The boys' locker room at Lake Point High had never been what Jon would call a happy place, a stronghold province of Jockonia, the kingdom that reigned over the male half of the school's social scene. Even under normal circumstances, Jon, of relatively tall but lanky stature, had been subject to repeated teasing, sometimes of the physical variety, from Biff, Steve, and company, but now? On edge would be one way to describe it. Paranoid and hyperattuned to the actions of his peers—were they even still his peers? Had he entered the right locker room?—would be another.
As he crossed the threshold to the actual locker area, he expected all eyes in his direction. After all, how often does a crop-top-and-yoga-pant-wearing body enter this locker room? His outfit and the small but apparently still growing breasts it just barely hid were practically a marquee inviting the other boys to the most brutal, homophobia-laced bullying he could imagine. Instead, nothing much happened. Maybe a look or two to see who entered the room, but the usual cacophony carried on, seemingly blasé towards the swaying hips that were now headed as quickly as possible towards a locker near the back of the room.
Jon, now at his locker, swiveled his head around. Surely someone had noticed him, right? Steve was admonishing a classmate, his target du jour, for wearing a pink pastel shirt, while Biff was performing a perennial favorite, cackling while whipping a towel at his locker-neighbor. Jon couldn't piece his emotions together. He should be relieved, but something else started to bubble over, taking precedence over his sense of safety.
I know Steve's acting real mean to Eric over there, but it would have been nice to get a little attention at least...
What was he thinking? He just dodged a huge bullet and all he can think about is... this brute... standing next to him, backing him into the locker...
and then he would put his hand on the locker over my shoulder and trap me here, and I would put my hand on his jeans and...
Fuuuuuuck. More confirmation that he was definitely into guys now. He could feel himself getting flush, especially with so many half naked hunks around. Snap out of it! You have to fight it!
With some concentrated effort, he managed to slow his racing mind enough to enter his combination and pry open locker 106. Inside he found the same ratty heather gray cotton T-shirt he had worn all year, which, owing to the fact that he hadn't washed it in a week, stunk to high heaven, but would more than suffice for gym today.
Jon exhaled, happy to see an old friend, as stupid as it might sound. The now very cropped and cap sleeved Star Wars shirt had left him more exposed than the Jon of yesterday would ever have dreamed, and the familiarity of the shirt could anchor him, ease his anxiety. That illusion shattered the moment Jon picked the shirt up, revealing a small sports bra and an entirely new pair of shorts underneath. There was no way he was wearing the bra, a relatively nondescript black pullover, but he would have to wear the small pair of navy, white-trimmed running shorts, even if they seemed like they would end well above mid-thigh and grip his hips tightly enough to highlight whatever was left of his bulge.
Dammit! His bulge! He had gone into the boys' locker room, but earlier he had seen... and felt... some kind of shrinking. Jon winced, but knew he had to check to see what, if anything, was left. With the T-shirt still in his left hand, he took a deep breath, pulled the waistbands of his yoga pants and undergarments forward and looked down.
