[No Name Yet] 1.1 Stronger than You Look

[Sieming]

Great start. I like the slow build. Can't wait to see what comes next

Thanks. I'm glad to see there are some slow build fans around. I always intended for this to simmer a while before really heating up, but it's actually turning out to take a little longer than I thought to get all of the pieces into place. Most of the additional prose has come from (a) reworking a lot of really bad writing from when I first started this, and (b) giving Mel some back story. Originally, she just sort of appeared as a force of nature. This worked fine at the time, but she evolved into a main character, and needed some character development.

[Sieming]

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[Sieming]

I really like it so far. Maybe it's just me, but I would like to know their height. Like, not only saying she is 10 inches taller than him, but the exact height. Same with age. Great job though

Thanks! I am finding that comments like this are really great for keeping me motivated. I have been intentionally a little ambiguous about ages here. I'm doing that because I have often found in my own reading when an author gives an explicit age that I end up thinking things like, "Oh, that seems too young to be realistic." Or "That was older than I expected." I was actually planning on asking after a few more chapters how old people thought the characters are.

I do have some ages in mind for the characters. Portions of this story are a little autobiographical, so I know when things like this happened to me, but I didn't want to tie anyone else to those ages. So that's the reasoning behind not stating ages outright, but I think there are clues in a lot of places, and what you'd guess is probably about right.

It was not my intention to make height as ambiguous. Maybe it should be (you guys can let me know), but Rob is quite short for his age, Jenny is pretty normal for hers, and Mel is a little on the tall side. Most of these heights change during the course of the story, so I found it more convenient to map out the heights of various characters so I wouldn't get any continuity errors along those line. The bottom part of this spreadsheet contains (I guess) mild spoilers.


I tried to add the image directly to this comment, and that didn't work, so You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login. Can anyone tell me how the {Img} tags work here?

[Sieming]

=== 1.5 Happy Thanksgiving ===


Mel dipped into her squat, thighs burning, bar balanced across her shoulders. Breath hissed out between clenched teeth as she rose again, back straight, trying to hit depth on the last rep. As she started to rise, the door to her room opened.

"Joanie! Welcome home. Let me..."

Mel powered up the final rep, and set the bar onto the rack with a loud metal clink, wiping sweat from her forehead with the back of her wrist.

Joanie stood in the doorway, suitcase in hand, staring, first at the room, and then up and down at Mel as her sister rushed toward her. Mel engulfed her older sister in a huge hug. It had been a long time since she'd hugged anyone like that.

"Sorry, I'm all sweaty," Melissa said, pulling back. "How was college? Tell me everything." Only when she stepped back did she notice that she was looking down into her big sister's eyes. She was taller now. Joanie hadn't said anything. She stood there like she'd walked into somebody else's house.

Joanie's gaze flicked down, then away, unreadable.

Mel pointed at the suitcase. "Oh—yeah. We, um... switched rooms."

She meant it lightly, like a funny reveal, but Joanie's knuckles stayed white on the handle.

"Come on, let me show you."

Mel bounced round the room, leading the way as if giving a tour. She pointed out the medals lined up over her desk. "Track. Districts last spring. Got first in the Two hundred." She tapped the Halloween photos thumbtacked along the corkboard—half goofy, half serious. "That's Jenny as Gilligan, and me as Ginger."

Joanie glanced at the photos, her mouth flat.

"And this—" Mel gave the squat rack a proud slap, the bar rattling in its hooks. "Is my birthday present. Oh, and I kept your bed. It's bigger, and sometimes Jenny stays over."

Joanie set the suitcase down with more force than necessary, the sound sharp against the floor.

Mel grabbed the handle before Joanie could lift it again. "Here, I got it." It was lighter than she'd expected from the way Joanie had been holding it.

"I didn't even need to do squats the day we moved your books down to my old room," Mel said, laughing as she carried the bag toward the hall.

Joanie looked around the room before following Mel out the door..

They headed down the hallway together. "We could always put you in Maddie's old room," Mel offered, half-joking. "Since she's never here anymore."

Joanie stopped. "Might be something to ask Madison about first."

Mel's smile faltered. "Yeah, of course." Only then did it hit her—she hadn't asked Joanie either. "I wasn't thinking. I figured you wouldn't have a use for your old room, now that you're a college girl. I should have asked."

Joanie didn't answer until they were in her new room. "It's fine. Just... weird seeing you in my room." Her gaze flicked up, "Your new height." Flicked down, "And all." Then she looked up again. You've... grown up."

Mel looked down as well, "Yeah, I decided to wear my old track sports bras when I work out, until things settle down up here. I forgot what they look like in this thing now."

The new room smelled faintly of dust and furniture polish. Joanie ran her hand over the bookshelves, admiring her old friends."I guess rooms aren't the only things that change when you go away."  Mel had done her best to set it up: books lined the shelves, though not in any order Joanie would recognize. She put Joanie's suitcase on the bed next to the other one.

Joanie glanced over at it. "Why didn't you move this?"

Mel shrugged. "There's nothing in there that fits me anymore."

The words hung in the air. Joanie's eyes lingered, then dropped away. Mel was getting used to that. She cleared her throat, trying to fill the silence with an overture. "Could you take me shopping sometime? For, you know... stuff that actually fits."

Joanie's shoulders lifted in the faintest shrug. "We'll see."

Mel grinned, "Thanks Joanie." And gave her another hug before leaving Joanie alone with her thoughts.



On thanksgiving day, Mel nearly pulled Maddie into her room. It was so nice to have her back in the house, even if it was just on holidays. "Come on, you gotta see it."

The squat rack filled the far side of the room like a throne. Maddie ducked under the bar, running her hand along the knurling, then set her feet. She dipped low and rose smooth, the motion so natural it looked like breathing. She went down again, deeper this time, then up in a single powerful drive. Up for Maddie was a long way.

Mel's jaw dropped. "Maddie—you didn't even warm up."

Maddie racked the bar, grinning. For the first time in forever she looked like her old self again, the six-two volleyball player who owned the net.

"Yeah, I'll feel that tomorrow if I keep it up," Maddie said. She gestured to the bar. "Alright, your turn. Let's see what you've got."

Mel hesitated, scratching the back of her neck. "Um... you were doing reps at my max. I'm gonna have to lower that a bit."

Maddie barked out a laugh, bright and sudden. "Fair enough. Start somewhere reasonable."

Mel slid the weights down, metal clinking against metal. She ducked under the bar, settling it across her shoulders. Maddie stepped in close, tapping her foot to widen Mel's stance, nudging her knees with the side of her hand.

"Chest up. Drive through your heels. Think like you're blocking."

Mel sank down, then pushed back up with a shaky breath.

"Good," Maddie said, nodding, her smile still there.

They reset the bar. Maddie leaned against the frame, watching. "So. Why squats?"

"Track," Mel said quickly. Then, under her sister's raised eyebrow, she added, "And, you know... balance. With all this"—she waved vaguely at her chest—"I figured I should see if I could get a butt like yours."

That earned another grin. "Smart kid. You know about hip thrusts?"

Mel shook her head.

Maddie grabbed a barbell plate and set it across her hips as she sat on the floor, shoulders propped against the bed. "Like this." She lowered her hips, then drove them up, glutes tight, holding the top for a beat before lowering again. "Best thing for a nice butt. Didn't hurt for volleyball."

Mel slid in beside her, mimicking the setup. Maddie adjusted the plate on Mel's hips, pressed her knee out with one hand. "Drive through your heels. Don't arch. Squeeze at the top."

Mel followed, awkward at first, then steadier. After a while her breath came ragged, but Maddie nodded with every rep. "That's it. Worth the effort."

Maddie tilted her head. "So, what did Joanie say when she saw your new rack?"

Mel looked toward the squat rack, ready to answer. Then she noticed where Maddie's gaze had landed.

"Oh." Her face flushed. She pressed the bar plate up again, breath hitching. "She didn't... really say anything. Mostly looked. You know Joanie. Words are optional." Another thrust, pushing through the burn. "She said it was a lot to take all at once. Switched rooms, taller little sister, and these."

Maddie leaned back against the bench, a wry half-smile tugging her mouth. "I didn't take it well, when she passed me. We were about your age. I went from tallest, biggest, hottest... to tallest."

Mel held the plate at the top, squeezing. She didn't know what to say, so she offered the safest thought. "She's going to help me buy new bras."

Maddie eyes stayed distant. "I'm glad. But it's hard, Mel. Having the ground shift under you like that. Even when you love your sister."

Mel lowered the plate, breath rough. "So what did you do? When it happened to you?"

Maddie let out a humorless laugh. "I did not handle it well. I wasn't a good sister when she needed me the most. I owe the Sexy Librarian a long overdue apology. I hope she does better with you."

Mel smiled faintly, resetting for another rep. "I'm glad you came back."

Maddie tapped her shin with her foot. "I should have done it sooner. I couldn't."

For a moment, it felt like the old days: Maddie coaching, Mel sweating, both of them laughing between sets.

Then the door creaked.

"Melissa. Madison." Joanie leaned on the frame, arms crossed. "Dad got called in to the hospital. Mom says we'll start dinner without him."

Madison froze. The grin slipped away as if it had never been there. She pushed herself up, brushing off her hands. "Guess that's that," she murmured, staring past the floor.

Mel sat there with the weight across her lap, chest heaving. She wanted to ask for one more rep, one more tip, anything to keep Maddie present—but she understood. Anything about the hospital was like a shadow across her sister's face.

She forced a smile anyway and stood, following them toward the stairs. The bright moment was gone. Happy Thanksgiving.



It was Saturday before Mom had finally told Joanie to take her. They ended up in the lingerie section, surrounded by racks of beige and black, pink and white. It smelled faintly of perfume from the counter downstairs.

Melissa clutched three hangers against her chest. "Can you come in? It'll be easier."

Joanie looked at her and thought for a moment. "If that's what you want, Melissa."

For Mel it was like the locker rooms at school. Joanie watched as the old bra came off, and the new one went on. The first bra was snug, straps digging into her shoulders. "Does this look too tight?"

"It fits. That's what they're supposed to do."

Melissa frowned at the mirror. "Feels like a vise. How do you even breathe in these things? Yours always felt more, I don't know? Lived in?"

"Want me to break that one in for you?" If it was a joke, she wasn't smiling.

Joanie handed her the next one, and put the vise-grips back on their hanger. Mel was still wrestling with getting the twins in the right place. Joanie moved around behind her. "When they're new you have to, well, let me show you." She pulled them up and in, holding them for a moment before letting them settle into place. "I'll make my first million selling Lived-in-Lingerie." 

Mel watched in the mirror as Joanie snuck in the same up and in movement with her own breasts—including the hold.

Mel tried another, dropping them into place without as much effort. The cups were fuller, lifting her in a way that made her surprised at her own reflection. "What about this one? Makes me look huge."

Joanie gave an appraising look. "That's not the bra's fault. When did all this happen anyway?"

"It kinda happened fast. You left, then—boom. By Christmas I'd caught Maddie. By spring I was... Mom-ish." Mel leaned against the mirror. "Do they stop growing at some point? Because... I always wanted to be as big as my Sexy Librarian sister. Now I think I might be—" She cut herself off.

"Oh you are," Joanie said, voice quieter. "And no. They stop when they stop. I never wanted to overtake the Ridiculously Hot Volleyball Player." Joanie shrugged.

Mel turned sideways, studying her profile. "How do you keep guys from staring all the time?"

"You don't," Joanie muttered. "You pretend you don't notice." Then quieter, "You try to blend in."

Mel laughed nervously, adjusting the strap. She wasn't sure she wanted to blend in. "Okay, so... this one? Or one of the other ones? Try on some more?"

Joanie pointed without looking up as she left the changing room. "That one. It actually fits. Get it in a couple of boring colors too. You'll need them."

Mel changed back into Joanie's old bra. She was fumbling with her shirt when she heard voices outside the curtain.

"...Joanie? Hey, I didn't know you were back." A guy's voice.

"For break," Joanie said, tone clipped.

Mel peeked through the crack as she buttoned her shirt. Joanie was talking to some guy. He handed her a folded piece of paper. He said something Mel couldn't catch, then walked off.

Joanie crumpled the paper in one hand and dropped it straight into the trash can by the wall.

Mel stepped out a moment later, pretending not to have seen.

They walked out with a not as small as you'd think shopping bag between them. Mel swung it by the handles, buoyant. She had her first new bras, she had her sister's advice, and she felt older.

Joanie said nothing; she kept her hands in her pockets.


== 1.5 Author's note ==

Okay, so we get our first chapter from Mel's point of view. Of the five chapters so far, this is the fourth that has been completely new. I'm hoping to go a little faster once we get to chapters that are just poorly written. So far, two 2,000 word chapters a week has been pretty sustainable. When I started posting them I had 4 chapters "finished", and I have four chapters "finished" now as well. Finished is in quotes because from finished to posting is still about an hour of final reread, editing, and formatting.

This time my advanced reader (ChatGPT) pointed out that I used the word "just" about a dozen times in this chapter. Everything was "just" this and "just" that. I haven't worked up the nerve to see if that has been the case from the start.

Anyway, I feel pretty good about posting two chapters per week. I'm shooting for Monday and Thursday, but you get this one a day early because tomorrow looks busy.


I really do like reading your comments, questions, and speculation. Keep them coming.

[Sieming]

=== 1.6 Chasing Tara ===

The pool deck smelled like chlorine and wet cement, and the muffled roar of voices bounced off the high rafters of the old natatorium. Jenny tugged her swim cap into place, water droplets clinging to her arms and shoulders like tiny beads, her pulse thudding in her ears like a frantic drum. The air was thick with humidity and the sharp but comforting scent of chemicals.

Up in the stands, she spotted her mom right away—bundled in that ancient fleece jacket she always wore to meets, the one with the frayed cuffs and faded school logo. Dad was next to her, leaning on the rail like a fence post, then Rob and his best friend Steve. When he saw Jenny glance up, Rob turned his attention back to her, grinned and gave her a double fist pump, his expression bright with enthusiasm. She smiled despite herself, a genuine warmth spreading through her chest as she felt their silent support.

Beside her, Melissa handed over her goggles with a sigh. The rubber straps were slightly stretched from frequent use. "If these fog up again, you're just going to have to get a new pair."

Jenny smirked, adjusting the goggles to fit snugly against her face.

Mel tugged at the shoulder strap of her shirt, which bore the team logo in faded blue letters. "Back when I was swimming, I never had to worry about anyone else." She gave a short, nostalgic laugh. "I can't believe how much slower these personal flotation devices make me."

Jenny gave her a sideways look, noticing the not so subtle changes in Mel's figure that made swimming more challenging. "You miss it?"

"Every meet," Mel said, but her voice was warm and understanding. "But managing's not bad. No early laps, no freezing pool water. And I get to yell at people, which is almost as satisfying as winning." She winked, lightening the mood.

Jenny barked a laugh, grateful for the distraction. She liked meets, but there was always that jittery, electric feeling before a race, like static electricity building under her skin. The anticipation was almost as exhausting as the swimming itself. The opening rounds weren't like that. Finals always were.

"Finals, 100 free — get ready," called Coach Anders, his voice cutting through the ambient noise like a knife.

Jenny dropped into the water, the cold clenching around her with an immediate intensity that made her gasp, even though she knew it was coming. She practiced a hard kick off the wall, slicing clean, arms moving easily through the water with precision. Lately, it felt... sharper. She noticed how strong her kicks felt, how her strokes didn't burn the way they used to near the end of a set. Her body felt capable, responding to her will with increasing efficiency. The months of chores and riding had built muscles she was beginning to appreciate.

When she pulled herself up onto the deck again, shaking off water in silvery droplets that caught the fluorescent lights, she saw her neighbor in lane three.

Tara.

Tara had about eight inches on her, and towered over her. Over all of them. Two years older, she looked a decade more mature. The dark green Oakview team jacket announced her as the competition. The announcement was unnecessary.

Jenny's stomach gave a slow, tight flip. It wasn't nerves—not exactly. It was a complex mixture of awe, intimidation, and fascination. Tara peeled off her jacket and set it aside with the deliberate confidence of someone who knows they're being watched, revealing shoulders broader than Jenny's. Broader than any other girls on deck. Some of the guys too. The kind of upper back that looked carved from stone. When she stretched, arms extended above her head, Jenny couldn't help following the impossible definition of muscle there—thick bands that shifted under skin like steel cables. An elite athlete. Solid, powerful, the kind of strength that shouted countless hours in the pool, and probably in a weight room as well. If she wasn't so unmistakably feminine, she would have looked at home racing with the guys.

The entire deck seemed to lean unconsciously toward her. She wasn't racing to win: she was breaking records. Everyone else was competing for second place. Jenny pictured herself in Tara's place. Is that what she wanted? That path suddenly seemed both thrilling and terrifying. She glanced into the stands. Rob was staring intently in her direction.

Melissa sidled up beside her, clipboard tucked under one arm, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "She's a beast. Swam against her in my final race — she broke the record. Her kick is like a motor, and her turns are absolutely flawless." There was a note of professional admiration in Mel's voice despite their rivalry.

Jenny swallowed, one corner of her mouth twitching upward in determination. "Good. I like a chase."

Melissa rolled her eyes, but she was smiling now. "You're nuts. Completely, certifiably nuts. But that's why I like you."

"Heat three to the blocks!"

Jenny bounced on her toes, shaking out her arms, the familiar tension coiling in her muscles. She could feel Rob's eyes on her from the stands, steady and focused, and somewhere behind that, Mom's encouraging voice cut through the clatter of swimmers and spectators alike. "You've got this, Jenny!" she called, the words somehow clear amid the noise. Jenny took her position, crouching low on the block, fingertips curled around the edge, the rough texture grounding her.

Whistle.
Set.
BEEP.

She exploded off the block, hitting the water clean, slicing through the surface like a knife. The cold shock quickly replaced by the burning rhythm of her strokes. Tara surged ahead early, but not by a lot; her form perfect. Jenny caught glimpses as she breathed to the side — the powerful form of Tara's kick, churning the water into white foam, the clean pull of those muscular arms, each movement efficient and strong. Stroke for stroke, Jenny stayed on her, feeling her own body work with a fluid power it hadn't possessed a month ago. The hours of chores, the riding, the extra laps—they were all paying off. Her suit tugged tight across her shoulders with each forward reach, the fabric straining against muscles firmer than before.

Flip. Push off. Not her best, she knew instantly. Her feet hit the wall a split second off-angle, costing her precious momentum as she surged forward into the final leg. Keep going.

Last length.

Jenny kept her head down, counting strokes rather than checking Tara's position. Her legs burned with a familiar fire, each kick demanding more and more from muscles already pushed to their limit. Water rushed past her ears, a muffled roar punctuated only by her own ragged breathing and the beat of her heart against her ribs. She lunged forward with everything she had left, fingertips stretching, straining for the wall. She touched second, four seconds behind Tara, but it was an improvement. The older girl looked at the time and let out a hard breath, droplets spraying from her face as she shook water from her hair.

Jenny blinked chlorine from her eyes and pushed wet hair from her face, already analyzing her performance in her head — the turn that could have been better, the last few strokes that could have been stronger.

Coach Anders clapped Jenny's shoulder as she climbed out, his big hand warm on her cool skin. "That was your best time yet. Nice work. Nearly a second closer than last time." His voice held genuine approval, and Jenny felt a surge of pride warm her despite her cooling skin.

She flicked a glance at the stands. Rob was up on his feet, clapping hard, his expression bright with enthusiasm. He grinned down at her, then flicked his gaze to Tara, who was pressing herself out of the pool with that confident ease of someone who knew they were the best.

Jenny recognized that look on Rob's face — the photographer's eye, the assessment. She didn't care — not really, she told herself — as he watched Tara's powerful form.

Only Tara had beaten her. And she couldn't wait to race her again.

== Coda ==

It was a week after the meet, and swim practice was ending, the sharp scent of chlorine clinging to damp hair and swimsuits. Jenny tugged her sweatshirt over her head, skin still cool from practice, as she stepped out of the locker room.

Melissa leaned against the vending machine, towel over her shoulder, legs crossed interestingly at the ankle, digging for a quarter when Jenny came up. The machine hummed faintly, its fluorescent light casting a glow across her face as she struggled with the coin slot.

"Hey, you were flying in that last lap," Mel said, finally getting the quarter to drop with a metallic clunk. "Seriously, you're getting scary fast. Coach looked impressed."

Jenny grinned, liking how fast she was getting. She could feel the burn in her arms from practice, the good kind that reminded her how much she'd improved. "Thanks. I still can't beat your time in the breaststroke. Yet."

Melissa smirked, tapping the glass of the vending machine as if willing it to hurry. "Yeah, well. My secret weapons are a liability now." She made a show of miming the old chest exercises chanting: "We must, we must, we must increase our bust. The bigger, the better, the tighter the sweater. The boys are depending on us."

Jenny snorted a laugh, the sound echoing slightly in the hallway. "Oh my god, Mel. I haven't heard that in years. Please tell me you don't actually do that anymore." She glanced toward the door where Rob was waiting with their backpacks. He'd looked up just in time to catch Melissa's little performance, his head turning toward them at the sound. She saw the flush creep up his neck before he quickly glanced away. She knew exactly what he was thinking—one of them didn't need those exercises anymore. Melissa, built more like a mother than a classmate, filled out her sweatshirt despite its loose fit.

She was still... Jenny. Solid with her swimmer's muscles developing across her shoulders and back. Nothing developing across her front. No point comparing.

Melissa dropped her hands and grinned, clearly pleased with his reaction. "What? Never heard the classics? That was practically the rock anthem of sleepovers. And no, Jenny, I do not."

Jenny watched Rob roll his eyes as he shifted their backpacks to his other shoulder. She could tell he was trying not to stare at Mel, who walked with that new confidence of hers, completely unselfconscious about how her body filled out her sweatshirt. She must have really got to him. Rob usually wasn't so obvious.


They headed out to the hallway together, the cold air a slap after the muggy pool, making them all gasp as it hit their damp skin. As they passed the front desk, Rob's gaze landed on a small dumbbell sitting incongruously in the corner by a door. One of those old cast iron ones, with rust flaking off in places, probably ten or fifteen pounds, living out its last days as a door stop. He picked it up on a whim, testing its weight in his palm before curling it a few times. Jenny wondered if he felt that burn in his bicep as the muscle contracted.

She watched as Mel paused mid-step. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise, then amusement danced across her features as she let out a low whistle. "Look at you, Muscle Man." She leaned against the doorway, watching with genuine interest. He wasn't entirely unimpressive, the definition in his thin arm more pronounced than Jenny remembered, and Rob was always so earnest about his workouts; when he remembered to do them.

Jenny snickered, jabbing Rob playfully in the ribs. "He wishes." She worried that she'd hit a little too close to home with that jab.

Melissa grinned, turning her full attention to Jenny now, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I bet you could take him." She shifted her weight, crossing her arms over her chest as she considered the two of them.

Jenny blinked, momentarily confused. "Swimming?" She glanced between Rob and Melissa, trying to follow the sudden shift in conversation.

"Wrestling," Melissa said, totally casual as if discussing the weather. "You're scrappy on the starting blocks—all that explosive power. Bet you're stronger than you look." She tilted her head, studying Jenny's swimmer's shoulders with an appraising eye that made Jenny suddenly self-conscious.

"Yeah, right," Rob scoffed, setting the dumbbell back down with a loud clang that echoed in the empty lobby, but she could tell that he was thinking about it. Was he thinking about how she was putting up more of a fight lately, how much longer it was taking to pin her, or how she looked next to Tara? Surely he wasn't actually worried.

Jenny felt something spark under her ribs, a mixture of defiance and curiosity. Had Rob told Melissa about their basement matches? The way they'd been testing each other's strength lately? Mel could hurt Rob's feelings if she wasn't careful, poking at his insecurities about his size. She opened her mouth to deflect, to change the subject, but Melissa was already moving on.

"Well, if you two throw down, I wanna watch." She tossed a grin over her shoulder, sauntering toward Rob's truck with a confidence that seemed to fill the space around her.

Rob huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he went to the driver's side. "You're so weird." His breath fogged in the cold air as he spoke, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets and pulling out the keys.

But Jenny wasn't laughing. Her mind snagged on the comment. She didn't think Melissa really meant it—just Mel being Mel—but she got in the truck first this time.


== 1.6 Author's note ==

Introducing Tara in this chapter. She will make appearances every so often in the story. Not an additional main character, but definitely a recurring role.

This chapter was two separate chapters originally, but it made more sense to combine them, and that let me keep to about 2,000 words per chapter. I guess it's good to be consistent. I am editing chapter 1.10 now, and it might be taking longer to edit the early bad writing than writing chapters from scratch. But these two worked out mostly okay. Just a lot of little cleanup on these.

Remember, comments fuel the writing machines.

[Sieming]

=== 1.7 Truth or Dare 1.0 ===

The flashlight passed from Rob's hand to Jenny's. That's how the game worked. She spun the light in her hand, then looked at Mel. "Same question. What do you want for Christmas?"

Mel shifted on her bed, "New bras." Her voice softer than usual.

Jenny blinked. "Again?"

She shrugged, and lowered her blanket. Rob thought that maybe this was an okay time to look. Mel was watching him intently. The rules to Mel's games were hard to understand. Jenny and all of her friends were growing up. Mel was just way ahead. She usually seemed happier about it.

Mel took the flashlight from Jenny. "Your turn. Same question."

Jenny leaned forward, her hair covering her face like she was a little embarrassed about her answer. She paused for a second, then, "A rack like Mel's."

Rob nearly choked on air. Mel's eyebrows went up. For a moment, everyone was frozen, Rob's brain trying to process what she just said. Did Jenny really—

Jenny's eyes moved past him. Rob followed her gaze and saw what she was looking at: Mel's squat rack on the other side of the room, half-hidden in the dim comfort of the Christmas lights.

Mel recovered first, "Oh, my other equipment". Rob forced a laugh, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Jenny wanting legs like Mel wasn't that much different. No, that wasn't right. Jenny wanted something she could use to work toward a goal. That was different.

—

Rob had the flashlight now, the metal cool against his palm, and he didn't waste time. He aimed the beam at Mel's face, the light catching the glint in her eyes. "Mel," he said, a grin spreading across his face, "dare." She leaned back against her pillows, propped up on her elbows like she'd been expecting to be next. "Alright. Hit me."

"Tell Jenny something that'll embarrass her." Rob's voice was full of mischief. He was picturing something good, something he could bring up again later.

Jenny made a noise halfway between a groan and a laugh, pulling her knees up to her chest. "Oh, come on," she protested, but there was a smile in her voice. She knew Mel too well; this was going to be good.

Mel's gaze drifted from Rob to Jenny and back, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression. Then, to Rob's growing anticipation, she leaned forward—only she didn't look at him. She turned to Jenny, her dark hair falling over her shoulder, and cupped her hand around her mouth. She leaned in close, so close their foreheads were almost touching, and whispered something right into Jenny's ear.

Rob didn't hear the words, but  the effect was immediate. Jenny's eyes went wide. Her whole face went pink in a way he had never seen before, a blush that started at her collarbones and crept all the way up to her ears. She looked utterly, completely blindsided.

"Hey—" Rob sat up straighter, leaning away from the headboard. "No fair. I said, 'tell her'."

Mel settled back into her pillows, looking impossibly smug. "And I did."

"Out loud!" Rob insisted, his voice pitching higher with frustration. He felt cheated.

She shook her head, her grin widening. "If it was a Truth, sure. Protocol. But you said Dare. You didn't specify volume." She stretched her legs out under the blanket, crossing them at the ankles, completely at ease with the chaos she had just unleashed.

Jenny was still frozen. Her lips moved like she was trying to say something and failing, her usual quick wit completely gone. Rob leaned in, trying to catch her eye. "Well? What did she—"

Jenny finally managed to croak out a single word. "How?" Her voice cracked on the single syllable. She cleared her throat and tried again, her voice still weak. "How do you even know that?" The question hung in the air.

Mel's smile widened, showing all her teeth. "A magician never reveals her secrets." She punctuated the statement with a little shrug.

Jenny buried her face in her hands, a muffled groan escaping from behind her fingers. She was a solid wall of mortification. Rob flopped back against the headboard. "This game is rigged," he grumbled, already plotting his revenge.

Mel only laughed. "You just have to learn how to play it better."

—

Mel tipped the flashlight toward him, "Truth, Rob. Which girl did you ogle last?" Her voice had that familiar teasing edge that meant she already suspected the answer.

"I don't ogle," he said quickly, too quickly, his ears already burning. He tried to keep his face neutral, knowing how Mel loved to poke at his reactions.

Two pillows hit him at once—he threw his hands up too late, "Hey!"

Jenny smirked from her spot on the bed, chin propped on her hands. "Sure you don't."

Mel leaned forward, narrowing her eyes and pointing the flashlight at his chest like she had him under interrogation. The circle of light made his shirt glow where it hit. "For the record, he actually doesn't really ogle, and he stares a lot less than most guys. That's why I asked." She tilted her head, considering him. "It's almost respectable. I'd like to retract the question."

Jenny assumed a more formal tone, "Duly noted, but protocol demands that you still ask Rob for a truth."

Mel thought for a moment, "Which girl's body did you notice last?"

Jenny folded her arms, eyebrows raised, "Are you counting when you practically begged him to 'notice' your boobs not five minutes ago?" Her eyes darted between them, enjoying this too much.

Mel's grin faltered for once. "Um... let's pretend that didn't happen." She shifted on the bed, the blankets rustling around her.

Rob shrugged, enjoying this rare reversal where he wasn't the one on the spot. "Not going to be easy." He settled back against the headboard, trying to look casual as Mel's breasts popped unbidden back into his head.

Mel gave him a look that was almost apologetic. Almost. "For the purposes of this dare, pretend it didn't happen."

The room went quieter after that, Rob trying to find the safe line between honesty and self-preservation. The truth? He'd noticed three. The taller one who made Jenny look almost delicate in comparison. Then there was the one who made it impossible not to notice, especially lately. And the one he couldn't say.

Two out of three was close enough.

"At the swim meet," he said finally, his voice lower than he intended. "Two girls." He left it there, vague and incomplete, hoping it would satisfy Mel

Jenny's head snapped up, her eyes wide with curiosity. "Which two?" She leaned forward, forgetting her earlier embarrassment, her competitive nature flaring to life.

Rob shook his head, keeping his gaze fixed on the headboard between them, "Not saying any more." He could feel their eyes on him, one curious, one calculating.

"Hey, that's not—" Jenny started, but Mel cut her off, a small smile tugging back onto her face as she considered his answer.

"It's my question. And I'm satisfied." She flicked the flashlight off and leaned back again, smug restored. "Your turn, Rob."

—

He'd been wondering for weeks but hadn't dared ask. Tonight, he did. "Truth, Mel. How much can you squat?"

Mel's lips curved into a mischievous grin as she sat up taller, the blankets pooling around her waist. "Numbers are boring," she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. "Let's find out." Her voice carried that familiar competitive spark, turning Rob's truth into something more like a dare. "Who wants to spot?"

Rob's reaction was a confusing mix of impulses. Part of him wanted to simply watch, to see Mel demonstrate her strength, to witness those powerful legs in action. But another part was intrigued by the idea of helping her, of being the one to support the bar if she faltered. The intimacy of the position hovered in his mind before he could form the words.

Before he could respond, Jenny was already sliding off the bed. "I'll spot," she said, her voice light. There was something proprietary in the way she claimed the position.

They moved to the side of the room where the squat rack stood like a metallic shrine to Mel's dedication. The steel bars gleamed in the dim light, the gym mats rolled out beneath them. Mel moved with practiced efficiency, adding plates to the bar, the clinking sounds echoing in the quiet room. She started with the empty bar, her movements fluid and precise as she warmed up.

"Alright," Mel said, stepping under the bar now loaded with Mel's previous record. It looked like a lot of weight. Jenny positioned herself behind Mel.

Down and slowly up again.

Without pausing, Mel slid another plate onto each side of the bar. "Let's see," she murmured, more to herself than to them.

She positioned herself again, took a deep breath, and descended. This time the struggle was visible in the tightening of her jaw, the slight strain in her neck muscles. But she rose again, straightening with a triumphant exhale. "New PR," she announced, a proud smile breaking through her concentration.

She added more weight to the bar—ten more pounds on each side. Mel's descent looked smooth, but stalled on the way up, her legs shaking with effort. "Come on, Mel," Jenny encouraged, her hands hovering just beneath the bar. Mel pushed another inch up before the weight began to win. "Got it," Jenny said, her fingers finding purchase on the cold metal as she helped guide the bar back into the rack.

Feeling bold, Jenny positioned herself under the same bar. "Let me try." She unracked the weight with effort, her legs trembling immediately. She tried to sink into a squat but couldn't get more than a few inches down before the weight became too much. "Nope," she grunted, face flushing with effort as Mel helped her rack it.

Mel wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist. "Your turn, Rob?"

Rob held up his hands, shaking his head. "Politely declining," he said, a wry smile playing on his lips. "I prefer to maintain my dignity tonight." But even as he spoke, he was already planning on adding lunges to his workouts.

—

A little later Rob had the flashlight again and tilted it toward Jenny, the cone of light sliding up the blanket until it caught her face. "Truth," he said. "Would you want to switch bodies with Mel for a day?"

Jenny blinked. Rob watched Jenny's eyes drift toward Mel's chest, the swell of her breasts visible even beneath the blanket. That was different, he thought. With Jenny, the looking felt? Okay? Familiar? Curious. Different from his own curiosity.

Jenny tilted her head, considering, her gaze still tracing Mel's silhouette. "Do I get her wardrobe?" she asked first, her voice light, skimming the surface of the question like a stone across water.

He looked at Mel for guidance. "Of course, it's a package deal," Mel supplied.

Jenny's playful expression faltered slightly, something genuine breaking through. "I just . . . I really do want to know what it's like," she admitted, her voice softer now, "to actually have something up there." She hesitated, pulling her pillow close to her chest. "Like, is it heavy? Does it get in the way when you run? Does it feel . . . different? I feel like it's a club I'm not in, and everyone else gets the secret handshake." Her eyes darted to Rob for a split second, a flash of vulnerability in her gaze. "Even Kara, that tiny little thing has more than me." A small sigh escaped her lips. Rob remembered Kara's small hand in his when they danced, her quick laugh when he dipped her. Jenny wasn't wrong.

The air in the room shifted, the playful teasing grounding into something real and raw. Rob listened, the easy smirk on his face melting away. He'd never considered it from that angle. He was too busy noticing the changes to think about what it might feel like to stay the same while everyone around you changes.

After a moment of silence, Jenny shook her head, definitively. "But no. I couldn't do it. I couldn't stand being the center of attention all the time. Everyone watching me. All the looks . . . so little eye contact." She hugged the pillow tighter. "I don't know how you do it, Mel."

Mel's expression softened, her smile edged with recognition. "Thank you. Finally, someone gets it." Then, before the air could get too heavy, she flopped back against her pillows and added lightly, "On the plus side, I haven't had to open a door for myself in six months."

Jenny snorted. The tension broke.

"I'm still holding doors open," Rob muttered, half to himself.

—

Jenny took the flashlight from his hand. "Truth, Rob," she said, her voice soft but clear in the dim room. "What are you most self-conscious about?"

Rob fidgeted, the weight of the question settling heavy, the faded cotton of his t-shirt suddenly feeling scratchy against his skin. For a moment, he considered deflecting with something trivial or making up an answer that would get a laugh, but as he looked at Jenny's patient face and Mel's curious, expectant eyes, he found himself wanting to be honest with them.

"Looking younger than I am," he said quietly, the admission hanging in the air between them. "Not just the short thing—everyone knows I'm the shortest guy, heck, the shortest person, in our year. It's like... like I haven't caught up to my own face yet. Or my voice. Or everything." He paused, swallowing hard.

Jenny's expression softened, her earlier teasing forgotten. She watched him with an intensity that made him want to look away, but he held her gaze, continuing his confession.

"That's why I asked Kara to dance at the Halloween party," he added, the words coming out in a rush now that the dam had broken. "She's one of the few girls who's actually shorter than me. It felt... less obvious." He glanced at Mel, who was listening with an uncharacteristic seriousness, her usual playful expression replaced by something that looked almost like understanding. "And that's not even the worst part," he concluded, his voice dropping lower. "I didn't make the basketball team this year."

The confession hung in the air, heavy and vulnerable. Rob hadn't told anyone yet, not even his parents. Tryouts had been two weeks ago, and he'd practiced for months, waking early to shoot hoops before school. But, when the list went up, his name hadn't been there. Coach had pulled him aside afterward, saying something about how his speed and defense were excellent.

Jenny slid across the bed, closing the space between them without hesitation. She took his hand, her fingers warm and steady against his, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Yeah," she said softly, her voice filled with an empathy that caught him off guard. At first, Rob didn't understand, until he realized she had sort of said the same thing about Mel's body—wanting to catch up, to belong, to feel like she was growing at the same pace as everyone else around her.

Rob looked at their joined hands, then back at Jenny's face in the soft glow of the Christmas light. Rob squeezed her hand back, just once. He didn't trust himself to say more.

—

Mel leaned over, rummaged a moment, then pulled out a magazine that looked like it had seen better days. The cover was bent, edges curled, the glossy print dulled by time. Jenny frowned. "What's that?"

"A way to make the game less serious after those last two rounds. Mel said smoothly, "Truth" as she handed it to Jenny without ceremony. "Page thirty-five. Tell us what you think."

Jenny took it automatically, confusion knitting her brow as she examined the cover. The ink had faded, making the title difficult to read. "Not much of a dare," she muttered, flipping it open.

Rob, who was sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, recognized it immediately despite the faded cover. He'd caught just enough of the title when Mel passed it over. Playgirl. His throat tightened.

Jenny licked her finger and flipped through several pages with increasing speed. Then she stopped dead, a small gasp escaping her lips. "I take it back."

She stared, mouth slightly open, eyes wide as if she'd just discovered a new species.

Mel propped herself on her elbows, that familiar mischief dancing in her eyes. "Well? Don't keep us waiting."

Jenny shifted on the bed, her movements suddenly awkward, like she wasn't sure what to do with her limbs. "They're... good looking." She tried to make it sound casual, like she was critiquing department store mannequins.

Rob sat up straight, fighting to keep his expression neutral. "Where'd you get a magazine like that, Mel?"

"Found it tucked behind one of Joanie's bookcases when I was switching rooms," Mel replied with an offhand shrug.

Jenny carefully turned the page, revealing a new spread. "Wow. It looks like they all work out. Like... a lot." Her voice had lost its joking edge, replaced by genuine curiosity.

Mel chuckled. "Pretty much the point."

Now Rob couldn't help himself. "Are they all... completely?"

Mel answered in a way that wasn't quite an answer. "They aren't all completely."

Jenny huffed, flipping to the next spread. "Not all of them. This one's holding a beach ball." Then she added quietly, "Though that doesn't help much." She turned the magazine slightly, as if to catch a better angle in the dim room. Rob swallowed, suddenly too warm in the face.

"Are all guys that big?"

The room went suddenly quiet, save for the hum of Christmas lights strung around the room. Jenny blinked, realizing that she's said that out loud, a flush creeping up her neck.

Mel breezed in before the silence got too heavy. "Honestly? Pretty much. They use normal guys."

Rob started to correct Mel when he noticed Jenny's eyes shift toward him, landing squarely in his lap. She didn't seem to realize she was even doing it. So this is what it felt like to be ogled. Rob raised his eyebrows. "Uh, hello? My eyes are up here."

Jenny went crimson, whipping her gaze back to the page. "I wasn't—I didn't mean—"

Mel was laughing now, sprawling across her pillows with abandon. "Oh, this is better than TV."

Rob cleared his throat and turned his attention to Mel to avoid looking at Jenny's embarrassed face. "Have you... uh... looked at it before?"

Jenny didn't glance up. "She knows the page numbers, Rob. Think about it."

A different thought hit Rob from out of nowhere and he asked, before he could stop himself. "Do they have—uh—are they... excited?"

Jenny frowned at the picture. "They look happy to be in the magazine."

Mel laughed harder. "That's not what he meant."

Jenny froze, processing the implication. "Oh. Ohhh." Her blush deepened until it reached her ears.

She snapped the magazine closed like it might burn her fingers and tossed it at Mel's head. "Okay. Done."

—

Rob shifted the flashlight between his hands before aiming it at Mel. "Dare. Arm wrestle Jenny."

Mel arched an eyebrow, then slid off the bed with a shrug. "Fine." Jenny was already moving to meet her on the carpet.

They lay facing each other, elbows planted on the rug. From where he stood, Rob realized the angle gave him more of a view than felt safe. He sat down, settling where her hair and posture kept him focused on their arms.

Jenny smirked as their hands clasped. "Never seen you from this angle before."

"Focus, Jen," Mel said, rolling her eyes.

Rob reached forward, lacing his fingers over theirs, making sure they were even, ready to count them down. Mel tilted her head. "What are you doing?"

"This is how it starts," Jenny explained. "You don't just shout go."

"Oh." Mel straightened her wrist, still skeptical.

Rob gave the count. "Ready. Set. Go."

At first there wasn't much movement. Mel's longer arm gave her leverage, but there was no muscle showing in her forearm, no tightness at her shoulder. Jenny's arm, on the other hand, looked solid — her bicep pressing faintly against her sleeve, her swimmer's shoulders anchoring her. Rob thought he saw the smallest tremor of effort cross Jenny's face, but then Mel's wrist gave and her knuckles touched carpet.

"Wait, already?" Rob blinked, surprised and a little disappointed.

Jenny grinned, shaking out her hand. "Told you."

Rob leaned forward. "No, you've got to really try, Mel."

Mel sat back, brushing hair from her face, the corner of her mouth quirking. "You really try. I dare you..." She paused just long enough for suspense. "...to wrestle Jenny."

Rob was halfway down to the floor to take her place when Mel added, sly, "I didn't say arm wrestle."

—

Jenny's head snapped up, her green eyes sparking. "Oh, now it's on."

Rob froze halfway to standing, giving Mel a look. "Just so you know, this isn't much of a dare. We wrestle all the time."

Mel's eyebrows shot up, delighted. "Do you now?"

Jenny nodded, still smirking as she rolled her shoulders. "Ever since we were little. It's just... a thing."

"To let off steam, to settle arguments," Rob added with a shrug. "Or, y'know, when we're bored."

Mel tilted her head, fascinated. "Who wins?"

Jenny was quick with her answer. "We were pretty even until Rob went through puberty."

Rob gave her a light shove, scandalized. "Hey!"

She shoved him back with a grin. "What? It's true." She was still grinning when she added, "But lately I think I've been—"

Rob lunged before she could finish. They hit the carpet with a muffled thump, Jenny's laughter breaking into a grunt as his weight drove her shoulders down.

"Cheap shot!" she barked, wriggling under him.

Rob pinned her wrists above her head, straddling her hips to keep her still, grinning down in victory. "Say uncle."

"Never." Her breath was hot with challenge.

That was how it always went. Start playful, end competitive. Rob braced, expecting her to squirm free with one of her usual tricks. Sure enough, Jenny bent her knees and planted her feet, then shoved upward with her hips. He felt the jolt of her core strength nearly dislodge him, and he had to tighten his thighs to stay balanced.

"You've been practicing," he muttered.

"Swimmer body" she shot back.

She twisted her legs to the side, and pushed. They rolled, Rob landing on his back with Jenny sprawled across his chest. She had his wrists this time, her curls spilling loose across his cheek as she laughed breathlessly.

"Got you," she said, triumphant.

"Wow, Rob." Mel added, unhelpfully.

He got his hands between them and pushed hard against her chest. As they rolled, her legs clamped down around his ribs like steel bands, surprising him with their power. His breath hitched, and he had to wrench his arms free and grab at her waist to peel her off. They rolled again, the carpet burning faintly against his elbows, until he was on top once more.

"Not bad," he said, breath coming faster now. He bore down, using his upper body strength, pressing her arms flat beside her head. He had an idea. A flicker of curiosity, maybe. He grinned wider. "Pretend you're really strong," he said.

He wasn't sure why he said it. It just came out. And for a second, Jenny's green eyes lit up—like she wanted to. Like all she needed was permission.

Rob felt it instantly—the tightening in her shoulders, the raw effort in her arms. Not a quick shove, not a token struggle. Real strength, more than he remembered. His grip slipped just a fraction, and suddenly he was the one adjusting, leaning heavier across her chest to keep her pinned.

"Whoa," he breathed, surprised.

Jenny's cheeks flushed, her grin widening like she'd just pulled off the best prank of her life. She didn't know how close she'd come to just powering him off.

He flicked his eyes up for a second and found Mel propped on her elbows, leaning off the bed, watching them intently. That look — sharp, amused, almost hungry for what might happen — made heat crawl up the back of his neck. No way was he going to lose in front of Mel.

With a grunt, he shifted his weight lower, using his chest and arms to trap Jenny's wrists tight against the rug. She arched under him, legs kicking, twisting hard enough that he felt the torque in his spine. Her thighs clamped his sides again, her heels digging into the floor for leverage. For a moment he thought she'd bridge and roll him again.

But then her arms faltered. He pressed down harder, raising hands over her head to remove the last of her leverage, and the last space between them.

Pinned.

They stayed like that, breathing hard, their faces inches apart. Jenny's green eyes glittered up at him, her chest rising and falling against his. She let out a sharp breath that turned into a laugh.

"Fine," she said, grinning despite her flushed cheeks. "You win."

Rob grinned back, heart hammering harder than it should have. "Good match."

Jenny wriggled once more under him, not to escape, but just to remind him she wasn't completely beaten. Then she relaxed, her laughter bubbling out to fill the room.

Rob finally rolled off, flopping onto his back beside her. They lay there panting, side by side, the carpet rough under their sweat-damp arms.

Mel's slow clap broke the quiet. She was sitting up now, eyes alight with mischief. "That looked like fun. I might have to try sometime."

Rob turned his head toward her, still catching his breath. "That," he said dryly, "sounds like my cue to leave. Enjoy the sleepover, ladies."

Jenny laughed harder, throwing a pillow at his retreating figure, wondering which one of them Mel wanted to wrestle.

== Coda ==

The door clicked shut behind Rob, his footsteps fading down the hall. Jenny and Mel stayed sprawled where they were, the hum of the Christmas lights filling the silence. Jenny's curls were still stuck to her cheek with sweat, and her chest rose and fell as though she'd just finished another set of laps.

"Okay," Mel said finally, rolling onto her side with a mischievous grin. "Confession time. You almost had him."

Jenny blinked at her. "What?"

"That bridge—you nearly flipped him. He had to dig in like crazy to keep you down. I saw his face."

Jenny laughed, pressing her palms over her eyes then joined Mel on the bed. "He has to see I'm catching up. We're about the same height now. I think my shoulders are broader."

Mel propped her head on one hand, studying her friend. "They are. You scared him for a second."

Jenny hugged the pillow against her chest, trying not to smile. "You're impossible."

"True." Mel flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Her voice carried less bravado now. "But I'll say this—if I had what you've got, I wouldn't be worried."

Jenny rolled onto her side, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"You're strong, Jen. Like... actually strong. Guys look at me because of..." She gestured vaguely at her chest, letting her hand fall. "But they take you seriously because you've got something real. You just pinned your older brother long enough to scare him. That's not nothing."

Jenny studied her, surprised by the honesty in her tone. "It's just Rob. Wait. You're jealous of me?"

Mel shrugged, eyes still fixed on the ceiling. "Sometimes. Don't get used to it."

Jenny let out a laugh, quiet but warm. The idea that Mel, of all people, could envy her made something uncoil in her chest.

They lay in companionable silence for a moment, thinking their own thoughts, the hum of the lights steady around them.

Then Jenny turned her head toward Mel, a sly little smile tugging at her lips. "Let me see that magazine again."


== 1.7 Author's note ==

Whew. That was a lot of words. Over twice as long as the next longest chapter, and nearly four times as long as the first chapter. This might be the only chapter this week.

And I hope this chapter works. It's really a bunch of little vignettes, tied together with the Truth or Dare theme. Each segment was designed to reinforce something about each character. I don't know that there were any big reveals. The game structure allowed me to explore vulnerabilities while keeping the tone from becoming too heavy. I think most of this has been hinted at before. I would actually be interested if there was something that came as a surprise to you in this chapter.

This chapter changed a lot from the first writing. Only two of the original dares survived. I initially had dares that began to feel a little boring to me. It felt like a first Truth or Dare game, where they were figuring out the rules, and didn't want to press too hard. That would have been fun too, but not where we were in the story. I tried to make it feel like they had been doing this for a while. Here's  You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login, if anyone is interested in how things changed.

[Ophaki]

Great job, my friend. Keep it up because you're getting me hooked on every character. Excellent writing and attention to detail in the scene.

[Sieming]

Great job, my friend. Keep it up because you're getting me hooked on every character. Excellent writing and attention to detail in the scene.

Thanks. I REALLY like hearing what people like and dislike about a chapter, or about the story so far. So much so that here's another chapter to say thank you.

[Sieming]

=== 1.8 Merry Christmas ===

The Philips living room glowed with tree-light and firelight, ribbons and bows scattered across the carpet. Dad sat cross-legged by the hearth, the paper in his lap crinkled from years of reading The Christmas Story before opening gifts. Now the paper was folded away, mugs of cocoa steaming, and boxes slid across the carpet.

"Alright, my turn?" Dad asked, already grinning.

Mom nudged the box closer. "From all of us."

He tore the paper and lifted out a die-cast tractor, red paint glossy, wheels that really turned. He held it up like a treasure. He did that no matter what they got him. "Finally—something I can park in the living room."

Madison smirked. "Better not scratch the hardwood."

Everyone laughed. Dad leaned back, tapping the model against his knee. "Looks like I can plow the driveway in record time now."

Mom added nonchalantly, "There's a real one on order. It should be here in a couple of weeks."

Dad's eyes really lit up then.

The warmth lingered as Mom unwrapped a slim box. A silver chain caught the firelight; she turned the pendant between her fingers, lips parting. "Oh—girls, it's beautiful." She fastened it right there. Mel grinned—she'd only signed the card, but it still felt good to be part of it.

Joanie opened Mel's gift next—a coffee-shop card tucked in a university mug. She smiled politely, "Thank you, Melissa," her eyes already somewhere else. Then a wool scarf from Mom; she looped it once, hugged her mother, and let it fall into her lap.

Maddie's turn. She pulled out a pair of sleek brown boots, the kind that were more expensive than they looked. "Oh wow. These are nice." Her smile looked real this time, not forced. The second package held some shiny kitchen attachment, one of those gadgets you'd actually use. "Perfect," she said, and Mel believed her.

When her own box slid across the rug, Mel tore the paper quick. Track spikes, and resistance bands too. She bounced a little on her toes. "Yes! Exactly what I needed."

"You'll also find some extra plates in the garage," Dad added. "Didn't want to wrap them."

"Santa's running a gym this year," Joanie said—light, but with an edge.

Mel pretended not to hear it. She looked the spikes over again, setting them aside carefully.

Then came the bigger box. She knew before the wrapping was halfway off—soft fabric, neatly folded, colors peeking through tissue. She pulled back the tissue. Bras. A whole stack. The same style she and Joanie had picked out at Thanksgiving. Bigger this time.

Mom's voice was warm, matter-of-fact. "These should fit better than your sister's hand-me-downs."

Dad chuckled, aiming for light. "Are you girls passing a baton? Or maybe it's a traveling trophy."

A few polite laughs. None from Joanie. Her jaw tightened, and then the words slipped out, sharp enough to cut. "Guess she needed the bigger room for those too."

The fire popped. Nobody said anything.

Mel managed a small laugh, though her ears burned. "Thanks, Mom." She folded the tissue over the stack, as if she could hide them.

"Didn't we just do this four years ago?" Mom muttered, tired.

The paper kept moving, though the warmth was thinner now. Joanie unwrapped a leather bag—smooth, simple, the kind that would last. She smiled faintly and thanked them.

Mel gathered her gifts, hugging the boxes to her chest as she stood. The tree lights caught the silver chain at Mom's throat and the glossy tractor wheels in Dad's lap. She made her way to her room, hoping for Christmas morning to bring something different.


The church smelled like pine boughs and candle wax, warm air pressed close against wool coats and scarves. Outside, frost glazed the windows, but the crowded pews steamed with breath and chatter.

Mel smoothed her dress as they sat, tugging the fabric flat against her thighs. The slit kept it from riding up, but left her exposed in other ways. Still, it fit better than anything she'd worn all year. She tried to act as grown as she looked in it.

"Melissa, you've really grown up this year," Aunt Kate said, leaning across for a quick hug.

Mrs. Johnson added, voice carrying just enough for both sisters to hear, "She reminds me of Joanie at that age. Only... well, taller."

Mel smiled, cheeks warming, but beside her Joanie went still. A moment later she leaned in close enough for only Mel to hear. "I liked you better as my little sister."

Mel blinked, not sure if she was supposed to laugh. She drew her shoulders in as the organ began to swell.

After the service, families spilled onto the steps, scarves tugged up against the cold. Breath rose in white clouds, greetings flying back and forth.

Mel hugged her coat tighter, but she could feel eyes on her—a couple boys Joanie's age. One stopped mid-sentence, staring. "Wait... that's Melissa? No way."

Another nudged him, laughing, surprised. "Seriously? Thought Joanie brought home a friend from college."

Mel's face flamed. She wasn't sure what to say, but Joanie stepped in first, her voice sharp enough to cut. "Yes, this is Melissa, my little sister. You didn't notice her last year because she looked like a kid."

The boys laughed again, awkward this time, and moved on. Mel wished they hadn't said anything at all.

On the walk back to the car, Dad tried to patch the silence. "Well, the Philips girls always draw attention, don't they?"

Joanie didn't miss a beat. "They were only interested in two things."

The cold seemed sharper then. Mom's voice came out flat and tired. "Joan. Not today."

Mel stared at the snow-dusted houses sliding by, the fabric of her dress bunched tight in her hands. Something had gone wrong, but it wasn't something she could fix.

The church bells were still ringing faintly when the car pulled away, fading behind them as she pressed her palms flat against her lap, wishing she could smooth the whole morning as easily as the wrinkles in her dress.


The Philips house glowed. Strings of lights traced the deck rails, candles flickered in the windows, and the sound of clinking glasses and low laughter rolled out the front door every time new guests arrived. Inside, coats were piled neatly by the stairs, perfume and pine filling the air over the hum of piano music.

Mel wore her new Christmas dress, her hair done up special for the party. In her hand she carried a glass of champagne. Well, it looked like champagne. It was actually sparkling grape juice that the bartender had just for her. Dad made sure of that. She liked the way it felt, balanced in her fingers.

She drifted between groups, smiling when people stopped her, answering questions politely. School's going well. No, I'm not seeing anyone. Track starts again in the spring. I haven't picked a major yet. That last one made her laugh, and Judge Geistler laughed with her.

Across the room, her parents watched. Dad's chin tilted in approval, Mom with a proud little smile.

Mel passed by one circle just in time to hear Mr. Wilson as he clapped her dad on the shoulder. "So tell me about this new tractor."

Dad chuckled, shaking his head. "Tractor's generous. It's basically an overgrown lawn mower. But it'll keep me busy."

Glasses lifted, laughter rippled. Mel gave a polite laugh as she slid past, not sure if she was part of the joke or not.

Near the fire, Mrs. Wilson leaned toward her mother. "Any chance Madison might come tonight?"

Mom's sigh was small, almost lost. "I don't think so."

Mrs. Wilson slipped an arm around her friend. Mel caught it as she passed, her pulse tightening. She hadn't realized how much she'd been hoping Maddie would walk through the doors too.

Instead Mrs Wilson's eyes landed on her. "That dress looks like it was made for her."

Her mom's smile curved. "There were a few alterations involved up top—our tailor deserves most of the credit." She winked at the men nearby, who chuckled into their glasses.

Heat rose in Mel's cheeks. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to laugh too, so she just lifted her champagne glass and took a sip.

As she walked off she heard Mrs. Wilson add, "Some good genetics too, I think."

It was fun to pretend she belonged like this—circling, smiling, answering like her mom would. Every now and then she caught her mom's proud glance, her dad's quiet nod, and it gave her a little thrill. She could almost believe it.

Then a man at the edge of the circle—one of Dad's colleagues maybe—glanced at her glass and said lightly, "Can I get you another drink?"

Without thinking she replied, "Yes, thank you, that would be lovely."

Joanie was close enough to hear.

"She doesn't need a drink." Joanie's voice cut sharper than the clink of glass. Heads turned. "She's my little sister. She's not old enough to drink. Not old enough to be here. And definitely not old enough to be wearing that dress."

The laughter faltered. The man who'd asked flushed, murmured something, and slipped away. For a beat the whole group seemed to shift on their feet, studying glasses, looking for new topics.

"Joan." Mrs Wilson's voice was low as she caught Joanie's arm. "Can you help me with something?"

Dad took Melissa aside, "Dr. Parson is new at the clinic, I'll smooth things over. Not your fault for looking lovely."

But the words only underscored everything Joanie had just said. Mel's face burned. She hadn't asked for the comment, or the stares, or to be standing here in a dress that actually fit. She hadn't asked to grow up. She wished she hadn't worn heels.

She slipped toward the edge of the room, still holding her glass, smiling automatically when someone passed. Everything that makes me happy makes her unhappy.

Midnight neared. Champagne flutes were raised, voices swelled in the countdown. Mel lifted her glass with the rest, but her heart wasn't in it.

The room erupted at zero—cheers, kisses, fireworks bursting somewhere outside the windows.

Across the room, Joanie didn't look at her.


== 1.8 Author's note ==

Mel's dress gets a lot of attention in this chapter. Well, Mell gets a lot of attention in the dress. I couldn't decide how much to describe it. In the end I decided to leave it up to the imagination of the reader. But I couldn't resist adding the bit about the slit "leaving her exposed in other ways", and the alterations that had to be done "up top".

My general take as been that you guys are smart, and don't have to have everything spelled out. The way you picture the dress—or Mel in general—is certainly the way she looks.

What is your take on these "Author's notes"? I realize it's not a common thing to do on this forum. I think I'm adding them because this is the first fiction I have written, and I want to write, at least a little, about the writing.

[Ophaki]

Please continue with the author's notes. It's nice to know your doubts and thoughts as you construct your work. I disagree with you about the reader's imagination. The beauty of well-written stories, as far as I'm concerned, is that my imagination must be masterfully guided by your words. You have my attention, you are drawing me into your story, let me fully experience what your mind imagines. And don't worry about what readers like. Write what you like, because if you write it well, we will like it too. Besides, if we're on this site, it's not hard to understand readers' tastes. Keep it up, you're doing great, and keep us updated with the heights and measurements of your girls

[Sieming]

=== 1.9 What if (s)he doesn't want me? ===

Jenny padded barefoot from the bathroom, the residual warmth of the shower clinging to her skin. The familiar scent of her coconut shampoo still filled the air around her. The old wood floors were cool beneath her feet as the house settled into its nighttime quiet. Faint music drifted from Rob's room—not his usual harder rock, something more melodic, the kind of group he never admitted to liking in front of his friends.

As she passed his cracked door, a flicker of movement caught her eye. Rob was on the floor doing push-ups, his arms moving in tight, steady bursts that spoke of focused determination. Sweat beaded at his temples, glistening in the soft lamplight that spilled across his floor. Jenny leaned against the doorframe, watching.

He was getting stronger. She could see it now in a way she hadn't before—the way his shoulders bunched with each downward movement, how his back flexed and rippled with each push from the floor. The small muscles that had been barely visible months ago now showed definition under the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Good for him, she thought with a genuine sense of pride. Still, he was lean—maybe a little too lean. She tried not to say thin. He didn't look bad, but he could use a little more meat on his bones. She planned to give him a real challenge the next time they wrestled, to finally bridge the gap between them that had been narrowing but still remained.

Then, barely above a whisper, she heard him murmur a name between ragged breaths.

"Mel..."

Jenny's stomach gave a weird little twist, a sensation both unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

Melissa?

She frowned, fingers unconsciously tightening against the doorframe. Was he thinking about Melissa's face? Her laugh? Those ridiculous "personal flotation devices" that seemed to draw every eye wherever they went? The way she could turn every casual stretch into something suggestive without even trying? Rob wasn't entirely immune to that. Maybe her legs—Melissa's legs were no joke, powerful and well-defined with that heavy, easy fullness that came from doing endless "dream butt" squats.

Jenny didn't know why it bugged her, but it did. Was she angry? No. Jealous? She didn't think so. More like an itch, an unease that settled somewhere between her ribs. Rob could think of Melissa, That was fine. They were friends after all. But something about hearing him say her name like that, in that private moment, felt like finding out they were more than friends.

Why couldn't Rob. Jenny corrected herself: Why couldn't anyone think of her that way? She was always just... Jenny. Melissa was Melissa, with all the curves and attention, good or bad, that came with it.

She lingered a while watching him grind out a few more reps, his face tight with effort as his arms began to tremble slightly, before she turned away and moved quietly across the hall to her room.

The mirror above her dresser caught her reflection—hair damp, cami loose around her shoulders. Jenny shifted out of her cami, eyeing her chest. Was there... maybe a little more there than last month? A slight curve where there had been none before. Wishful thinking. The familiar disappointment settled like a stone in her stomach. She turned sideways. The shadows created by the dim lamplight did suggest something more, but in the harsher light of day, and in any amount of clothing, she knew the illusion would vanish.

As she worked her brush through her hair, the bristles snagged on a tangle near her nape, and she carefully worked it free. Her movements were methodical while her thoughts raced. She noticed her arm in the mirror. Unlike her breasts, there was definitely something there.

Her thoughts turned to the swim meet. To Tara. That girl was built like a grown woman—arms tight with muscle, legs solid, shoulders broad. She hadn't even bothered talking to anyone, just walked out, crushed every event, and left with her medals hanging around her neck.

The girls talked about her shoulders with something approaching awe. Everyone noticed her, and even Rob seemed fascinated, though he tried to hide it. Mel talked about her too, with that mix of rivalry and professional admiration that sometimes came out when she was impressed. Heck, she'd felt it herself—that magnetic pull of pure, unadulterated strength.

What was it like to be the one everyone looked up to? To be the best? To look like a champ before you even entered the water? To have that confidence that Tara wore like a second skin?

There wasn't anything she could do to get boobs like Mel. Well, she would keep doing the exercises Mel had teased about, and maybe add some pushups to her routine, but that was different. Tara's body seemed like a goal you could reach with a lot of hard work—training, discipline, pushing your body to its limits and beyond. She just needed someone to show her how. Or maybe just permission to try.

She remembered the weight of the wheelbarrow, the wet logs heavy and awkward, the handle slipping from her grasp as she stepped on the leaves. She remembered stumbling, how fast Rob had steadied it and rushed to her. His hands gripping her ankle, checking without a word if she was hurt. His hand on her calf, fingers wrapping around the muscle there, thumbs pressing in just enough. That second squeeze, and her sudden, intense awareness of his touch

If she was stronger, maybe she wouldn't have fallen. Maybe she wouldn't need him to rescue her. She wanted to look strong. She wanted to be strong.

Strong enough to move the wheelbarrow by herself. Strong enough to get noticed in ways that weren't about what she didn't have yet. Strong enough that when she looked in the mirror, she'd see someone who could compete with Tara, someone who didn't need to feel overshadowed by Mel's changing body, someone who felt comfortable in her own skin.

Tomorrow. She was going to ask Rob if she could work out with him.

But what if he doesn't want me?



Rob lay in bed, warmth slowly escaping from beneath his thin comforter. His T-shirt was on the floor, crumpled where he'd tossed it after his secret workout session. The hallway light barely reached the ceiling fan as it spun lazily above him, its blades casting shifting shadows across the room.

His muscles ached—that satisfying burn that came from pushing past his usual limits—but his mind wouldn't quit turning, replaying moments from the past weeks like a highlight reel.

Jenny's great performance at the swim meet, slicing through the water, finishing closer to Tara than ever before. Tara. Her arms were so taunt when she drove into the water, muscles that looked both powerful and somehow feminine. He went to cheer for Jenny, but his eyes kept sliding back to Tara. She was pretty, but it wasn't just that. He liked watching the way she moved—efficient, powerful, no wasted motion—a real competitor. Everyone liked watching a champion, why should he be any different?

Jenny really wasn't as far behind Tara any more. She was getting faster. Stronger. Catching up to him too. Wrestling in Mel's room, Jenny had almost bucked him off such surprising strength in her hips. Working too—she'd nearly kept up with him hauling firewood yesterday. She smashed Mel when they arm wrestled. That had surprised everyone. She wasn't just keeping up.

Why did it bother him that Mel thought Jenny could out wrestle him? Of course, it was Mel, so no telling what her real game was. Luckily he'd won when she was watching. Luckily? Is that what it was? Luck? He rolled onto his side, the sheets tangling around his legs as the ceiling fan continued its hypnotic rotation above.

And him? He was stuck. Same pushups. Same sit-ups. Same pull-up bar in the basement that Dad had installed years ago. It wasn't enough. He could be intense, if he didn't get distracted. Consistent, when he remembered. But dedication was harder when the results were barely visible, when he still looked like a kid next to his friends. Next to the girls.

He needed a change if he wasn't going to look like a kid forever. He wasn't getting far on his own. He needed a solid partner. Steve? His best friend was even worse at committing to things than he was. Besides, he was busy with basketball now.

Jenny had said something about working out. She never complained about working harder. If anything, she kept pushing herself, racing him, matching him load for load. She seemed to want to be stronger, to build on what she'd already accomplished as a swimmer. And honestly... part of him wanted to see what she could do too. And if they were working out together, he could make sure he stayed one step ahead.

This seemed like a plan that might actually work. He reached under his mattress, fingers finding the Book of Challenges. He flipped to the last page, still half-covered in messy notes and half-baked challenge ideas. He clicked his pen, staring at the page for a moment before writing: 'Stay stronger than Jen.' He paused, the words feeling wrong somehow, selfish. He scratched them out with quick, messy loops. Below it, slower, more deliberate: 'Train with Jen. Get strong together.'

He exhaled, the sound loud in the quiet room, and closed the book, sliding it back under the mattress.

Tomorrow. He'd ask her.

But what if she doesn't want me?



The day moved like a slow, heavy current. They were around each other all afternoon, but neither said what they wanted to say.

Jenny rode Cricket up to the gate, the horse's hooves tapping a rhythm on the gravel. Rob was there, working on a stubborn hinge, his shirt damp with sweat from the effort. When she approached, he paused and looked up at her, his eyes traveling from her face down to the way her jeans were starting to hug her thighs, then quickly back to her face.

Jenny stopped, waiting, wondering if she should say something about working out. The words felt like stones in her throat. Before she could decide, Rob stepped back, wiping his hands on his jeans, and carefully opened the gate wider than necessary, as if giving her space. The gate creaked in the afternoon stillness. He didn't speak, just nodded toward the path beyond.

Jenny gave him a small, tight smile, nudging Cricket forward with her heels. The gate swung shut behind her with a familiar thud, but she couldn't bring herself to look back. To ask. To risk rejection.

In the barn after lunch, the air thick with the smell of hay and sweet feed, Rob did awkward pull-ups on an old iron bar that wasn't nearly high enough. Sweat beaded at his hairline, dripping occasionally onto his neck. His biceps strained with each upward motion, the muscles in his back shifting like thin shadows under his t-shirt. Jenny, carrying a bucket of grain, caught sight of him through the open barn door. She stopped, watching his back as he struggled through a rep. His arms trembling with the strain. He dropped down with a soft grunt, landing lightly on his feet before wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

She lingered for a second longer than she should have, her heart doing an odd little flutter at how determined Rob seemed. I have to try one of those, she thought, the impulse sudden and clear. She could ask him about working out together right now. Jenny shook off the thought, the bucket seeming suddenly heavier. She kept walking, her pace a little quicker than before, the crunch of her footsteps on the path loud in the quiet afternoon.

They played basketball in the machine shed, the hoop listing slightly to one side, the net frayed from years of use. Rob won, but it wasn't easy. Jenny didn't quit. She chased every rebound, took every shot, even blocked him once—clean, her hand slapping the ball away with a satisfying thwack. Rob laughed, genuinely impressed, wiping his face with his T-shirt. He grinned at her, his eyes bright with competition, looking like he wanted to say something. She waited, but he only checked the ball.

That night, after dinner, they ended up in the basement, game console flickering on the TV. The couch was lumpy and sagged in the middle, but it was their space. Jenny beat him two out of four games. Rob called for another round, the competitive edge in his voice unmistakable. Jenny leaned over to start a game, her shoulder brushing against his, and Rob almost said it. Almost asked her if she'd work out with him, if they could train together.

But instead, he grabbed her in a headlock, half-laughing, trying to hide the way his thoughts were suddenly rushing. Jenny elbowed him in the ribs, hard but playful. "Hey! Cheap shot!" She laughed, twisting under his arm.

Jenny elbowed him again, then shoved with surprising force, and suddenly they weren't on the couch anymore. Limbs tangled, grunting and laughing, they tumbled onto the floor.

It wasn't formal. It never was. No countdowns, no referee, no declaring a match. Just instinct. Just them. The air between them crackled with that familiar, unspoken challenge that had been part of their relationship since Jenny was old enough to walk.

Jenny scrambled on top, trying to pin his arms, her movements more coordinated than he remembered. Rob rolled, his body responding automatically, trapping one of hers beneath him, using his weight to anchor her.

"You've been eating your spinach," Rob grunted as she pushed against him, her muscles tensing in a way he hadn't felt before.

"Better start, or you're gonna fall behind," she shot back, her hair tumbling into his face as she wriggled free, her cheeks flushed with effort.

They wrestled like that for several minutes—knees bumping against the rough texture of the rug, arms straining, the kind of match that blurred the line between roughhousing and testing the very edges of their strength. Jenny was stronger than last time. Significantly stronger. He could feel it in the way she resisted when he tried to pin her, the way she could bridge and roll him now, her back muscles tightening with deliberate control. She didn't wear out as fast, didn't give up when he shifted his weight to press her shoulder down, didn't acknowledge defeat even when physics was on his side.

They both ended up on their stomachs for a moment, side by side, panting. Long seconds passed. Silence stretched. Rob rolled to face her, so Jenny did the same. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Grabbed her arms and rolled her over him and came up on top. Then more scrambling with renewed energy, the basement air growing thick with their exertion.

Rob hooked her leg, trying to use technique against her strength, but Jenny twisted with surprising agility and rolled over him. Her weight pressed him down—good grief, how much did she weigh now? Whatever it was, it wasn't enough to pin him, but it was enough to keep him from moving without real effort. He exhaled hard, laughing despite himself, caught somewhere between frustration and admiration.

And then, just as suddenly as it started up, it stopped. Neither of them moved.

They lay there, Jenny fully prone on top of Rob, their breathing ragged, the flicker of the forgotten video game dancing shadows across the curve of her cheek. The digital sound of explosions: distant, unimportant. Their heartbeats gradually slowing together.

"Can I work out with you?"

A beat of stunned silence, their shared vulnerability hanging in the air between them. Then they both laughed, the tension breaking like a dam, and Jenny dropped her forehead against his collarbone, the warmth of her skin seeping through his thin t-shirt.

"Yeah," Rob said, his voice low, a little rough. He slid his arms around her shoulders, tentative at first, then firmer. He kissed the top of her head, the scent of her coconut shampoo filling his senses. He felt her relax against him.

They lay like that, quiet in the flicker of the screen, for a long time. Rob wasn't sure who had asked the question first. He was sure it didn't matter.


== 1.9 Author's note ==

The original title was "What If He Didn't Want Me?", but once I used the "What if She Didn't Want Me?" line at the end of Rob's initial point of view section, I wasn't sure about the title. You can see that I didn't really decide, and we ended up with "What if (S)he didn't want me?" as the title. I sort of really like it, but it also sort of feels like a cop-out.

Congratulations, you have made it through the "slowest" part of the story. These first nine chapters covered about seven months. The next two chapters will cover two months, and the next six chapters will cover about a month. So, maybe I'm wrong, and you've just read the "fastest" part of the story? Whichever description is actually correct, there are more things happening in a shorter amount of time from here on out.

You've made it this far into the story. Why are you still reading?

[jcboyd]

Because it's really well written

Has interesting and developed characters

Waiting for the gains to get more and more pushed along

And hoping SOMEONE finds the stash of veterinary hormones (IYKYK) to ease their frustration at lack of progress

[Sieming]

Please continue with the author's notes. It's nice to know your doubts and thoughts as you construct your work. I disagree with you about the reader's imagination. The beauty of well-written stories, as far as I'm concerned, is that my imagination must be masterfully guided by your words. You have my attention, you are drawing me into your story, let me fully experience what your mind imagines. And don't worry about what readers like. Write what you like, because if you write it well, we will like it too. Besides, if we're on this site, it's not hard to understand readers' tastes. Keep it up, you're doing great, and keep us updated with the heights and measurements of your girls

Thanks. The "Author's notes" are harder (at least by word count) to write than the story. That might be because I have a good idea where I want the story to go, and the author notes are less well defined. Time is a factor here as well. These chapters were originally written (poorly) about 4 months ago. They have gone through some major rewrites in the last few weeks, so it's sometimes hard to remember what was going through my mind when I first wrote them. If I was going to do it over, I think I'd actually keep track of that as I went.

Thanks for the advice too. I don't exactly have great confidence in my ability to get what I'm thinking down, but your advice is something I've thought before as well. It's not like I don't know what my audience likes. When in doubt, describe that parts they want to read about. Oh, and there is a chapter coming up that gives actual measurements.

[Sieming]

Because it's really well written. Has interesting and developed characters

Waiting for the gains to get more and more pushed along. And hoping SOMEONE finds the stash of veterinary hormones (IYKYK) to ease their frustration at lack of progress

Thanks. I'm having a lot of help along the way with the writing. Part of the process after I think a chapter is finished is to ask ChatGPT what the worst 5 parts of the chapter are. I keep doing that until it's telling me parts that I actually like. But it is nice to have an editor.

Once Rob and Jenny start working out together things will start to move along at an accelerated pace. We even get to a point where one of them is taking some "supplements." I still haven't found a way to work the secret stash of veterinary hormones in. But I do remember the suggestion.

[Sieming]

=== 1.10 A Little Harder, Too ===

Rob hopped once and caught the pull-up bar, fingers biting into the cold metal. He got his chin over it, dropped, and was halfway up again when Jenny interrupted.

"warm up first?" She asked from the doorway.

He hung for a beat, then dropped, landing softly on the balls of his feet. Jenny's arms stayed folded—calm, but firm.

"I don't—"

"I know." She came down the last step, sneakers squeaking on the concrete. "Humor me. I can't miss a meet because you like to jump right in."

He rubbed his palms on his shorts, the fabric slightly damp with anticipation. "Makes sense." It did. The rush that always sent him straight to the hard stuff cooled in his chest. He nodded, having Jenny as a partner was already paying off. "Why don't you take us through what you normally do?"

They started with easy shoulder circles, elbows raised and wide. He felt the soft pull along his traps, a pleasant awakening of muscles that had been dormant since his last session. Jenny rolled her neck and laced fingers, palms out, long line from wrist to shoulder. Her back looked broader when she did that, the lines of her shoulder blades more defined. Did his look like that from behind?

They jogged in place a minute, heel kicks, high knees, then hamstring stretches against the cool concrete wall. Rob counted under his breath, a low, steady rhythm. He liked the counting. Kept everything steady, predictable. The furnace coughed on and sent a ribbon of warmer air across his calves, a brief respite from the basement's chill.

"That should be good," Jenny announced, her breathing even.

"Okay, so if we're working out every other day, we'll do legs, core, then arms."

"Deal," she said. "And we warm up first every time."

"Of course."

Squats came first. He took the lead, feet under shoulders, toes slightly out. They had both done these before, but never with this kind of focused purpose.

On the third rep Jenny widened her stance and seemed to find her groove. He glanced over at the bottom of one and almost lost his balance—she sat deeper than he did, back straight as a ruler. After ten his lungs were warm. After twenty he felt the heat building in the backs of his legs, a dull, promising ache.

"Twenty-five," he said, voice a little breathier than he expected.

"Twenty-five," she echoed, coming up smoothly. A tiny flush lit her cheeks, not winded, from the exertion. He rolled his ankles and flexed his knees once. She had good legs—really good legs. He was glad to have someone to push him, even if it meant admitting she had an advantage here.

Jenny leaned against the paneling with her shoulders, testing her legs. "Wall sits?" she asked. "We do them in swim practice. Builds endurance."

"Show me."

She slid down the wall until her thighs went parallel, knees over ankles, back pressed flat. "Like this. No hands."

He copied her position on the other wall, feeling the tension in his quads. "Doesn't seem like much."

"Just wait."

Around thirty seconds, she exhaled long through her nose, a controlled stream of air. The washing machine changed cycles with a low hum. The pause filled the room making their breaths sound louder against the quiet. Rob felt the burn bloom hard at fifty seconds and said nothing because Jenny hadn't said anything. Minute ten, his legs began little protests, and he bit them down. Her jaw set, eyes fixed on a spot on the opposite wall. At one thirty, he felt his calves start to tremble and told himself he had another fifteen in him. He did. At one forty-five, his legs lit up like fire, and he broke first, pushing himself up the wall with a gasp.

"Okay, you win," he said, hands on his knees, legs shaking like jello. Relief was almost funny. She stayed two more seconds and then stood, thighs quivering slightly. She didn't gloat; she shook her legs out and met his eyes, a quick flash that said, 'Okay. We're even there'. The unspoken acknowledgment hung between them—this was a partnership now, not a competition.

"Sit-ups," he said, mostly because he needed something horizontal. He dropped onto the worn carpet and hooked his toes under the old couch. Jenny lay down beside him, knees up, fingers light behind ears, not clasped behind her neck like some people did.

He counted them through. They fell into the same rhythm quick up, elbows forward, down smooth. Every fifth, he called out. The furnace kicked off and, for a moment, all he heard was the soft hiss of their breath and the brush of shirts against carpet. At thirty, his abs had that good ache. He called it at thirty-five.

"Since we're down here, leg lifts?" he asked, rolling to stretch his back, feeling the vertebrae realign with a series of soft pops. The concrete floor was unforgiving against his spine, even with the carpeting. Still, the relief was immediate.

"What are those?"

He demonstrated, lying flat on his back, palms pressed under the curve of his hips for support. "Like this. Legs six inches off the floor, hold." His voice was steady, instructional. "Then out wide. Hold. Back together. Hold. And down." The motion was simple, almost mundane, something they'd done countless times during basketball conditioning drills.

They synchronized their movements, their gazes fixed on the bare bulb above the laundry nook, its light harsh in the basement's dimness. "Out," he guided, "Back in. Hold... And down." Rob kept the rhythm steady, his breath a quiet metronome. They cycled through 10 rounds, the burn intensifying with each repetition. Jenny's jaw tightened, her focus absolute, but by the final set, her breathing was uneven, the rhythm broken.

"Enough?" he asked, noting the strain in her voice.

"Yeah," she gasped, legs collapsing back to the floor. "I like learning new exercises, but I hate doing them the first few times."

He nodded, sitting up to rub his thighs. "You're getting stronger," he said, the words feeling awkward, like commenting on the weather just to fill the silence.

She didn't turn, her eyes still on the ceiling. "I know." A simple fact, no room for interpretation.

"Push-ups?" he suggested, curious about her upper body, the part of her that still felt like a relative unknown.

They positioned themselves shoulder-to-shoulder, palms flat against the worn carpet, fingers splayed for stability. Rob led with strict form: controlled descent, chest hovering just above the floor, then an explosive press back up. He kept count in his head, his breath setting the pace. Jenny mirrored him at first, her movements fluid and silent. By the twelfth rep, a faint exhale escaped her lips at the peak. At fifteen, her elbows trembled, her form faltered. She dropped to her knees.

"Keep going," she muttered, frustration in her tone.

She counted out his remaining reps, her voice soft but steady, encouragement threading through her words as he pushed past twenty. At twenty-three, he locked out, arms trembling with effort, and collapsed onto his side, chest heaving.

"Do you do push-ups at swim practice?"

"Yeah," she said, avoiding his gaze, her annoyance a distant, self-directed thing. "But coach has us do girl push-ups. I can do those forever."

"I bet he wouldn't mind if you switched," Rob offered, a small smile playing on his lips. It was a relief to finally have an exercise where he held the clear advantage.

Rob had wanted to start with pull-ups because he was proud of his numbers—nine last week. But warming up first did make sense, and ending with pull-ups meant ending on what he was pretty sure was a strength.

He jumped, fingers wrapping around the cold metal with practiced ease. First reps were always easy, the familiar motion of his body weight responding to his will. Rob kept his legs straight and still, refusing to cheat with momentum, wanting each rep to count. At five, Jenny moved around to stand in front of him, her shadow falling across the floor, an unspoken encouragement in her stillness. Seven burned in his shoulders and triceps, the muscles starting to protest. Jenny's soft voice joined his effort, counting quietly, her eyes shifting focus as she decided where to look. Eight, his ribs felt tight, breath catching in his chest. Nine, he got his chin over with a short grunt, that he hoped the washer's noises would swallow. He dropped, forearms buzzing in that satisfying way he'd come to crave—the aftermath of pushing his limits, the price of progress.

Jenny stood under the bar and looked up, assessing it as an opponent rather than equipment.

"Have you done these before? You could do hangs—"

"No. I want to do them like you," she replied, with some edge in her voice. Not at him, he realized—directed more at the bar, at the challenge it represented.

"They are harder than they look. Getting one is really good your first time."

She jumped, caught the bar, hung for a moment, then pulled. The first one climbed slowly, every muscle engaged, chin just barely clearing the metal. He blinked, surprised again by her determination—by her strength. "One!" He hadn't expected that, not after watching her push-ups. The second came up messier, elbows flaring at the end as she fought against gravity. "Two!" The third was a genuine battle, chin hovering near the bar for a long time. She didn't want to kick, but she didn't want to fail either. Two kicks brought her chin past the bar, and she dropped to the floor with a soft thud.

She stood there, arms loose at her sides, eyes still fixed on the bar. Planning revenge? Her cheeks were pink from exertion, and her breath came in short, controlled pants. Rob felt something like pride unspool in his chest, clean and uncomplicated—pride in her, in their new partnership, in the way they were pushing each other to improve, and, if he was being honest, a little pride that he dominated at something.

"Three," he announced, as if she hadn't counted them in her bones. "That's really great."

"Not good form," she answered, still catching her breath, her self-criticism as sharp as her determination.

"Better than my first three," he said, stepping closer. "Way better." Way quicker too.

She nodded once, and it wasn't acceptance so much as agreement to keep going. She looked at his arms then, openly for a second—the ropey biceps that popped when he pulled against gravity, the defined lines in his forearms—and then glanced away as if she hadn't looked, as if she'd been caught looking at someone's answers during a test.

They did a light second round of everything: fewer squats to shake out the fatigue, a shorter wall sit where neither spoke as they pushed past the point of comfort, a quick set of sit-ups that ended with matching groans, and all the rest. Finally, stretching out on the floor, feet to feet, they were leaning into the hamstring reach. Her toes tapped his once by accident. He smiled and tapped back.

"Every other day," he said to the ceiling, making it official.

"Every other day," she echoed, meeting his eyes before pushing up in one smooth motion and racing toward the stairs. "Dibs on the shower."

He blinked, confused by the sudden urgency. "What? Why do you—"

She was already halfway up the stairs, her footsteps echoing like a victory.

Rob hesitated only a moment before chasing her anyway, laughing despite himself.

— — —

The floorboards creaked with Rob's damp footfalls as he went past her door in his towel. Jenny waited until the floorboards stopped creaking across the hall before crossing. She paused at his threshold, heart thumping a rhythm against her ribs. This would be different from wrestling, she hoped Rob would like this too.

His room smelled of clean soap and warm boy. He was face down, a paperback spread open on the floor, the spine cracked and pages softened with use. His head propped by a pillow, leaning out past the edge of the bed.

He looked up when she pushed the door open. Her approach was silent, a weight shift on his mattress the only warning he got. He tensed as she swung a leg over to straddle him, the curve of her thighs settling against his sides.

"Hold still," she murmured, her voice low in the quiet room. Her palms hovered for a moment above his skin, feeling the heat radiating from him before making contact. She started with his shoulders.

"Ohhh. Mmm. How did you know?"

Her thumbs pressed into the tight knots between his shoulder blades, and he groaned into the pillow. "I know how I feel after the first few swim practices of the season," she said, her fingers working slowly, deliberately. "Figured you'd be at least as sore after that workout."

She swept back up through the knots beneath his shoulders, feeling the tension start to give way under her touch. His back was a landscape of new muscles—still boyish in places, but with manly definition in others. She could map the places where he'd pushed himself, where he'd struggled, where his determination had left its mark.

He let his head drop completely onto the pillow, his body relaxing by degrees under her ministrations. "This is great, Jenny. Where'd you learn how to do this?"

"We rub each other's backs after tough swim practices," she replied, her voice turning softer, "Some of the strokes are brutal if you do them over and over again."

Her weight shifted with each motion, knees pressing lightly into his sides as she adjusted her position. She worked slowly, thumbs dragging across his shoulder blades, fingers digging at the base of his neck, pushing at his collar. Each time she moved, she became more aware of the contact—her thighs flush against his hips, her hands mapping muscles she'd only seen in passing before.

"This'd be easier without your shirt," she muttered, the words barely audible in the quiet room.

He lifted his head slightly, turning it to look at her from the corner of his eye. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, her fingers pausing at the hem of his shirt. "The cotton bunches. Makes it hard to get at the muscles properly."

"I could take it off."

Her hands stopped. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the ceiling fan spinning slowly, its rhythmic whisper suddenly loud in the charged silence.

"Yeah," she said, pretending to study his shoulders. "Can't really get to the muscles with it in the way."

She sat back slightly, creating space, watching as he twisted and tried to peel off his shirt in one motion. It stuck a little—half on and half off for half a moment. He let it fall beside the bed, looked back at her, and dropped flat again.

When he settled back down, the expanse of his skin seemed larger somehow, more vulnerable beneath the lamplight. Jenny hesitated, hands still hovering. Then her hands returned to his shoulders, and this time, when she touched him, it was different—more direct, more intimate, skin against skin.

She'd seen him shirtless plenty. In the summer, he was more likely to be without it than with, a boy made of sunlight and pond water, all sharp angles, deep tans, and restless energy. That seemed like a long time ago, a different version of him entirely.

His skin was warm, radiating heat that was more than just shower-warm, more like a banked fire. Her palms dragged across his shoulders again, thumbs rolling in slow, deliberate circles. The knots were deep, stubborn little lumps of tension that surrendered only under firm pressure. She shifted her angle, leaning in, the weight of her body lending power to her touch. She pushed harder, and a low hum vibrated from his chest, a sound of surprising surrender.

His back wasn't exactly big, but it wasn't nothing either. A quiet strength was taking shape beneath his skin. Shoulders pulled tight from the pull-up bar, hinting at the man he was becoming. Arms, when she glanced down, were thicker than she remembered from before their workout.

Rob didn't speak. Just let out a long, slow breath and melted again, his muscles going pliant beneath her hands.

As she adjusted her position to better reach a stubborn spot, her knee brushed his side again. She didn't move it away this time. Her hands traveled lower, thumb tracing the subtle ridge of his spine, knuckles dragging small half-circles that made his muscles jump and twitch under her touch. She pressed the heel of her hand between his shoulder blades and rolled it down, a slow, possessive stroke that seemed to claim every inch of him.

She caught herself watching, mesmerized by the way his muscles moved and shifted beneath her touch, a landscape of new discoveries. The way his breathing changed, deepening and slowing as she worked, a rhythm that seemed to sync with her own heartbeat.

Not helpful.

She tried to focus, to remind herself what she was here for. What was she here for?.

"Still breathing?" she asked, her voice a little too casual.

"Yeah," he hummed, voice muffled by the pillow, thick with a sleepy contentment that told her that he appreciated her attention..

From his shoulders, it seemed natural to work her way down his arms, squeezing and rubbing as she went. There wasn't a lot of muscle there, but there wasn't anything but muscle there either, wiry and defined. She squeezed gently, testing the firmness, trying to fix in her mind how his arms felt, so she could gauge her own arms against them later. It would be great if he would flex them, just for a second, so she could really feel the strength she'd only glimpsed in the basement.

Pull it together, Jenny. Back to the shoulder and safer ground.

"Thanks," Rob said, his voice low, a vibration she felt more than heard.

She nodded, though he couldn't see her.

"Your hands are... kinda great," he added, his voice thickening with a new kind of exhaustion, one that had nothing to do with their workout. He shifted his hips slightly on the bed.

Jenny didn't answer. She shifted her weight with him and dug in again. If he noticed the way she moved, the way her breath hitched just slightly, he didn't say.
She kept going, her hands moving in a rhythm that was both familiar and strange. This was easier than a workout—a little harder, too. The furnace hummed to life, its rhythmic pulse a counterpoint to the beat of her own heart. Neither of them spoke again.


== 1.10 Author's note ==

This is another chapter that started off as two chapters. Originally chapters four and seven, you can see that a few new chapters have snuck into the story since then. The back rub scene was only about 500 words, and that didn't seem like it would stand on its own, so I rolled it in with their first workout, which wasn't very long either. Then I expanded both sections...

The expansion of the workout scene was mostly Rob being much more interested in how he compared in each exercise to Jenny. I'm not sure how I missed including that before. The expansion in the back rub scene made Jenny much more aware of how giving the back rub was affecting her. Most of us are probably more interested in Rob giving Jenny a back rub, and how feeling her body affects him, but we have to build up to that. Each escalation in intimacy has to feel natural and earned. ChatGPT keeps reminding me of that as it tries to convince me that they should really just be shaking hands at this point.

With those additions to both parts, they could probably stand alone again as separate chapters. However, after some back and forth, I decided that since maybe an hour passes between them, a single chapter made a little more sense. On the other hand, each section does have a distinct emotional feel. (see my problem?)

Honestly, one reason to make them separate chapters was to get a chapter ahead in my self-imposed two chapters a week schedule. But that seemed like cheating.

[Sieming]

=== 1.11 February and March ===

The basement was always familiar, but different now too. It had always smelled of old carpet, but now it smelled—Jenny couldn't place it—but she associated it with a sense of determination. And it felt closer, more intimate, the walls pressing in as they worked side by side. The days began to fly by. Every other night, no excuses.

They stretched first, ending by reaching for their toes. Obviously, Rob was more flexible than when they started. Visibly while they stretched, but it also showed when they wrestled. It made him harder to pin. Jenny liked that. Every time he escaped, it prolonged the game. It left their bodies in contact a little longer.

Warm-up done, she rolled her shoulders and started on push-ups. Rob watched for a moment before he shrugged off his sweatshirt, tossing it onto the couch, and dropped to the floor to join her. Jenny was already in the zone, the familiar routine between them settling into something comfortable.

The first few were always deceptively easy, but there was a different energy between them. Hard to define; it pushed them both forward. Toward the end of her set, Jenny felt his eyes on her, watching her struggle through the final few reps. Rob was always close enough to reach out and touch, a breath between them. She didn't mind; she'd always liked having him around.

Jenny pushed herself up, her breath quick, her eyes bright with determination. Her arms quivered slightly as she pushed through the set. They were in sync, pushing each other to do better, to go further. And she didn't like losing.

Rob noticed the way her form was better. Her biceps were thick, but he hadn't seen any definition yet—not that he was looking. Not that he was looking when she might see him looking. She struggled through the last one, groaning slightly, but as she collapsed on the carpet, she flashed him a small, triumphant grin. "Not bad," she said, still breathing heavily.

"Not bad? That's twenty now." Rob said, his voice rougher than usual. He wiped the sweat off his brow, trying not to make a big deal out of it. But it was true.

Jenny sat up first, wiping her hands on her knees. She glanced at him, then away, a quick smile tugging at her lips. "What's next?" she asked, her voice still breathless but confident.

Rob grinned. "Pull-ups."

Rob went first, swinging himself up. Up and down. His arms and back burned with the effort. By the ninth rep, his muscles were screaming, but he forced a tenth and, surprisingly, a very rough eleventh, landing hard on his feet when he dropped down.

"New PR!" shouted Jenny as she rushed over and gave him a hug. Jenny was always all-in on her hugs. She jumped in fast and hung on tight. Rob was pretty sweaty and slightly stinky, but it was surprisingly nice, wrestling, without the element of danger. Their bodies pressed together, pulling each other tight. Her back was starting to feel different; more Jenny there than before.

She had started doing this lately—celebrating each milestone with a hug. They were a bit annoying at first—all in and over the top—but they were growing on him. In fact, if he was being honest, he was thinking of her hug as he struggled to complete the last pull-up.

Jenny caught his eye, then stared at the bar, sizing it up. Her posture was determined, focused.

Jenny grabbed the bar. Rob watched as she strained to pull herself up. It wasn't easy, not graceful yet, but she did it. Slowly, but surely, she pulled herself higher, her face showing the effort. Rob didn't say anything, but his heart hammered in his chest. She came down, went back up, again and again.

"You got it," Rob said, more breathless than he wanted to sound.

"Five," she panted, grinning as she hung from the bar.

His eyes lingered on her broad back and shoulders, built for and from swimming. That would make a nice photo. Maybe a whole series of Jenny working out? It was hardly ever appropriate to stare at a girl's body, but when you were shooting them, you had to stare. Right?

Rob laid out the shots in his mind as Jenny's arms started to tremble and her body rose toward the bar. This—her determination—was the photo he wanted. If a picture could truly show that, he'd be a real photographer.

"Six!" she called.

"Dang," he replied.

She hung there, as if she were too exhausted to even release her grip. Well, thought Rob, I guess if we are doing hugs for PRs now...

He didn't wait for her to drop down. He simply started the hug. His arms were around her waist. His face in, well, he hadn't thought everything through. She released the bar and gripped his shoulders. "Way to go. New PR!" He spun around a few times. It was a celebration after all. He would have kept spinning longer, but Jenny was heavy.

Well, that was different, Jenny thought as they walked back up the stairs. She might have to try that new hug technique next time he PR'd. It was... nice.

— — —

A few days later, in the hallway, Morgan's voice cut through the chatter, "Hey, Jen! You been working out or something?"

Jenny, halfway to gym class, hesitated for a fraction of a second, barely long enough for Rob to notice from down the hall.

"Uh... kinda. With Rob," she said, like it was no big deal.

Her hand subconsciously brushed her upper arm right after, as if she were checking for something. Rob smiled to himself, a little smug. Yeah, it's showing, dummy, he thought, but didn't say anything.

Morgan gave a thumbs-up. "Looks good!"

Flushed, Jenny said something Rob couldn't make out and ducked into the locker room, likely more embarrassed than she let on. Rob felt a strange mix of pride and protectiveness. He appreciated that people were noticing.

— — —

Mel stood by the fencepost, arms loosely crossed, the morning sun warm against her sleeves. Across the paddock, Jenny led Cricket toward the smaller pen by the barn where another horse waited, his coat gleaming, muscles shifting under taut skin like coiled ropes.

"Wow," Mel murmured, watching his flanks move like machinery. "That must be Rocky."

"Yup," Jenny said, not looking back. "Belongs to the Nolans. He's got two foals on the ground already this year, and at least four more on the way. He's basically the neighborhood stud."

Rob unlatched the side gate, holding it open while Jenny guided Cricket in. "The Italian Stallion," he said with a smirk.

Jenny shot him a look. "Please don't say that in front of Cricket."

Cricket, standing right inside the smaller pen, shifted her weight nervously. Jenny moved to soothe her, running a hand along her neck. "She's ready. Shouldn't take long."

Mel stayed silent as the handlers worked. She'd heard about this sort of thing, of course—read it, seen diagrams. But now, watching Rocky's sheer size in person, she felt something twist.

The barnyard smelled like hay and sweat and something she didn't want to name. Flies moved slow in the warm light. Rocky shifted his weight, muscles rippling with purpose. A bird chattered from the fencepost nearby, oblivious.

"Rocky's sire won two state championships before he was retired to stud," Jenny added, giving Cricket a pat. "He throws good temperaments. Solid builds. Not hot—some of the other studs were just hot. Plus, he settles well—lots of confirmed pregnancies."

A few of the younger handlers drifted away awkwardly as Rocky reared slightly, positioning. Mel didn't look away.

"Oh," she said suddenly, half to herself, "so that's where that phrase comes from."

Jenny turned her head. "What phrase?"

Mel blinked, tone perfectly dry. "Hung like a horse."

Jenny squinted at her. "I'm not familiar with that phrase."

Rob, still holding the gate, stiffened. "It's just... locker room talk."

Mel turned her head toward him, raising an eyebrow. "Locker room talk about who?"

Rob's ears flushed instantly. "I... Nobody. It's not... It's a saying. That's all."

Rob couldn't seem to stop talking. Mel let the silence stretch for a beat as Jenny focused back on Cricket.

"How long before she foals?" Rob asked, clearly trying to change the topic.

"If it takes?" Jenny said. "Next spring. About eleven months."

They watched in silence until Rocky stepped back and was led out of the pen.

Mel's gaze flicked once toward Rob as he walked past her. The sunlight caught the side of his face, still faintly pink.

Watching Rob as he passed by, Mel kept her arms folded. She remembered seeing him at the pond in swim trunks—the fabric clinging as he climbed out. From what she could tell, he looked... average. Normal.

Which was fine. Actually, kind of a relief. He already carried enough weight in his own head about height, build, everything.

"Hung like a horse?"

She looked back toward Rocky, then toward Rob again, her brow creasing slightly.

For once, she decided not to say anything.

— — —

That evening, Jenny stood in front of the mirror above her dresser, brushing through her damp hair. Even after weeks, the aches in her shoulders, chest, all over really, were still there. Not sharp — more of a deep, satisfying weight. It was different from the rubbery exhaustion after swim meets.

She stretched her arm up, watching the muscle pull along her shoulder, a small thrill blooming inside her. It wasn't huge — no one would stop and stare — but it was there. A faint line, a slight bulge when she flexed. She tested the angle again. A bump. Bigger than nothing.

Her mind flicked to Rob, doing pull-ups. So lean, wiry muscles that moved when he strained for that last rep. He was short for his age. But if he were her age? She snorted softly. He'd fit in fine with her classmates. And honestly, he was good-looking. Her friends thought so. Even Melissa had mentioned it.

It hadn't been hard to figure out what 'hung like a horse' meant, but she couldn't imagine who that could apply to.

Her thoughts went to wrestling. The last tumble on the carpet, when she ended up on top of him, both of them gasping for air and too stubborn to admit they were done. How she could feel his chest rise and fall under her, his arms around her shoulders. How neither of them moved. She hadn't wanted to get up. She remembered how his chin brushed her hair when he spoke, how his hands didn't let go. I hadn't felt weird. Not much anyway.

Jenny shook her head, half-smiling. What are you doing, Jen?

She rolled her shoulder, feeling the warmth from the push-ups and pull-ups, and whispered to the empty room, "Seven pull-ups by next week."

For herself. And maybe for Rob.

— — —

More weeks passed, and the routine of their workouts had become familiar, almost mechanical. The rhythm of the push-ups, the steady rise and fall of their breaths, the sweat dripping down their necks—all second nature. Suffering through wall-sits, squats, jumping jacks, and planks. The new additions, and all things they'd done a hundred times before.

Rob dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, hitting the mat for another plank. He glanced over at Jenny as she positioned herself next to him, stretching out for her own set. The basement family room wasn't huge—no escaping some proximity. But this time she decided to be right next to him. As Jenny settled into her plank, the movement of her body was close, her shoulders brushing against his with every shift of their weight.

The feeling was familiar to him, another part of their shared sweat and effort. He'd been wrapped up in her limbs countless times, grappling on the carpet, in the hay, the dirt, the sand, their bodies pressed close as they fought for fun. For dominance? A few days ago, she'd pinned him down on the floor, and he had felt the firm press of her thigh against his side as he strained to break free. Later, her forearms had been tight around him in a half-nelson, her chest pressed against his back as she tried to hold him in place. Sometimes he waited before he gave it his all. It was always interesting to see what she would try next.

She was stronger—he could feel it when they wrestled, feel the way her body had developed in ways that surprised him. In the heat of the moment, when they were tangled together, struggling to gain control, it sometimes hit him, and he knew he had to work harder. Work as hard as she did.

So, side-by-side, the brush of her arm against his as they shifted into different positions was part of their rhythm, part of their routine. Wrestling or not.

Still, Rob found it hard to ignore how... capable she had become. He glanced over at her, feeling a flash of admiration. When had she gotten so strong? No denying it anymore. Her shoulders were always wide from swimming, but even they had filled out, and her arms had a distinct size to them. It made him proud of her, but also... He had to keep up.

Jenny caught his eye, and he saw that glint of determination in her gaze. She wasn't backing down. They were both pushing themselves harder than ever. It wasn't only about who could do more; it was... something else. He didn't have the word.

They finished a set of squats, and Rob collapsed onto the couch beside her, his legs still burning. Then Jenny was on her feet, hands on her hips, breathing hard, her posture straight as if she hadn't also pushed herself to the limit.

He shook his head with a grin. "You're insufferable," he muttered under his breath, though the words were full of admiration.

— — —

The sun was shining down, though the air still had a hint of late winter's bite. It wasn't warm enough to leave jackets at home quite yet. Something about the quiet of the afternoon by the pond made it feel as if they could sit here forever, listening to the water lapping against the rocks. At least the pond wasn't frozen over, Mel thought to herself.

They sat on the big rock near the pond's edge. Jenny had kicked off her shoes, her feet pressed into sun-warmed stone as she leaned back on her hands, the smell of fresh earth mingling freely with the bright sunlight.

"Have you noticed anything different?" Jenny asked, breaking the silence. Her voice was quiet, with an edge of curiosity in it, like something she'd been holding back for weeks. She turned her head, a faint frown tugging at her lips.

Mel was gazing at the water, her legs stretched in front of her, arms crossed loosely over her chest. "Different? You mean how you grew 2 inches this year?" She glanced at Jenny, her eyes narrowing slightly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Jenny snorted, a flicker of something vulnerable behind her smile. "Well, yeah. But no, I mean—" She paused, searching for the words. "Morgan asked me if I'd been working out a while ago." Jenny's face flushed, and she didn't quite meet Mel's eyes. "Like, really asked. And... I don't know, Mel. It felt... strange. I guess I never expected anyone to notice my body, much less say something to me about it. And what if they are talking to other people?" It all came spilling out in a rush.

Mel's gaze softened, but she didn't respond immediately. She tilted her head, the early afternoon sun catching in her hair.

Jenny pressed on, her voice tight with a nervous laugh. "I mean, look at this." She puffed out her chest with a bit of dramatic flair. When she glanced down, the effect was exactly what she expected: Nothing.

Mel stifled a grin, leaning in slightly and pretending to give her a once-over.

Jenny rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help letting out a small smile. "And look at this." She sighed, standing up and turning around. She twisted slightly, glancing down at her butt. "Oh, I guess that is actually looking somewhat better. The point is I'm not built like you, Mel. I don't know what to do with people looking at me, much less talking about me."

Mel watched her carefully, how Jenny's shoulders slumped for barely a second before she straightened them, trying to act confident even if she didn't feel it. She could see the way Jenny's eyes darted around, self-conscious even though no one else was around. She understood. She really did.

"Hey," Mel started, her voice gentle but firm, "when I first started getting... well, noticed," she hesitated, finding the right words, "It wasn't my arms." She shook her head with a small laugh. "At least they are noticing something you are working on."

Jenny exhaled, her tension fading a small but perceptible amount. "I can't imagine what that was like. I mean—" She glanced down at her own body, feeling suddenly awkward, "I get embarrassed about this stuff enough." But at least I don't have people making comments about—" She stopped herself, her face flushing. She wasn't sure what to say after that.

Mel shrugged casually, an understanding in her eyes. "You learn to roll with it, Jen. Compliments are good. Some people are idiots. But, if you're gonna listen to any of it, listen to the stuff that makes you feel good. Morgan was right, and you should feel good about that."

Jenny nodded slowly, her gaze drifting back to the pond. A long pause, and then she glanced back at Mel. "You think I look strong, then?" Her voice was hesitant, the words not coming easily.

Mel smiled wider, the warm sun lighting up her face. "You look strong, Jen. Show me. Let's see what you've got."

Jenny's face lit up with a real smile. She straightened up, looking straight at Mel. She raised her arm, flexing her hardest, watching the muscle in her biceps, well, not really do much.

Mel was expecting more. The arms were big enough, but the biceps were just a little shy. "Alright, alright, not bad. You definitely have something there."

After all her hard work, Jenny was kind of disappointed in Mel's reaction. She knew she was stronger than she looked. Her arms were thick. Her biceps didn't quite pop in the same way Rob's popped.

"Oh, come on," Mel said, raising an eyebrow, "you can't act like that isn't progress. Trust me, Jen. You're stronger than you think."

They stood there for a moment, the wind rustling the leaves around them, the light playing across the water's surface. Jenny felt the heat of the sun on her skin and the warmth of Mel's words.

They walked back toward the house. They didn't speak, but after a while, Jenny stepped closer, slipping her hand into Mel's, their fingers entwined.

— — —

The smell of hay and old wood hung thick in the air of the hayloft. Always quiet up here, away from the noise of the farm below, the kind of quiet Rob had always appreciated. There was something soothing about being surrounded by the stacks of hay and the dust motes dancing in the light from the tiny window near the roof. The air was warmer up here, despite the coolness of the day, and Rob leaned against the railing, looking down at the ground below.

Jenny was perched on the edge of a nearby hay bale, her legs crossed beneath her, her eyes locked on the horizon outside the barn. Rob had climbed up the ladder first, his chest still a bit sore from the last set of push-ups they'd done. They'd been at it for months now, working out every other night, pushing themselves to see who could last the longest, do the most reps. He wasn't sure what was more exhausting: the physical effort or the constant competition. Probably both.

"So, how do you feel?" Jenny asked, her voice breaking the silence. She didn't look at him, but the corner of her mouth quirked upward as she spoke, like she knew the answer.

Rob stretched his arms behind his head, glancing over at her. "I feel good." He hesitated. "Better, I guess. I'm not exactly where I want to be, but... I'm getting there." His gaze drifted over to the stacks of hay and the beams above them. There were too many things going on in his head to focus.

Jenny nodded, maybe too quickly. "Yeah, I think I know what you mean. I'm stronger, but I thought my biceps would be as defined as yours."

"I shouldn't complain about going from ten pull-ups to twelve," Rob said, his voice nonchalant, but his mind was working overtime. He hadn't hit his goals, but he was staying ahead of Jenny.

"Nine for me," Jenny said, her tone light, as if she were measuring the space between them on a piece of string. "You were like, 'You did three your first try', all impressed,' and now I can do nine!"

"No doubt," he said, leaning back against the haystack, "You've made real progress. Your push-ups are even more impressive, I mean, after you switched to real ones," he added with a small laugh.

"Not funny." Jenny cut him off, with no real heat in her voice. "Two more and we're tied." She was proud of her push-ups, and she didn't think Rob knew she was giving them extra attention in private.

Rob looked thoughtful, then looked away.

"Hey, don't get all quiet on me," she said, noticing his mood shift. She raised her eyebrows, a small teasing smile forming on her lips. "You're only gonna get more annoyed when I catch up."

Rob shifted uncomfortably, his hands resting on his knees. "It's not that," he lied, frowning. "It's just... you. You're always ready to move on while I'm still out of breath. After every round, you're standing there and you haven't even broken a sweat, and I'm dying over here."

Jenny chuckled with something softer behind the laugh. "Well, I've been more active than you for a while. Swimming, horseback riding... I have to keep going. But yeah," she added, grinning, "I guess I do recover pretty quick."

Rob couldn't help but feel that jab of frustration again. She made it look easy. While he was practically gasping for breath, she'd be standing, posture straight, arms on her hips, waiting for him. It wasn't only her physical ability—the way she made it look easy. But if he were completely honest, he knew she was working hard during the workout.

"I don't know how you do it," Rob muttered, rubbing his face with his hand.

Jenny's smile softened, and she hopped over to give him a quick hug. "It's not easy, Rob. I'm... I'm used to pushing myself like that. You'll get there too, but it'll take time. We'll get stronger together, you know?"

Rob felt his shoulders loosen a bit. Jenny was right. They had been getting stronger, and it was impossible to ignore how much closer they had become in the last couple of months.

"Right," Rob said, the edge in his voice slowly dissolving. He gave her a small smile, something else flickering in his eyes. "So, what's next, then? More push-ups?"

Jenny stretched out, her hands stretching over her head. Then she looked up at him, the playful gleam in her eyes returning. "Maybe. Or... Wrestling!"

"Here we go again," he thought, rolling his shoulders as he got ready for another round.

— — —

Rob lay on his back in the dark, arms behind his head, the old house creaking—it always did that at night. His muscles ached—the good kind of ache, proof he hadn't taken it easy. Not tonight. Not with Jen there.

And weirdly, he was proud of her. He hadn't thought much about it while they were working out, too caught up in counting, moving, pretending to know what he was doing. But now, lying here, he could admit it. She'd shown up every time, worked hard, and kept up. More than kept up, honestly. He'd taught her some exercises, but she'd shown him some too. And she made sure they kept at it month after month.

But part of him was worried. She'd been getting stronger every month before they started working out. She certainly wasn't slowing down. He knew she was pushing him to do better, but what if she got there faster? He couldn't quite sort out how he felt about that possibility.

And what did she weigh? She looked solid. She felt solid on top of him in the hayloft. He knew she weighed more than before. He'd never really thought about it, but today, her body spread out on top of his—she was heavy!

Did she weigh the same as he did? More? Pull-ups were body weight. How fast was she catching up? He grinned despite himself. Jen could probably figure out the math on that. She was good at that kind of thing.

On the other hand, her form wasn't great. So, technically, his pull-ups were harder than hers. Good. If she was cheating on the form... maybe she wasn't quite as strong as she looked.

Maybe.

— — —

February and March passed in a blur of school, chores, and workouts; of wrestling matches, back rubs, and practices; of horseback rides, signals inadvertently sent, and signals missed entirely. Jenny's arms grew harder, Rob's muscles grew larger—not as much as he had hoped—and in the spaces between, they grew closer.


== 1.11 Author's note ==

Originally, I was picturing this chapter as a training montage. You know what I mean? Like every Rocky movie has? Yeah, I don't know how to write a training montage. I didn't even have any luck outlining what I wanted one to look like. Everything I tried felt really disjointed. If you've got a good example of one (or even a bad example), I'd like to see it.

Instead, I went with a few different workout scenes and tried to keep them varied enough that they would each be interesting. I don't know how successful I was. It felt a little repetitive to me, so I threw in some brief non-workout scenes between them.

That was how the chapter was originally written. What you actually got today was that chapter, plus two short (800-word) chapters that I didn't feel like I could effectively flesh out into something approaching what has become our normal chapter length. The "Italian Stallion" and "Pond Talk" scenes were originally going to be standalone chapters.

Which leads us to the question I wanted to ask. Was this chapter too long? I was really close to breaking it up into 1.11 February and 1.12 March. Each of those would have been about 2,200 words in length.That's more of the average chapter size.

Oh, and ChatPT told me I used the word "just" 33 times and "a little" 21 times in this chapter. It's down to 3 and 5 now (not counting any in this note). I just can't help myself; it's a little problem.

Finally, All 17 chapters of Not So Little (I picked a title) are complete. I'll continue to post them here a chapter at a time, but if you want to read the whole thing right now (or if you're worried about stories that just disappear) You are not allowed to view links. Register or Login.