Chapter 2: Gym Class
"In this interior necessity, in this dynamic of love, there is indirectly revealed the near impossibility of one person's being appropriated and mastered by the other," Father Joseph droned on.
Morning Prayer was the most difficult thing to sit through, and it was only my second day here.
And even though it was only the second morning of my matriculation at St. Bartholomew's School for Boys, I was already regretting the naïve thought that pretending to be a boy might be easy.
This morning, in the lukewarm shower, I began to shave my legs.
Shave my fucking legs! After I spent a month disgustingly growing out the hair on my legs so that they would be at least somewhat boyish, I actually started to shave the damn things in a moment of drowsiness. So now there was a two-inch wide gap of smooth skin, stretching from my ankle to my knee, sandwiched in between my attempt at growing long, wispy leg hair.
While that sucked balls—balls that I didn't have, by the way—it was not the only thing that had happened this morning before Prayer.
Because, speaking of those balls that I didn't have, someone accidently hit them on my way in through the main doors this morning.
A backpack seemingly came out of nowhere and WHAM—right in the crotch. Only I didn't register the discomfort and pain nearly as high as everyone around us expected. The kid whose backpack knocked into my non-existent nut sack was huge too, with dark curly hair and muscles that put my attempts at bulking up to shame. And when I didn't immediately hit the ground with tears in my eyes? Well, I bet you can imagine the weird stares Muscle Kid and others gave me.
For some reason, I didn't think I would have to pack my pants. I figured the natural bulge from the zipper of my guy jeans would be enough.
Again, Morning Prayer was actually the most difficult thing to sit through, especially when your mind wandered to what items you're going to use to create a fake dick, and then you forget to add the 'Amen' to the end of the priest's prayer along with everyone else.
Being a pretend guy was not easy.
Finally, after I thought my heart had stopped beating from boredom, we were all released from the church, squeezing through the double doors like the cattle we were.
I was filing out behind complete strangers, wondering how I was going to pass my time before my next class, when there was a tap on my shoulder.
"Benjamin Cheney, correct?"
I turned, and was met with a rather tall, sandy-haired boy with overbearingly eager eyes.
"Just Ben," I replied, knowing that by announcing himself, I was being sucked into a redundant conversation—one I expected to have many times with each person I met. My throat was suddenly dry. Somehow this conversation, this person, made me uncomfortable. Maybe I wasn't really ready to be a boy. I didn't know, suddenly, how many conversations I could survive, how many people I could trick into believing my appearance. Maybe I could just skip class if it got to be too much. . .
He stuck his sweaty palm right into my face, not giving me any more time to think about my readiness. He also apparently didn't know that handshaking etiquette that states you should hover your hand in the person's waist area. "Nice to meet you, Ben. Excellent job winning the Felton. The name's Aaron, Aaron Matthews."
Bella, Bella Swan. I mocked in my head, using my best mental impersonation of Sean Connery.
I grudgingly accepted Aaron Matthews's hand as we walked down the hall, trying to grip it as firmly as Edward gripped my hand yesterday. Because a firm grip was confidence.
Social awkwardness prevented me from saying anything in response, and therefore Aaron Matthews continued speaking in a well-mannered tone that was definitely rehearsed. "How do you like the school so far? Is it living up to your expectations?"
Expectations? Well, if you could count eyeing those fat green dollar bills that parents poured into this school as an expectation of what I wanted to get out of this place, then my expectations were definitely being met.
"St. Bart's is very impressive," I replied, mustering as much of my enthusiasm as I was able. "I'm glad to be here."
"It really is a wonderful opportunity provided by God," Aaron continued, using his hands to help him talk.
"Mm-hm," I lied. I guess I was shocked by his religious devotion. I thought that kids who went to Catholic school weren't actually very religious, but Aaron was the exception to that belief.
Not everyone was as dispossessed of faith as Bella Swan.
"You know," Aaron continued condescendingly, "I won the Felton last year."
"Oh, really?" I feigned interest. What did he want from me? Congratulations? A pat on the back and a golden star? I didn't give a fuck about who won the award before me.
"Yes. My parents were very proud, obviously."
"And what about yourself?" I asked casually, though I was actually suddenly interested in whether or not this kid had a mind of his own. If he applied for the scholarship and came here because of his parents, then-to me-he was his parent's puppet.
"Hmm?"
"Were you, you know, proud that you won the scholarship for yourself?"
"Oh, of course. I was actually humbled that they chose me, and my parents were very happy. The Felton and St. Bart's are everything my family's ever dreamed of. We were all proud."
I didn't suppress my sigh. He was a complete puppet. In fact, he was the type of puppet you had to stick your hand up the ass to control.
"What?" Aaron questioned, seeming shocked that I sighed. "Weren't your parents proud?"
I frowned, feeling concerned I wasn't paying enough attention to my role and too much attention to feelings of anxiety and annoyance.
"Oh, no," I backpedaled. "No, it's not that. Of course they were proud, just like your parents… I was just, uh, thinking about all the, um, other kids."
"What do you mean?" He frowned at me curiously.
"You know," I paused. I was shit at lying. "The other kids. . . whose parents would have been just as proud if their kid were able to get it. It's such an. . . excellent opportunity. . . I just wish more people could have it."
"Yes," Aaron sneered, not giving a rat's ass about other people who deserve the scholarship. "In fact, that reminds me. Since there are only four people in the whole student body who are currently attending that have won the Felton, we tend to form a little club. It's just the past three winners and now you, the current winner, and we invite you to get together with us now and then and hang out." He smiled at me as if we had both won the award all over again. "The other people at this school haven't gone through the same ordeals that we have, so we just. . . tend to hang out together. We even like to meet with the principal sometimes and share our opinions about improvements for the school."
He sucked in an impressive amount of air. "We can be quite influential," he finished, exhaling confidently.
If the thought of me joining any sort of organized group could tickle me pink, my cheeks would be rosy right now.
Yet, I didn't laugh at the ridiculousness of the idea. Instead, I thought about how I would let down this arrogant asshole without insulting him. I didn't need any enemies.
Again, why the fuck did I think this would be easy?
Edward
Emmett, Jasper, and I were silently following the crowd of students out of the church. It was times like these where everyone was squished together that I couldn't help but feel like a sheep. Which was ironic, considering this was a Catholic school. Students were the flock, Jesus was the shepherd. Ha.
Emmett and Jasper were separated from me after I pushed my way past some freshmen who were crawling along at an obnoxiously slow pace. A few steps later and my skin began to crawl, and on instinct, I looked up, finding myself in close proximity behind Aaron Matthews, the biggest creep in the school.
But then I realized to whom he was talking, and my attention was immediately captured.
Ben Cheney.
I listened as they talked about the Felton, which was not surprising. That scholarship was the only thing that Aaron could talk about, as if it made him the King of England, or something equally delusional. But I was more interested by the obvious restraint and boredom in Ben's tone.
I wondered if Ben actually told people what he was really thinking. Although I couldn't repress the smugness I felt at knowing that he was incredibly candid with me yesterday. It was just one more thing that I could rub into Matthews' face: the new kid likes me better than you, the new kid can also pick up on the fact that you're obnoxious.
I wanted to laugh when Aaron inhaled, expanding his chest so that he would seem bigger, taller; right before I heard him say, "We can be quite influential."
Conceited idiot. I exaggerated a scoff, making Aaron turn his head to see who made the noise. Ben turned also, and I gave him a quick smile to say hello.
Aaron turned back to Cheney, awaiting his reply.
"Thanks for the offer," Ben stated carefully. "I'd like to meet the other winners some day, but I don't really have the time for any clubs right now."
Another neutral, restrained response from the new kid. He was good at them. I would've accepted that answer and moved on, but Matthews was persistent.
"Ben, there's always time to come hang out with us. We can meet whenever is more convenient for you, it'd be no problem at all."
"Still—"
"Meeting with the other winners is almost as great as winning the Felton. We can open a lot of doors for you here."
"Well—" Ben started to say, but he was denied the chance to talk again.
"We know all the right people. We don't mess around with some of the other types they let into this institution."
Aaron glanced over at me while he spoke, effectively turning on my anger.
"Just shut up Aaron," I interrupted. "You don't know what you're talking about, and Ben obviously doesn't want to join your little cult, so back off."
"No one was talking to you, Cullen," Matthews jeered.
"Too late. I already spoke."
His stupid little eyes tightened in frustration, and he opened his mouth to retort when Ben cut him off.
"Anyway, thanks for the offer, Aaron. I'm not going to be able to meet with any of the other winners on a regular basis or anything." He stopped speaking, and a look of determination crossed his face right before he briefly looked my way. "I won the Felton on my own. I think I know how to meet the right people on my own."
I taunted Aaron just a little bit more by pulling a face full of false surprise as I watched rage threaten his calm façade. Ben also seemed just as pleased with himself at pissing Matthews off, earning him about twenty more points towards his cool factor here at the school, especially among me and my friends.
Matthews was suddenly aware that a few people stopped walking to watch our little showdown, and regained his manners.
"Oh, well, that's fine, I guess," he told Ben, completely ignoring my existence now. "Anytime you change your mind, you know who to talk to."
"Not gonna happen," I heard Ben mutter dryly at Aaron's back as he stalked away from us. Then he turned to me with a genuinely grateful smile. "Thanks for that. I didn't think he was going to let me speak for a minute there."
"No problem. Matthews is a jerk."
We stood there awkwardly, not sure how to proceed. I was deciding how to best incorporate the manners my mother taught me, without sounding like a middle-aged man, when I noticed Ben opening his mouth to speak.
"So there's really some sort of club that the other Felton winners are in?"
His voice was so quiet and gentle I almost didn't hear him.
"It's not a formal club, per se. It's more like Matthews roped the other Felton kids into it." Or he really, really tried to.
"What's his deal, anyway? He made it sound like he survived a natural disaster before coming here." It was easy to detect the edge in voice; he didn't like Aaron's attitude either. And then I remembered what he said about his mom dying yesterday, and the bitterness in tone made even more sense.
I didn't feel the need to hide my scorn. "He didn't. He just thinks his problems are special. And he thinks that winning the Felton makes him better than everyone else. The people who also win it just happen to be on the same playing field as him."
Ben was watching me closely while I spoke, making me feel as if I were under some sort of microscope. I didn't know whether to feel uncomfortable or to try and expose more of myself.
"What happened to make you hate him so much?" he asked, his eyes never leaving my face.
"I wouldn't call it hate." I shrugged. "It's more like he expected the entire school to bow down and kiss his feet when he came. He thought he would be the golden boy of this school, and he was condescending to everyone, pretending to be friendly. When he figured out he was second in class to me. . ."
I couldn't finished my sentence, too lost in my thoughts over what happened last year. I hoped that by trailing off Ben could fill in the blanks.
But he couldn't. "What?"
I thought carefully before I spoke, leaning up against the wall behind me so that I could have some literal support. I hated telling this story, but somehow didn't mind Ben knowing about it. "You know how I said that he would pretend to be friendly? Well, he would come into my room and ask for a simple favor—he would need a stapler, or something like that—and he'd try and have a conversation with me.
"I didn't think anything of it. It just seemed like he was sucking up to pretend like he had friends. But I found out later that he did it to figure out my schedule so he could sneak into my room and mess with my computer."
"What?" Ben asked, incredulous.
"Yeah, he'd try and mess with my school stuff so that I'd be forced to pass it in late or whatever and get my grade marked down. It was all stupid stuff. Emmett caught him one day and told him off."
Ben had stuck his hands deep into his pants pocket, far off in thought. After a moment of awkward silence which made think that I had said too much, he looked up at me again. His eyebrows were so furrowed his entire face was twisted.
"Who's Emmett?"
Hello, left field, I thought. I had expected more questioning on the Aaron front, but welcomed the change in direction.
We were alone in the halls by now. Everyone else had gone off to their next class, or had found some place to hang out until they had somewhere they needed to be.
"Emmett is a friend of mine. Jasper, too," I informed him.
Ben's eyes were dancing with amusement, as if there was some secret joke he was keeping from me. "You've been at this place for four years and you only have two friends?" He snickered.
I didn't mind the joke at my expense; I was too taken off guard by Ben's face and the genuine smile on it. Normally it was so morose, but with a smile. . . there was a shocking contrast.
"Eh." I raised and dropped my shoulders briefly. "They're the only important ones. Everyone else is more like an acquaintance."
He nodded appreciatively, seeming to understand where I was coming from. I pushed off from the wall and looked around. The halls were peppered with colorful paper welcoming students back, advertising clubs, homecoming dances, and various other activities. I wondered if Ben thought this school was trying too hard to be impressive. If I were in his position, it would certainly seem that way to me.
"Hey," I began, breaking us out of the reverie we had settled in, "What's your first class?"
His response was so quick and quiet I didn't even hear him. In fact, I noticed that Ben always spoke softly, as if he were constantly meditating his words.
I asked him to repeat himself.
"Gym," he said a little louder, clearing his throat.
"With Mr. Cohn?"
He reached into his pocket and fumbled with a piece of paper that was obviously his schedule. "Yeah."
"We're in the same class."
I noticed his face froze for a moment. I wondered what he was thinking about to make him look so nervous, but then the expression was gone, and his usual gloominess was back.
"So, since we've got time, wanna waste it hanging out in the courtyard?" I threw the question out there fully expecting to be rejected. Everything about Ben screamed 'loner'.
But he surprised me by nodding. "Sure."
"All right," I replied, and turned to lead the way.
Bella
Talking to Edward with the sun warming my back wasn't as horrible as I thought it would be. It was easy, and damnit, I deserved to have something in my life that was easy. It helped that a breeze would blow by and ruffle his hair and the sunshine would dance across different portions of his face. It was the simplest things—the strange color of his hair, his pale skin tone, his crooked smile—that drew me in. I was beginning to see him in a different light. There was more to it than just looks; there was personality.
By the time for gym class rolled around I had completely forgotten my urge to run, although the idea of truancy was still appealing. I was so caught up in my conversation with Edward, though it was standard and slightly boring, that I didn't even realize that it was nearly time to go change for class.
Edward got up and walked with me into the building, still commenting on different teachers within the school. He took a right once we were in, and led me through an unmarked door a few feet away from the main entrance.
As strange as it was, the unmarked door led to the guy's locker room. I should probably just call it the locker room, I thought to myself. As far as everyone else was concerned, there were no girls here, and therefore no need to differentiate between genders.
There was a short wall on my left as we walked further in. Once we reached its end, Edward gestured down past it to an expanse of stalls. The showers, he explained to me, although people only used them if they played a sport after school, such as football or lacrosse. The only thing I paid attention to was the fact that I wouldn't really have to use them, and that if I ever did, there were separate stalls… Thank you, Jesus.
Continuing past the small section set off for shower stalls, we reached the lockers. Off to the right there was a bunch of open space with a few low benches. On the left, for quite some way down, were the lockers themselves. They were pretty tall, yet they didn't reached the ceiling. They were rectangular, with the standard slits in the small doors, which alternated in blue and gray colors. They were designed so that one locker was on top of another, and I could hear the people already in here arguing over who wanted a top locker, and who wanted a bottom one.
Edward walked me down to the very last column of lockers. In between each column I noticed more benches for kids to sit on while they changed. Unlike the benches in the open space, these had a blue-colored brick base, so that you couldn't see a person's feet if you were standing somewhat behind them.
I hovered back at the edge of the column Edward brought me to, while he walked further down it to some lockers by the wall, which had a high, round window in it.
He continued to explain that the seniors were always assigned the last few rows of lockers near the back. For some reason, it seemed, this school was big on class separation. Even in the cafeteria, where there wasn't any formal seating arrangements, there was an unspoken rule about where the seniors, juniors, sophomores, and freshmen sat.
I was diverting my eyes while Edward stripped off his shirt, when someone suddenly knocked into my shoulder.
I glared at the back of the huge person who walked past me to stand by Edward. He didn't even seem to notice that he nearly threw me sideways.
"Hey, Emmett," Edward greeted him, and I remembered him mentioning the name before, in connection with Aaron Matthews.
"Hey, bro," Emmett responded. And then, without any sort of knowledge that what he was doing was fucking rude, he turned and looked me up and down.
I nearly blanched when I saw his face. Emmett was the monstrosity of a teen who slammed his backpack into my crotch earlier.
"Who's that?" I heard Emmett ask. I looked away from their faces, hoping that Emmett wouldn't out me as the guy whose balls were magically desensitized.
"You don't know who that is?" Edward asked mockingly. "That's Ben Cheney."
I looked at them now. Edward rolled his eyes for my benefit, while Emmett sat on the bench with a shit-eating grin on his face.
"Yeah, I know who it is," he said. "I was just playin'."
Emmett then went on to undress with Edward. I looked away, again, feeling my embarrassment coloring my cheeks. There was a little piece of paper in my pocket with my locker number and combination on it, and I could feel it burning a hole through my khakis.
"Yo!" Emmett bellowed to get my attention. "Aren't you going to change?"
Aw, shit. I began to nervously scratch at the nape of my bare neck, wishing there was some hair that I could use to hide my face.
"Umm…I don't remember my locker number," I hedged. "I'm going to go figure it out."
I turned and ran out of there like a bat out of hell. Once I was outside of the locker room door, I leaned against the wall and took in a deep breath.
I can't do this. I can't do this. There is no way in hell I can do this.
I'd never even been around a naked guy my age before, what made me think I could get away with changing in front of one?
I stood there, outside the door, fighting the dizzy spells that were a result of my anxious breathing, for several more minutes. After I had completely calmed down I went back inside. Thankfully, judging by the stillness of the locker room, I had waited long enough for everyone else to be changed and in the gym already.
Apprehensively, I walked down to the last column of lockers and, with relief, stared at its emptiness. No one had waited around for me.
Locker 325 was the one to which I was assigned. I was embarrassed to note that my hands were shaking as I twisted the combination on the face of the lock. The tension in me was tighter than a guitar string. At any moment someone could walk in here, and I had very little control over what they would find if they saw me.
I hastily swung open the door after the final dry click in the combination—I had a top locker, not that it was very important—and found the gym uniform that Rogers promised would be there.
With fretful, fumbling fingers I lifted the hem of my shirt over my head. I could see the goose bumps forming around the ace wraps on my chest as my skin adjusted to being exposed. I threw the navy blue polo into the locker and lifted out the white one that I was supposed to wear during gym. Once I had my arms through the holes and the hem back down around my hips I exhaled in relief. The ladies were covered again; the hard part was over.
The other part to my gym uniform was dark blue basketball shorts that had two white stripes going down the outside of my thighs. I was hoping with everything that I had left in me that no one would be able to tell that I didn't have penis in these shorts. I would definitely need to pack my pants for future classes.
My khaki slacks were down around my ankles when I heard my name being called out.
"Ben?" It was Edward, shouting out my name from somewhere in the locker room.
My heart starting pounding like a rabbit's foot in my chest when I heard his footsteps coming closer. I looked down at the pants around my feet and then back to the shorts in the locker.
Fuck it. I don't have time.
I flung myself with the surprising grace of a gymnast over the bench. And, with impeccable timing, I landed in a belly flop just as Edward rounded the edge of the column.
"You okay?" he asked upon seeing me sprawled out half-dressed. With any luck, he wouldn't be able to see my bottom half over the bench.
"Yeah," I said breathlessly to the tiled floor.
"You sure?"
I looked up at him to find that he was trying to hide his laughter with a concerned frown.
"Oh, yeah, I'm good. I just tripped," I assured him. No need for him to know I was an acrobat when I needed to be.
"Well, you might want to hurry up. Cohn's taking attendance soon."
"…Okay, just give me a minute."
Fortunately, Edward understood that I didn't want him watching while I lifted my pathetic self off the floor. He turned around and started analyzing a club flyer on the wall, and I took that as my cue to put on my gym shorts as fast as I could.
If I thought that that somersault I did over the bench was amazing, I was wrong. I peeled my pants away from my ankles and replaced them with the shorts with the delicate prance of a cat, sliding my legs gracefully into the appropriate spot. And I'm sure the speed with which I did it was a new world record-for me, anyway.
I was lacing up my shoed when Edward decided to look my way again. I smiled up at him, hoping to distract him from noticing anything strange about me. When I was finished with my sneakers I hopped up, gesturing for Edward to lead the way to the gym.
He took us straight across from our column to another door I hadn't noticed before. He pushed it open, and then we were surrounded by the bright lights reflecting off of the laminated wood floors of the gym.
The adrenaline that came with Edward almost catching me pant-less, and therefore dick-less, was wearing off as we came to stand behind the group of students who were gathered around our teacher. I couldn't help but take a few shaky breaths as I listened to the man in the gray shirt wield a clip board like a sword above his head while he talked about what we would do in his class.
Edward heard my semi-erratic breathing and raised a bemused brow in my direction. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," I repeated.
He nodded and then went back to paying attention to Mr. Cohn's introduction. I slowly settled down, feeling a bit easier when I heard that we would be doing the lame "getting to know you" exercises instead of anything too strenuous.
As we broke up into groups, I was feeling completely comfortable. It was like I suddenly belonged where I was standing, like I was just one of the guys. I mean, I had found a couple of them that I could get along with, and I was doing an awesome job of keeping them from discovering my secret. And it wasn't like I was doing something I hadn't done before. Standing in groups passing around inconsequential information about yourself was an activity everyone had done since kindergarten.
However, it was when Emmett, Edward and I were standing together complaining about the little game we were about to play that I got the rug pulled out from under me again.
"Hey, Ben," Emmett interrupted our conversation with his laughter.
"What?"
He didn't answer me, he just kept snickering and looking down at my feet.
"What?" Edward asked this time.
"Dude!" He pointed towards my shoes. "What the hell happened to your leg?"
I could feel a habit forming as I groped at the back of my neck for the hair that wasn't there. Glancing down at my legs, I saw what Emmett was laughing at: the runway of perfectly smooth, shaved skin on my shin.
I sighed. What did guys say in a situation like this to cover up their embarrassment? Not exactly looking anyone in the eye, I tried to remember to keep my voice low and even.
"I lost a bet," I replied, to which Emmett only laughed harder. I heard Edward chuckle along with him.
No, pretending to be a guy still wasn't easy, and I had a feeling that my second day at this school was going to be the longest one of my life.
