The School of Buff Jocks Part 4
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Chapter One
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“Great job!”
“NICE AND SLOW. KEEP PUSHING.”
I furrowed my brow as I finished my set at the leg press and passed over to Andrews. “Is it just me, or does Jim sound … different?”
“It’s part of his design,” Andrews explained as he logged in. “The better you perform, the bigger he gets and the deeper his voice becomes.”
The avatar for Jim that appeared looked more like Atlas or some other giant. His skin or whatever that surface was called looked shinier and seemed to have gained more graphic definition. Had there been a patch recently?
“Welcome back, Coach Andrews. Are you ready to resume your teacher training?”
Andrews shook his head. “Another time, Jim. I’m here to work out.”
Jim nodded. “Linking to machine now. Please don’t forget to finish your module. It is important to learn and grow, so that you may better teach.”
“I won’t forget,” he promised. “Remind me when the workout is over.”
“Your reminder is set. Now let’s get to work.”
“So, when am I sup-posed to notice the difference?” I rubbed my throat and drank some of my protein shake. Those cracks were happening more and more often.
“You’re not,” Andrews said as he pushed against the press. “At least, most people don’t. Either that or they don’t care. I’m not sure which. Stone explained it to me once. It’s basically meant to help students adapt to the idea of their voices deepening as they get older. The farther along they get in their education, the bigger Jim gets, the deeper his voice becomes, and, as a result, the more natural it feels for them to let their voices drop when the time comes.”
“Because they’re talking to someone else whose voice is deepening with them?”
“Exactly,” Andrews said. The veins on his legs had begun to stand out as he continued to push. “In other words, you don’t have to worry so much about social awkwardness.”
“What about late bloomers?”
Andrews shrugged. “They get there when they get there. You know how strict we are here about bullying, Derek. We don’t like it and we don’t tolerate it in any form. We’re all part of one big team. Players who don’t understand that will either learn or get tossed out. It’s that simple.”
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Stone’s smirk was smug as he folded a leg casually and peered at me. “Forgive me for sounding so juvenile, but I told you so.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Coach Stone. Just because I made friends with Kyle doesn’t mean I’m over what happened to me before.”
“But you haven’t had any more of those nightmares since,” he noted. “And even if you haven’t completely overcome your past, this is a definite sign of progress. You’re beginning to see one of the most important truths any of you children can learn, the fact that people are people, and each should be judged on an individual basis, rather than being lumped into a social stereotype or clique.
“Take you, for example.” He pointed his pen at me. “You would be considered the stereotypical nerd. You enjoy things like anime, comics, manga, videogames, and other products of that genre. You do relatively well in school, and you don’t cause trouble. However, lately, you’ve also been branching out into other areas, like the gym and outdoors. And you’re comfortable wearing more than just baggy clothes. Your stereotypical nerd wouldn’t be able to do that, or rather wouldn’t have any desire to. And yet, you seem to enjoy it, or at least not hate it so violently as your stereotype would suggest.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that those stereotypes have roots in truth. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be stereotypes in the first place.”
“Perhaps, but it also doesn’t change the fact that in this case, in this time, that stereotype has yet to fully apply, and you know that and acknowledge it on at least some level. It’s that simple.”
“For you, maybe. Not for me.” I shook my head.
“Then it seems to me that the next stage of your therapy is clear. Observe. Look at the behavior of the ones you mistrust, these stereotypical jocks, and see if they really do act in the way you’ve been treated previously. If they don’t, then you’ll see that the stereotype is far from absolute, and hopefully have less aversion toward being in the same space as them on your own.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath, if I were you.”
Stone smiled. “I think I can manage.” He lowered his pad. Anyway, that’s it for our session today. I have another appointment who should be—” A knock sounded at the door. “And there he is. We’ll pick up again next week. Don’t forget to try what I suggest, Derek. I think you’ll be surprised at what you may find.”
We shook hands, a ritual Stone insisted on as part of his attempts to bond with me. Then he escorted me to the door. You ever heard of getting caught between a rock and a hard place? Well, I got stuck between a Stone and a beef Frank. The guy had to be at least half a foot taller than me. The school’s logo strained against his swollen thigh as a pair of sweatpants clung to his legs. His torso took up most of the doorway, and his hair had been cut down to a short stubble with sharp angles that emphasized a masculine jawline and brow ridge.
“Hey. I’m not too early, am I, Coach?” His voice sounded congested, a sort of forced low that was part diaphragm and part cold, only this guy looked healthy as a horse. Hell, he could’ve been a bull with how thick that neck of his was!
“You’re right on time, Francis,” Stone said mildly. “Derek here was just leaving.”
He blinked slowly and looked down at me with murky green eyes. “Oh.” He stepped aside to let me pass. “Sorry, bro.”
“No problem.” I strode into the hall as Stone ushered the behemoth in. For such a diverse school, it seemed we were getting an awful lot of buff students on campus. I waved briefly to the office staff on my way to the main door. Tight button-up shirts strained as they waved back. Their stubble glistened under the fluorescent lights. Again, with the buzz cuts. I hadn’t noticed it before, but a lot of the staff seemed to follow that style. A few of the kids were sitting in chairs waiting for their turn to meet with Stone or some other official in the offices. Some chugged shakes. Others were running through their homework modules. Others still were reading intently.
“Got it. Finally,” one of them hissed in triumph as Jim issued his congratulations and the familiar tone of his module absorption.
One of the bigger students smiled. “If you’ve got a problem, go to Jim.” He chuckled and scratched his crotch. And like the contagion of a yawn, I felt a sympathetic twinge of my own building.
“Huhuh. Yeah, it’s good to go to Jim,” the kid replied and smiled.
The others nodded or added their own affirmations as they popped caps off their bottles and drank deeply. My brow furrowed as I thought about it. The green stuff was supposed to be for the team players, wasn’t it? So why did everyone else seem to be carrying a bottle? Even the secretaries had some at their desks.
All that drinking and gulping left me feeling thirsty. I reached to the side of my backpack for the familiar bottle. Off came the cap. Pop went the seal. Down went the drink as I walked out the door. I smiled as I scratched my crotch and my muscles tingled. I’d ask about it later. It was probably nothing. “Huhuhuh….” The anxiety left me, and I smiled as my biceps tensed and my shirt perked. The fabric slid out from under my belt as I took a deep breath, exposing skin to the cool air of the school for the briefest of moments. I shuddered, and for the first time, I took the time to simply zone out and focus on how my body felt. My legs were taut, the cuffs of my pants exposing the ankles of my school socks. The jockstrap was tight against my legs and rear, and the polo I now wore strained against my chest when I breathed. The changes had been so subtle, but now that I took the time, it was obvious. “Looks like I’m going to need a new uniform soon.”
I heard it before I saw it. The locker room door slamming open, followed by the rip of shredding fabric. A curly redhead with shamrock eyes strode bare-chested, hefting the rags of his former shirt like a trophy as he walked toward the Nurse’s office. The pump on his arms was immense. His body was built specifically to take heavy blows and never budge. He was a walking pile of meat. As for the talking, well … that was yet to be seen.
Truthfully, I don’t know why I followed him. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe I was curious. Or maybe I was just too buzzed to care about anything and going with the flow. Regardless, I trailed behind to see what came next.
My heart beat as heavily as my breathing as I waited outside the door. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to hide. Was I embarrassed? Was it something else? Finally, I heard the razors buzzing to life from behind closed doors. I don’t know if it was curiosity or what, but at that point, I just … moved. One minute, I was outside, the next I stood there in the middle of the plain tiled waiting room. The buzz was coming from one of the examination rooms. When the door finally opened, the familiar stubble of the angular induction cut stared back at me. A compression shirt had replaced the polo that had once rested on the boy’s chest, and my chest tingled at the sight of the slab-like muscle tone that stood out against the spandex.
He walked past me without a word. And, honestly, I don’t think I was in a state to say anything, myself. It was sort of like when you’re dreaming and you want to talk, but you can’t, and you have to watch yourself move around, instead. The nurse stepped out with one of the aids and eyed me carefully.
“Another one for size change.” He sighed and rolled his eyes as he picked up a tablet. “Name?”
The word released me from the spell, at least in part. “Derek Jones.” The moment I finished, my mouth clamped shut again.
“All right,” he said in a bored tone. “Let’s get your measurements.”
I walked out with a new pair of pants and a bigger polo shirt. The pants hugged in all the right places without being too tight or short, but the polo felt loose and baggy. I felt … I guess almost ashamed of that feeling. It was weird.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll feel right at home in that shirt soon enough.”
I frowned. What did he mean by that? “Uh, okay, I guess.”
“Your new clothing will be delivered in the next few days with the next shipment. Let us know if there are any troubles with the fit, okay?”
I nodded numbly. My eyes drifted back to the open door. The floor was littered with curls surrounding a sturdy metal stool.
“Was there something else I could do for you?”
“I, uh, no. I guess not.” I chuckled again out of reflex. It was almost like a defense mechanism at this point. “Thanks for the new clothes.”
“You can thank Mister Stone. He’s the one funding all this.”
“You mean we don’t have to pay?”
The nurse shook his head. “No. Now how about you move along? I have the sneaking suspicion you’re not going to be the last one coming to me for a fitting today.”
Of course, he was right. It was time to move along. I’d gotten what I came for, even if I didn’t know that was why I’d come. But now I was immobilized by another question, and my head was thinking about as fast as molasses as it echoed over and over again.
Two hands guided me toward the door. My feet moved. My head was … full is the best way I could describe it. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t think. I just … walked, like a wind-up doll put in motion. No real destination, just … moving forward.
Corridors yawned. My legs moved. Left. Right. Left. Right. I’d turn. I’d shift. I’d turn again. The question remained.
It took a while for me to realize my walking had taken on that same cadence, as if my whole body were answering my brain, shouting back in its own way together, defiant, resolute, and … something else.
The question was dulling.
As though it had lost its voice. Or maybe lost the will to object? Or ... was it drowning?
Just a fading echo, the last bubbles.
The answer reverberated through my skull as the quagmire hardened and set. I was completely in my head. Or maybe I was completely out of it? Who knows? You can’t really describe it. It’s something you have to go through yourself to really get. Popular media would probably call it no-mind.
I don’t know how much time passed. All I know is that, finally, illumination struck, like a sledgehammer shattering bedrock. Like a wedge breaking open a mold to reveal something beautiful.
It wasn’t that I didn’t know.
It was that I didn’t care.
“Huhuhuhuh….” My chest shook with the explosive force of the epiphany. The fabric of my polo brushed against my skin. The realization was so revolutionary, so lifechanging somehow, despite how simple it was. “I don’t care.” I grinned like an idiot. Or maybe like a stoner on a high? I definitely felt high.
“That’s right, smartass.” The voice was soft, gentle, … proud? My legs stopped moving. The setting sun blazed over Kyle’s face as he smiled at me, igniting his eyes with emerald lightning as the world came back into focus again. I’d somehow transitioned from the hallways to the track outside. My legs felt like jelly. And like a set of gears cleaned by WD-40, my brain cast off the rust and started to work again. I stumbled into Kyle’s waiting arm.
“Easy there, little bro.”
“What … happened?” I shook my head to dispel the last of the debris. My throat felt like someone had covered it with horse glue and squeezed it so tightly that only a straw could fit through.
Kyle shrugged. “You sized up.” Then he smirked. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
He handed me a bottle. “Drink,” he said. “You’ve been walking a long time.”
No protein drink this time, just water. But the flood helped dislodge some of the cake that had built up. My voice didn’t croak so much when I looked at him. “Why did I—?”
“You said so yourself, smartass.” Kyle chuckled. “You didn’t care.” He guided me back toward the dorms. “Lucky for you, you’ve got teammates that do.”
Kyle chuckled again. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get you to your dorm, so you can sleep. And maybe take a shower.”
“A shower?” The wind blew, and I felt the cold patches as we hobbled along. “Oh.”
“Yeah, all that walking’s bound to break a sweat eventually. Your jock is probably soaked.”
“Shut up, dumbass,” I grumbled.
Kyle laughed. “Sure thing, smartass. Sure thing.”
I didn’t realize it then, but as I got my second wind, I matched Kyle stride for stride. That lumbering swagger I’d seen on Kyle, then on the football team, on Barry the baseball player, and finally that redhead from earlier, was mine now, too.
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“You guys notice anything kind of … weird lately?” Slater asked as he squatted under Kyle’s careful observation. The layout of the bar was designed to allow him to stand inside a sort of rectangle while the weights were stacked on either side. That way, he’d be able to bend and rise with equal weight distribution. His thighs had grown in the last couple of weeks. There was a firmness about them that I hadn’t seen before. His calves jutted with hard, tense muscle that all but consumed the fat that had once been there.
“Weird how?” Jackson was busy pumping some dumbbells to strengthen his arms and upper body. The exercise also allowed him the freedom to observe Slater as he trained under Kyle’s guidance.
“I don’t know. Just … different, I guess.” Slater shrugged. “I can’t really put it in words. Things just feel … off. Sort of snug, I guess?”
“Snug?” Kyle smirked, but … I don’t know, it felt sort of … meaner. I guess … maybe it was a sneer? At the very least, it was smug.
“Shut up, dumbass,” Slater grumbled.
“Takes one to know one, Slayer.” He chuckled. “Can’t wait to weigh you.”
“Fuck off!” he snarled. The weights crashed to the ground, and the whole gym suddenly became quiet. All eyes turned on us. Honestly, I’m not sure who was more shocked; us or them. The only time we’d ever seen this side of Slater come out was when he succumbed to gamer rage in online matches. He’d never lost his cool in public before.
“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”
I stiffened. We hadn’t even heard him approach. Yet there he was. Coach Stone towered over us.
Kyle shrugged his broad shoulders and smiled casually. “Slayer here’s just losing his shit, because he knows he’s going to lose a bet we made.”
“Is that so?” He set his eyes on Slater and folded his arms over his massive chest. “Is this true, Slayer, was it?”
Slater mumbled as he averted his eyes. “It’s Slater.”
“Well, Slater, it appears you’ve managed to silence the whole gym. That’s not an easy task.” He peered at the rest of the onlookers and raised his voice. “All right, folks. Nothing to see here. Get back to your workouts or get out of the gym.”
Like the flick of a switch on an assembly line, the gym began to move and breathe again. It seems I wasn’t the only one intimidated by Coach Stone. Those silver eyes lingered on me briefly, passed over Jackson, then shifted back to Kyle and Slater.
“Now what, exactly, is the nature of this bet to prompt that kind of reaction?”
Slater was silent. He still wouldn’t meet Stone’s gaze.
“I bet him I could get him over 240 by the end of a month, and that if I did, he’d have to talk with Andrews about joining the wrestling team,” Kyle supplied.
“I’d have to take a cheat day and hang out with them for an anime marathon while we veg on snacks.”
“And this prompted such a reaction because…?”
Stone raised an eyebrow. “And has this teasing rendered you mute, Slater?”
“No, Sir,” he said softly.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you, Slater.” The rebuke was gentle, but the command was ironclad.
Slater did so reluctantly, though only just.
“Back straight,” Stone continued. “If you’re going to take criticism or punishment, you should do it proudly.” He leaned over and planted a thick hand on Slater’s shoulder. “I’m not here to punish you, Slater. No harm was done. No one is hurt. You just lost control of yourself. It happens to every boy at your age. Some yell, others fight, and some just lose themselves in a fantasy world. We all have our coping mechanisms. What matters is which ones we choose to keep and which ones we choose to replace.” He squeezed briefly and smiled. “Now I don’t want this happening again, okay? Yelling is fine, if you need to, but this equipment and the gym are expensive. And more importantly, if you’re willing to do this, then one day, you may get angry enough to hit someone with one of these weights. That’s not something I can let happen. So, from now on, for the foreseeable future, I’m going to arrange some meetings with you. Jim will alert you of the scheduled times.”
“No buts, Slater. And I want your full name.”
Slater slumped in defeat and gave up the name.
“Good. I’ll be expecting you on time in my office. Derek can give you directions.” His eyes flashed briefly as he returned to his full height. “Don’t disappoint me.”
“Yes, Sir,” Slater mumbled.
“And you. You’re Kyle Fredriksson, aren’t you?” Stone asked as he turned his attentions to the other party of the disturbance.
“Did you push him to this?”
Kyle straightened and threw his shoulders back. “Yes, Sir. Though only a little,” he clarified. “Slayer doesn’t like to lose.”
Coach Stone turned his gaze on me and Jackson. “You two are the neutral party here. Is he telling the truth?”
Jackson nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
I nodded. “He doesn’t usually get this angry.”
Stone nodded. “Then we’ll find out the root of that anger later. For now, carry on, gentlemen. Those muscles aren’t going to grow themselves.”
“Yes, Sir,” we all replied.
Stone turned to leave, then paused. “Oh, and Slater?”
“Next time, try laughing it off instead. You’d be surprised how much that helps.”
“Uh, yes, Sir,” he said awkwardly.
“As you were, gentlemen.” Stone waved behind him as he passed into the rows of machines and out of sight.
My whole body tingled as he walked away. I reached absently and adjusted my crotch, where the sensation felt strongest, then shuddered. Kyle grinned at me.
“You heard the man, Smartass. Grab some dumbbells and work those arms. If we can campaign together, we can work out together.
I rolled my eyes but obliged him. “Whatever you say, Coach.”
“You’re sure acting like one,” I teased.
Slater smirked. “Point to DJ.”
“Trust me, you haven’t seen coaching till you’re working out on an actual team. I’m just teaching you how to handle it.” Kyle chuckled. “Now how about you put that snark into finishing your set?”
“You did agree to follow the routine for the month,” Jackson pointed out as he curled his weights. “Stop now and you’ll forfeit, and you’ll have to talk with Andrews about joining the team regardless.”
Slater’s lip curled as his hands clenched tightly around the bars to either side of him and he pulled the squat bar back up. “Guys, I’m not in the mood for getting in trouble with Stone again, so could you just can it about the bet?”
“Or you could try his advice,” Kyle pressed. “Trust me, it works. DJ knows.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why did you have to drag me into this?”
“Because you’re the smartass?”
That name was really starting to get old. Especially when Kyle used it for ammunition. But he did have a point. I had firsthand experience, and Slater would probably take it better from me than from the lug that was currently putting him through hell. For a dumbass, Kyle had a keen mind for strategy. I sighed, then turned to face Slater. “Look, it doesn’t work with everyone, but for me at least, it helps relieve my anxiety attacks, okay?”
“And you think I should try it?” Slater asked.
“I think you should use your own judgement.”
Slater chuffed as a hint of a smile pulled at his lips. “And point for you.”
“I wasn’t aware I was playing.”
He smirked. “Didn’t you know? Everyone’s playing the game, DJ.”
I cringed. “Why did you have to bring back that accursed meme?”
“And with that stealth kill, Slater the Slayer finally takes his place on the board,” Jackson said in his best impression of a sports commentator.
A weak chuckle burbled from Slater’s lips. “About time.”
“Do my ears deceive me, or did I just hear him laugh?” Kyle asked.
“Don’t push it, jock boy.” But despite his threatening tone, Slater smiled.
“Nah. I just push up, bro,” Kyle returned as he flexed his arms.
We couldn’t hold back at that point. The air filled with our laughter. Slater spread his legs a little wider and resumed his squats.
“Whatever you say, Kyle.”
Kyle grinned. “I’ll hold you to that, little bro.”
