Karissa

Physical Education

We'd taken our first semester finals soon after Paulie and Karissa split, and while weren't dating yet, just out of respect, she said we soon would be.

"I don't approve, " Jesse told her, right in front of me (when did he get those guts?), "but I have to give my blessing because I know McCutcheon treats his girls right."

"Thanks, Beaumont," I muttered, not letting him see how much it made me glow. I was trying so hard to break into Karissa's group of friends. It felt wrong, since I'd been horrible toward them all these years, but now that I had Jesus - no, Jesus had me - it felt right. Our old grudges just needed to crawl off and die somewhere. However, that was more difficult than it sounded. After all, our rivalry was only a few years younger than we were. Could something that started so young be erased? Old habits die hard, and hating Jesse Beaumont, torturing the girls, and fighting with Dominic was a pretty old one.

"Karissa, Jesse thinks we have the same gym class," Dominic hollered to her across the hallway, accidently closing down everyone else's conversations. (When Dominic Sanchez opened his mouth to say anything, everyone listened. If it was the fact that his gorgeous sister was a famous Broadway star, or just that he was 6'7 and pretty intimidating at times, I was never sure.) She cut her eyes to the floor and giggled.

"McCutcheon and I have the same gym class."  Dominic was unruffled, but that statement would terrify Jesse. When I'd still been popular, my friends and I often used gym class as a time to torment him. Coach had always looked down on me because of that, and one time, rattled me to tears angrily lecturing me about it in his office. I think I was in about eighth grade then. I'd cried the entire way up to Northwestern (we were going to watch Artie play) and my dad reprimanded me for being a sissy as Artie scored the winning touchdown. ....Coach! The gym teacher that even the unathletic guys could say they liked had a fatal heart attack in November. We were puzzled and heartbroken by his death. Coach had been young (enough) and fit . There would be no suitable replacement. We'd move on, but he'd never be forgotten. All my old friends already had gym, and I hadn't asked them how the new guy was. We didn't talk about things that mattered: just girls, sex, football, and more sex. It was male-bonding time, but it meant nothing. At least Jesse and Dominic could have a regular conversation.

"Nobody can be as good as Coach," Jesse was arguing, his voice muffled by the shirt he was pulling over his head. The majority of his ribs were still clear, but he was gaining weight, getting better. I mean, he'd looked worse, not like I cared.

"You're right," Dominic agreed, tossing his own shirt into his locker (the contrast between his shirtless body  and Jesse's was laughable, like it had always been, but I held my tongue this time) "We still have to treat the new guy with some respect, though." Reading his best friend's next thought, he added, "and you don't know if he'll hate you."

Jesse shrugged noncommittally. I didn't see him again until we were all sitting in the bleachers, waiting for class to start. He made his way down the stairs to talk to our new gym teacher (a caramel-colored, more buff version of Andrew Garfield - a description I got only because the girls were fawning over him. Karissa kept poking me in the side and giggling madly.)

The man looked him over.

"Wrong class?"

Jesse rolled his eyes and huffed at the ceiling. As a junior, he was sick of it...and 5'5 wasn't really that short, he always claimed.

"No." He passed a note to our new gym teacher; we heard it crinkle and watched the man's eyebrows raise casually.

"Anoretic, huh?" He was the only person besides Jesse and Rosemary who used the technical term for someone formally diagnosed.