Spring Won't Come

Four: Blake

Blake pushed the moist sweatband further up his forehead and gritted his teeth. Three more reps. Three more reps. He looked up at the barbell and exhaled slowly as he unracked the generously weighted bar. It teetered slightly from side to side until he was able to steady it and bring it down to his chest for the first rep.

"There it is, baby!" cheered Dom Salvini.

Dom was obnoxious but he worked hard in the gym and on the field. He played center on the football team and had been assigned to Blake as his lifting partner. He also happened to be one of the seniors who had recommended the coaches consider having Blake moved up to varsity.

"Two more," roared Dom.

Blake inhaled and brought the bar down, exhaling as he drove it up and away from his chest. He could feel his pectoral muscles strain under the effort but he didn't dare give up. He had to prove to the upperclassmen that he could match their pace, and even without their influence he knew he couldn't stop now, his dad had made resilience come as natural as breathing.

"Let's go, Kingsly," Dom said, stomping his feet. "One more, man. You got this!"

Blake let out a barbaric bellow and brought the barbell in for his last rep before racking it back up. He lay there panting for a moment before Dom slapped him on the chest and he stood up from the bench.

"You are one helluva badass for a freshman," Dom said, clapping Blake on the shoulder. "Bust your ass during practice and coach will notice, trust me."

"Thanks, man," Blake said readjusting his shorts that had ridden up. He hoped that Dom was right. Blake's dad had caught wind of the coaches' interest in having him move up to varsity and he hadn't heard the end of it since. There would be major hell to pay if things didn't work out.

The clang of weight machines rang throughout the gym as the football players worked up a sweat satisfactory to the coaches' expectations. Stale sweat hung thick in the air and was a scent that Blake just couldn't get used to. He picked up his water bottle and took a long swig as he looked around the room at all of the other upperclassmen that he was competing to impress. He had been granted a temporary trial to see if he could handle the rigors of varsity practice and so far he was succeeding. At least he hoped he was.

The shrill blast of coach Sheffield's whistle echoed in the weightroom, instantly bringing all activity to a complete stop. Coach Sheffield was a barrel-chested man and retired Marine that seemed to have forgotten that he was no longer in the service. He drilled his boys to their physical limits and harbored no trace of sympathy or tenderness in his heart.

Sheffield stood in the middle of the room near the mats for deadlights. He wore running shorts and a t-shirt that showed off his bulky build and threatened to burst under the strain of containing such a large man. He let his whistle drop from his mouth and furled his lips into a reproachful smile, his mustache squirming like a fat caterpillar "Did you ladies get in a good workout?"

All the boys responded with a resounding, "Yes, sir!"

Sheffield smiled, his mustache moving up to hug his cheeks. "Glad to hear it. Form up and let's get out to the track for some laps and then some drills. It's cold out so the harder you run the warmer you'll get."

Blake resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the coach's pleasure in torturing his players. Julian Hall had made that mistake once and Sheffield had forced the guy to sun suicide sprints until he puked up his spaghetti from lunch. Blake looked up at the clock as he left the workout room and sighed. There was still an hour left of practice and he was already feeling worn out. He was also bummed out that he hadn't seen Kayla all day and wondered if he had done something to upset her. That was his greatest fear, that he would do something to push her away.