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“Yep.”

The Wannabes are a small group we dubbed the Wannabes due to the fact they want to be hard core weight lifters. They’re fit, but they’re too busy showing off and recording themselves for ChattySnap videos to maintain basic gym etiquette. The biggest offense, other than getting unconsented video of another gym member, is the fact they hog the free weight area and leave the whole area a mess. “I asked them to re-rack the weights this time but you know they never listen. Some are just too heavy for me to lift, so if you want to make a pass by them every so often to make sure they’re keeping it straight, I’d appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.”

“Thanks, Nadia. I’ll bring you a coffee on your next shift as thanks.”

My boss heads out, leaving me alone at the desk for the first hour of my morning shift. It’s past the early rush, and things are pretty quiet. I scan in members, who are primarily students with a few faculty members thrown in between. I also hand out equipment, like basketballs for the court, and towels for the pool. It’s easy and pretty mindless, which is exactly what I need right now.

One of the perks of the campus gym is that it’s free of varsity athletes. They have their own training facilities, which makes this my own little safe space.

Safe space.

I think of Axel showing up two nights ago, looking desperate and on the edge of making bad decisions and how he came to me for help. No one has ever looked at me as a reliable person to count on. It feels weird.

“Nadia?”

I look up. “Oh, Eric, hey.”

I haven’t seen my project partner since I overheard the awkward conversation between him and my former lovers after I left class.

“I didn’t know you worked here.” He holds out his phone and I scan his student ID.

“Yeah,” I say, “I started a few weeks ago.”

“Cool.” He steps aside, and I scan in the guys with him. A few have the same Greek letters on their clothing–frat brothers. “I’ve been meaning to contact you about meeting up. We should get started on the project, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, absolutely. We definitely should do that,” I say, trying to quell the uneasiness in my gut. “This week?”

“We can, uh, meet at the Zeta Sigma house if you want? There’s a study room or you know…”

If I didn't know, the smirky grin on his friend’s face would fill me in.

“You know…” I say, mouth turning dry. Old me would have just said yes. I wouldn’t want to rock the boat. I would have just done what was expected of me, and honestly, the urge to do that now is strong. It’s the easy way to live, but I think about Axel on my doorstep, shoving that box of weed at me. Saying no to going to a frat house, alone, with a guy who was envisioning me giving him a blow job, seems possible. “Can we do the library? That would probably fit into my schedule better.”

“Oh,” he says, eyebrows furrowing, “Sure. No problem. I’ll text you with a time.”

I force a smile. “Great. Thanks, Eric, I appreciate it.”

Behind me, Brian arrives, giving me the opportunity to cut the conversation short. After getting him settled, I say, “Abby asked me to straighten the mats in the studio. You okay here by yourself?”

“No problem,” he says, already pulling out his laptop. We’re allowed to do schoolwork when it’s slow and Brian is an engineering major. He’s always got some project due.

I’m on my way to the studio when I hear a shout from the back corner. “Great,” I mutter, not in the mood to deal with a second group of guys this morning. I go past the cardio machines and the weight machines over to the free weight area. I hear their music blasting over the other noise in the gym–rolling my eyes at the fact they had to bring their own. Classic entitlement. Once I get past the ellipticals, I see a group of guys–the Wannabes–standing around a bench, the bar wracked with huge, heavy weights. Two of the guys are spotting, while another has his camera out recording the guy on the bench.

“Holy shit, he’s doing it,” someone says, voice carrying over the gym. “Did you get the weights?”

“Got it,” the videographer says, a dumb grin on his face. “Personal record!”

As I get closer, I see the arms holding up the bar wobble, shaking–struggling–under the weight. Panic fills my throat, but before I can freak out, he, with the help of his spotters, get it back on the rack.

“Hell, yes!” a voice shouts in victory.

Oh,hell no.

I storm over to where Axel, the front of his T-shirt soaked with sweat, slowly climbs off the bench, shaking out his arms.

“What are you doing here?”