Chapter 2: Supergirl

Nothing much happened on Tuesday. I think we talked about our families. Lunch was tacos, so that was cool. I never saw any chicks, because boys and girls were separated on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but every once in a while I would think about Becky Finklestein in her Superman outfit, laughing at me. She probably just had gym muscles though, like those bodybuilders who get all jacked curling 15 pound barbells. It was probably just gym muscles, and a cheap old horseshoe and a cheap phone, because the New Beginnings center is kind of cheap. Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about her sneering at me and blowing a bubble while she hulked out. I needed to work out to clear my mind, so I waited until lights out and snuck out quick and snuck along the rear fence until I got the fitness center, which has lights on 24 hours a day for safety or whatever.

I opened the door slowly so it didn’t squeak, and let it close behind me. I walked toward the weights and machines. I guess they were cleaning or messing around, because there was just a ton of weight up on the bars, like four-fifty on the bench press. I could totally bench four-fifty if I had to, but I normally warm up with something more like two hundred, so I started to unscrew the caps. Then I heard someone clear their throat behind me. “Don’t mess with my iron, you shhhkinny little punk.”

It was Becky Finklestein, in a dark blue sweatsuit this time. She had her hair in a tight ponytail and her freckled face was dotted with sweat, and she wasn’t wearing any glasses. She pointed her giant rack up at me, and got close enough to me that I had to look straight down at her. She didn’t look as angry as the last time I saw her, but she still didn’t look happy. “You need to get the fuck out of here,” she said. “I just finished warming up and I need all the weights in here to get my pump on. You can go do aerobics or whatever it is that shhhkinny little bitches like you do.”

I don’t like being disrespected, but I knew I had to keep my cool. Just play it off. Besides, now that I thought about it, I didn’t need to work out anyway. I really only needed to come to the fitness center for one of the bottles of sports drink that they keep in the fridge. “I actually just came to grab a sports drink,” I said.

Becky walked away, toward the squat rack. “Good for you,” she said, “because this is my gym. This is all mine until I’m done pumping iron. And I’m never done pumping iron.”

I grabbed a bottle of green sports drink from the fridge, and headed back toward the door. “They’re just gym muscles anyway,” I muttered. “You ain’t putting up four-fifty.”

In a heartbeat, she was standing between me and the door, all four foot six of her. And she looked pissed. “What the fuck did you say?” she demanded.

“Those are just gym muscles you got, right?” I said. “Ain’t no fourteen year old girl benching four-fifty.”

Becky was talking through clenched teeth, and her nostrils were flaring. “Gym muscles? Gym muscles!? I am trying shhho hard not to beat the shit out of you, and you don’t even care!” she yelled in her chirpy little voice. Her breath was getting deeper and louder, making those ridiculous tits float up and down underneath her sweatshirt like they were piston-driven.

She closed her eyes for like a second and spoke quietly to herself. “I won’t kill him. I can’t kill him now. It’s not time to go to prison yet.” She made a little mantra out of the sentence and repeated it two more times, her breath calming as she did. “It’s not time to go to prison yet. It’s not time to go to prison yet.”

“Hey I gotta get going” I said, because I was tired and didn’t really want to work out anymore.

“No,” Becky said, holding up her finger and speaking slowly, and I could tell she was fighting to stay calm. “No, what was that you said after you said I had ... gym ... muscles.”

I was really tired, but I wasn’t about to back down from a junior high school girl, so I straight up told her. “No fourteen year old girl can bench four-fifty.”

Becky took a deep breath. “Okay. Fine,” she said, and pulled her sweatshirt off.

She took two steps closer, stepping out of her sweatpants and shoes in one fluid motion, and stood before me in a blue sports bra and blue spandex workout trunks. Then she stepped backward, into the brightest patch of light in the gym so I could see her body. “Shit,” I heard myself say.

Becky giggled a little high-pitched schoolgirl giggle, and that giggle was the only thing about her that seemed to fit a fourteen year old girl. She looked ... impossible. She had the biggest tits I had ever seen in my life, as big as volleyballs, flecked with freckles and crammed into a blue sports bra with some kind of red and yellow circle on the front of it. And as gross as her oversized breasts were, they were nothing compared to her oversized muscles. They were ridiculously huge and ridiculously cut. They were as big I thought they were when she flexed out of her sleeve in the barn, and as big as I told myself they weren’t last night when I tried to get to sleep. And each one bulged out with perfect definition. Even when as stood there, not moving, her muscles twitched and rippled as if they were fighting for position on a body that wasn’t big enough to hold them. “Shit,” I heard myself say again.

Becky giggled again, and then locked eyes with me. Slowly, she cocked her left leg out, making her calf bulge out like a football-sized diamond, and put her hand on her hips. “Maybe no fourteen year old girl can bench press four hundred and fifty pounds, but this fourteen year old young woman normally warms up with four hundred and fifty pounds.”

Then she clapped her tiny, girly hands together, and slowly straightened her arms. Her shoulders and triceps swelled and throbbed as she spoke. “I started developing faster than the other girls,” she said, her pectorals rising up off her chest and rippling like boulders piling up in an avalanche, deforming her sports bra and forcing her huge jugs to strain against the blue top. Whatever that red and yellow thing in the middle of her sports bra was, it was stretching out even further. “My doctor told me that I was too young to have breast reduction surgery, and suggested that I start lifting weightshhh to build muscle and burn fat. So I did.”