Pins: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

earwax, see how his lats were doing, feel the strain in his thickening neck, fiddle with his belly button, where little hairs grew in a trail.
    With his door securely locked, he dropped his sweats and pranced around his room in only his white socks, silent, the bapping of his cock against his belly and his breathing the only sounds.
    He let go of himself, calmed down, struck a few poses, punched air, then got excited again from the nervousness, the energy of working out again, of bumping bodies, of incredible changes.
    Maybe he was as cute as girls said, or what he’d heard was said, what he wished boys like Peter would say. Maybe his thick lashes weren’t too girlish. Maybe his brown eyes, so dark he had to lean in close to the mirror to see the little part at the center that moved like a camera, would charm somebody into falling in love. Maybe they already had.
    He thought he had a big nose, but a girl once said it was sexy, how she liked that in Italian men.
    Men. Like he was a man. Fifteen and never been Frenched. There were a few dates with girls at two dances at St. Augustine’s, but that didn’t count. That didn’t count at all. The girls flirted, the girls talked, he talked, and they danced. That was it. They giggled a lot and were scented like Sophia’s toys.
    Joey looked at the shelf of little trophies and ribbons. His dad had helped him install the shelf, starting a new project every weekend, doling them out to both boys.
    His two years on the St. Augustine’s Knights really didn’t count, according to some guys on his new team. They said Newark was a different ranked division, and considered him the bottom of the totem pole now that he was a sophomore. Still, it gave him a sense of pride to see the little brass figures crouching on the wooden stands, even if he’d had to start all over again. That made him want to work even harder.
    In public school, a lot of kids seemed to pride themselves on acting stupid in class. Dink called it the Beavis and Butthead Pose.   Dink became his filter, his informant, his best bud.
    In math, Joey spent way too much time looking ahead, waiting for him to turn around. When Dink didn’t, he watched the back of his buzzcut turn a dozen colors, depending on the light; copper, straw, even gold. As his hair grew out, the hair on the nape of his neck began to curl like a question mark. In practice, Joey got to hug in close to it, find answers.   He began to resent anything that could interfere with this privilege.
    He checked a list posted on the inside door of his closet, next to his calendar with little scribbles for practice days. Nitrogen loss. Water gain. He set a goal of five pounds of muscle before Thanksgiving. Every day he would weigh himself. Every meal would become a science project, each drop of sweat a blessing.

 
    5
    “Gentlemen. Today, single leg takedowns and escapes so you can increase your versatility with some new technical moves. Go easy on your opponent’s knees. Cartilage does not come cheap.”
    It was very scientific, the way Coach Cleshun talked.
    He was a nice guy, but he was so “paramilitary,” as Troy called it. Troy didn’t like exercise. Troy just liked wrestling. Troy was undefeated.
    With Coach Cleshun, though, everything had to be in a certain order. When Joey had approached Cleshun in his Chemistry Lab, saying how he looked forward to wrestling with a new team, Cleshun cut him off with, “Tryouts are next month, Mister, uh, how do say your name again?”
    Assistant Coach Fiasole, on the other hand, attended to the boys like a mother hen. He tried to get everybody to dress up on match days. He was a local boy, but he’d been away in Manhattan, had some funny jokes.
    Assistant Coach Fiasole did all the boosters stuff, like distributing the little orange and black signs for all the athletes’ yards that read, “HOME of a COLT!”   Fiasole made sure the guys filled out all their health forms, took care of sprains, cuts.
    About a foot