How I wish it had gone - 2. The Bully?

Private religious schools are often an odd mix of country club and church. In some areas the staff and rules truly are intended to grant a safe religious upbringing for the mostly white conservative parent's kids, and in other ways the exclusivity, small classes sizes, and especially the high tuition ensure only a select few, a nearly homogeneous group of like minded students. There are not enough students to form multiple cliques, so there are just the popular sporty kids, and then a few outliers who don't quit fit in for one reason or the other. The ranking was heavily weighted to who was best at sports, but their parent's money and how close their parents were with each other also weighed in. Needless to say, the deck was stacked against me.

My classmate's parents owned daycare centers, car dealerships, or were just rich through some unknown means. They dressed their kids in the latest fashions, and those same kids knew if they wore their shirts a certain way, everyone else would be quick to follow or be left behind the trend. The previous year, in gym class, one of the most popular kids, a guy I had a major crush on, started wearing a single black wrist band with white Nike-swoosh along with the other four starting players on the basketball team. I knew instinctively that this was some kind of cool signifier that they had decided on, probably at someone's boat house over the weekend. None of the other boys in gym class had it, so it was an obvious beacon of who was "in" and who was not. I tried finding a similar wristband, despite knowing subconsciously it was the bonding that I really envied, but when I saw the cost of an actual Nike brand, I bought a much cheaper, plain black wristband. The following day, I slipped it on, thinking somehow, naively, it would grant me access to the cool group, but a single glance and a scoff from my unrequited crush put that thought out of my mind. I slipped it off halfway through class, determined never again to attempt matching their spending habits, since I knew it was a futile endeavor. Where they wore new Tommy Hilfiger fresh off the mannequins styling the latest line, I had to hunt for polo shirts my size from the thrift store, and once a year before school started, the clearance rack at Target.

How did I even end up at this school with all these rich kids? Remember that mix I was talking about? Well one area that was shown was a deep discount for the children of pastor's kids so they could attend the school. That's right, I'm one of those, "the worst" as they often say, not that I embody that saying, I keep a high grade point average, don't smoke, never had sex (I wish!) and didn't use my special status in the church to get away with anything bad. This meant my sister and I were attending for half the cost of just one of my classmates. Some of the classes, though, had students that didn't fit either formula. They often had a single mother and definitely no money by the way they dressed and the car they were dropped off in. My only guess is that this was some kind of charity or scholarship case. My sister's class had had one such person the previous year but mine had not. Maybe if it had, I wouldn't be the only one wearing such out of style and ill fitting clothes.

But enough background, last chapter was the setup, right? First stay of school was here, and at least this year I knew everyone else in class, even if I wasn't close to anyone in particular. I had a few girls I liked to joke with, one of which was the class smarty-pants. She always hated studying for hours the night before yet me sometimes besting her test score. What can I say, my short term cramming memory is pretty good. I figured the first day of school would be the perfect chance to start my new habit of biking in early and lifting before classes started. Later in life I would learn I'm an "ab guy" but it should have been obvious even at this stage, because my workout was probably 50% focused on core muscles. The internet was just developed enough at this point I was able to find a few basic workouts and I had them scribbled on a piece of folded paper in my pocket. What I lacked in experience at the gym, I made up for with a youthful exuberance to make over my body. It was even easy to bolt awake an the ungodly hour of 7 AM after a summer of sleeping in, so excited was I to start transforming my body. I knew the brisk morning air and the 10 mile ride into school would serve as a good warmup, burn a few calories, and hopefully allow me to arrive early enough to be lifting in isolation so no one could watch me figure out how the different machines worked.

As I walked through the dimly lit gymnasium, there seemed to be light and noise already streaming out through the weight room though. Someone, hopefully the gym teacher, was already inside. I hoped it was him, I didn't want any of those muscled Adonises seeing my ratty gym clothes and body that poked out in lumps where I didn't want them, and not enough in the areas I did. The desire to change that fact, and the knowledge I was allowed to be there gave me the courage to stride inside anyway. While the gym teacher was inside, there was also a new guy I had never seen before, seemingly my age. He was so handsome I almost stumbled the first step into the room. Great job, Zeke, great job.

The gym teacher, Pete, looked up, and introduced us, "Heya Zeke, this is Aaron, he's starting this year in your grade."

I quickly said, "Hi" but didn't know what else to say, torn between holding back and wanting to offer to be his best friend. He uttered a quick reply and turned back to the lift he was doing, getting a spot from the teacher. He was clearly uninterested, and I didn't blame him. As I was warming up on the opposite side of the small room, I used the wall lined mirrors to catch glimpses of him. I could see clearly from his legs and arms he had a great body, wiry and defined in all the right places. His hair was dark brown and ruffled, neither styled nor unkempt. He strained to push the bar up several times in a row, and I could see his t-shirt cling to already sweaty pectoral muscles of just the right size.

After racking the weight, Pete said, "Alright guys, I have to start getting the gym ready for classes, see you later today." and then he disappeared into the gym. Should I try to strike up a conversation? or was he concentrating. I figured I would let him lead on that front. We both did our workouts, never really intersecting, and apparently he didn't need any more help with weights, because he never asked. I kept up my furtive glances, always using a mirror so I could pretend I wasn't staring, to check him out. I loved watching his muscles strain, or a stray sweat rivulet run down his forehead. He had every feature I had ever admired in a guy, and it was only the focus on the new task of lifting that kept me from popping wood. That would have been so obvious in the loose nylon gym shorts I was wearing.

After a good 45 minutes of lifting, he racked the weight he was using, and left the room, with just an over the shoulder, "See ya". Not a guy of many words. I was pretty much done with my workout, and the idea of seeing him change in the locker room was tantalizing, but would he think I was following him? In the end, my raging hormones made the decision for me, and I headed through the gym to the locker room, trying to keep a slow pace but failing, not wanting to miss a moment of exposed skin from this new fantasy made flesh. I managed to slow my pace only as I reached the door to the locker room. As I rounded the privacy corner, I was relieved to see that he was still wearing his workout clothes, I hadn't missed anything.