Coach Chad Murphy strolled through the hallway of Glenwood Middle School, whistle dangling around his neck, tanned arms glistening with a post-lunch gym class sweat. At 42, he was exactly what you’d expect from a lifelong gym teacher — broad-shouldered, confident, with a square jaw and a smug little smirk that never quite left his face.
But that smirk faltered when he swiped left on a dating app that afternoon and saw none other than Benton Butterbomb.
Chad nearly dropped his phone.
Mr. Butterbomb, the 50-year-old health teacher, was a walking dad joke factory — a short, round man with thinning hair, a gut that looked like it was smuggling a beach ball, and a wardrobe exclusively made up of Hawaiian shirts that clung to his belly like plastic wrap. His profile pic? A selfie in front of his grill, flipping burgers, his hairy belly peeking under his shirt. The bio read:
"Let me be your butter on your bomb roll. 🍔 Dad bod included."
“Swipe left. Swipe left.” Chad muttered, jabbing his phone screen.
Unfortunately, Benton noticed Chad acting weird around him at school after that. He started popping up everywhere — the teachers' lounge, the parking lot, even the locker room door — always armed with a goofy joke and an awkward invitation to "grab wings or go bowling sometime."
Finally, Chad pulled Benton aside.
“Look, man,” Chad said, trying to sound gentle. “You’re a nice guy, but I’m just... not into you. I think we’re better off as coworkers. You get it, right?”
Butterbomb’s smile barely flickered. But something behind his eyes shifted — a spark, just for a second. “Oh, I get it,” he said softly. “Don’t worry, Coach. We’ll have a great summer together anyway.”
On the last day of school, Chad was packing up the equipment room when Benton waddled in, belly bouncing. “Heyyy, Coach Murph!” Benton called, “Mind helping me carry some boxes to my room? I promise there’s a treat involved.”
Chad groaned inwardly but followed. Anything to get Butterbomb off his back for the summer.
Inside Benton’s classroom, the air felt thicker, like it was filled with hot syrup. Posters of food pyramids and cartoon intestines lined the walls. On the desk was a candle shaped like a bellybutton, lit and pulsing with soft orange light.
“Uh, what’s all this?” Chad asked, brow furrowing.
Benton shut the door. “Just some summer fun.” His voice dropped an octave, becoming oddly soothing. “I think you need to learn what it’s like, Chad — to want someone you just can’t have.”
Chad backed up. “Benton, you’re freaking me out.”
Butterbomb raised his arms and started chanting, his chubby fingers tracing swirling shapes in the air:
"Biceps, pecs, grown-up pride,
Shrink it down and strip the hide!
Youth returns, the man unwinds —
A scrawny boy is what we’ll find!"
Chad staggered as dizziness overtook him. His fingers tingled, his skin prickled like static electricity crawling across his arms. “What—what the hell is this?!”
“Relax, Chad,” Benton patted his shoulder, his meaty hand almost fatherly. “You’re gonna be my new summer school student. Just a little guy… with a big ol’ crush.”
“No!” Chad shouted — but his voice cracked halfway through. He shrunk an inch, his shirt loosening at the collar. “What’s happening to me?!”
“Puberty… backwards!” Butterbomb cackled. “Ooh! Look at those pecs flatten out. And say goodbye to that manly stubble — oops, there it goes!”
Chad felt his jawline soften, his chest deflate into smoothness. He grabbed at his gym shorts as they started sliding off his shrinking hips. His sneakers clunked loosely around his feet.
Benton poked his belly. “Aww, no more six-pack, kiddo. You’re gonna need a belt AND some cartoon underwear before we’re through.”
“Change me back!” Chad demanded, now a gangly 11-year-old drowning in adult gym clothes. His tank top hung like a dress, and his shorts sagged past his knees.
Butterbomb bent down, eye level with the scrawny preteen Chad had become, and gave him a hair-tousle. “We’ll have to get you some kid-sized clothes, buddy. Maybe matching Hawaiian shirts? Father-son day at the mall? What do you think?”
Chad’s cheeks burned red. “This isn’t funny! You can’t do this to me!”
Benton leaned in close, his breath heavy with onion rings and beer, and let out a deep, rumbling belch right in Chad’s face.
The smell hit Chad like a sledgehammer to the senses — buttery, greasy, sweet — and something inside his mind… twisted.
Suddenly, Mr. Butterbomb’s belly seemed… majestic. Those twinkly dad-joke eyes? Endearing. That big goofy grin? Kind of adorable.
Chad’s heart fluttered.
“What’s… happening?” Chad’s voice squeaked.
“That’s the crush spell, little buddy,” Benton said, gently booping Chad’s nose. “You’re gonna idolize me all summer long. Every joke I tell, you’ll laugh. Every time I pat my belly, you’ll sigh. Every time I burp—”
“—I’ll want to hug you.” Chad finished, horrified by his own words.
Benton giggled. “Exactly!”
Chad tugged at his oversized tank top, his ears burning. “I can’t… stop thinking about you. What is WRONG with me?!”
“Nothing at all, sport.” Benton scooped him up, effortlessly cradling the now-lightweight boy in his arms. “This is just a little teacher-student bonding. By the time school starts up again, you’ll know exactly what it feels like to want someone you can’t have.”
“But I’m not supposed to have a crush on you!” Chad squirmed, but each time Butterbomb’s fuzzy arm brushed against him, the butterflies in his stomach got worse. "I don't want to have to go back to school. This isn't fair!"
Benton winked. “Tough luck, little boy. Life isn't fair, and you've got a lot to learn."