Gary walks past the campus gym. A mundane event, but with little supporting logic; his apartment would be far easier to reach if he'd simply cross the street outside of the Liberal Arts Building. There are, however, far more vital issues for Gary to confront this particular afternoon than subliminal logic.
The gym (or more concretely, The Jason F. Moore Center for Physical Education) is easily the plainest building on the Grover Point University campus. A dull gray concrete encases the structure; it always seems rain-beaten, even under full sunshine, so harsh is the depressing talent of those walls. But there is lightning in even the most introspective storm clouds, Gary knows, and he can already hear the echoes of those legendary, treasured rows of feet.
He can only pass by the side doors once; he would declare himself a pervert or a stalker if he was to pass by even twice. Once is more than enough for him. Those side portals peer straight into the main gym, all lacquered wood and bleachers, and girls. The Grover Point X-Rays varsity cheerleading squad is practicing away. All strong adult women, juniors and seniors only, 34 of them. They cover every major, every focus, each academic pursuit, each specialty, no gaps. Some are on the dean's list. Some are awaiting notices of academic probation. Some are in the student government. Some are already working off their Thursday afternoon buzz, at hardly early evening.
Gary has never quite mastered the art of peering into those open steel jaws without feeling self-conscious, even preemptively 'caught'. He cannot care though, as he strolls by. There is three seconds (rounded up) of sight, of optical contact. Long rows of girls, dyed and natural hair, and flesh. Pale as cream and tanned like rare leather. Sports bras on half of them. Tank-tops on the others. The tiniest, flimsiest shorts imaginable. Sneakers, old and stylish. Some have no socks at all, some shoelaces are untied. They bounce around as a single unit, their breasts heaving into the air and quivering from side to side. If you look close, very close, considering you only have three seconds, you can spot the jiggle of their thighs, and the rippling of the rears underneath their shorts, and the bright, soft panties whose tops you can pray to see if the shorts are a little too old, and can't grip anymore.
At the focus of all this attraction, the rows of stamping legs and glistening skin is one girl alone. At the front. Twenty-one years of age. Red, shoulder length hair. Five feet, five inches. Maybe five pounds overweight, which makes her firm leg muscles a bit bouncy, and so much more attractive. Today she's got on a lemon-drop yellow sports bra, and extra-skimpy, loose gym shorts; in a frank concession to sophistication, the word "Butt" is printed on the posterior. As she always, always does, she wears no shoes or socks, and no toenail polish. She lives in an apartment building on Cray Street. Door number five. No roommate.
Krista Worthington.
Captain of the squad. Led them to the state cheerleading finals last year, when she was just a junior. The girls adore her. Worship her. So does Gary. So must half the guys on campus, he imagines. They do not, of course, not all of them, but such is the mindset of the outside admirer, the boy plus crush. Krista raises her leg, nude up to her thigh. The outline of her panties become clearly visible through the surface of her shorts, despite the logo.
Three seconds gone. Gary is past the door. They start another cheer. The fun is over, he thinks.
But.
"Gary! Hey!"
There she is. Hustling out the door. Her breasts, squished like ripe peaches under her bra, her belly hanging down very slightly over the lip of her shorts. Drops of sweat glisten at the edges of her red bangs, and fall toward his feet as she approaches him. The heat of her blood can be felt licking his face.
"Oh, Krista. Hey!"
She smirks and pinches his stomach. He tries not to smile too vulgarly.
"Soooooo. You coming over tonight? Watch some tapes?"
"Yeah! You feeling better?"
"Oh shit yeah. Yeah... I'm sorry you couldn't come over sooner but you..."
"I know. Study groups suck."
"Fuck yeah. Fuck. Well, be there at eight! Don't get lost!"
Girls are already peering out the door and giggling. Giggling a bit too much, in fact. Gary sees this as strange, but is too focused on Krista to ponder any fantastic implications.
Of course he won't get lost. He lives across the hall.
She spins around and runs back, the bottoms of her feet moist from the grass, the beautiful, subtle rolls in her pale, freckled skin contracting and expanding like lungs. Gary stares a bit, and turns around and hastily makes his way home. Already five o' clock.
Making his way back across campus, Gary recalls the events leading up to his and Krista's little evening date, in the fetishistic detail available only to those excited to have conjured what they are certain is an unmitigated triumph.
She had knocked on his door exactly one week ago. He opened it, and saw her standing in the portal to his apartment for the first time ever, outside of his frequent midnight imaginings. She was not in the state he often fantasized. Her green eyes were bloodshot and baggy, her nose was running. She wiped the clear liquid onto the sleeves of her "St. David's Key Club Community Bash" t-shirt. She did not seem self-conscious about this, or the fact that her red bra was quite visible under the white fabric. She was wearing sky blue cotton socks, and black wind pants. She tried to smile to him. Her speech was very clumsy, as her nose was stuffed, but Gary remembers her words as eloquently as possible.
"Okay... I don't wanna make you sick," she said.
"No, it's all right."
"I've got the flu."
"Oh, well even better... I've had a flu shot."
She laughed.
"I hate needles. Wish I didn't now. Umm... my car's out of gas. Could you please, please, please buy me some medicine at Matthew's?"
He did not hesitiate.
"Yes! Sure!"
She handed him a paper with her needs listed on it, along with some cash.
"You're a nice guy. I can tell. I'll be in my room. Just knock."
He all but ran to his car to get to the drug store as quick as possible. He tore the medicine off the shelves, and was home in a flash. He walked up to her door and knocked. She opened the door, blowing her nose into a tissue. Her face was red under her freckles.
"Oh wow, you're quick. C'mon."
