by Fred Aceves
The wide hall is noisy with first-day excitement, all those teenage voices going at once, sounding like a steady roar. I pass them slowly, notice how some heads turn to me, the new kid, their eyes full of admiration.
Billy Robeson is slinking my way, shoulders slouched, neck curved so he could just as easily be looking on the floor or straight ahead. I used to shrink myself in the same way to be unnoticed. His eyes raise to find mine, and I veer right as he veers left to avoid a clash.
Why did I do that? Bad habit, I guess. As the more muscular guy, I don’t have to make that chump move ever again.
Up ahead and to the left, Heather Aquilar is eyeing me as she talks to three friends. A girl I had a crush on in sixth grade suddenly has me on her radar—and it looks like I’m on her friend’s too. Her eyes linger on me as I pass.
A new joy overtakes me, unlike any I’ve ever felt. Alpha was right. If you give everything to your gains, they give everything to you. That includes attention from girls.
Up ahead I spot Miguel at his locker with Enzo. Same guys with the same body shape. I’m excited to see them, but really more excited for them to see me. Rob is there too, gripping a fat novel with a bookmark in the middle of it. He’s a drifter between two groups of friends. Either with us during lunch or at the table of comics and anime fans.
I feel a smile grow on my face. I’ve missed my friends. Rob I haven’t seen since last semester, and the other two not since they stopped by the auto shop. Although I did talk to Miguel last week to catch up with him.
“Hey, guys,” I say. “What’s going on?”
The three turn to me. All six eyes pop. I keep my cool and slap five with them.
“No way,” Miguel says a little too loudly.
“It’s no big deal,” I say with a shrug. “I told you I was going to hit the weights all summer.”
Rob looks me up and down. “No fucking way.” He squeezes my shoulder and pokes me in the chest.
“I’m not a melon.”
I can’t believe how frail Rob looks—like a hard wind could knock him right over. I can’t believe I used to be skinnier.
“My mind is officially blown,” Miguel says, not lowering his voice.
“Keep it down. It’s no big deal.”
“Keep it down,” Enzo repeats. “Or David will snap you in half and eat you.”
Which gets everybody laughing, even me.
It feels good to be laughing again, but it also feels sort of weird being around these guys. For a moment I wish I could just slip into the conversation they were having, without them noticing any different about me.
I don’t like all this attention. Maybe by lunchtime they’ll have had time to get used to their friend’s new look and treat me normal.
“See you guys later,” I tell them, and keep moving.
As I head to my locker, eyeballs keep noticing me. They belong to admiring girls and envious guys. Then I see Ricky up ahead and feel the briefest squeeze of my heart before it starts beating fast.
Residual fear, I guess. Because the guy’s body is unchanged since I saw him last and I’m bigger. I could destroy him. Could do the same to the two friends flanking him.
My thoughts turn red as I wonder which sidekick recorded the slap. As the heat rises in me, I remind myself the gear is still in my system and that maybe I won’t do anything to Ricky. His fear might be enough.
Here they come, closer every second. I’m not gonna budge one inch left or right. I’m walking slowly down the hall in a straight line. Ricky sees me staring him down and looks away—a small victory.
With him a few steps away I amp up my pace and determination.
He and the chump to his right break apart at the last moment to let me through. My shoulder knocks into Ricky’s. The adrenaline is really flowing now, my neck and face hot as I wonder what’s coming next.
I stop and whip around.
This is how fights happen, but Ricky doesn’t want that.
I hope he doesn’t want that.
He stops and turns to glance at me. Also at his friends, to consider the situation. When Ricky turns back he keeps going, like nothing has happened, his bitchass sidekicks joining him.
Alpha was right. This body right here is the absolute best revenge.
I feel so alive!
I tell myself to knock off the smiling and be cool. This is my new life. Getting respect is normal.
I pass the drinking fountain that doesn’t work and see something off in the row of lockers coming up. Something dark on one of the blue metal doors. I can’t be sure it’s even my locker with the people talking in front of it, blocking my view.
But then I see it is my locker. BITCHSLAP is scrawled in big black letters. Probably Ricky, I think, as my blood goes hot again. I calm myself down with other thoughts. That the janitor is quick about removing graffiti. That nobody will ever tag my locker again once they know who I am now.
I put my midmorning shake and oat bar in my locker, along with my muscle meal for lunch.
Yeah, a janitor will soon remove that graffiti. I walk away from the locker, leaving the nickname behind for good.
22
HERE THEY ARE, the same faces in homeroom since freshman year, the same cute girl, Julieta, thumbing at her phone. Some kids eye me like Is that a new student? as I make my way to my usual seat. They pause with curiosity, probably wondering if I’m new or lost.
I go down the first row by the windows.
I drop my backpack next to my alphabetically assigned spot, right behind Julieta. Slide into the seat, which feels smaller than I remember.
Soon the classroom gets quieter as people lean close to each other to talk. About me, if their eyes drifting over here are any indication.
The ringing bell brings Ms. Chou. She sets down her oversized mug and bag. I’ve never looked in that mug but my guess is that it’s filled with extra-strength Red Bull instead of coffee.
“How’s everybody doing?” she asks, all energy. “Did you have fun during vacation?”
There are a few yeses and some chatter.
I wonder if I had any fun. All summer it was work and more work, and I don’t mean the hours in the auto shop or renovating the gym. Making gains was a full-time job.
I’m thrilled with my results, but was it fun? No, I wouldn’t call it that.
“It’s so great to see all of you again.” She scans the room. Her eyes hold me for a beat longer and widen. “And there’s a new face.”
A few giggles rise up among the uncomfortable silence.
I fight the urge to slump in my seat to make myself small. “It’s me, David,” I say.
Laughter all around.
“David!” she says with high-pitched relief. Like she’s found me after a long search. “I didn’t recognize you with your facial hair. It looks nice.”
More laughter.
As Ms. Chou takes attendance I wonder how long before people here accept the new me.
Steve, who sits next to me, has been goth for two years. Nobody thinks about the kid he was as a freshman, the parted hair and colorful clothes and unblack lips. Did that take days to accept? Weeks? I can’t remember.
It should be quicker for me. My new identity isn’t just some clothes I slipped on.
Julieta turns around so her face is in front of mine. She does this all the time, to talk to Kat who sits behind me.
“It’s not just the beard that’s different,” she says.
It takes a second for me to realize she’s actually talking to me. For the first time in the hundreds of homeroom periods I’ve sat through, I don’t gotta make myself small and sort of lean away when she talks to Kat.
I smile, pretty sure she’s making a joke. “Yeah, I guess not.”
“Ms. Chou is funny,” Kat says. “Like she didn’t notice your whole body looks different.”
I twist in my seat to tell her, “Yeah, I spent some time in the gym.”
I try to say this casually, but the attention almost makes m
e blush.
“That’s what it is!” Julieta says with a laugh. God, she’s cute. Then she adds, “Good for you, David.”
This is crazy. I’ve gone from being an obstacle to practically spinning nonstop so I can talk to both of them at once.
“Yeah, man,” Kat says. “Maybe you can give my boyfriend some weight training tips.”
We keep talking, which is hard for me, turning back and forth like an oscillating fan.
I could get used to this.
Finally it’s time for lunch! I get my container of food from my locker. The paint over the graffiti was still wet after first period, but now it’s dry. “Bitchslap” is forever gone.
I step inside the bustling lunchroom. Though some people have claimed their regular tables, more are in line or heading out of the cafeteria, trays in hands, the nervous freshmen trying to figure out where they should sit.
I head to my table by the vending machines, where Miguel and Rob are already seated.
And yes, there’s my ex-girlfriend’s table two away from them. Only Janelle is sitting there now. She catches me looking and narrows her eyes at me.
It’s awkward, what with half the people at this table, Miguel and Enzo, dating two of the girls who sit at that table. Between second and third period, Miguel told me nobody ended up going to Universal Studios. The girls opted out when Karina decided she didn’t wanna go.
When I approach the table, Rob says, “Take my lunch money, just don’t hurt me,” and puts his hands up, pretending to cower.
Miguel laughs harder than I do. It’s sort of funny, I have to admit, but I remember it’s similar to what people do to Alpha all the time.
I take a seat with them, at our end of the long table. “Come on, guys. Treat me like you always do, okay?”
“That will be hard,” Rob says. He pops a fry into his mouth. “You’re so different. Everybody is talking about it.”
“No kidding,” Miguel says. “They keep asking me questions like I’m your publicist or something.”
“Yeah,” I say, not surprised. “I’ve been getting questions too.”
Are you really David?
What kind of exercises have you been doing?
Those are the two most common ones, and the others also get on my nerves. The constant calling attention to how different I am means they’re still focused on who I used to be. I’m done with surprising people. For real. I’m totally over it. I just want to be who I am now.
I wonder if that will even be possible at Culler High. A school where every single student has seen the video.
“Man, you should’ve invited me to the gym this summer,” Miguel says. “So I can become sexier.”
Rob pretends to choke from laughing too suddenly.
I consider Miguel, a round mess of a guy. I’m not being mean or anything. I’m just calling it like it is.
Last year he tried to get in shape. Cut out all sugar, swapped white bread for whole wheat. That, together with the running and sit-ups worked well—for two weeks. He couldn’t stick with it after that.
No motivation. That’s something I could give him. How cool would it be to have another friend at the gym? Someone closer to my age. Because the truth is something new has to link us, and if it’s not weightlifting I don’t know what it could be. I’m off that kid stuff like video games, anime, and superhero movies.
Also, if he leans up, he won’t have to go out with fat Liliana anymore.
“You could join my gym,” I say. “I could get you a discount.”
A boost would be super motivating for him. I can put Miguel on some Anavar or Clen, the gear for losing fat. It’s what Alpha and others use to get shredded before a competition. I’ve met Ray, Alpha’s dealer, who likes me and will probably hook me up. So I can hook people up like Alpha does. It’s not like I’ll be stepping on anybody’s toes.
“Yeah, maybe,” he says, wiping ketchup off his lips. “Liliana might get mad though. All those hot girls swarming me all the time.”
Still joking, but he might come around anyway.
“You brought your own lunch?” Enzo asks me, setting down his tray. “You could just take somebody else’s.”
“We’re not making a big deal about David’s new muscles,” Rob informs him.
“Right. Okay.”
Without meaning to, I glance over at the table where Karina will be sitting by now. Yep, she’s there, facing the other way. The back of her black hair is wavy and shiny.
There are more girls than I know what to do with, I remind myself. Literally hundreds in this room alone.
I turn my attention back to the container of chicken, yams, and broccoli. I try the chicken, which I’ve gotten so bored with it wouldn’t taste better warmed up. I take a bite of a yam, boiled and unsalted, and remember what the cafeteria fries tasted like. All three of the guys have fries with ketchup drizzled on top. They were never anything to get excited about, Culler High fries, but compared to this they’d be so delicious.
“So is it true that you live on your own now?” Enzo asks.
I tell them what I told Miguel last week. That I’m living with a friend I met at the gym. They don’t need to know he’s a pro bodybuilder. Just the gym owner who’s letting me stay rent free.
“I got sick of my dad always up in my business,” I say. “He used to walk into my room without knocking.”
“I know all about that,” Miguel says. “My bedroom door doesn’t even lock. When I get horny I gotta yank it in the only bathroom at home. Which means I gotta finish in about ten seconds and without candles or music to make it romantic.”
That gets us laughing.
“Parents invading your space?” Enzo asks. “I couldn’t deal with that.”
“I do what I want in my room now,” I say. “Though I do it without first creating an ambience.”
“Lucky bastards,” Miguel says, shaking his head.
“So you can throw parties and everything!” Rob says.
The thought occurred to me, when I first moved in with Alpha. But now I can’t imagine having anybody but these guys over my house—without their girlfriends, of course, who hate my guts. Why would I want a bunch of other people from school? People who remember Bitchslap David?
It’s sort of sad, but I’m also having a hard time imagining a friend get-together at my house. What would we do? What would we talk about? They’re the same guys I’ve known, but they don’t know me. Not anymore.
“Well,” I say. “My roommate is a fitness guy who goes to bed really early and needs quiet. That’s the only thing.”
I’m really getting bummed out all of a sudden. Are these guys just my school crew so I don’t sit alone? No way. That’s not right. We have to remain real friends.
“We can have a barbecue sometime,” I say, and remember the Mr. Florida competition Alpha has coming up. He’ll be in Miami all weekend. “We can do a movie night and a sleepover too.”
My dad never allowed me to have sleepovers, or to sleep over someone’s house. He used to say, You have a house and bed. Puras tonterías.
Besides bodybuilding documentaries, I haven’t really seen a movie in months. When I went with Karina to the movies last week, I barely paid attention.
“We always choose movies based on a director’s work,” I say. “How about we watch those old movies based on Philip K. Dick’s books? You know, Blade Runner, Total Recall—the original one, of course—and what’s that one with Tom Cruise?”
I’m snapping my fingers to remember it, the title on the tip of my tongue, when all of a sudden my heart stops.
It’s Ricky in my line of vision. My stomach rumbles.
A stupid smile is on his stupid face and looking my way. He and his two smug sidekicks are seated at the table in the corner. The one closest to the garbage can where we put the empty trays.
“Minority Report,” Miguel says. “I love that one.”
“What’s wrong, David?” Rob asks me.
I feel a sharp heat in
my chest when I realize Ricky is staring at me and that it’s not just a smile. He’s grinning.
What the fuck is so funny? My jaw clenches so tight my teeth might crack. I hear a snap. The plastic fork has split in two inside my tight fist.
“It’s Ricky,” Miguel tells Rob.
I breathe deeply, eyes steady on the guy who slapped me. What Alpha said doesn’t apply. Since Ricky isn’t afraid, he’ll have to learn a lesson.
Miguel asks, “Why’s he smiling?”
“Because he’s a fucking idiot,” I say. “Because he wants to get his ass kicked.”
“Don’t do it here,” Enzo warns. “After school is better.”
“For sure,” Rob says.
My brain agrees. It’s my body that’s amped and itching to hop up this second, go over there, and stomp him.
“Not now, and not after school,” Miguel says. “Come on, forget Ricky.”
Forget him is what we used to say whenever one of us got pushed around or dissed. So we wouldn’t feel bad about not standing up for ourselves.
When Miguel got knocked into a puddle last year, and stood up dripping, I said, “Forget Pedro.”
When I got slammed against the lockers, Miguel said, “Forget Josh.”
But things are different now. For me, anyway. I’m not the dorky, defenseless kid anymore.
I turn to Miguel to make that clear. “I don’t let people fuck with me.”
I take another glance at Ricky. He’s still staring, and somehow smiling as he chews his food. He seems to know something.
“What have people been talking about?” I ask.
Rob shrugs first, then Miguel. Enzo sort of looks away.
I look at my best friend, a straightshooter. “Miguel? You said they kept asking you questions. What about?”
“People ask stupid questions.” He shoves a bunch of fries into his mouth. More than usual.
“Such as . . . ,” I say, losing my patience.
“They wanna know if you’re taking steroids,” Rob says.
My stomach sinks. So all that leaning in I’ve seen and all that whispering wasn’t about admiration or envy.
I sneak out my phone because they aren’t allowed to be out, even during lunch, and open the TrashTalk app I should’ve deleted a long time ago.