01 - The New Me (lol)
I decided to become hot on a Tuesday.
Not because of some tragic, life-changing event. Not because my girlfriend dumped me, because that would have required having a girlfriend in the first place. Not because I looked in the mirror and saw a stranger.
It was because I saw a guy named Brandon from my old school post a shirtless picture on Instagram with the caption discipline beats motivation, and the girl I'd had a crush on for two years commented:
omg body???
Three question marks.
That was the part that broke me.
So, three days later, I was standing in front of Iron Temple Gym wearing new sneakers, new shorts, and the expression of a man walking willingly into a medieval execution chamber.
Inside, everything smelled like rubber, metal, sweat, and people who knew what they were doing.
I did not know what I was doing.
I walked past a guy deadlifting enough weight to crush a small car, a woman doing pull-ups like gravity was optional, and three dudes in tank tops talking about macros with the emotional intensity of priests discussing scripture.
I tried to look casual.
I looked like I was searching for my mom in a supermarket.
After ten minutes of pretending to stretch, I approached the bench press. I had seen people use it online. It looked simple. You lie down, push the bar up, and become worthy of love.
Easy.
I put small plates on each side. Very small. Almost decorative.
Then I lay down, gripped the bar, and pushed.
It came off the rack.
For exactly half a second, I felt powerful.
Then the bar wobbled.
"Wow."
The voice came from above me.
Low. Dry. Bored.
I froze.
A shadow leaned over the bench.
She was wearing an oversized charcoal hoodie, black gym shorts, white socks, beat-up sneakers, and big black headphones around her neck. Her hair was short, messy, dark brown, almost black, falling over sharp eyes that looked permanently unimpressed.
A girl.
At least, I thought so.
A tomboy, maybe. The kind who looked like she would steal your skateboard, beat you at every video game you owned, and make you apologize for losing.
"You trying to bench press," she said, "or summon an ambulance?"
My face went hot.
"I'm fine."
"You're shaking."
"I'm controlling it."
"That's not control. That's fear."
I tried to push the bar back up with dignity.
The bar dipped sideways.
Her hand shot out and caught it.
One hand.
She steadied the bar like it weighed nothing.
I stared.
She looked down at me, eyebrow raised.
"Rack it."
"I can—"
"Rack. It."
I racked it.
Badly.
She sighed like I had personally disappointed her bloodline.
"You new?"
"No."
She looked at the empty membership card still hanging from my keyring.
I tucked it into my pocket.
"Yes."
A tiny smile pulled at one corner of her mouth.
Not friendly.
Worse.
Amused.
"I'm Sam," I said, because apparently humiliation made me introduce myself.
She looked me over. Slowly. Like she was deciding whether I was worth the oxygen.
"Lu."
"Lou?"
"Lu."
"Right. Lu."
Silence.
I should have left. I should have thanked her and gone home and started a new life where I learned pottery or became one of those guys who only bikes.
Instead, I said, "So... was my form really that bad?"
Lu blinked.
Then she laughed.
Not a cute laugh.
A short, sharp little sound that made me feel like I had been shoved.
"Your form?" she said. "Your form had a suicide note."
I wanted to disappear into the bench.
But then she stepped closer.
Too close.
She stood beside me, leaned down, and tapped my wrist.
"Your grip is wrong."
Her fingers were warm.
I stopped breathing for a second, which was stupid, because all she did was adjust my hand.
"Here," she said. "Wrists straight. Don't let them bend back unless you enjoy pain."
"I don't."
"Could've fooled me."
She moved to the end of the bench and nodded.
"Try again. Just the bar."
"No plates?"
She stared.
I removed the plates.
Every single person in the gym suddenly became very interesting to look at except Lu.
"Lie down," she said.
I did.
She stood behind my head, hands hovering near the bar.
"Shoulders tight. Feet down. Don't wiggle like a dying fish."
"I don't wiggle."
"You wiggle emotionally."
I almost laughed.
I hated that.
I hated that she was rude and somehow funny. I hated that her hoodie swallowed her frame so completely I couldn't figure out what she looked like under it. I hated that she had this bored confidence, like the gym belonged to her and everyone else was just renting space in her world.
Mostly, I hated that I wanted her to keep talking to me.
"Lift," she said.
I lifted.
This time the bar moved smoothly.
"Again."
I did another rep.
"Again."
Another.
"Don't arch like that. You're not in a music video."
"I thought you said arching was good."
"Not like you're being possessed."
My arms started burning after eight reps.
At ten, I racked the bar, panting like I had survived a war.
Lu looked unimpressed.
"Congratulations," she said. "You benched a broomstick."
I sat up, sweaty and embarrassed.
"Thanks for the encouragement."
"You want encouragement, call your grandma."
I looked at her.
She looked back.
Then she smiled again.
And this time, I swear, it was different.
Just barely.
A little less cruel.
A little more... something.
My stomach flipped.
Oh no.
Absolutely not.
I had come here to become hot enough to impress girls. Not to get bullied by one.
Especially not to enjoy it.
Lu grabbed her water bottle from the floor and slid her headphones back over her ears.
"See you around, Broomstick."
"That's not my name."
She was already walking away.
"I know."
I watched her cross the gym, hands in hoodie pockets, moving with lazy confidence. A couple of guys glanced at her and then looked away quickly, like they knew better than to stare for too long.
I understood them.
I also did not look away quickly enough.
Because before she disappeared behind the squat racks, Lu glanced back.
Just once.
And caught me staring.
She tilted her head.
Then she winked.
I nearly died on the bench press after all.
