“Yeah, I’m Will, and I’m wondering—”
“You’re up in five, so make your way to the left side of the stage, ok? I think your teammate is waiting for you. Blake’s over there, and he’ll cue up your music and let you know when to go on.” She returns her gaze to her clipboard, clearly done with our conversation.
“Actually, I was wondering if there are any other trunks available?” But my request goes unanswered because she’s moved on to another bachelor, and she’s reaming him a new asshole for forgetting his swim goggles.
I shuffle over towards the guy she called Blake and spot my teammates, who can’t stop laughing.
“You ok, Will?” Ollie asks, wearing a shit-eating grin.
“Yeah, you look a little uncomfortable,” Van teases.
“You think?” I ask. “Which one of you decided to switch my shorts out for a kids’ size?”
Ollie puts his hands up in mock surrender as Dean joins us.
“Holy hell, Franconetti. Who’d you piss off?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” I say, looking back at my teammates.
“Honest, man, we had nothing to do with this,” Van tells me, and I believe him. He’s got no reason to lie, and if one of these guys had been behind this prank, I have no doubt they’d cop to it, wanting props for their ingenuity. He walks away and heads in Abbi’s direction. I pray to God he can work his charm and get me into a pair of shorts I won’t have to cut off later.
“Don’t sweat it, Rook,” Ollie assures me, using one of the many nicknames he’s been trying out. “We’ve already been auctioned off,so we’ll be out in the audience cheering you on.”
“Awesome,” I deadpan. “When I pass out, is one of you jackasses gonna catch me if I fall off the stage?”
“You’ll be fine,” Ollie assures me. “Besides, that guy’s got an oxygen tank on. He’ll take care of you.”
I look over in the direction he’s pointing to. Sure enough, there’s a guy walking around decked out in full SCUBA gear. “Yeah, that’ll be helpful,” I mutter, just as Van rejoins our crew.
“Abbi said there was a mix-up with the shorts,” Van says, rejoining our group.
“Yeah, no shit,” Dean says, pointing at me.
“Any chance she found a spare pair of 2XL trunks?” I ask hopefully.
Van shakes his head no. “They’re all taken. My best guess is everybody sized up, and since you’re the biggest freshman in the land, you got screwed, my friend. Look, I’m not on for at least a half hour. I can book it back to the house and grab you—”
“That won’t work,” I tell him. “But thanks anyway. All the freshmen are wearing the same trunks. Abbi wants us all to line up together once we get on stage.”
“Dude, we can swap,” Dean says, popping the tab on his shorts. This guy is way too comfortable getting naked in a crowd. I guess that’s hockey’s fault.
“These aren’t gonna fit you either,” I tell him. He’s a couple inches shorter than me, and not quite as bulky, but he’s still way too big for the shorts I’m wearing.
“Yeah, but, dude, that can’t be healthy. Don’t you want kids someday?” Before he even finishes the sentence, Blake calls us over. It’s showtime.
We line up just as we were told and get ready to file out onto the stage. I do my best to avoid the stares from the other guys. I look ridiculous, so I can’t really blame them for looking, but still. It brings back memories of being completely self-conscious about my body. I shake my head, as if to ward off those negative thoughts. While part of me wants to run out of this auditorium and hide in my room, I’m not giving in. I take a deep breath. I can do this. I’m gonna own this.
I manage to strut onto the stage without falling over or ripping the damn trunks open. Honestly, I’m surprised they haven’t split at the seams. I look out into the crowd, hoping to see a friendly face, but all I see is blinding light. Great. Now my vision is all spotty. Awesome. If I’m not careful, I’ll tip over the edge of the stage because I’m seeing spots. I’ll crash to the floor, and instead of dying a hero’s death, I’ll die of mortification.
And my pants will rip. I guarantee it.
Whit, the same guy who deejayed the party a couple weeks ago, is the MC for this event. I focus on his voice as he introduces each of us. When it’s my turn, I step forward and give a little chin tip. Whit starts auctioning the guys off, and the next few minutes pass quickly. There’s a bidding war over one of the guys on the swim team, and Dean goes for a record high of $500. I’m up next, and it’s a good thing. I think I really am starting to lose circulation in my, uh, lower extremities.
“Alright, Bainbridge, your next bachelor is Will Franconetti, a freshman out of Clarkston, Ohio. He’s majoring in Kinesiology and playing hockey for the Wolves. In his spare time, Will likes to lift weights.” He stops reading mid-introduction and looks at me. “Dude, seriously?” he asks. “That’s what you do in your free time? You pick things up and put them down? Isn’t that part of your job as a hockey player? I don’t think it counts as fun.” The audience chuckles right along with him, and I don’t know what else to do, so I flex. There are catcalls and whistles, and Whit laughs again. “I stand corrected, man. This crowd totally approves of your pastime.”
I laugh along with him and flex once more, for effect, but I’ve gotta admit he has a point. I guess it was kind of cheesy to put that in my bio, but I didn’t know what else to write. And being totally honest wasn’t an option. I wasn’t about to stand on the stage and declare to my university that I play Wizards and Warlocks online for fun.
I close my eyes, then open them slowly to adjust to the light. A couple paddles go up, and I’m instantly relieved. I strike a couple of poses, just like Abbi asked, and cheers erupt from the crowd. They like abs. Noted. I flash my best smile, then strike a couple more poses, showing off what I’ve got. Based on the whoops and hollers, the crowd likes it. I can hear my teammates hollering, and I love that they’re cheering me on. The crowd likes what they see, so I give them more.
