The Carlyles by Cecily von Ziegesar Page A

pulling the terrified ninth grader over to a row of sinks.
    “So, she broke up with me right after you left,” Rhys said woodenly, not even caring who heard. “She said there was another guy.”
    Owen dropped his Speedo bag on the floor and sat down next to Rhys. Kat— Kelsey— had broken up with Rhys? She was single again? There was someone else? Did that mean . . . ?
    “Wait, your girlfriend broke up with you?” Hugh repeated in disbelief, releasing Chadwick. Hugh sat down next to Rhys on the locker room bench. “Lay it on me.” He draped a companionable arm around Rhys’s shoulders and opened another can of Bud, unleashing a stream of spray that landed at Owen’s feet.
    “I don’t know what to say. It was out of nowhere. She said there was someone else . . . and I don’t know who it could be, unless it was some asshole she met on the Cape. Whoever it is, I’ll break his fucking face,” Rhys muttered.
    Owen had to stop a smile from spreading, feeling elated and guilty at the same time. Had Kat had broken up with Rhys because she wanted to be with him ?
    And guys are supposed to be so clueless.
    Hugh nodded supportively. “This is serious.” Droplets of water from his arm cascaded down Rhys’s chest. “Hey guys? Come over here.” Owen glanced around at the collection of guys, most still in their Speedos, some with newly shorn eyebrows.
    “Okay,” Hugh said, standing up on the bench and waving the open beer can around in the air. His ribs stuck way out, giving his chest an almost concave appearance. “I just learned that Rhys Sterling, our captain and all-around good guy, has gotten his heart stomped on by a Seaton Arms girl.” A collective groan echoed across the locker room. “Now, I know as well as you that it happens to the best of us. And we know that Rhys will find another girl. But until he gets one, I propose a challenge in the name of solidarity.” He looked around grandly and cleared his throat. “Until Rhys gets action, we won’t get action. And we will prove it by the beard.” He stroked his chiseled chin with his free hand and looked around.
    “What the fuck?” Ken Williams yelled. He weighed more than two hundred pounds and looked more like a linebacker than a distance swimmer.
    “We’ll all grow facial hair until Rhys gets lucky with a lady. Until then, none of us are going to hook up, either. And Jenkins, that means no playing with yourself,” Hugh yelled. “Who’s in?”
    One by one the swim team guys hooted and high-fived Rhys, who sat on the bench, staring forlornly at the damp floor.
    “You don’t have to do that,” he mumbled. The guys’ support was sweet and all, but shouldn’t he be galvanizing them to do well at Conferences, not showing what a pussy he was about a girl?
    “If Rhys doesn’t get any, neither do we!” Hugh yelled. Owen scrutinized the guys, taking in Chadwick’s scrawny arms and Ken’s thicket of chest hair. He wondered if any of them actually could get any. Either way, he hoped this was more a hypothetical gesture of devotion and not an actual pact. Owen had never gone more than a week without kissing a girl.
    And we love him for it.
    “Thanks,” Rhys muttered to Hugh.
    “No problem.” Hugh smiled. “Besides, my girlfriend is in France this year, so I’m in blue ball city with you, my friend.” One by one, the guys walked off, rubbing their prepubescent chins, as if they could massage stubble into being.
    Rhys mustered a weak laugh and then turned to Owen. “I’d just feel so much better if I knew who the guy was,” he confided as the locker room emptied out. It was so quiet Rhys could hear the hollow hum of the flickering fluorescent lights overhead. They made his arms look weirdly blue. “If you find the dude, can you just pull off his nuts for me?” He tried to laugh, but it came out as a horrible choking sound.
    “Sure,” Owen said, guiltily. “I don’t really know anyone. . . .”
    “Yeah, I know, just if you hear