Measuring Up

He takes me in, cocking his head a little like he’s confused or shocked by my offer. “Don’t worry about it. I got it.”

Oh, what a shock. A boy who doesn’t like to accept help. Color me surprised.

“Don’t be such a boy, Tegan.” The woman mirrors my thought.

I really want to say something sarcastic, but bite my tongue. Know-it-all or not, he needs help here and it would be wrong not to give it. Plus, the boy and lady shouldn’t have to suffer because he’s inconsiderate. “It’s okay.” I shrug. “You know, since I’m scared to go inside and all.”

His eyes study me again, like he’s trying to figure something out. Then he shakes his head, but I could swear I see the ends of his lips curl up slightly. I guess sarcasm scored me points.

The woman leads me to the back of the van. Tegan steps up beside me, still dissecting me. Not in the good way a guy can dissect a girl, but as though I’m a

puzzle or experiment.

I’ve never seen eyes as dark as his, which is not what I should be noticing.

“It’s one of the motorized ones so he doesn’t have to wheel himself if he’s tired. It’s pretty heavy. When I say three we’ll lift and pull it out. Just set it right on the ground and I can take care of the rest.” Tegan is already leaning into the van to grab it.

I shake out of the little trance his eyes held me in and grab onto the wheelchair.

“One, two, three.”

I lift and holy crap was he right. This chair is heavy. I stumble a little and then we get it on the ground. Luckily there’s a ramp on the sidewalk that Tegan gets up easily before walking over to the boy.

“Do you need help with him, too?” I ask.

Tegan ruffles his hair. “Nah. This twerp is light.” When he turns to me, his voice isn’t playful like it was with “the twerp.” “Thanks, though.” A second later his back is to me. I’m obviously being dismissed.

“Wow, Teag. You really have a way with the ladies. I’m only thirteen and I’m better than you. When we get home, I’ll teach you, Flirting 101.” The boy laughs.

I almost choke on my tongue. Tegan flirting with me? Yeah right. Mom always tells me how beautiful I could be. Not am, of course, because being fat ruins

everything. My bright blue eyes don’t matter, my smile, my long lashes that everyone always comments on. So no, I’m sure he’s blinded by my weight just like

everyone else is.

I turn to walk inside. Not because he pretty much dismissed me, but because I want this.

The fact is, whoever said, “Size fourteen isn’t fat” has never been in high school. At least not my private, Hillcrest school that’s filled with fake boobs and laxatives. Where being perfect is a prerequisite unless you’re rich enough to get in on your own, even if you’re a little on the curvy side like me or have a big birthmark on your face like my best friend, Emily.

Will they believe their eyes when they see me again? Or maybe it won’t even be at school. Maybe Mom will show me off at some function I have no interest in

going to except to see the looks on everyone’s faces. I like that thought, but only because it means I’ll finally be what she wants.

“Can I help you?” the supermodel behind the front desk asks. An old computer sits in front of her.

But that doesn’t matter. Behind her is the part that worries me.

The gym equipment.

All sorts of machines I don’t know the names of even though I’ve tried them all before. Don’t people realize these things are torture devises to make girls like me look bad? When I fumble to use it. When my stomach contracts on the abdominal machine. The mirrors on the freakin’ wall. Who thought of that? Do guys design

every gym?

My eyes find supermodel’s again. She looks at me with a kind smile as I approach. Is it real or is she secretly laughing at me? I can’t tell. “Um, yeah. My name is A

“Oh, cool.” She pulls out a file. “It’s awesome that we can get all the info over the phone now. Your mom was very nice when she called. I just need your

signature on a few papers and a first and last month’s payment and we’re good to go.”

My mom. Yeah right. It wasn’t hard to pretend to be her.

It only takes me a couple minutes to finish everything. When I do, the supermodel says, “Okay, let me just get—oh, here he is. Tegan, you have a new client.”

Tegan? I didn’t even realize he came in. I twist around to see him approaching us. No. This won’t work. “Um, I specifically asked for a girl,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice low so he doesn’t hear me. It was a hard choice when I called because it’s not like I really want a girl to know my body fat percentage either. They’re even worse than guys, but I hoped there might be someone…a little like me?

“Sorry. No female trainers.” Hello bionic hearing. Gym Boy steps up beside me.

“Why didn’t they tell me on the phone?” I hope supermodel doesn’t think I’m checking her out because I’m not letting my gaze veer from her, hoping we can

somehow cut Mr. I-like-to-call-clients-on their’s-fears out of this.

“Because we had one.”

I turn to face him since he’s obviously going to answer all my questions. “And you don’t now? It’s been less than twenty-four hours.”

“Only takes thirty seconds to quit.”

“Do you have an answer for everything?”

“Yep. It’s called the truth.”

This boy is going to drive me crazy! How am I supposed to go through with this if he’s my trainer? “I never lied.”

“Guilty conscious? I only said I told the truth, not that you didn’t.”

“Umm, Teag.” Crap. I almost forgot supermodel was there.

“Listen; is there anyone else I can have?”

“Well, there’s—”

“No,” Gym Boy interrupts. He nods toward some chairs and for some complete freak of a reason, I follow him. Maybe it’s because he’s not looking at me like

Jerk McJerkerson right now. We sit down. This should be interesting. “I could have handled the chair, you know.”

“Umm, good for you? I’ll try and remember not to be a normal, polite human being next time I see you.”

At first my words seem to shock him, but then his smile threatens to appear again. “As long as we’re clear on that.” That quickly, his voice isn’t clipped the way it was when we first started talking.

“Okay, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find a trainer who doesn’t have split personalities…”

“Wait, I know we didn’t get off on the right foot, but like it or not, you need me, A

“…or who isn’t a jerk.” I try to stand, but he touches my leg and I hurry to sit down, hoping he’ll move it before he realizes how jiggly it is. He’s shaking his head, but the way he looks, makes me think it’s not at me.

“Hear me out. Since I’m such a jerk with mental issues, it’s obvious you don’t like me. Working out can be kind of an embarrassing thing. Since you don’t like

me, you won’t care what I think. It’ll be easier to focus on what you’re doing and it’ll help you reach your goals.” He settles into the seat, looking all smug like he just came up with some Ghandi-like quote.

“Yes, but aren’t you supposed to actually trust your trainer as well?” There. Take that.

“Hey!” He sits up straighter. “What did I do to make you feel like you can’t trust me? As I’ve showed you, I’ve got the honesty thing down pat.”

I roll my eyes and make sure he sees me. “Are you even old enough to be a trainer? How do I know you know what you’re doing?”

I can tell by the gleam in his chocolatey eyes that he knows he’s got me. But in a way, he does have a point. There are plenty of pretty boys at my school for me to worry about, why do I need to care what this one thinks of me?

“I’m eighteen. It’s June, my birthday is in August. Graduated this year, but took the course, and got certified last summer. Been doing it ever since. Though I’m really not sure why I’m trying to sell myself to you.”