in his hands. The only thing keeping me on my feet is the wall I'm pressed against.

     "I can talk to them," he says and he places one hand on the wall beside my face. Slowly he lifts the other one and places it on the other side of my face, locking me in place. Everything about this moment has me on edge. "I would do that for you."

     I'm not even listening to him, anymore. I am fighting every urge to reach out, run my hands along his shoulders, around his neck. I want to touch him bad. I want to breathe the air that's still in his mouth, that's warm and wet and his.

     He gives me a look and right, fuck, he asked me a question, right.

     "That's, uh, that's okay," I say and what am I even saying.

     He goes softly, "So they are doing it?" I don't say anything. "I want to help, Cas. It's okay to let me."

     "I don't need help." And I definitely don't need your help.

     "What about the next time?" he asks, his tone heavy and hard. I start to feel something heavy and hard. "It doesn't just stop. They don't just stop. You have to do something."

     Yep. I'm definitely feeling something. It's too much, having him this close to my bare chest, his breath painting strokes across my mouth. I'm only in a speedo and my blood is rushing everywhere. Everywhere.

     I hold my breath, willing my body to stop. To wait. To sit still long enough for me to get away from him.

     "Hey," he says and he slides his hand down from the wall to my jaw, tipping my head up to look at him. His hand warms the side of my face. "You don't have to be treated like this. You don't deserve it."

     I stare into his eyes. And we're close, so close. Close enough that if I leaned upwards we'd be kissing, we could be more than kissing. Kiss me, I think. Just do it. Kiss me. Please. Just kiss me.

     "You don't know what I deserve," I manage to say, my words loose and tired and true.

     Dres starts, like he's going to lean forward. Like maybe he will kiss me. His jaw is tight, aggravated. He glances down, I do too, and then he steps back. All of the blood that has pooled at my waist shoots into my face making me dizzy. I might just die right there.

     "I'll wait outside for you," he says pushing away from me quickly. He leaves, just like that.

     I am disgusting. I must disgust him. My body, the betrayer, deflates like I needed it to five minutes ago.

     I remain planted to the wall, trying to find my breath, find my dignity, find my way out of this mess.

     I'm there long enough for my teammates to come bursting out of the locker room, dressed to go home. I jump when I see them, shifting away from the wall so I can go shower and change.

     I'm hoping they won't say anything but the moment James steps into my path I know my wish is going to go unanswered.

     "Look," I say, sighing, exasperated. "We had a good meet today. Let's not ruin it. Okay? Just go home and enjoy the win."

     James rolls his eyes. "Yeah, we got a win, no thanks to you, though. Tanking on the IM like that."

     Anger and shame surge through my chest. I had tanked in the IM but I'd also pulled first place in all the other events I swam. "Look, I'm sorry," I find myself saying and know that I'm not just apologizing for the IM. "It won't happen again."

     "No shit it better not happen again," James snaps, shoving me back. I slide against the wet tile before finding my footing. "The only reason you're even in these events is 'cause Greg's gone. Good riddance to him, though."

     There's no shame that accompanies the anger this time. "Don't talk about him like that."

     "Oh, did I strike a chord?" James says, his tone menacing. "That little faggot had it coming to him."

     I'm not thinking when I step forward and push James. I'm not thinking at all that Frank and Michael are flanking James on either side and I'm outnumbered in the worst way.

     James's expression is one part shocked but mostly amused. He grins at me like I've played right into his hand. "Oh you're gonna' regret that move, ponyboy." He swings at me and my arms instinctively raise to protect my face. The blow lands in my stomach, somewhere near where my spleen used to be. Its definitely not there anymore, blown into my spine from the force. I double over, wrapping a protective arm around my torso.

     Frank and Michael are laughing as James says, "If only Nate was around. He took care of our Greg problem. Could certainly take care of you."

     "Greg problem?" I manage to say through gritted teeth. "You realize this is a person you're talking about."

     "Was a person," James says with a laugh.

     "And barely at that," Michael adds.

     I stand back up, the pain in my stomach easing enough to handle moving. "You guys are sick."

     James frowns at me and that's all the warning I get before his fist collides with my face, knocking me back onto my ass. "I'm sick?" James screams above me. "You're the sick one, cocksucker." He kneels down and a second blow to my face threatens to blind me.

     "Shit," Frank says.

     "You may have fooled everyone else but I know you were fucking around with Greg," James says icily. His words are harsh, and his spit hits my cheek. My one eye is stuck close and the other's blurry so I can't really see him.

     "Yo, someone's coming. Let's go," Michael says grabbing at James's shoulder.

     The last thing James says before he goes is: "You should've killed yourself, too."

     Even through all the pain, I know he's right.