Rebel at Spruce High

Everyone moves in a distracted cluster, with so many excited conversations broken out among friends who still haven’t caught up on their summers. I keep my two big nameless buddies at my side as I move along, staying hidden from the keen eyes of Hoyt. If I’m lucky, I’ll manage to grab a locker at the opposite end of the room. Maybe they won’t even notice me until the bell sets us free.

My position hiding in the back of the line, sadly, leaves me with slim pickings for gym clothes. Every last large and medium set of gym shorts and shirts is taken, leaving me with either an unflatteringly huge quadruple-XL shirt and shorts that will fall off my skinny frame, or a size small in both, which is sure to hug my body uncomfortably. I frown at my predicament as the noise of rattling lockers opening and closing fill my ears.

Figuring it’s better to suffer in tightness than to have my gym shorts falling down my ankles while jogging laps, I snatch up the size-small heather-gray gym shirt and red shorts out of the bin, then skirt along the edge of the room to the farther side, putting as much distance as I can between myself and the Hoyt Brigade.

After claiming a locker to store my things in, it’s then that I bother to notice who is standing right next to me: Vann.

Like he’s got all the time in the world, he carefully removes the black leather cuffs on his wrists, sets them inside his locker, then gently slips off his sleeveless leather jacket. He folds it in half lengthwise, taking special care with it as if it’s made of a precious material imported from who-knows, then stores it as well. Still wearing that scowl of focus on his permanently flushed face, he peels off his gray shirt in one slick motion, revealing his toned body, slightly tanned, defined in all the right places, supple and smooth and tapering to a perfect, slender waist, at which I see the white waistband of his underwear peeking out over his slightly sagged jeans. He folds his shirt with just as much care before tucking it away. I watch the muscles in his strong, lean arms flex as he reaches down and begins to unbutton his pants.

Then he glances at me, squinting suspiciously.

I snap my eyes back to my locker, my heart racing straight out of my chest and tearing across the room. What the hell am I thinking, staring at him like that? I force every single bit of my focus into changing out of my clothes, my eyes zeroing in on a dent in my locker door, where I am determined to keep my troublemaking eyes. Yeah, just stare at that dent. Stare at that dent and don’t you dare ogle the dangerous new guy … no matter how hot he is.

A sudden thought hits me. Is it weird that I haven’t said hi to him? We just came from the same class where we sat next to each other, assigned as partners for the year. A normal person would’ve acknowledged that fact, at the very least. I should say hello. That’ll make all of this a lot less awkward.

I turn toward Vann at once and open my mouth.

Wait a second. Shouldn’t the same be said about him? Why hasn’t he said hi to me yet? Why do I have to be the courteous one?

The bell rings, signifying the start of class.

And at once, I give up any attempt at greeting him. Changed now into my gym shorts, which barely cover my thighs, and my shirt, which fits too tightly and barely comes down to my waist, I shut my locker with a sigh of surrender, then head off.

But not before nearly crashing into the very trio of football idiots I was making so much effort in trying to avoid, right at the door leading out of the locker room. The biggest grin spreads over Hoyt’s face at the unexpected sight of me. “Why, hi there, Tobes!” he greets me with exaggerated gusto. His eyes drop to my gym outfit at once, where I get the pleasure of watching him suppress a laugh. “Shoot, buddy, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think you mighta outgrown those shorts. I can see the outline of your nuts.” At his side, Julio snickers mildly, while Benji lets out one of his high-pitched guffaws through his permanently teary-eyed face, as if there isn’t a second of the day he isn’t ready to laugh at something.

I give Hoyt an unimpressed look. “That begs the question why you’re staring at them.”

Benji laughs again, then slaps a hand on his mouth to stop it, giving a nervous, wet-eyed glance at Hoyt to weigh his reaction.