The Chronicles Of Fenway Academy
The Chronicles Of Fenway Academy
BL Classic
Peter Zupp
$1.95
Excerpt
Soft sky of late summer. Haze. In the air that first hint of autumn. I am sitting in the window of the third-story master’s suite in the South Dormitory. An occasional leaf is turning yellow below me in the Quad where a caretaker lethargically mows the lawn. A light breeze brings with it the smell of his grass cuttings. Flanking the Quad are four vine-hung Colonial buildings. Here, for the next nine months, with a hundred and twenty growing boys, I will eat, play, sleep, study and…
I was joined by a thirteen-year-old blond boy with the fresh touch of bloom just beginning to disturb the quiet velvet of his cheeks. He’d helped me lug up my boxes and bags and books, then stood before me in my suite, like a bellboy, I thought, waiting for his tip, blue eyes peering at me through a cowlick of yellow hair.
“Golly, sir,” the boy said, having noticed a still-wet oil of my twelve-year-old nephew swimming in his undershorts, “do you paint real pictures?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll paint you if you wish.”
I ran my eyes over the ripped T-shirt, holy loafers and jeans so tight you could almost see the blood pulse through the veins of his boyhood bat which just then was busy creeping down his pant-leg and bulging against the inside of this thigh.
The boy looked back from the painting. “In my skivs?” he asked, and laughed.
“Why not?”
His name is Billy English and his room, I discovered, is next to mine.
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