Chapter Text
A kick in the back of my knees causes my legs to buckle as a hand shoves my back down, pushing my face into the freshly manicured grass. Before I have the opportunity to lift my head off the ground, cold metal presses against the back of my head, locking me in place on my knees. It's the first time I've ever had a gun pointed at me but right now I'm too occupied with trying to spit blades of grass out of my mouth to process it. Maybe it's the smell of stale sweat mixed with dirt, or the stadium lights casting its unnatural glow on the field, but I'm reminded of how much I hate football, despite my school's excellent team. Since my cheek is pressed against the ground, I'm probably the first to feel the rumbling. Dull, consistent quakes pulse through the ground, steadily getting stronger and stronger.
"And now we wait," the only other man in the entire stadium says to me. I might as well be waiting for my death. As soon as the source of the rumbling reaches the two of us, either my captor gets whatever it is he wants, or I die. And somehow, despite all of this, I can only see this situation as being my fault.
**************
I suppose it would be fair to update you on a couple of things you may have missed. Sometime in the late 90s, a man named Rama Hijarayitama discovered a way to reactivate the growth of human beings. For some reason relating to the fact that the process manipulated the body's testosterone, the process could only be done on men, and it would increase their size to around double their original height. I remember being around 9 or 10 years old and it was all everyone could talk about. Within that year, probably because the process added the height of another human being, or maybe because the guy who discovered it was Hindu, the process became known simply as being "born again." My father said that they were playing God, while my mother said that it would change everything.
It turned out to do neither, really. Born again men turned out to be sterile, or practically sterile, since the sperm they produced was too large to fertilize an egg. Coupled with the fact that eating expenses skyrocketed, and the world was not built for men 12-15 feet tall, the consequences of being born again outweighed the benefits of the increased strength and spectacle. For about 2 years, it seemed no one could afford the extravagant lifestyle of eating more than double the amount of food as normal, building a custom house with appliances and furniture to fit themselves, and benefiting from the attention and power becoming a giant would give them.
No one until Patrick Getty, New York Giants' defensive lineman was born again. It was the first time anybody famous had been born again, and he brought it right back to national attention. For the Giants' next game, their opponents, the Philadelphia Eagles, demanded that Getty be taken out of the game. The coach responded, quite famously, "Patrick Getty just wants to represent his team. What better way to do that than by being an actual giant?" The entire country tuned in that game, breathlessly waiting to see an actual giant in action. When Getty entered the field, the crowd erupted into deafening cheers. It was almost comical, watching Getty line up against men half his size, who were backing up from the line of scrimmage before the ball had even been snapped. Recordings of the three plays that Getty was in before he was taken out of the game were posted on the front page of every news site and played ad nauseum on sports channels. In his final play, Getty plowed through the offensive line effortlessly and sacked the quarterback with a single hand.
The Eagles' coach called it a mockery of the game, but it was too late. Fans wanted more of Getty. They wanted more giants, bigger clashes, and a bigger game. In the years that followed, the number of born again players steadily increased, and about 2 years after Getty's first game, the Giant Football League was founded. Two years after that, the last NFL team formally converted to GFL. While football was the first sport to collectively be born again, a number of sports followed suit. Giant rugby took Europe by storm and baseball is still in then process of becoming the GLB. Smaller sports like wrestling, bodybuilding, and strongman competitions were quick on the uptake. A couple of athletes from soccer and basketball were born again, but it didn't seem necessary or helpful in a sport where finesse was often more important than strength.
Of course, there was backlash to the process. Some players didn't want to give up the ability to have children, or just give up being a normal human being. While the NFL still exists today, it's a shadow of its former self. Some argued that it was a human rights violation to require players to permanently change their body for their career, but the fans made the message clear: "If you don't want to be a giant, you can get out." These days, some colleges are even starting to have their teams born again.
I suppose that's the gist of it. I could go on about how born again men created a whole new social class of giants and the various societal attitudes that are still developing around said class, but I don't want to bore you with that. Sorry, I'm a sociology major. It's probably best to just get down to how I got myself in my current situation.
**************
It's amazing what the smallest act of kindness can lead to.
I couldn't count the number of times I'd slept through high school health class. It was my mistake to put off taking a freshman class for so long, but at least the teacher and I had an understanding that I was only there as a formality. As a senior sitting in a sea of Freshmen, I assumed the teacher sympathized with me and just let me put my head on my desk as long as I showed up and turned in perfect homework assignments and tests. It was kind of funny how much awe and mystery I inspired in the Freshmen, with my role as the guy who always sleeps but answers correctly whenever he gets called on for a question.
I had secured a desk in the back row of the classroom, which offered benefits and drawbacks. On the one hand, I got to fly under the radar most of the time without it being too obvious that our teacher was letting me sleep through the class everyday. However, the back row was also prime real estate for the slackers and other freshmen who hated school.
Scott Strauss was one such freshman. Scott was one of those bullies that was blatantly starved for attention and desperately sought the approval of his peers. It didn't help that his straw-colored hair and clear blue eyes made him very attractive to all the girls in class and, admittedly, me. Also, the definition and size of his arms and broad shoulders suggested that he worked out, which struck me as a strange thing for a 15 year old to do. In any case, he was hot, and he knew it, and he was still at that age where doing poorly at school was cool. While he looked about 50 pounds heavier than me and 3 inches taller, he's a stunning reminder of the pen being mightier than the sword, even if the pen is trashy and vulgar.
Sometime into the fourth week of the school year, Scott decided to try and knock my notebook off my desk anytime I wasn't looking. The fourth time I merely said, "Just because your dad isn't around to beat you doesn't mean I won't, you spawn of shitty condom brands."
All Scott could respond with was a look of confusion as everyone around snickered at his expense. That day I cemented my reputation as the "cool" and "mysterious" Senior, and Scott set his sights on smaller prey.
Anyway, one class period I was in a particularly bad mood because I had skipped lunch due to a yearbook staff meeting. As I discreetly took bites out of my sandwich, I noticed Scott was tormenting Sean O'Malley again. Sean was prime real estate for people like Scott: he was short, fat, redheaded, wore glasses, and his face was dotted with freckles. Scott didn't need to put in any effort for his insults with that kid. Normally Sean was able to land a seat near the front and avoid Scott entirely, but this day I guess Sean had come in late and was seated right in front of Scott.
I watched between sandwich bites as Scott reached forward and pinched the back of Sean's arm. Sean winced and pleaded meekly, "Scott, stop!"
"I'm just trying to help you, fat fuck! Just trying to pull all that fat off of you," Scott whispered. He reached forward and pinched the back of Sean's neck, prompting a swat from Sean. "What're ya gonna do? Saving it to eat later, fatass?" Scott quietly laughed.
"Scott, please just leave me alone," Sean sighed, scooting forward in his chair and leaning over his desk defensively. Scott reached around Sean and snatched whatever he could from Sean's desk, which happened to be a page ripped out of his notebook. "Scott, what the hell!"
"Relax, ginger. You don't got a soul, remember? I can't hurt your little feelings cuz you don't got any!" Scott snickered.
"Leave him alone, shitstain," I said, mouth half-full with my sandwich. Both Scott and Sean turned to look at me. I finished chewing my bite with no real hurry, then said, "Here's an idea: instead of being a total pisshead here, why don't you just stick to fucking up your own parents' marriage, okay?"
"W-why should I leave him alone?" Scott asked.
"Because just because your parents treat each other like shit and you like worse shit doesn't mean everybody likes being treated like shit."
"Shut the fuck up about my family!" Scott fumed, leaning slightly toward me in his desk.
I admit, I couldn't take him, especially as he loomed over me, but I had learned ways to compensate for my lack of size. "How many abortions do you think your mom had before she couldn't afford the one for you?"
A few giggles behind Scott momentarily distracted him but soon he turned around and scooted his chair closer to me, and threatened, "Say one more thing about my family."
I was poking the bear at this point, but rather than lose my cool, I said, "Don't need to." I took a bite of my sandwich again, and continued, "Your reaction speaks for itself."
More chuckles made Scott aware of the fact that he looked very angry. He sat back, his face flushing bright red. I swallowed and said, "Look man, I'm sorry you got a shit home life. But don't bring that shit around here. It's fucking childish."
Scott looked down at the floor, silent for a couple moments. Then he spoke, with the words sounding half-hearted, "Don't ever fucking talk to me again."
"Then don't fucking talk to him again," I replied, pointing to Sean.
Scott nodded, and turned to look forward in his seat. As I finished up my sandwich, I noticed Sean taking a couple glances back at me. I watched him with an eyebrow raised as he nervously stole peeks before a yawn broke out on my face and I set my head down on my desk.
**********
"I'm sorry, I've got a test!" Wesley laughed, standing up off my lap.
"I can't believe you haven't gotten Senioritis yet," I sighed. "A shameful day for the class of 2009."
Wesley bent down, lacing his fingers behind my neck. "Some of us still haven't gotten into our dream school yet, dummy." I leaned my head forward to lock lips, but Wesley stood upright, slinging his bag over his shoulder and commented, "Plus it's kinda weird to make out in your next class."
"NO ONE shows up early for health class," I smiled.
"You do," he teased.
I sneered at him backing out of the room and he chuckled in response. After he left, I looked at the piece of paper he had left behind. We had brainstormed what Wesley wanted to put as his senior quote in the yearbook. I pinched the page between two fingers. It was mostly covered in Walt Whitman quotes, and I centered my focus on the circled one: "Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes." I tried to imagine my senior portrait above the words, "AGH HOW DID THIS HAPPEN I AM NOT GOOD AT QUOTES." Although I was on the yearbook staff, I couldn't bring myself to take my own appearances in it seriously.
My thought process was interrupted when I noticed someone sit down in the seat in front of me. It was Sean O'Malley, from two days ago, and he smiled as he said cheerily, "Hi!"
I looked around the classroom and saw only the two of us in the room. "...Hey," I answered.
Sean watched me with some kind of anticipation. His eyes were opened wide behind his glasses, round cheeks dotted with freckles. His orange hair looked spiked or gelled or something a mother would do to their child's hair. I sat back in my chair as he rested an arm on my desk, saying, "I never thanked you for Scott the other day."
"Oh, uh, sure."
"It's funny, I have another class with him and everyone keeps calling him 'Accident' or stuff like that."
I nodded nonchalantly and Sean shifted in his seat waiting for my response. When I didn't reply, Sean asked, "Like, how do you do that? Get him to leave you alone like that?"
I sighed, "Scott's just someone who only knows how to deal in violence. He doesn't know mercy but he responds to hostility."
"Whoa," Sean laughed, impressed. "Yeah but where do you come up with all that stuff to say to him?"
"Scott's parents are going through a divorce. It's tough on a kid so I just used that. It's not hard," I shrugged. I didn't mention that I only knew this because I paid undue attention to Scott's life. For some reason, the damaged goods jock thing appealed to me. Like the asshole exterior was hiding the vulnerable and scared interior, just waiting for some consolation, and I could give that consolation. At the time, I saw it as a calling for a Sociology major, but nowadays I'd just call it a naïve savior complex.
"Wow, that's really smart," Sean smiled. "I'm Sean, by the way."
"I know," I said, automatically. Sean's smile faltered, unsure of how to respond. After observing his confusion for a couple seconds, I took pity and reached out a hand, "I'm Nick."
Immediately, the smile returned to his face and he grasped my hand. "Cool," he breathed. His palm was cold and damp as he delicately shook my hand. I smirked. The shy, awkward freshman talking to the cool, aloof senior. "So what's this thing?" Sean asked, turning around the paper on my desk.
My faint smile quickly faded, and I answered coldly, "Senior quotes."
"Oh," Sean said, oblivious to my reaction. After reading the page for a couple seconds, he spun the page back towards me and said nervously, "Those are some good quotes. I'd probably just come up with something stupid like, 'Error: quote not found' or something."
I fought to keep my grin from breaking out. Awkward, friendless freshman or not, he was trying his hardest to talk to me. "Yeah it's kinda silly."
Sean's face flushed redder than it already was, and he laughed, "Yeah I guess it is."
"So if Scott gave you so much shit why are you sitting back here again? You know he's gonna get one of these seats," I asked, trying not to betray too much coldness.
"Yeah I know. I mean, I don't have to sit here. I just wanted to, uh, thank you. Like, no one's really, uh, done that for me before."
"Done what?"
"Like, said something for me. I don't have too many friends," Sean laughed nervously.
"Really? Why not? You're...." My eyes fall on his large black Slipknot shirt, then his glasses, his freckle covered cheeks, the bulge under his lips hiding braces. "... A nice guy."
"Yeah but kids here aren't friends with nice guys. They're friends with guys like Scott."
"Well you can't just be like, 'Please stop' when Scott pulls shit with you. You gotta say 'Fuck off and die' or something," I scolded.
"Oh, uh, I don't like to curse," Sean blushed.
An involuntary laugh escaped my mouth but I stifled it. "That's gonna change real quick here."
Sean nervously fiddled with the paper on my desk in response, mumbling, "I don't know about that."
"Are you kidding me? Kids your age think cursing is the coolest. You got like, two years before everyone realizes that there's no reason to give a shit about words so take advantage while you can."
Sean laughed and was about to respond when the lunch bell rang. "Well aren't you gonna go sit at the front?" I asked.
Sean looked to the front of the classroom, then back to me. "Nah. You're right. I shouldn't be afraid of Scott," Sean said, twiddling his fingers.
Thankfully the sounds of students shuffling into the room muffled my groan as Sean turned around to face forward. I had made a sidekick.
********
Despite my half-hearted efforts, Sean sat in front of me for the rest of the year, snickering at my sarcastic comments, asking me for help on homework, and following me around whenever the class involved going out on the soccer field. I, on the other hand, put my head on my desk to fall asleep whenever he faced forward, made up excuses when he asked if I wanted to hang out, and searched for the nearest friend to walk away with after class let out.
Beyond that, I don't remember much from that last year of high school except for one minor conflict with Scott later in the year. The class was out on the soccer field, split up into teams for games of soccer, and I had landed my favorite position, defense, which meant not having to do very much of anything. I leaned against the goalpost, yanking down gym shorts that kept riding up, while Sean sat in the grass on the sidelines.
"Well, I thought it was a good movie," Sean said, plucking blades of grass.
"It was an OKAY movie. I mean, the guy did his best, but there's too much going on in Watchmen to condense it into two hours," I ranted.
"Yeah but that happens with every book."
"I know, but even then, the love scene is laughable. Hang on." I noticed Scott charging towards this side of the field, ignoring his teammates' pleas to pass the ball. I jogged forward to meet him, and as the ball approached I reached my foot in front of the ball. Scott's foot collided with the ball at the same time as mine, and his momentum carried him over the ball and onto his back.
As I kicked the ball back downfield, Scott got to his feet, shouting, "What the fuck, foul!" I started walking back to the goalpost, and Scott continued, "Hey, that was a fucking foul."
I turned around, leaning back against the goalpost and shrugged, saying, "Sorry."
Scott approached me and seethed, "You and your little fag think you're just so cool. I swear one day I'm gonna wipe that fucking smile off your face."
"Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Strauss?" I asked, coyly. Scott was taken aback and I continued, "Well that's very flattering, but unfortunately I don't swing that way. I'm sure we could have had a great time though."
Scott clenched his fist and raised it quickly, hoping to intimidate me. When I didn't react, he scowled, "Fuck you" and turned around.
As he jogged away, I shouted after him, "Toodles." As I watched his musculature flexing and pulsing in his jog, I imagined a date with Scott, and how poorly he would probably dress. His tough guy demeanor crumbling once he had to make conversation. His insecurities bursting forth for all to see. "Man, sometimes I hate myself for how much I like that boy," I sighed.
Sean looked up from the grass. "What?"
"Not his personality. His personality is shit. But like, the stereotypical jock dude."
"You're... you're gay?" Sean asked.
I turned my head towards Sean. "Yeah," I answered simply.
"And... and you like Scott?" Sean asked bewildered.
"Not as a person, but like, his body type. If I could land a football type guy, big muscles, a couple inches taller than me... Unf. And eighteen or older, obviously," I explained casually.
"Oh, I didn't know you were gay."
I shrugged, "Yep. Don't worry, you're not my type though."
"Oh." Sean looked down at the grass and grabbed more handfuls from it. I guessed it was the first time he had ever met a gay person. He was only a freshman. I suppose it was only fair to not know how to react.
"Watchmen still sucks though," I commented.
Sean turned his head back up and responded, "You're too hard on movies."
**********
Soon after that, senior year ended with a bunch of ceremonies. Wesley became valedictorian and gave a very heartfelt speech about how we learn to become who we are in high school to prepare ourselves for the future. It was a little mushy for my tastes, but Wesley was always like that. I remember listening to the speech with a sense of melancholy. We had agreed to break up when we went away to college, but it was only a few days before graduation when Wesley told me that he would be moving to the west coast three days after we graduated to start a summer semester.
I remember seeing Scott at graduation. His older brother was in my graduating class and I spotted Scott, his brother, and his mother taking pictures. After they were done posing, Scott's brother rubbed Scott's head, saying, "Let's go find Dad, faggot."
At that moment, Scott's eyes found mine and I grimaced out of sympathy for him. Scott looked away, face turning red and walked off with his brother.
Seeing him reminded me of my last health class. Sean had hugged me as I was walking out of class, saying, "Good luck in college, Nick."
I looked around to see who was watching, and met eyes with Scott, who, as he walked out the door, scoffed and rolled his eyes. I awkwardly patted Sean on the back and sighed, "Yeah, thanks."
"Where are you going, by the way?" Sean asked, stepping back.
"Gadling University."
"Oh. I don't know anything about colleges," Sean laughed shyly.
"You don't need to; you're a freshman."
"Yeah. Um, thanks for like, letting me hang out with you," Sean said, twiddling his fingers.
"Sure," I shrugged. Sean watched me with anxious eyes, and suddenly I felt a cold rush through my stomach. To me he had just been some pest, but I was Sean's first friend here. It was probably the last time he would see me. "Sorry if I was, um, a dick to you."
Sean shook his head. "You weren't."
"Well, you're the coolest Freshman I know, so don't let people walk all over you. Be a man."
Sean nodded attentively, his face blank with... wonder, I guess? Either way, I had gotten uncomfortable, so I started backing away. "Anyway, I got my last class so bye," I waved.
Sean snapped out of his reflection and waved back, smiling, "See you later!"
**********
"Four years and I'm spending every single one of them in these shithole dorms," I sigh, falling down on a couch.
"Shut up. If it was so miserable you wouldn't have put up with it for so long," Evan says, sitting on my back. His weight pushes the breath out of me and I try to lift him off of me. However, Evan works out and I don't, so Evan just laughs at my struggle as he eats a cup of yogurt. Eventually I manage to kick Evan's arm, spilling some of his yogurt. "Hey, watch it!" he shouts, standing up.
I flip over and sit up as Evan walks to the kitchen. "Besides, I think you should be a little more excited for our senior year," he says, grabbing a paper towel.
"Well I'd be a little more excited if I was actually graduating this year."
"Oh yeah, why is that again?" Evan asks, wiping the spot off his shorts.
"An English minor. I've told you this."
"Yeah, I know, but I'm still just like, 'Why?'" He grabs the school newspaper from the counter and walks back over to the couch. "Like, I'm pretty sure we've got English covered, bro. No undiscovered words, word reactions. It's a done deal, dude."
"I can't believe someone as 'bro' as you is a chemistry major."
Evan mocks offense. "You hatin' on bros, bro?"
I scoff, and Evan laughs. "Anyway," he starts, throwing the paper in my lap, "you should at least be excited for our football season this year. It's gonna be sick."
"Sports? Pass."
"Aw, come on! This is the first time we're only playing in the Giant College League."
"Yeah, so?"
"I thought that like, big muscles were your thing. And these guys have the biggest muscles."
Evan is actually spot on. When I learned our school's football team was being born again, I was thrilled. I still stare anytime I pass a player on campus. To be fair, so does everyone else, but I do for different reasons. "Muscles are like alcohol. Some is nice, a lot can be lots of fun, but too much and you're puking," I lie.
"Psh. What even ever, dude. You know you want this." Evan strikes a series of mock poses, and I roll my eyes. To his credit, his time at the gym has paid off with great returns. His torso is a very nice V-shape and his arms bulge with definition whenever he flexes them. I remember three years ago when we first walked into the school gym, both the same size and both very unsure of what to do. He got hooked, I didn't. Although, his 6' was only three inches taller than my 5'9", over the years the disparity between our sizes only grew as he bulked up. Back then, his ironic narcissism was just an inside joke, but today it has the added benefit of being actually attractive whenever he shows off his body.
"'Straight' is a turn-off, unfortunately," I laugh.
"Aw, what a shame. Well, you should also be excited because of this badass new guy we've got coming in."
"Really."
"Yeah, dude! The guy's supposed to be a fucking beast, so he got born again over the summer before he even came here. That's the first time anybody that young has done that ever."
I laugh. "It's like they're not even TRYING to pretend these guys aren't only coming here for football."
"Whatever, man. Do you know what those fuckers go through when they get born again? Three weeks and basically all you do is eat. If you're not eating then you're sleeping."
"Sounds like the life," I say sarcastically.
"Dude, that shit's intense. And this one guy's supposed to be fucking hardcore. Apparently he almost single-handedly turned his middle-of-nowhere high school team into a major threat. He got six sacks in one game. Six."
"Is that a lot?"
"You bet your homo ass it is. The dude's so pro that when he got accepted here our coach was like, 'I want this fucker on our team NOW.' He's the first incoming freshman to be born again. Like ever."
"Oh wow," I say dully.
"And it if that isn't enough, normally guys who get born again get to like, one-point-eight to two-point-one times their original height. This bastard got two-and-a-half times. The best response the guys who grow our team have seen."
"You don't say."
Evan sighs, "I don't understand how you're not totally psyched that a goddamn national security threat is coming to our campus." He pokes the paper on my lap. "Here, read about it. Maybe then you'll get how big a deal this is," he explains, getting up to grab his yogurt.
I have no real intention of reading it, but when I pick up the newspaper, the headline immediately catches my eye:
"Jones High Superstar Sean O'Malley Coming to Gadling in a Big Way"