The Temptations of St. Frank by Anthony Bruno

Author:Anthony Bruno
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FICTION/General
Publisher: Diversion Books
Published: 2013-12-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Frank and Greg Wilenski were forehead to forehead, hands hooked around each other’s neck, trying to make it look like they were wrestling

“Whoever invented phys ed should be shot,” Frank grunted.

“Shut up, Grimaldi,” Wilenski grunted back.

Their gym teacher, Mr. Musso, was also the wrestling coach, so most of his classes were wrestling lessons. Problem was, they sparred by size, and Frank, the second biggest kid in class, always had to spar with Wilenski who was built like a refrigerator and had to weigh at least 300 pounds. Frank weighed about 180.

Wilenski wasn’t a bad guy, and, like Frank, he couldn’t care less about wrestling so they dogged it by mutual consent. The only problem was he smelled. He had killer B.O. and his sweat was slimy. And it seemed like he was always sweating. Wilenski broke into a sweat just changing into this gym clothes. He produced buckets of slimy, stinky sweat just pretending to be wrestling. Twice a week for two periods in a row, Frank had to go skin-to-skin with him, sweaty tee-shirt to sweaty tee-shirt. It was so disgusting Frank spent the entire time breathing through his mouth.

Frank kept an eye out for Mr. Musso who patrolled the blue vinyl mats like a ball-buster cop, inspecting holds, correcting posture and techniques, getting down on his knees and slapping the mat hard and repeatedly whenever he saw a legitimate pin. His close-cropped black hair stood out from his head as if it didn’t want to be there. His voice was loud, high-pitched, and grating. At the moment he was down on all fours, yelling instructions to a couple of middle-weights, one kid close to a pin. Musso’s face was so close to them he looked like a mad bulldog trying to sniff some doggie ass.

“You hear from any schools?” Wilenski asked as he and Frank circled.

“Not lately. I’m waiting to hear from Boston U. and American. How about you?”

“I got into Holy Cross and Northwestern.”

How the fuck did he get into Northwestern? Frank thought. That was a good school. Wilenski wasn’t that smart.

“So where are you gonna go?” Frank asked.

Wilenski fluttered his lips with a sarcastic exhale. “What do you think? Northwestern. Who the hell wants to be stuck in butt-fuck Worcester, Mass, when you can be in Chicago?”

Outside Chicago, Frank thought. Northwestern wasn’t right in the city. But still…

“The Moose is looking,” Wilenski muttered. Without warning he hooked his hand behind Frank’s knee, up-ended him, and threw him down on his back. Wilenski wasn’t fast—thank God—or else he would have taken the opportunity to pounce on top of Frank for the pin. Frank had time to roll over onto his stomach, and Wilenski straddled him from behind. Frank could feel Wilenski’s sweat seeping into his own shirt. Gross!

Wilenski breathed into Frank’s ear. “So what’re you gonna do if you don’t get into American or BU?” The words were hot, wet, and sweet.

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