When I Grow Up (Tales from Foster High)

by John Goode

  I paused, and I heard a few people around me clap.

  “And Mr. Stilleno has earned our first A,” the professor said, clapping himself. “He had you when he turned that whole choir metaphor around,” he added to Teddy. “But be happy with a B. You tried.”

  I sat down as he looked out at the class. “As for the rest of you, enjoy your Cs, except for you back there texting and your friend next to you sleeping. You two have earned the first Fs. This is how it goes, people. Show up, participate, and be ready to defend your point of view.” He clicked something and the slide changed.

  “Now, let’s start going over when participation in the system moved from a point of pride to an annoyance.”

  After class, people started to file out of the room, and the professor asked me to wait. Teddy walked by, giving me the weirdest look. He didn’t say a word, just looked at me and shook his head. Once the room was empty, Dr. Madison asked, “You have a major yet?” I shook my head. “Then let me be the first in a long line of people who will offer you an opinion on the matter.”

  I waited, dying to know what he would say.

  “When you defended your contention that opinions are simply that, no more and no less, and that they should be tested against current reality, you showed a basic grasp of something that law professors spend years attempting to teach their students. If you have even a passing interest in the law or politics, do us all a favor: go pre-law.”

  “Thank you, Professor,” I said honestly. Pre-law? Me?

  “No, Mr. Stilleno, thank you for coming to class prepared. You and Mr. Bergman made my point so much better than any lecture would have.”

  He didn’t say anything else, so I grabbed my stuff and left, feeling really good about my first class. I was going to love college.

  Brad

  SO I sat around the house, played two games of COD, jerked off, and then decided I was going to go run and get it over with.

  I tossed on some shorts and grabbed my iPhone and headed downstairs. I stretched out on the sidewalk and slipped my earbuds in place. Josh had made me a workout playlist last year when we were training for State and I had to admit, he had some awesome taste in music. Like always, the first few steps were hell, but after about half a mile my mind moved into automatic and I just began to run. The music, the city, everything faded away as I fell into that groove most runners know and went with it. I didn’t think about where I was going or how far I was going to go. I just ran and let my body go where it wanted to.

  I ended up in front of a gym called Flex.

  It was a gay gym or the owners really liked rainbows, if the giant decal in the front window was any sign. There were silhouettes of bodybuilders on the door, and I could see a pretty big workout area past the window. I sighed and got ready to keep running, since there was no way I could afford a place like this until I had a job and was bringing in a paycheck. Just as I was about to take off, a guy opened the door and waved at me to get my attention.

  Pulling my earbuds out, I paused and looked at him.

  “Tell me you’re looking for a job.”

  And just like that, I was employed.

  Turns out I was right. Flex was a gay gym, and the owner was looking for personal trainers to help the customers. When I tried to explain to Todd, the manager, that I wasn’t a personal trainer, he just laughed. “Gurl, please, these ’mos don’t care. Just wear a tight shirt and those track shorts and trust me, they’ll do whatever you say.”

  That didn’t sound right. “But what about a license and that stuff?”

  He sighed at me and batted his eyelashes, which were much darker than the blond tips of his thinning hair. “Okay, fine, how about I send you to a quick course and then you can say you’re a personal trainer. Deal?”

  “How much is the course?” I asked.

  “A blow job?” he asked and then laughed way too loud. “Just kidding, it’s on me, kid. Trust me, you’re going to pay for yourself, I can feel it.” He paused and got serious all of a sudden. “You don’t have a problem with gay guys, right? ’Cause I can’t have no homophobic douche in here making waves. These guys are going to flirt and I don’t expect you to flirt back, but you sure aren’t gonna be mean.”

  “I have no problem with gay guys,” I answered honestly, deciding not to say a word about my sexuality to him.

  He had me fill out an application and then asked for my ID and stuff, which of course I didn’t have. Running and sweating, remember? “Don’t sweat it, green eyes, just bring it tomorrow with said tight shirt and little shorts and we’ll get you into the system.”

  “How much does it pay?” I asked, confused at how fast this was happening.

  “Let’s start at sixteen an hour plus any tips you get. For every client you sign up for lessons, you get a ten-buck bonus, and we’ll see where it goes from there, okay?”

  “Sixteen dollars? An hour?” I exclaimed, shocked.

  “Okay, fine. Nineteen, but tell no one. The other employees will kill me.” He gave me a sly smile. “You’re a shrewd negotiator, Brad. I like that.”

  I was expecting maybe eight, nine bucks tops. Double that? This was insane.

  “So ID, social security card, and tight clothes, got it?” I nodded. “Awesome. Also, it goes without saying that you and your girlfriend can use the gym whenever. That comes with the job.”

  “Can I work out now?” I asked, shocked that I had killed two birds with one stone so easily.

  “Honey, looking like that, you can do whatever you want.” He batted his eyelashes again, and I wondered how many people he used this routine on.

  “You have a towel? I don’t want to sweat all over the machines,” I asked, feeling like I was pushing my luck.

  He grabbed a towel with the gym logo on it and tossed it to me. “Keep it. I bet I can sell it when you’re done for more than it’s worth.” He saw the look on my face and laughed again. “Kidding! I joke a lot.”

  That was no joke and we both knew it.

  It was around noon, so the only other person working out was an old guy, older than my dad; he looked like he was more watching the TV above the leg press than actually working out. I went at it like a kid in a candy store. It had been so long since I had really worked out, I had lost some strength but not enough to matter. I worked up a sweat and got that joyous feeling of my muscles aching from exertion, and that’s something you can only get after a great workout. I worked out for about an hour and a half, and by the time I was done, five guys had gathered around me. All of them were just watching me lift.

  “Did you guys need to work out here?” I asked, taking my earbuds out.

  “Nope,” one of them said, a huge shark grin on his face. “You keep doing what you’re doing.”

  Oh dear God.

  “Do the gloves help?” one of the other guys asked. I had found a discarded pair of lifting gloves in a box and slipped them on before I had started on my chest.

  “Well, the bar can cut your palms up pretty bad,” I said, slipping one off and showing him the calluses on my hand from all the lifting I had done.

  He traced a finger over them and seemed impressed. “So why wear the gloves?”

  I put it back on. “That’s with gloves. Can you imagine what they’d be like without?”

  He nodded, finally getting it.

  “You’re interrupting him,” Shark Guy said to his friend.

  “Oh, give it a rest already,” he snapped back. “If you want porn, go download some. Leave the poor boy alone.” He looked back to me. “Ignore them; we don’t get many guys your age in here this early.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, even though it wasn’t. “I’m Brad.”

  “Frank,” he said, shaking my hand. “Can you show me how to do that… with much less weight, of course.”

  We both laughed and I nodded. “Use that bench,” I said, pointing to the one next to mine. “I’ll show you form before we add any weight.”

  That was how I spent the rest of my af
ternoon, showing Frank how to lift properly and ignoring the leering from Shark Guy and his friends. In fact I had lost track of time until my phone rang. I looked down and saw Kyle’s name. “Crap,” I said, taking a few steps away from the bench.

  “Hey,” I said into the phone. “You home already?”

  “Yeah,” he said, sounding happy. “Where are you?”

  I laughed. “I could tell you, but you’d never believe it. I’ll be home in a few.”

  He said nothing for a few seconds and then asked, “Is that music in the background?”

  Of course Todd had house music blaring over the speakers, trying to infuse some kind of energy into the gym, though it was wasted on these guys. “Kind of.” I laughed again. “See you in a few,” I repeated and hung up.

  “Hey, I need to bounce,” I told Frank, “but I’m going to start tomorrow if you want some more pointers.”

  “I think you have your first customer,” he replied, shaking my hand again.

  “Awesome!” I broke out into a smile. “See you tomorrow.”

  I headed out and saw Shark Guy and Todd over at the counter. “He looks just as good leaving as coming,” Shark Guy said, loud enough for me to hear.

  “How do you know? You haven’t seen him come yet.”

  “See you tomorrow, Todd,” I said, waving at him and ignoring the comments.

  “Remember?” he called back.

  “I know,” I said at the door. “Tight.”

  Kyle

  SO MY boyfriend could go out for a run and end up getting a job.

  He was so excited about it that I didn’t even bring up the class. I mean, why ruin his news with the fact I stood up in class and didn’t pass out? We ended up going out for dinner to celebrate, and the night ended with him showing me the body that got him the job.

  I have to admit, it was worth a couple of bucks.

  The next morning we were both getting ready, and I could tell he was excited about his first day. He was excited and hanging to the left, if we were being blunt. “Um, you are going to bring something to wear over your underwear, right?”

  He shot me a confused look. “What? These’re running shorts, not underwear.”

  “True,” I said, trying not to get mad. “Underwear actually covers more than what you’re wearing.”

  A sly grin slid across his face. “You didn’t complain before.”

  “You weren’t going to go get ogled in a gay gym either.”

  “I am not going to get ogled,” he said firmly. And then paused. “Wait, is ogled touching?” I shook my head. “Oh yeah, then I might get that, then.”

  “Brad!” I began to protest.

  “Kyle, come on,” he said, taking a few steps toward me. “What do you care if a bunch of guys look at me? You think people don’t look at you?” I tried to lower my head but he stopped me. “Hey, don’t! You are hot. We are hot. Let them look. We both know we’re the only ones who get to touch.”

  He kissed me and I kissed him back, confused about how upset I was. “But I don’t want—”

  He kissed me again.

  “I don’t care if people look at me. Let them. I work my ass off to stay in shape. You trust me not to do anything, right?” I nodded. “Well then, what’s so upsetting?”

  “Other people shouldn’t stare at you—you’re mine,” I said in one breath.

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “I’m yours?”

  “You know what I mean.” I tried to backpedal.

  “No, I don’t,” he said, way too calmly for my taste. “So am I supposed to walk around in a sheet like muslin chicks and wait patiently for you to get home?”

  “One, it’s Muslim, two, I didn’t say that, and three… it just pisses me off that guys are going to be scoping you out.”

  He smiled and pulled me into a hug, which I tried to struggle against but didn’t try all that hard. “You can’t stop people from enjoying all this.” He gestured down his body with one hand and then laughed when he saw my look. “But instead of getting mad at the fact they’re looking, why don’t you get off on that you’re the only one who gets to touch it? The only one I want to touch it. In fact, the only guy who will ever touch it, if I get my way.”

  I heard the joking tone, but I could see the earnestness in his eyes. “You want me to not take the job, I will. But you want me to dress down so people won’t look at me? You’re crazy and you know it. So if you’re going to veto the job, do it now and I’ll call Todd and tell him no thanks.”

  There was a time when I was the logical one and he was the one who said stupid things.

  “Fine.” I sighed. “But they better not touch one hair—”

  He laughed and kissed me passionately. “Got it, warn them that there’s a jealous Pikachu at home and he will bite.”

  “I’m a Pikachu now?”

  He grabbed a tuft of my bangs and pulled on them. “It’s the blond hair and huge eyes. You’re an adorable Pokémon.”

  “And one that will shock the fuck out of anyone who touches you,” I added.

  “And that too,” he agreed, kissing me again.

  I’m not kidding when I say I almost threw him back on the couch and mounted him right there just to mark my territory, but, thankfully, thousands of years of evolution took hold and I gave him a hickey instead.

  Same effect, less time.

  “You are a shit,” he complained, rubbing his neck.

  “I am your shit,” I corrected him and grabbed my satchel. “Have fun explaining that at work.”

  I saw him run to the mirror as I walked out. I wish I felt a little bad about what I’d done, but come on. You would have done the same.

  Brad

  MOTHERFUCKER.

  I swear, if he didn’t have such a talented mouth… you know what? I withdraw that previous statement on the grounds it will get me killed.

  Short of wearing a turtleneck sweater, there was no way I was going to be able to cover up the hickey. I knew Kyle could be jealous, but this was a whole new level for him. It was because he didn’t think he was cute and so was automatically threatened by anyone he thought was better-looking than him. He did it with Josh and he obviously thought the guys at the gym were in that category. Jennifer had given me one of these possession hickeys junior year when she saw Maggie Hayes talking to me between classes, but damn, Kyle’s was going to last.

  Nothing to do but own it.

  I grabbed my iPhone, slipped my earbuds in, and took off jogging toward Flex. I got more than the normal number of stares as I made my way across the street, no doubt owing to the fact that my clothes looked like they’d been shrunk in the wash. Now, I’m not as blessed as Kyle is in the downstairs department, but I’m not small, so the shorts were showing more than they were concealing, and I’m pretty sure more than a few people took an extra second to have a look.

  Which wasn’t as upsetting as I thought it would be.

  I was never shy about my body—I mean, I took showers with thirty guys next to me. If you were weird about your body, a locker room was not the place to figure that out. I never thought of myself as perfect-looking or anything, but I worked hard on my body and was proud of it, so showing it off wasn’t something I freaked out about.

  But this was something else.

  I was eighteen, in great shape, and not ugly, and people were responding to that. Not treating me like a cute boy or an attractive teenager—they were reacting to me as a sexy guy, and that was a turn-on in itself. Foster was way too small for people to look at each other like that. In Foster, ogling would have been like having feelings for a relative, maybe a distant cousin but related nonetheless. In California, people didn’t know me and I didn’t know them, so everything was something new.

  They thought I was sexy and I liked it.

  Not “liked it” in, like, I wanted them to hit on me or anything—liked it in that it was proof I was good-looking. I know what you’re thinking: wasn’t having Kyle find you attractive enough? Well, yes and no. Him
being as turned on by me as I was by him was awesome, but my reaction to it was muted, because he kind of had to. Like your mom saying you looked handsome or whatever, you know? What was she going to say to you? “Wow, my kid is fugly.” She had to be nice to you the same way Kyle was nice to me. Not that I doubted the truth of his feelings; I’m just saying it wasn’t all that objective.

  Strangers, on the other hand, didn’t owe me a thing. They weren’t my parents or my boyfriend; they didn’t even know my name. All they saw was the way I looked and they liked it, and that meant something to me. Not sure why, but it did, and I was going to enjoy it while I could.

  All these thoughts rolled around in my head as I jogged to the front door of the gym. It was closed but I could see Todd inside, setting up the register. I knocked on the window and he came over and unlocked the door for me. He looked me up and down. “Well, well, this is too nice a job to rush.”

  I tried to walk in but he stopped me. “Hold up, let me take a good look.” His eyes consumed me like I was a hot plate of food and then he added, “Turn around.” He must have seen the way my jaw clenched because he quickly held his hands up. “I’m kidding! I kid, remember?”

  “Can I get inside?” I asked, pissed.

  “After you,” he said, letting me go by. I could feel his stare aimed straight at my ass.

  I took back everything I had just thought about liking people finding me sexy.