One-forty-nine, an admin reads off the scale.

One hundred and forty-nine pounds.

That’s… that’s a full twenty-three pounds from where I started. That’s not just one weight class up, it’s three.

I did not prepare for this. I'm not even sure how it happened.

I must have not properly zeroed out my scale at home. I was expecting some fluctuation, I mean, making the minimum weight for the class two below this was still up in the air.

But this?

The guys in this weight class are going to murder me. They might have up to twenty-five more pounds of muscle than I was planning for! That opens up a whole new book of slams and submissions, most of which I’ve never been put through before.

Standing on this scale and staring at that number, buck naked and freezing my cheeks off, is the first moment that I understand what people mean when they describe time slowing down before a car crash.

I can almost count the seconds between my heart beats. I think I’m going to be sick.

A shrill voice cuts through the fog in my brain.

“Gretzky’s gonna dominate!”

It’s Jason, my best friend, making a fool of himself in the audience. He drags the last syllable out so it becomes more of a cheer than a statement. Like he wants to believe it and hopes I will too, but what he’s really thinking is Gretzky’s gonna die.

I shoot the most confident smirk I can muster out in the direction of his voice. A few cameras flash from the local news. Then the towel bearers are handing me back my towel, and I’m shuffling off stage in a daze.

I slump down onto the first open spot I can find on a bench. I try to control my breathing, but I feel like I just can’t get enough air in my lungs.

I’m startled by warm skin brushing against my shoulder. The person on my right is leaning in close. I can feel his breath on the back of my neck.

“You’re heavier than you look.”

I turn to see Michael Greydon, the towering blonde from earlier, beaming at me.

He winks.

My lungs suddenly feel full again, and I let out a light sigh. I really hope he can’t see my face getting flush.

“Heavier than I was expecting,” I reply.

He raises an eyebrow, “Oh yeah?”

I shake my head lightly, I’m still processing this situation.

“I was expecting to pull in at one-thirty-three at best. Just enough to start the year off in a higher weight class.”

He laughs, “You jumped three! What have you been eating, small children?”

My face slumps into my hands. I have no idea how I’m going to make it through this season.

I feel warm skin glide across my back, and realize that he's putting his arm around my shoulders. I can feel my heart doing backflips. I hope he never moves.

How is he still so warm in this freezing room?

“Well, that should be my weight class, actually. I can help you, you know — this is your first year, isn’t it?”

He’s being so friendly and generous. I can hardly understand why.

“Uh, y-yeah,” I stammer out. “I started in the boot camp at Briar College this summer. Just some featherweight scrimmages.”

He’s still hanging on to me. I wonder if he can feel the speed of my pulse, or the fluttering in my chest. I try to distract myself from the feeling of his skin against mine, and the sight of his naked thigh in my periphery — just inches away.

“What about you? How long have you been competing?” I ask.

His thigh moves restlessly. As hard as I try to stare straight ahead, I’m acutely aware of the bottom opening of his towel folding and stretching as he moves. For “modesty towels” it wouldn’t take very much to expose yourself sitting on these benches.

I have to fold my hands in my lap again.

“Three years! But I started out more or less like you. Briar can feel pretty competitive, but at the end of the day we’re happy to welcome newcomers.”

Oh.

He goes to Briar… with me. We’re on the same team. That explains the friendliness.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you went to Briar. I never saw you at boot camp.”

He sighs. His arm still hasn’t left me.

“Yeah, summer work and all that. Bills, bills, bills. But if we'd met over the summer I’d have told you not to worry about jumping weight so much. It’s way more important that we get your strength up first.”

He gives my shoulders a light squeeze.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you there.”

Robin’s heels clack back into the room.

“Greydon? You're actually up now,” She hisses out and exits.

Michael stands, taking his warm, friendly arm with him. I look up as he starts to step away.

“Thanks, uh, Michael. I appreciate the confidence boost.”

He turns his face towards me and flashes a grin.

“Well, that’s what team captains are for.”

He winks and walks out towards the stage.

Huh, I think to myself, so he's my captain...

I lean forward in my seat as he steps towards the scale, watching his impossibly large backside moving with him.

The room has gone from freezing, to stuffily warm — or at least that what it feels like to me as I watch him standing out there on center stage.

I hold in my breath, and wait for his towel to come off.