Just Waiting (Patreon)

He entered the locker room with some amount of trepidation. This entire part of the school only had below average memories for him. Exhaustion, pain, non-dodged balls, and the only blot on his grades. But when the coach sent message for him to meet he of course showed up, as he would for any faculty member. It's just that he had no idea why he was summoned, and the note gave no information. He was surprised coach even knew who he was. Perhaps he had just been selected at random, but that still begged the question selected for what?

He sat down at the end of one of the narrow benches that ran along the lockers. It's like they were designed to be uncomfortable, to get people to move faster in whatever direction they were changing. But who would want to be here? Harsh lights, weird acoustics, and that funky smell. Not bad really, but not something you would choose. A muted blend of every brand of liquid soap and feet.

He'd come early despite coach saying in the note that he might be a bit late. He looked at his wristwatch, regretting how early he was. He wished he had brought a book to get some homework done. He usually prides himself on not getting bored. "Everywhere you look there are things to consider" he used to say. At the opposite end of the other bench sat a forgotten black snapback. The front of it faced away, so he couldn't see if it had anything stitched on it. Somehow he couldn't keep his eyes off it, not for long at least. Like the only landmark in a desert. A focal point to keep you sane.

His mind was running crazy with thoughts of what the front looked like, who had been wearing it, why it was left here. He imagined one of the jocks he remembered, though he didn't know his name, but he was tall, freckled, and usually wore a black hat like that. Was this his? He imagined him taking it off and leaving it on the bench. No, that didn't make sense. It would be on the way out he forgot about it, perhaps distracted.

He tried to visualize the jock coming back from training, though he didn't know what sport he was actually into. He mentally backtracked and instead imagined the jock coming back from the showers, naked with a towel around him. He would open his locker and begin to dress himself. He made every detail vivid. The trunks, the socks, the muscle Tee, the blue jeans, the sweatshirt. Perhaps the phone rang as he held the hat in his hand, ready to place it on his head. He put the hat down on the bench as he read something that took all his attention. He slammed to locker shut and rushed out, leaving the snapback on the bench.

Suddenly the hat became an important price, as he stared at it. He needed to take it, to try it on at least. He needed to see for himself what he would look like. How he compared. He stood up and walked over to the hat. It was completely black, no insignia on the front. He hesitated. He wasn't afraid of any of the jocks finding him here. They were mostly chill guys, from what he had heard. It's not like knew any of them. And he had a legitimate reason to be in the locker toom, summoned by their coach. What if they found him with the hat on? They would probably be ok with that as well. Besides, he would hear them before they could spot him.

He grabbed the hat, put it on his head, and walked over to the mirror of polished stainless steel, able to withstand even the most testosterone-infused tantrums. It didn't look bad. It just didn't look like him. Black vans, khakis, light blue polo shirt, and now a black hat on top of it. Perhaps the black hat looked a bit too aggressive on his thin body, or perhaps it just managed to rub some of the meekness away. Why did he dress so blandly anyway?

He sat down again, back on the same side as before, but didn't bother to move all the way back out to the edge of the bench. Something smelled a bit funkier here. He took a deep breath. Someone must have left some shoes or rank clothes in one of the nearby lockers. He looked at his left wrist as if he expected to find something there. He considered briefly if he'd lost a bracelet or something. When the fuck is coach going to show up?

And what schmuck had designed these benches. He was getting sore from all the sitting in awkward positions. He stretched his arms up as far as he could and let his fingers grab hold of the top lockers through the ventilation holes to really pull the muscles with some body weight. It felt amazing, not only in the arms, but the back and shoulders as well. He let go, arched his back, and accidentally banged his head in the lockers.

Dammit! He was sore, he was aching, his head hurt, and it was awfully hot. He took off the hat with one hand, grabbed the sweatshirt with the other, and pulled it off with one long motion that ended up tangling up both pieces of clothing as he tried to pull the sweatshirt arm over the hand with the hat. Dammit! He untangled the mess and put the hat back on, bill back.

Annoyed he looked down on his well defined 8-pack. Something was off, he just couldn't put the finger on it. Where the fuck was coach?