“Whoa, Coach,” said Jackson, looking enviously at the slab of young muscle that had been his flabby old coach. “You look like a beast! Was this what you looked like as a senior?”
“Yeah,” said Tom. “It’s funny, because i was a late bloomer. My coaches didn’t think I’d make much of anything. I could barely bench press the bar as a sophomore. Then when I was sixteen, I shot up to six-six and filled out, and then the scouts came knocking.”
“We’re gonna win for sure!” crowed Jackson.
A cocky smile crossed Tom’s face as he tore his shirt off and went to strike a most-muscular pose. As he went to flex, his fist knocked the table and brushed the dice onto the floor.
“Oh, NO!” shouted Jackson as the lots clattered around and landed on the floor.
Tom stared in horror as the physical changes overtook him once again. His strong pecs and big biceps deflated slightly. He scratched urgently as his beard lightened and then fell out, leaving only peach fuzz in its place.
The hapless coach twitched as his muscle mass thinned out. He stared helplessly at Jackson as his height dropped an inch and his point of view changed.
“What the f—“ Tom cried out as his voice cracked. Uncontrolled teen hormones running rampant through his body, he grew insistently erect and colonies of acne grew across his cheeks and forehead. His pants, already loose from his journey from middle age, teetered on his narrowed hips, held up only by his bulge.
“I think it’s ov—“ said Jackson, only to be interrupted as Tom’s face froze in a rictus of pain. The fuzz on his chest disappeared as his mustache retreated to just a few downy hairs at the edges of his lips. The coach jerked upright and shuddered violently. Jackson gasped as Tom lost two, then four, then eight inches of height.
Tom’s broad shoulders narrowed with a crack as his washboard abs disappeared to a flat, hairless, boyish stomach. He shuddered again as he shrank even more. His arms became scrawny, his nipples became puffy, and the impressive bulge dwindled and his pants, now far too large in the waist, dropped to the floor, exposing spindly legs with only a little downy hair at the ankles.
He stared up—WAY up—at Jackson.
“Three and one. Four,” he said softly in a voice completely untouched by puberty. “I’m fourteen.” Tears welled up in his eyes.
“That’s okay,” said Jackson from more than a foot above Tom. “You can still play as a freshman! Come on, let’s get you measured and suited up!”
Tom stumbled as the older boy shoved him in the direction of the scale and he tripped over his size-16 shoes.
“Five one,” said Jackson, “and… um… oh, wow. Eighty-four pounds. Let’s see what we have,” he said as he rummaged around in the equipment closet. “We have some… size small stuff. And somebody left a pair of size 7.5 cleats in here. Try this on.”
Tom went into the changing area and shucked the rest of his adult clothes. A few minutes later, he trudged out, his shoulders slumped. The uniform sagged around him and the football pants swung around his ankles. The cleats slapped against the floor as he waddled.
“I think,” said Jackson quietly, “that you might need to try out for middle school football.”
“I’m not in middle school! You saw the lots, I’m fourteen! That’s high school! I told you, I was a late bloomer!” whined Tom in his prepubescent alto.
“ARE a late bloomer,” retorted Jackson. “And honestly you look about twelve or thirteen. You could pretend to be in seventh grade and then you’d fill out your freshman year instead of your junior year. Because honestly, Tommy, even if we found kit to fit you, you’d get murdered on the field. The AVERAGE height at Lincoln High is six-three.”
“Don’t call me Tommy! My name is Tom! And I’m your coach, you should call me Coach!”
“Look at yourself in the mirror, ‘Coach’,” Jackson said as he spun the smaller boy roughly. “Do you look like a coach? You’re shorter than all the cheerleaders, you don’t even weigh a buck, and you couldn’t perform with a girl even if you could get one to give you her number. You’re a seventh grade boy. You’ll be a big beast someday but right now, you’re just barely out of Pop Warner.”
Tom looked in the mirror. An unprepossessing little boy looked back at him, his head only up to the chest of the high school jock.
Tom burst into high-pitched sobs.