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I could see Cesar entering the locker room through the keyhole. He took the bait. In dead silence I watch him. He’s used to quickly change into his football gear, if nothing else his body tells a story of many years of football practice, hitting the hole, hitting the gym, hitting classmates. Fuck him! He has his cocky swagger even when undressing, alone. Or when he thinks he is alone anyway. This is the point of no return, but I’m anxious to press on with the plan.

Carefully I move from the door and to the back of the storage room. I place my hand in the handcuff, locked to the water pipe. The clicking sound is deafening to me, but I don’t hear any reaction from Cesar. Showtime.

- Help! Help me! Is someone out there?!

It only takes a few moments until the door opens. His face quickly goes through several emotions. Curiosity, concern even, which transitions to confusion as he sees me. I’m naked, except for my briefs. I put all clothes at the bottom of lost and found. Across my naked chest is “NERD” scribbled in black face grease. I had to practice with a pad and sharpie in the mirror to get it right. When he recognize it is me, and that I’m locked to the wall, his face turns into the superior snarl of malice I’ve come to know from countless beatings and hazings. I truly hoped we wouldn’t end up together after elementary. Or at least that things would be different.

- Please Cesar, help me.
- Looks to me like someone already did you a solid. Why would I fuck with that?
- Listen to yourself. I’m fucking cuffed to a pipe in a locker room storage. What the fuck is wrong with you?
- You know, perhaps you do need some more help.

He bends down and picks up the grease stick from the floor and moves in to draw something in my face. It’s over so fast we both take a moment to get our bearings. I don’t know what I would have done if it didn’t work. I look down at Cesar's abs, look at his arm, flex it.

- So this is what it feels like to be a douchebag.
- What the fuck?!
- There’s no private talk with coach. I spoofed his email.
- You… how?

I walk up to him, put my hand into a plastic bucket near his feet, with opaque, stale soap water, and fish out the handcuff key. He can still call for attention, of course. I need to explain to him that it will do him no good.

- Did you know that already in fifth grade I started making a list of all the ways I could think of to get even with you? Most were impossible or pathetic, but I want you to know I’ve thought of ways to hurt you almost as long as you’ve hurt me. It makes sense I suppose. Whatever you think you can do by trying to escape, I want you to know I already have plans upon plans to make things so much worse. If you stay here, all I’m going to do is pretend to be you for a bit. That shouldn’t be too hard. I know this game means a lot for you, scouts and all, so I’m gonna make sure your performance will be laughed at for decades. “Doing a Cesar” people will say whenever someone royally fucks up. I will take it poorly. Cry in the locker room. Perhaps pee my pants when coach chew me out. That kind of thing. But then I’ll be back for you. We swap back and you can do your best to repair your life. That’s the best case scenario, if you sit here quiet for a few hours.

I don’t really have a plan B in case Cesar starts screaming. Having been a bully for so long, he probably has a better imagination of all the ways I could ruin his life than I do. Still, I’m a bit nervous as more and more of his teammates join me in the locker room. It plays to my advantage, as I want to appear nervous. My plan is to realistically unravel in front of everyone on the field. Fortunately Cesar keeps quiet in the storage room until we all leave for the field.

As the game starts I’m not given a lot of openings to fuck up though. I realize I actually have to join the game. Position myself well to have a chance to play the ball. I need to feel the game, like Cesar would. Somehow I can feel him deep inside my brain, eager to play this game. I close me eyes and reach for him, and suddenly I can read everyone’s movements, where they are heading. I know where I need to be. I’m not even surprised when I pick up the ball. It’s just were I saw it should be. I see a path and run. The crowd is cheering. Their defense is trying, but their attempts are so transparent, and they try to block a play I’m not going for. Clearly a pass to Mike is the best move, I just need to time it. They don’t see what we see, and the ball finds him unblocked. He takes it and move unimpeded into the end zone. Fuck, yeah!

He looks pathetic, half naked, chained to the wall, and with soppy eyes. Did I ever look that feeble? No surprise I was beaten. He even has “PUNCH ME” scribbled on his forehead.

- Hey, fucko! You better ace the test on Friday.
He looks surprised. I toss the key into the water bucket.
- What the fuck do you mean? We had a deal!
- Deal? No, I just told you what my plan was. Guess what? New plan! I got scholarship, so fuck all that.
- Change us back right now!
- Keep it down, or someone will come and beat the shit out of you. After this performance I could probably pummel you in front of the principle, consequence free. Anyway, I don’t remember how to swap, so no need to dwell on that.
- Fuck you!
- Fuck me?! Just look at yourself. You’ll be lucky to get home without a beating. You probably better stay here another two hours before you go home.
- I can’t go home like this?
- Your clothes are in lost and found.
- I mean looking like you. What would my parents say?
- Not to my home, dumbass. You’re Jose now.

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