The Music of What Happens(70)

He stands and I curl into myself, afraid.

He puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “We’ll start you real light. I started light too.”

I don’t say anything, because the voices in my head are not nice ones. Not toward me, and not toward Max. I could be asleep now. I could be anywhere but here, proving to my first boyfriend that I am utterly unworthy of boyfriend status because I am the Wimpy Kid from the Diary of.

He pulls the big circle weights off and stacks smaller weights on each side. He tells me they are twenty-five pounds each, and I am entirely uncertain that he understands who and what he is dealing with. Still, I sit down and mimic what he did, well aware that the platform is likely to fall on me when my legs collapse.

Instead, when I push up after twisting the handles, I find I can do it.

“Oh!” I say, like someone pinched my butt.

He laughs. “There ya go,” he says.

Bringing the weights down is easy, and from the scrunched-up position, I figure out that the rubber bands probably make this about twice as hard. And I don’t mind. My legs can lift the weight, and when they start to burn after number eight, I smile a bit, because I am lifting weights. Me.

“Come on,” he says, as I push a ninth time.

I grunt and push.

“Go go go,” he says, staring down at me.

I meet his eyes and I push and it’s a little embarrassing because it’s so … intimate. Me trying hard and staring into his eyes. Also it’s a little sexual.

“Push, push, push,” he chants on number twelve, and I feel the sweat dripping down my face, and I feel the tent forming in my red gym shorts.

When I stand up on my tired legs, I linger close to him because something has changed in me. I feel … different. Like even though it’s light weight, nothing like what he lifted, I did it. I finished the set. It feels awesome.

He loads more weight for my second set, and for my third, he goes with the big forty-fives on each side. I start to say something but he interrupts me.

“You can do this, Jordan,” he says. “I saw how easy the fifty was. The seventy wasn’t that hard either. You can do ninety, I promise.”

I’m not sure, and I avert my eyes, once again afraid I’ll let him down. But I get into the position, twist the handles, and jump into the deep end before I’m ready.

My legs burn right away. It’s intense. A growl comes out of me followed by a whimper, while he tells me to push push push. By the sixth push, I can barely feel my legs anymore, and it feels blissful.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. These are words I’ve never said to myself before, and they make me feel like crying I am so happy. He sees it in my face, because he breaks into a sexy smile.

“Adrenaline,” he mutters, and I don’t give a fuck what it is. I just feel … different. Awake. Powerful. I want more of this, now. I hold his eye contact and keep up my pushing rhythm.

“Come on, come on,” he shouts as I strain with everything I’ve got on nine.

“Ahhh!” I whimper involuntarily, and then I close my eyes and give it everything I’ve got.

It comes with a grunt that sounds like it comes from some other boy. Some boy with a shred of confidence. A kid who finishes what he starts and is capable of stuff. I straighten my legs and find myself nearly hyperventilating. Max grabs the platform like he’s going to put it into place, like I’m done.

I’m not. I take my knees down to my chest, all the way. My skinny legs are shaking something fierce. I squeeze my eyes shut, I feel the sweat dripping like my forehead is crying, and I push like my life depends on it.

My legs straighten. All the way. It’s a little bit beyond what I can do, but I straighten my legs, I twist the handles, and the platform drops with a metallic thump.

I laugh and roll off onto the ground, totally spent.

“All right!” he says, and I know he’s not patronizing me. He bends and leans over me, and when I open my eyes, his dark eyes are smiling into mine. “That was amazing!” he says. “Amazing!”

I feel new. Like maybe how those kids feel when Dr. Phil sends them to Outward Bound and they complete all the crazy tasks. My legs feel like they won’t ever hold me up again, but I lifted ninety pounds. With a rubber band to make it harder. I can’t believe it.

We stare into each other’s eyes for a bit, and I laugh, and he laughs, and I am utterly turned on, and I don’t know if he is, but I am like, wow. Pumped, I guess. He lifts me to my feet, and I say to him, “Bathroom,” and he helps me walk my wobbly legs to the bathroom, his strong arm behind my back and draped over my shoulder. Our bodies are so close and I smell his sweat and I want this moment never to end, ever.

He stops at the door. I am the one who drags him in with me.

“What?” he says, and I don’t answer. I slam the door behind me and pull him toward me and mash my mouth into his and now it’s his turn to whimper.

I’ve never felt so sure about anything in my life before. Like I’m possessed with some boy demon, and I decide, then and there, that if this is working out, I will do it every minute of every day of my life.

I push my chest against his and lick his lips and he groans and he pulls me closer in to him, and our sweat mingles into something funky and beautiful that I want to taste. I pull my mouth from his and lick his chin and his jaw and he squeezes my butt and I knead his shoulders and I need him in a new way.