Normally gym in the fall is an hour and a half of running the track and doing stretches on the football field. But around noon today, the cloud people decided to relieve themselves in the form of a massive downpour. So the weight room it is. Though, it’s not a bad view from the stationary bike with Benji Romans doing pull ups in front of me. I’ve never seen such a tight butt on someone who is not Chris Evans. “Finish up your sets!” Coach Dicks says. I hop off the bike and wipe my butt sweat off the seat. Drake’s eyes catch mine from across the room, and he tilts his eyebrow and starts pumping the fifteen pound weights in his hands like they are feather-light. “Careful,” I tell him as I pass. “Gotta make sure your head fits through the door.” “Heard that one already, Silverman.” He smirks. “Time to be more original with your insults.” I put the heel of my hand against my mouth and blow a loud and proud raspberry in his direction before I turn to leave the sweaty weight room and head to the very cold girl’s locker room.
