After I understood that, I stopped wearing the hero costumes altogether. I got interested in Star Wars and Star Trek, and discovered that in sci-fi you don't have to meet a particular physical standard in order to play make-believe. I was allowed to be an awkward, four-eyed Luke Skywalker, because Star Wars was for geeks and therefore not cool enough for most people to bother mocking.
So, I embraced my geekdom. Not that I had much choice in the matter. I was shortsighted, smart, hard-working, and the smallest kid in my class until I blossomed at the ripe old age of fifteen.
When I met Elissa for the first time, I was shorter than she was, and in the illustrious words of my warm and supportive father, I looked like ‘a toothpick wrapped in spaghetti’. Elissa, on the other hand, had blossomed early and was not only gorgeous but had a good-looking boyfriend (who turned out to be a cheating dick), and a track star older brother (who was just a regular, garden-variety dick). So when we were paired together in drama club, my first thought was that she'd turn out to be a mean girl who'd destroy me in record time.
To my surprise, she was really nice. And funny. And got me. She was the first girl to look at me like I hadn't just pissed in her cornflakes. Against all odds, we became friends, and then to everyone's surprise, including my own, best friends.
Six months after we met, I finally got that mega-dose of pubescent testosterone I'd been dreaming of since the first grade, and I shot up to being six feet tall within a year. Not only that, but my spaghetti limbs filled out to such an extent, it took me a long time to get used to seeing a well-built man in the mirror every day.
For a while I pretended I was Peter Parker, and the sudden changes were due to a radioactive spider bite, but like Spiderman I was still a geek on the inside.
So, now I have a dilemma.
On Elissa's advice, I've been working out to try and relieve the feelings of inadequacy I've gained from living in Hollywood. I mean, come on. The dude who unclogs the drains at my L.A. pad is a supermodel with a six-pack. Not to mention my girlfriend's latest co-star is a freakishly handsome fitness model who makes me feel like Elmer Fudd. How the hell am I supposed to keep the love of a woman as spectacular as Angel Bell with that kind of competition?
For the past four weeks while Angel has been overseas, I've busted my ass in the gym every day doing sit ups, push ups, bicep curls, and bench presses ... I've done it all. I've even cut back on junk food and started drinking water instead of beer. If I were to brag to my dad about my new routine, I know exactly what he'd say: "So, what? You want a medal? Or a chest to pin in on?"
Well, Pops. I have a chest now, so yeah. Give me a damn medal.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I barely recognize my body. I've never had muscles like this in my life, and to be honest, they're taking some getting used to. None of my shirts fit anymore, and even though I can get away with my T-shirts being snug, my button-ups won't even ... well ... button up.
I do a few flexes and pose. Yep. Definitely weird.
My phone starts up with Elissa's ring tone, and I drop my pose to grab it, embarrassed I was behaving like a meathead, even in the privacy of my own room.
"Hey, you."
"Hey,” she says. “Where are you?" I can hear chatter and the sound of glasses clinking in the background. "You realize this is a New Year's Eve party, right? That means you're supposed to get here before the new year."
"Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious. I'm still figuring out what to wear."
"What's to figure out? It's a costume party. You'll dress up as Captain Kirk, as usual."
I'm not embarrassed to admit that I paid three hundred dollars on EBay for an authentic Kirk uniform a few years ago, and it's become my go-to costume for any occasion. Even wore it to my cousin's Bar Mitzvah for shits and giggles. Aunt Bethany still isn't talking to me over that.
I'd like to say that I chose to hire an alternate costume for tonight because the other one's so tight now I look like a Star Trek strip-o-gram, but that's not it. It's because I've worked hard to look different, and goddammit, maybe just once in my life I want to feel what it's like to be the hero and not the geek. Angel deserves a leading man, not the comic relief. If I can pull this off, maybe I can stop being so goddamn insecure about the Adonises with which I seem to be surrounded.
"What did you and Quinn go as?" I ask.
"You'll see when you get here, which I hope is soon."
"Tell me it's not some nauseatingly hip couple's costumes."
She pauses. "Okay, I won't tell you that. But Josh, hurry uuuuup! Marco's asked me twice if you're coming, and I need my bestie hugs. I haven't seen you since Liam and I got back from the island. I miss you. Come drink with meeeee!"