It was not the day that Tom strode confidently through the halls but a rare moment during which his demeanor matched his internal personality that someone finally called him out.  In the boy’s bathroom riding the fine line between a restroom break and hooky, Tom broke his countenance and stared hatefully at the growing young man in front of him.  Eyes seeping disgust rolled past thin, wimpy arms and pale chapped lips snarled as Tom’s hands reached under his shirt grasping for a six-pack that wasn’t there.  Not expecting an audience, Tom gave into the moment and wept, openly, at the betrayal his body continuously held against him in spite of the daily portion of muscle milk, diet of red meat and supplements, and nightly workouts.  The sound of a stall door opening startled Tom; he could have sworn he was alone.  Quickly wiping at his face, Tom turned on the water and wanted to avoid eye contact while rushing past the kid who might spread his weakness across school by lunch.


“What’s your routine?” a low voice offered behind Tom.  Before he could even turn to answer, the boy sauntered then stood next to Tom and looked at him in the mirror.  “Do you just do sit ups and crunches or do you also do reps for your arms?  Tom, still startled at the seeming clairvoyance of this strange student, decided to play along to further draw the situation from his momentary catharsis.  “Yeah, I do 100 each every nite then add barbells.  How about you?”  When forming the question, Tom stole a glance at the young man who stood shorter than him but also bulged softly beneath his simple cotton t-shirt.  “Well, I used to work out like crazy, even when I was playing football.  But I couldn’t’ seem to get the right kind of results.”  Tom licked his lips without realizing figuring he understood where the conversation might be going.  “So what did you do,” Tom carefully asked, straining to keep his voice even.  The student reached into his pocket and finally Tom saw the solution to his problem.  In the student’s hand were steroids.



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