    A SHOULDER TO CRY ON

    	This story is about a star basketball player struggling through
    his senior season in high school because of an injury. He meets a
    small, shy freshman who at first doesn't even think he can make the
    freshman team, and isn't cut out for the social life of high school. He
    is in diapers full time, and that is his biggest, innermost secret
    which he is completely embarrassed about. The story is about his
    relationship with Peter, the basketball player, and their struggles.

    There is not a whole lot of diapers in the opening parts, but it is
    hinted at quite a bit, and it will come out much more as I update.

    	Peter got out of his car, he was in his high school parking lot,
    which was odd because there was no school that day. It was Friday,
    about 9:13 AM. He walked into the gym, slightly interrupting the
    coach's speech to players. None of the coaches were surprised, and they
    shouldn't have been. First of all this wasn't Peter's practice, and
    second of all it wasn't uncommon of him to show up to watch the
    freshmen tryout. He stood against the wall and looked at the prospects
    sitting on the floor around Coach. Freshmen seemed so little to him. It
    wasn't just the fact that he was 6-4, and chiseled like stone, they
    seemed like little kids. The majority of them wore white t-shirts,
    except for a few dressed in black or navy blue. They dispersed to ends
    of the gym to do a fast break drill. Coach approached Peter, "How we
    doin', Pete?" he asked. Peter flashed a smile, "pretty good, Coach."
    They stood and talked as they watched the little kids run around,
    shoot, and make a lot of mistakes.
    	Thomas waited in front of the school. It was 11:30, no sign of a
    ride yet. He wondered if his parents had forgotten him, and finally, as
    he entertained thoughts of walking home, his car appeared. His mom
    directed the van onto the curb and stopped. Thomas entered.
    	"Hey, sweetheart," His mom greeted him.
    	"Where were you?" Thomas asked.
    	"Sorry, honey," his mom replied, "I was doing some errands and I
    ran late."
    	Thomas was a bit tense from practice. He doubted that he could
    make the team, but he tried out anyway. What else is a freshman to do?
    The suburban pulled up to his house. He swung open his door and stepped
    out. It was a big step for him from the vehicle to the ground. He
    exited and the grabbed his backpack of the floor of the vehicle. With
    all the textbooks that were in there, it outweighed him. He felt a
    familiar wetness on the front of his pants. He looked down and saw
    nothing out of the ordinary, it was well contained. He dropped his
    backpack on his bed and left his room, walking towards the bathroom.
    	"Do you need my help?" called his mom from the kitchen.
    	"Yeah," came his shame-filled answer. He went into the bathroom
    and removed his basketball shorts. Then he hopped up onto a large
    counter area and lay on his back while he waited for his mom.
    	Peter exited the gym, walking slowly behind a group of athletes.
    He wiped sweat from his face with his T-shirt. The guys in front of him
    crowded around the wall. Peter just continued walking past them and
    into the locker room. He had no need to look at the list on the wall.
    Coach was in the locker room and Peter walked in and took a seat.
    	"Good Job this week Peter," he said.
    	"Thanks," Peter replied.
    	"What did you think of this week?"
    	"I thought it went well, I'm excited."
    	Shortly thereafter eleven more guys joined them in the locker
    room.
    	"I would like you to be looking at me," Coach announced once they
    all got seated, "First of all, congratulations, you made the varsity
    basketball team. There are 12 spots on this team, and I chose what I
    thought were the 12 best players at this school. It should be an honor
    to you that you are sitting in this locker room because I tell you
    what, there are a lot of guys that are on their way home right now that
    would love to be in this room."
    	Peter sat on a couch and watched. The lights were low, the music
    was loud, he could barely see, a voice came from his right side, "Peter
    my dawg, whatup, you wanna drink somethin?"
    	"No thanks, man," Peter said to the voice, he didn't see who it
    was, as if it mattered.
    	"Petey, ain't you never gonna drink nothin'?"
    	"No man, that's just not my thing."
    	"Petey my boy, you's a rock! You solid my man! I wish I could
    drink nothin' an have fun. 'Cept you don't looks to be havin' much
    fun."
    	"I'm doing OK," Peter assured the voice. The smell of alcohol
    breath had gotten a bit strong for Peter, so he left the voice on the
    couch and moved out to the back porch, people were a little more
    relaxed out there, but no less inebriated. There was a mix of seniors
    and freshman on the back porch, all looked to be holding something to
    drink, except one. He knew the seniors, and the freshman by name at
    least, some of the seniors were athletes, soccer players, one
    basketball player. The freshman looked to be all basketball players
    from what Peter could tell. He bottled up his anger at what the seniors
    were doing to the innocent and young. As he turned to go back inside,
    he noticed the porch light was on, and it shined on a kid sitting about
    10 feet away from all the others on a bench. Peter looked at him for a
    second, thinking he may have been someone's little brother, either the
    person whose house they were at, or just tagging along for the night
    with an older sibling. He wore a black sweatshirt and some jeans. Peter
    had been bouncing from group to group all night and hadn't found a
    sober person to speak with yet. Peter approached the kid. The kid gave
    him an unsure kind of scared look as he approached.
    	"What's going on?" Peter asked.
    	"Nothing." Was the reply. The kid stared at the ground and then
    moved his glance away from Peter off into space.
    	"What's your name?"
    	"Thomas."
    	"Aright, well I'm Peter, it's nice to meet you."
    	Peter held out his hand, Thomas looked at it and then held his
    out in return, they shook hands.
    	"How old are you?" Peter wanted to know.
    	"14."
    	"So you're a freshman?"
    	"Yeah." Peter had expected that the kid would have been 12, but
    whatever. Peter wasn't really that great at making conversation, but he
    felt pressed to continue.
    	"So what do you do, you play sports or anything?" he asked.
    	"Yeah, soccer and basketball." Thomas replied.
    	"Really? right on, I play basketball."
    	"I know. I've seen you."
    	They sat there for a minute, the noise level of the drunks had
    picked up a bit. Peter looked at his watch, it was 11:30.
    	"Anyway," he said to Thomas, "I'm tired, I'm gonna head home, who
    are you here with?"
    	"Those guys," Thomas said, pointing at the group of drunk
    freshman and seniors.
    	"Aright, you want a ride home?"
    	"Sure."
    	Peter kissed the crucifix on his rosary and then gathered with
    the team at the locker room door. They gathered together.
    	"Get yourself dialed in right now fellas, we're playing from the
    start."
    	Peter told them, "Defense 1 2 3."
    	"Defense!" They chanted. Peter led them onto the court and into
    warmups. The game started with the starting lineups being announced.
    For Magdalen High it was as follows:

    1.	Jaret Green 6-1.
    2.	Derek Watters 6-3
    3.	Peter Abram 6-4
    4.	Tyrone Banks 6-6
    5.	Tyler Short 6-9

    	Short jumped center and tipped it back to Green. The first play
    was run as usual to Peter, the man matched up on him was 6-2, and much
    weaker. Peter screened down for Tyrone and posted his man up. Peter's
    man ran around to try and get in front of Peter, the ball got reversed
    and Peter sealed his man off looking for the ball. A double team came
    and Short found Green on the wing who put up a three point shot, it hit
    net. Magdalen was up 5-2 when Peter finally got his first touch of the
    game. He made an entry pass to Banks on the block, and then screened
    away for Watters. Banks spun into the key and kicked the ball back to
    Peter on the opposite wing. He was about 5 feet outside the three point
    line and his defender sagged off, he let it fly......money. He finished
    the first quarter off with two more three pointers and a breakaway
    dunk. Eleven first quarter points for Peter, they led 20-6. The second
    quarter was more of the same. Peter started by blocking a shot and then
    hitting a tough shot in the lane while getting fouled. Later he hustled
    down a long offensive rebound, passed the ball to Watters at the top of
    the key, then got it right back and hit a three from the corner.
    Magdalen ran away with what was supposed to be a close game, they won
    76-50. Peter scored 26 and had 9 rebounds and 4 assists.
    	Thomas sat on a bench during lunchtime in the hallway. He had
    planned to go off campus to lunch with his friends. They stood in a
    crowd and talked, Thomas couldn't bring himself to enter into it. He
    hustled to the bathroom, luckily when he got in there, there was nobody
    there. He stood for a few seconds and then left, too late again, as
    usual. Not that it mattered if he had gotten there on time. He walked
    out of the bathroom, staying close to the wall. His friends had left,
    gone to lunch without him. He turned a corner and walked directly into
    a big body.
    	"Sorry," he said frantically. The body belonged to Peter.
    	"Thomas, what's happening, kid?" Peter asked. Thomas shrugged.
    	"Come to lunch with me."
    	"K."
    	Thomas took note of Peter's car, it was white. A necklace with a
    wrapped cross hung from the rearview mirror. Pictures of friends were
    on the dashboard. Thomas recognized a few of the people from school,
    but most looked to be older. On the floor of the car was stacks of
    letters from colleges.
    	Thomas exited his last period class and headed directly for the
    locker room. He hurried to make sure he beat the rest of his teammates.
    He opened his locker and pulled out his practice shorts. The door was
    open, and varsity players were already passing in and out of their
    locker room next door. He took his shorts out of his locker and waited
    until nobody was passing by. As quickly as his little arms would move,
    he undid the fly of the jeans he was wearing, and pulled them down,
    exposing what was underneath. His T-shirt wasn't long enough to cover
    it, but he managed to slip his shorts on with about 5 seconds to spare
    before Peter walked by.
    	"Whatsup, champ?" Peter said as he passed.
    	"Hey." Thomas' heart was pounding, he had done it, but he didn't
    know if he could keep this up all season.
    	Peter picked up the sports section of the newspaper and saw
    himself on the front of it. He rubbed his eyes to try and get the
    sleepiness out. The thrill that used to come from seeing himself in the
    paper was gone, and today was just another business day as usual.
    	Peter kissed the crucifix on his rosary and put it back in his
    locker as the team made the way to the court. The gym was sold out, and
    for good reason. Peter shook hands with Bethesda's captain, they knew
    each other well. There wasn't a dislike, but it wasn't like they were
    great friends, either. They stared at each other as the referee talked
    like two prizefighters getting pre-match instructions. Thomas was in
    the crowd, he was standing along with the other freshmen in the student
    section, his eyes never left Peter, except to look at the newspaper
    from that morning he was holding. Peter's photo graced the front of the
    sport's section, along with his adversary from Bethesda, the media had
    picked Magdalen to be the favorites over Bethesda in the battle of the
    top two teams in the league, and two of the best in the state. Peter
    started the game off fighting through a double team. And so every time
    he got the ball he got rid of it quickly and focused on setting screens
    and playing good defense. He made a great back cut for an easy layup,
    and scrapped another two points off of an offensive rebound. Another
    offensive board turned into three points for them after he kicked it
    back out. Thomas felt like screaming for him, but opted not too, he
    just stood with his friends up in the corner while the rest of the gym
    went nuts. The third quarter began with Magdalen clinging to a five
    point lead. Peter was playing defense on his man at the top of the key.
    He got back picked and spun around to try and catch up with his man
    going to the hoop. The ball whizzed by his head, and he stuck his arm
    out to knock it away. His arm became tangled with his man's and he
    heard a pop and felt his arm become torn out of his socket. He
    screamed, the entire gym went silent as he fell onto the floor and
    continued to scream in agony. Tears ran down his face as the trainer
    and his coaches came over.
    	"My shoulder's out," He gasped. The trainer began feeling both
    shoulders.
    	"Yeah.......Yeah," she said calmly, "I think you're right."
    	"Oh my God, oh my God," Peter continued.
    	"Can you get up?"
    	"Let me try."
    	Somebody helped him up from behind and he supported his arm as he
    exited the gym. He was dizzy, and could barely walk without help.
    	"Are you dizzy?" The trainer asked.
    	"Yeah," he answered, "oh my God, this is not happening."
    	He went to the training room and sat on a table. His dad followed
    him in. He could see the fear in Peter's eyes, he was shaking. His
    basketball career flashed before his eyes.
    	"Lay down on your back."
    	The trainer lifted his arm up. It felt as if it had been ripped
    completely off of his body. She pulled on his arm, and it popped back
    in.
    	"Oh my God, that feels so much better." Peter breathed a sigh of
    relief. He went and changed into his clothes and sat on the end of the
    bench as Magdalen fell apart, and Bethesda ran away with the win. He
    spent that night sitting on a bench outside of the locker room. His
    head down, lifting it up only as people walked by. Thomas passed, and
    just looked at Peter, he felt terrible for him. His shoulder was
    beginning to get sore. He sat on the bench for hours, too depressed to
    even want to go home. His arm was in a sling. The trainer said it would
    be six weeks before he played again. Four years of hard work all lead
    up to this season for Peter, and as of right now it was in shambles.
    	Thomas went straight to bed when he got home. He woke up in the
    middle of the night, wet, and scared more than a little. He tried to go
    back to sleep but the coldness between his legs wouldn't let him.
    Finally he got up and changed into some regular underwear. Though he
    was more comfortable, he couldn't find sleep. He rummaged through his
    closet and found his old night light and plugged it in. Finally he fell
    asleep.
    	Peter went to church like usual that Sunday, but barely listened
    to a word of what was said. He wanted to leave, he was sick of pity. He
    didn't want to hear how sorry people felt for him, he wanted to play
    basketball, and that's all he wanted. When church was finished, he
    tried to make his way to the door unnoticed.
    	"Hey," a man said to him.
    	"Hi," Peter forced a smile.
    	"I'm sorry to hear about your shoulder, what a bummer."
    	"Yeah," Peter replied. "Oh well, it happens."
    	"I got hurt my senior year of football. But listen, you've got
    two things I never had, you've got your friends, and you've got the
    Lord to help get you through this."
    	Peter was filled with nothing but rage when he heard this. He
    didn't know why, but he hated hearing about how God was going to work
    it out for the best. He thanked the man anyway, and moved on. A girl
    touched his hand, "God works these things out for the best." Peter was
    even more upset, he forced a casual smile at her and then walked out
    promptly. Peter didn't want God to work it out for the best, he wanted
    to play basketball.

    Part 2

    	Thomas lay down on the couch and flipped through TV stations, not
    really paying any attention to what was on. Images of Peter lying on
    the court screaming were flashing in his head. He couldn't stop
    thinking about it. He flipped by channel 7, and then stopped and
    flipped it back to take a closer look. The giant cross in the
    background of the televangelism show caught his eye. He continued to
    flip. He looked at the clock on the wall, it was 8:30. He took a sip of
    Pepsi. His mom came in and took the can. "No more of this tonight," she
    said, "I don't want you to leak all over your bed." Thomas hated it
    when anybody brought the subject up so he didn't protest because he
    didn't want to talk about it anymore.
    	Peter sat on his couch as well. He watched the televangelist in
    disgust. 'When did this pass for ministry?' he thought. He turned the
    TV off and got up. He went to his car and drove to his friend's house.
    They ended up at a party that night. Peter sat alone on the front steps
    of the house, people walked in and out, he was one of two sober people
    there. A freshman basketball player approached him. the kid was drunk
    off of his ass.
    	"Hey man, sorry to hear about your shoulder?"
    	"Oh well," Peter said, "stuff like this happens in basketball."
    	Peter hated that there was a basketball player drunk, but what
    could he do. He ended up driving a drunk person home that night.
    	Thomas hustled to the locker room again. He beat the rush by
    about 3 seconds this time. he was beginning to worry. He had wet his
    diaper, and would have to go through practice like this. He tried not
    to squirm as it got uncomfortable through the entire practice. He tried
    to stand away from teammates as often as possible. His concentration
    was horrible. He could only focus on what was underneath his bottom.
    	Peter kissed the crucifix on his rosary as he followed the team
    to the gym. He used to be the first out, now he was the last. His 10
    days with his arm in a sling were up, now it was just rehab until it
    was healthy enough to play again. The colleges hadn't stopped calling,
    but now it was only questions about his injury. He worried that his
    scholarship offers would fall through. Since he was out, every team in
    the league thought that they had a shot at beating Magdalen, and they
    were right, Peter watched his team squeak out an eight point win over
    the last place team in the league.
    	Thomas had played horrible. He went into his bedroom that night
    and felt like crying. He undressed and went and stood in front of his
    mirror in just his diaper. Immediately he turned away and put some
    shorts on. He couldn't bear to look at himself. His mom came in to his
    room and said, "Ok stinky, let's go."
    	"Don't call me that!" Thomas yelled.
    	"Relax, Tommy." He followed his mom to the bathroom, and took off
    his shorts and hopped up onto the counter. His mom undid the diaper
    tabs, and took the messy diaper out from under him.
    	"You're too messy for me to clean up, jump in the shower." Thomas
    did as he was told. He washed himself clean, and then when he got out,
    his mom was waiting for him. She diapered him, and left. Thomas sat
    there, not wanting to move, not wanting to feel the diaper below him,
    just wanting to cry, but he couldn't. He lay up on the counter and fell
    asleep there.
    	 Peter lay on his bed and thumbed through a scrapbook of
    newspaper articles from the last two years, and articles leading up to
    this year. It pained him to think of all that had been leading up to
    this year, he almost felt like he'd wasted the last four years of his
    life. How could this be the climax of four years of hard work. He
    showed up at the weight room at 7:30 the next morning. He'd gone three
    years without missing a morning workout, all he could do now was light
    shoulder rehab. The days went by, Magdalen stayed in the 4th place spot
    in the league consistently. Peter went to class still, but mostly tried
    to sleep through it, after class he would generally go straight home
    until practice. He continued to pray often, but it always ended up
    frustrating him. He used to feel moved, he used to feel loved when he
    prayed. He still went to church, and to Bible study and tried to put a
    smile on his face. But he would sit there and feel nothing. He would be
    frustrated, he felt distanced from his friends. He felt disconnected.
    He ate a lot and slept a lot. One night he couldn't sleep thinking
    about the expectations for this season that were crushed. He just sat
    and turned the crucifix on his rosary around and around.
    	Thomas would come straight home from practice every day and try
    to go right to sleep. He figured maybe when he woke up everything would
    go away, and if not, at least it was gone while he slept. he wasn't
    sure when things had gotten so bad, he just knew that there was a pain
    in his heart that never left. He repulsed at the thought of a diaper,
    yet he lived in one. He came home one night and pulled his black sweats
    and sweatshirt off of his child-sized body and threw them on the floor.
    He quickly put some shorts on and lay on his bed. He tried to lose
    himself in homework, in reading, in sleep. Nothing worked. He felt his
    diaper become wet, and he didn't care, he just sat there. Finally his
    mom came in.
    	"Hey stinky, you need to be changed?" He hated being called that.
    He liked Thomas a lot better even though he knew his mom did it in good
    humor.
    	"No," he answered. He was beginning to become certain that he
    didn't belong on the basketball team. He was almost positive that the
    coach now regretted not cutting him. He wasn't good enough to play and
    he knew it. He thought about Peter.

    Part 3

    	Thomas jogged to the locker room. He was almost wet enough to be
    leaking, but figured if he could hold on through practice he'd be ok.
    What other choice did he have? He got to the locker room and started to
    undo his pants when Peter walked in.
    	"What's up, buddy?" Thomas' heart pounded. "Hey."
    	"How are things going for you?"
    	"OK."
    	Thomas sat in a chair next to his locker, not wanting to move a
    muscle. This was the first time he'd ever been around Peter and wished
    he wasn't.
    	"Are you sure?"
    	"Yeah."
    	"You're doing a good job, keep playing hard OK?"
    	"OK."
    	"How is school going?" Peter asked.
    	"It's going good. How's your shoulder?"
    	Thomas replied, wanting to change the subject. "It's getting
    better, but it's tough to sit and watch."
    	"Are you going to play again soon?"
    	"I hope so, I would right now if they'd let me."
    	Peter sighed," I gotta go do my rehab. You wanna go to lunch
    tomorrow?"
    	"Sure."
    	"OK, meet me by the senior locker bay."
    	By the time Peter left, Thomas' teammates were already in the
    locker room. He took a pair of shorts and went to a toilet stall. He
    changed in there, and quietly slipped back into the locker room. He put
    his stuff in his locker and went to practice. Practice went well.
    Luckily, he sweated enough that he didn't wet so he didn't leak. Still,
    he was so nervous the entire time that he couldn't focus; he couldn't
    play well. Thomas looked for Peter at lunchtime. He stood on a bench in
    the hallway to get a better view. Peter was standing in a crowd of
    people talking a little bit. He slowly backed out of the conversation.
    Thomas now felt comfortable approaching him, though not completely
    comfortable. He walked up. Peter spotted him.
    	"Hey bud," he said, "are you ready?"
    	Peter rubbed Thomas' head and Thomas nodded. They walked out to
    Peter's car. The sun was shining and it was unseasonably warm for a
    January day.
    	"Aren't you hot in that black sweatshirt?" Peter asked.
    	"I dunno, a little".
    	Peter felt a little frustrated because he could barely ever get a
    word out of Thomas, and Peter wasn't an outstanding conversationalist
    himself. They found a restaurant that was practically empty.
    	"Are you enjoying basketball?"
    	"Yeah I guess, I dunno."
    	"How about your first year of high school?"
    	"I don't really like it," Thomas muttered.
    	"Why not?"
    	"I'm not sure," Thomas said, "I don't really have many friends,
    and it's hard for me."
    	"You're shy aren't you?" Peter said. Thomas nodded.
    	"It's ok, dude," Peter assured him. Thomas took off his black
    sweatshirt and revealed the white t-shirt underneath.
    	"Let's hang out this weekend, wait for me after the game Friday
    night," Peter offered. Thomas' heart jumped.
    	"OK," he said. Thomas was sitting in the crowd barely paying any
    attention. He continually glanced at Peter sitting on the end of the
    bench in his street clothes. His stomach had butterflies, and he was
    wet. He needed a change but wasn't going to have an opportunity. Maybe
    he could get Peter to stop by his house, and discreetly. No, too risky,
    nobody walks into the bathroom with their mom. He waited until after
    the game. Peter was the first out of the locker room. Peter drove them
    to the top of a hill. They got out and lay on the hood of his car.
    There was a hill about half a mile away from the one they sat on. There
    was an illuminated cross on top of it. They looked at the cross and at
    the stars.
    	"I can't wait to play again," Peter said.
    	"When can you?"
    	"I dunno, soon I hope. It just doesn't seem fair sometimes. I
    worked so damn hard for the last four years for my senior basketball
    season, and it takes two seconds to get taken away from me."
    	"Yeah," Thomas agreed. "I feel bad, dude, you don't need to
    listen to my problems."
    	Peter apologized, "what's up with you?"
    	"I dunno," Thomas clammed up, as he usually did when the subject
    turned to him. He froze for a second, as he felt something familiar
    fill his lower area. He was just thankful he was sitting down right
    now.
    	"What's wrong?" Peter asked.
    	"Huh?... nothing."
    	"What time do you gotta be home tonight?"
    	"I dunno, whenever."
    	"Your folks never gave you a curfew?" Peter asked.
    	"I only live with my mom. My dad left a year ago," Thomas said. A
    bit of his diaper was poking out from underneath his pants, and it was
    uncovered by his sweatshirt as he lay out. Peter didn't notice.
    	"Is that hard for you?" Peter questioned, not wanting to be too
    aggressive.
    	"Yeah, a little I guess, I don't know." Thomas said with hurt in
    his eyes.

    Part 4

    	Thomas lay on his bed that night. Again he couldn't find sleep.
    He finally relented and plugged in the nightlight, he was embarrassed
    by it, but wanted to sleep in the worst way. His dad was on his mind.
    He tried to remember the last time he saw him, but he couldn't. There
    was too much on his mind. He heard a sound out in the living room, and
    slowly got up to go investigate. There was nothing there but darkness.
    His legs were shaking and he had an accident. It leaked down his leg as
    he stood there, making his boxers and the floor beneath him wet. He
    wanted to scream but he held it in so much that tears came to his eyes.
    He got some towels in the bathroom and cleaned it up. Luckily his mom's
    bedroom was on the other side of the house.
    	Peter lay awake that night. He watched old game films of him
    playing basketball. They still brought back old feelings that he missed
    dearly. He was excited about what had happened earlier that night. He
    turned off the screen and became still. He wondered about Thomas. He
    wondered how many issues that kid had in his life. He wondered what it
    would be like to have your own father walk out. He had been trying to
    pray, but he couldn't, the feeling just wasn't there. He decided to
    stop. He decided it wasn't in his hands. He prayed for Thomas. The
    phone in his bedroom rang. "Hello." There was just a dial tone on the
    other end.
    	Thomas hung up the phone. He didn't want to wake up Peter, but he
    knew he wasn't going to sleep tonight. He didn't want to wake up his
    mom either. He didn't even want to think about getting his diaper
    changed. He couldn't stand to look down at his wet boxers, he wanted to
    be as far away as he possibly could from his problem. He wanted to
    sleep but he couldn't. He went to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom
    to find something to induce sleep. He looked at his reflection, red
    eyes, tear streaked face. He quickly looked away and rummaged in the
    cabinet. He found some NyQuil and took a capful. Sleep finally came.
    	 Magdalen was in 5th place, a game out of the playoffs. Peter had
    shot in practice the prior day for the first time ever. Not from far
    away, but it was a huge step. He sat again on the end of the bench and
    watched as his team blew a 10 point lead, and ran out of gas at the
    end. They were now two games out of the playoffs with only 3 games left
    to play. Peter decided to take a walk that night. He walked and walked,
    and thought about how he wanted to come back and play so very badly,
    and how he wasn't going to let his team fall from the playoffs his
    senior year. But he was scared, what was he to do? Their next adversary
    was currently ranked first in the state. Peter was scared, the risk of
    re-injury was high, but the risk of not playing was even higher to him.
    He went to a garden that was on a hill near his house, and under the
    stars he cried his eyes out. His hear was filled with anxiety. He
    didn't know what he was feeling, he didn't know what was in his heart
    right now. He just knew that he'd worked so hard from 4 years of his
    life, and the game he always dreamed about was coming up. He went home,
    picked up a basketball from his garage and went into his driveway and
    started shooting.
    	Thomas looked at his report card which had just come in the mail:

    C
    C
    B
    C
    D

    	Is what it looked like. He then looked at his first term report
    card he had received several months earlier:

    A
    B
    A
    B
    A

    	The difference was amazing. He wished he could do something to
    make it go away. Maybe it's a mistake. No, there would never be 4
    mistakes on a report card. "I've never got a C in my life!" He yelled
    to nobody. He left his report card and sat in his bedroom. His legs
    were shaking. He couldn't figure out if he was angry at himself for
    getting bad grades, or scared at what his mom would say. He decided he
    was probably scared. He was scared of everything. He heard his mom come
    in from work. A few minutes later there was a knock on his door.
    	"Do you need a diaper change?" She asked sharply, "and don't lie
    to me."
    	"Yeah," he said almost incoherently. He had been messy for quite
    some time. His mom caught a scent of him and said, "march your bottom
    into the shower and come get me when you're done."
    	After his shower he got out and dried off. His mom entered the
    bathroom, she was holding some training pants, leftover from his most
    recent failed attempt at potty training.
    	"What is that for?"
    	"It's easier to pull down."
    	Thomas just went along with it. There was no point in having
    something easy to pull down if you can't make it to the toilet in the
    first place. He went to his bedroom. He wondered if she hadn't seen the
    grades, or if she was just being nice about it because she's noticed
    how rough things have been for him lately.
    	"Thomas, come here!" Came her voice from the kitchen. He put on
    some shorts and a t-shirt and went out into the kitchen. "We need to
    have a talk."
    	She was sitting at the kitchen table, he joined her, and noticed
    his report card in front of her. "Your grades came," she said. Thomas
    nodded. "Well, kiddo, start explaining."
    	"I dunno, what do you mean?" he asked, pleading some form of
    ignorance.
    	"You know what I mean, Thomas, these are horrible. You got a D, a
    D!" Thomas looked at the table. "When did that become acceptable?" She
    asked him. He started to cry already.
    	"I dunno, I'm taking hard classes and with basketball and
    everything it's been tough, but I'm working hard, most of those grades
    are up already."
    	She looked at him as if to say that none of those were good
    excuses. "Well there's gonna be a consequence," She told him. He
    started to object but decided it wasn't going to do any good. "I should
    take you out of basketball, but I'm not that mean, you're grounded for
    two weeks."
    	"Fine," Thomas accepted, he wouldn't be able to hang out with
    Peter for two weeks, but he'd see him at school.
    	"And I don't want you spending time with that senior anymore,
    find kids your own age to hang out with."
    	"What! No!"
    	"Thomas," she said, "ever since you started hanging out with him
    you've gone straight downhill, have you been doing drugs with him?"
    	"NO. That's ridiculous, he doesn't do drugs, he's not a bad
    influence! He's the only real friend I have."
    	"Thomas don't be ridiculous, the exact time you've been spending
    hanging out with him is the exact time you started to go bad. You are
    not spending time with him anymore, end of story!"
    	Thomas got up to leave and go to his room, he sat on his bed and
    cried for half an hour. Soon his mom came in.
    	"Thomas, you and I still aren't through, there's still this
    matter about your grades." She had Thomas's report card in one hand,
    and something else in the other.
    	"What are you doing with that?" he asked.
    	"Exactly what you think," she said, pointing the paddle at him.
    "You're gonna spank me? I'm 14 years old, mom!"
    	"You got 4 C's and one D, You're getting 10 for each C and 20 for
    the D, now get over here," she ordered. Thomas wanted to resist but
    knew he'd eventually lose the battle.
    	"I'm a little bit old for this, ground me for three weeks!" He
    pleaded.
    	"I might if you don't get over here," she said, "and besides,
    you're a little too old for diapers too, as soon as you learn to use
    the toilet, then maybe you'll be ready to stop being spanked."
    	She grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him to a chair, he tried
    to resist but she was still far stronger than him. She pulled down his
    shorts, and then his training pants, she pulled him over her right
    knee, and then held him in place with her left leg. OK, you've got 60
    of them: WHACK! WHACK! He cried and cried, the pain was terrible. She
    would give him a break every ten. He had diaper rash which made it even
    worse. The 60 whacks were spread out over the longest ten minutes of
    his life, afterwards his mom pulled his training pants up and he lay on
    the carpet, sobbing for air. He lost control and peed everywhere, his
    training pants leaked all over the carpet. His mom left the room, and
    went into the bathroom. She had tears in her eyes. She couldn't believe
    that she had done that, but it was a lesson he had to learn.

    Part 5

    	Thomas arrived for his game about 30 minutes earlier than
    required. He hurried to the locker room, and finding it deserted,
    closed the door behind him. He quickly started to undo his pants and
    remove them. At the instant he got them off, he heard the turn of the
    door handle behind him. He felt an instant of helplessness that was
    more intense than any like feeling he'd felt in his life. He quickly
    tried to pick up his shorts and pull them on, but long before he could
    he heard a voice he instantly recognized.
    	"Thomas-" The voice said. It was Peter. Thomas spun around and
    looked at him. Peter stood and looked, and slowly backed out of the
    room.
    	Thomas pulled his shorts on over his diaper, and then put some
    sweats on. He didn't want to be here at all. Tears started to fall as
    he walked quickly towards the exit. He left the building and broke down
    crying as he walked. He made his way on to the deserted football field,
    and laid on his back, covered his face with his hands and cried in the
    endzone. The thought of going back into the locker room and being seen
    and actually going and playing in a basketball game was a most
    repulsing one to him right now. He wanted to lay and cry forever. He
    had only been there for five minutes when he heard approaching
    footsteps, again the feeling of helplessness rushed into him. He
    uncovered his face to see Peter staring down at him. Peter sat down,
    neither of them said a thing. Finally Peter spoke.
    	"Are you all right?"
    	No answer.
    	"Hey, are you gonna be ok?
    	Still no answer.
    	"Thomas look at me," He ordered.
    	Thomas sat up and slowly brought himself to look Peter square in
    the eyes.
    	"Are you going to be all right?" Peter asked again.
    	Thomas shook his head no and lowered his eyes to the ground
    again. Peter put his hand on Thomas' head and started talking to him
    again.
    	"Buddy, I'm sorry about what happened back there. I didn't react
    to it very well. It's just that I wasn't really prepared to... well,
    see you like that." There was more awkward silence as Thomas continued
    to stare into the ground. He kept sniffling from his tears. Peter kept
    his hand on Thomas's head and continued, "I don't know what to say to
    you right now, except that I love you like you're my little brother.
    Everything that has happened in this last 15 minutes is between the two
    of us."
    	Thomas started to cry harder.
    	"Thomas, I wish you would talk to me right now." He kept rubbing
    Thomas's short hair, and Thomas started to speak some choked words
    through his tears.
    	"At first-at first I was just upset because you saw me in there,"
    he sobbed, "but-b-," he swallowed hard, "there's some-something else."
    	"What?" Peter asked.
    	"My mom-last night-she told me-I-I-wasn't supposed to hang out
    with-you anymore."
    	"What? Why?"
    	"Be-Bec-B-." He choked on his tears.
    	"Breathe buddy, it'll be ok." Peter told him.
    	"My grades-they were bad-I got in big trouble." Thomas spit the
    words out. He kept drying, and Peter just kept rubbing his head, until
    finally Thomas calmed down a bit.
    	"Well listen, We've got a lot of stuff to talk about, but you
    have a game to go get ready for." Peter said, "Get up and let's go in."
    	Thomas got to his feet, and him and Peter embraced.
    	"Nothing is going to stop us from hanging out together, don't
    worry about that, I'll talk to your mom if I have to."
    	Thomas went back into the locker room, red eyes and all.
    	Thomas played with an emotion and intensity and confidence that
    night that he hadn't played with all year. Peter sat and watched and as
    he did his mind slowly went from what had happened earlier that night
    to what he'd been thinking about for the last week. Tonight was the
    night.
    	At halftime of Thomas's game Peter went down to the locker room
    and saw his uniform laid out on top of his locker. He almost cried, it
    was such a beautiful sight. The butterflies in his stomach were going
    crazy. He undressed, and put on his game shorts and started to stretch.
    His teammates slowly trickled in to the locker room. All of them were
    silent. There was a seriousness, a feeling that hadn't been there all
    year. When everybody was dressed and stretched, peter called them
    together in the locker room.
    	"Boys, I want to be honest with you," he said, "I'm scared to
    death right now. I don't know whether my shoulder is going to hold up
    or not. I'm scared that I might go out and do something that will screw
    it up forever, that will mess up my chance to play in
    college..............But I'm not thinking about that right now. That
    means nothing to me. When I step onto that court.