Big Jason Maas took up a whole row on his bus. This beefy offensive lineman used his size to whip the world around him into the shape he desired. Except for a couple of exceptions, like that feisty girl Keisha and a couple of his teammates, Jason's big body was the key to opening many doors.
So it was a surprise when on the bus ride, he began to rapidly shed weight. He weighed 284 this morning. But he was feeling like a balloon deflating rapidly. 280, 270, 260, 250, 240...
What is this? he shuddered. Did I not eat enough this week?
230, 220. His hair was growing longer, his beard retreating back into his face.
Am I imagining things?
210, 200. Weight was not only dropping but shifting from the center of his stomach down toward the hips and up his chest. Two mounds of flesh poked through his shirt.
Huh...?
190, 180. His view of the front of the bus was receding.
This is horrible! How can I play?
170, 160. Between his legs what had once protruded rapidly caved in. His clothes were changing; a bright pink tank top being made of the Central University T-shirt he wore. His basketball shorts were fusing into a skirt. And his athletic shoes were sprouting heels.
...I can't be a girl! Now I'm just gonna be a lightweight!
150, 140. Jason Maas now took up less than half the space on the bus. His backpack had gone from red to pink.
This isn't right! This isn't right! This isn't right!
Suddenly, the weight loss stopped. 131 pounds. "This"”" Jason now noticed that he had a new and higher voice. And his brain finally clicked into place.
Jocelyn Maas, what are you thinking? she asked herself. Football? Those players are huge. You're the perfect size for volleyball.
The bus came to a halt in front of the 1975-era architecture of Victor Hills High School. Brutalism had never been so terrifying in the new world that Jocelyn Maas now faced.
