The Himbo Model’s Release
Copyright© 2025 by Zappedfan
Chapter 2: How It Began
Nine and a half months earlier, at lunch during the first week of the school year (or maybe it was the second), Lokee was sitting with friends, both chatting and staring longingly at a brochure for an elite coding summer camp her family couldn’t afford when the subject of brothers came up.
“Ugh, my brother ate an entire rotisserie chicken with his hands,” Barbara complained, “And then tried to hug me.”
“Mine left a single pubey in the shower,” Sophie added, “One. Like modern art.”
“Lokee, you literally won the brother lottery. Blake is perfect,” Susan said.
Lokee rolled her eyes so hard she saw her own brain. Although she knew why her friends thought that way, Blake Sales glided through the halls of Westview High like a walking thirst trap with a hall pass. Six-three, sun-bleached hair that looked wind-blown even indoors, shoulders that strained the seams of every T-shirt the dress code allowed, and a face so symmetrically perfect it made the art teacher cry during portrait week. When he smiled (rare, shy, lopsided), girls forgot how to breathe. When he bent over the water fountain, the entire female student body developed sudden dehydration. Lokee watched it all with a weary irritation. Finally, she corrected her best friend.
“Blake is perfect, Susan,” Lokee said matter-of-factly, “A perfect HIMBO!”
Sophie asked, “What does that mean?”
Susan answered while still staring at Lokee, “It means he’s handsome but dumb.”
Sophie and Barbara leaned back in shock and disbelief, shaking their heads.
“Blake Sales is NOT dumb!” Barbara insisted.
“He has to keep a 2.5 GPA to qualify for Varsity,” Sophie added.
“Yeah,” Susan said, “Not everyone can be a straight A student, like you, and get invited to elite coding camps.”
“Invited and going are two different things,” Lokee said, “I have to raise the five thousand dollar tuition by the end of May to register, and I have no idea how I can do that. No working papers when you’re fifteen.”
Lokee looked back at her brochure. And then, IT STARTED. Susan was sliding a ten-dollar bill across the table toward Lokee.
“I’ll give you ten dollars right now,” Susan said, “if you tell me what Blake wears to bed.”
“OOOOH!” Barbara and Sophie said in unison.
“You’re joking, right?” Lokee asked, “I don’t know what my brother wears to bed. Do you know what yours wears to bed? Anyway, even if I told you ... what? He’s a senior. You’re a freshman. You think he’ll date you if you know what he wears to bed?”
“Maybe not,” Susan said, “But I’m still DYING to know.”
“Me too,” Sophie said.
“And me,” Barbara added.
Susan looked at them with a grin. “I’m paying ten dollars for this knowledge. I’m not sharing it with you.”
Amazingly, Sophie and Barbara both produced ten-dollar bills. Lokee had just tripled her money. Hmm, she thought, we share gossip about our brothers all the time. I now know Sophie’s brother leaves one pubey in the shower. That’s way more personal than what he wears to bed.
“Fine,” Lokee said, scooping up the thirty dollars, “I’ll find out. Not because you bribed me. But because it’s a challenge and because if I don’t, you’ll keep hounding me.”
After the bell, Lokee headed for the cafeteria doors, but a junior named Janice (yes, that one) cornered her by the vending machines.
“Hi, Lokee,” Janice said, “The Spirit Club is handing out free baked goods in the lobby tomorrow morning. I’m baking muffins.” Claire whispered, “Apple or blueberry for Blake?”
“You know, Claire,” Lokee said, “There are other boys in this school besides Blake.”
“I know,” Claire said, “There are two types of boys here: Blake Sales and everyone else.”
Just like Susan, Lokee thought. Oh, just like Susan, Sophie, and Barbara.
“Ten dollars,” Lokee said flatly.
“Excuse me?” Claire asked.
“I know what kind of muffin Blake likes,” Lokee said truthfully, “And I’ll tell you for ten dollars.”
Claire was taken aback.
“I’m not PAYING you to tell me what kind of muffin he likes,” Claire retorted.
“Okay. But I’ve got to warn you, he really, REALLY hates the other kind.” Lokee lied as she made it look like she was going to walk.
“Wait. WAIT!” Claire said with a tinge of fear in her voice, “Here’s your ten dollars.”
Lokee took the money. “Apple.”
Claire closed her eyes in bliss. “Like the Garden of Eden. God, I’d pay a hundred dollars to see a picture of him there.” Claire floated away.
At the end of the day, Brian and Lindsay caught up with Lokee going out the door.
“Lokee, girlfriend, we need your help,” Brian said.
“The AV club is putting a montage of the seniors’ summer vacation to show at graduation,” Lyndsey said, “So if you could text a picture of Blake from last summer...”
“You mean in a swimsuit?” Lokee interrupted, “Nice try, boys, but there’s a whole graduation committee and I’m on it. The montage is School Year, only.”
“Busted,” Brian sighed.
“Guys,” Lokee said kindly, “We’ve been friends since kindergarten, and I’ve always had your backs. So, if either of you had any chance with Blake, I’d help all I could. But Blake isn’t gay. He’s not Bi. He’s not questioning. He’s not ... Inclining if that’s what the I stands for.”
“It’s not,” Lyndsey said.
“Blake only likes girls,” Lokee continued, “And he’s even shy around them. Lord knows why.”
“We know,” Brian said, “But we still like looking at him.”
Hmm, Lokee thought, I wonder if Blake’s fangays are the same as Blake’s fangirls.
“Well,” Lokee said scrolling through her phone’s photo library, “Why didn’t you just say so?” Lokee stopped on a picture of Blake on the beach wearing the loose swim trunks (yes, those). He was soaking wet, and the swimsuit was clinging to him. She turned the phone toward Brian and Lyndsey. They leaned forward, eyes and mouths wide. Lokee quickly turned the phone back toward herself.
“Lokelani Sales,” Brian said sternly, “You text that picture to both of us right now!”
“I could do that,” Lokee said, “For ten dollars from each of you.”
“Whaaat?” they said in unison.
“Lokee,” Lyndsey asked, “You’re going to sell swimsuit pictures of your own BROTHER? That’s disgusting.”
“You’re right,” Lokee nodded, “It is disgusting.” She raised a finger toward the phone screen. “I think I’ll delete this picture right now.”
“NOOOO!” they pleaded in unison. Then they produced ten bucks each, and Lokee texted them the picture. It was a public beach, she rationalized. If Brian and Lyndsay were there that day, they could have taken a picture of Blake, themselves, and probably would have.