Ted stands back and looks at you, before saying "You should lose some weight, you’d be cooler in the heat."
“What do you mean?” you say defensively. Old tapes of the teasing you took in Chicago start to play in your head. Ted starts to look like all the good-looking, stuck-up guys in Chicago who had made your life hell as a tubby guy in junior high.
“I dunno, it’s what my mum always says. I think she means that fat guys sweat more in the heat. But I sweat a lot when I get hot too, and I’m not fat. I couldn’t be - my parents are diet freaks. Everything in our house is low-fat, low-calorie. They’ve even got my 10 year old sister on a diet. I’d like to bulk up a bit for football, but I can’t do it in our house. I’m 178, but I’d like to be 200. I tried out, and I can run and throw, but coach says I’d get crushed by all the bigger guys. Those linebackers are all over 250! I need more heft.”
“Sounds really bad. Can you stay and give us a hand with unloading? Then we can make dinner, and I promise nothing will be low fat. Dad might take us out to dinner, but I don’t know - money’ll be tight until he gets his first paycheque.”
“Sure, sounds good. I came over with my parents to welcome you - they probably brought your dad some granola bread or something. They won’t mind if I stay to help. But you should change that t-shirt - it’s soaked through, you might not want to do the wet t-shirt thing the first day.”
You dig into a box and find some clean t-shirts, and grab one with your old school logo on it. Ted watches you - which makes you uncomfortable, so you turn away. As you turn he asks you,
“Are you going out for football? You’ve certainly got the heft.”
“I dunno,” you answer. “I didn’t at my old high school in Chicago - you would have fit in there, the football coach wanted all skinny guys.” The t-shirt is really tight, but at least it’s long, and you ease it on over your fat shoulders and heavy gut.
“Boy, that shirt is pretty small,” said Ted. “Do you have a bigger one - it’ll be more comfortable outdoors in the heat.”
“I don’t think so, they’re mostly this size.”
“Well, there are a few shops in this town that stock cool clothes. If you want somebody to go with you, I’d be happy to come.”
“I doubt they’d have much in my size.”
“You’ll be surprised, I think. The linebackers on the team shop there, and they’re not small,” says Ted, flexing his broad shoulders. You are suddenly conscious that this hot guy really has no bodyfat visible under his tight t-shirt. “Anyway, I’d like to stay and help, especially if there’s a meal afterwards. The only thing about living with my parents is that I’m always hungry.”
‘And you look it,’ you think, ‘I’m sure I could count every muscle under that t-shirt.’ Out loud you say, “Sure, let’s go ask Dad what else needs done.”
You and Ted spend the next couple of hours hauling boxes and furniture. Ted does sweat, you notice, just as he said - not that a wet t-shirt is an eyesore on his body, no, exactly the opposite. You finish up and your dad says,
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