My eyes land on a particularly large member just before they slide up to a familiar face.

“Hey Chuck,” Spencer says, pushing his pants down, and then switching into shorts. He yawns and stretches as he looks me over. “I thought you were excused from this shit?”

I turn and try to flee, but the doors are locked.

“You have to leave through the exit on the other side. They lock these doors during the test to maintain privacy while other students are in the gym.” He cocks his head to one side. “You know, they have those screen things up, but we all have to go out there and get our height and weight taken, our balls groped. Physicals sucks.”

“Spencer, get me out of here,” I grind out, turning around and seeing him staring at me in confusion. Seriously, so much wiener in that room. So, so, so, so much. “Please. I feel lightheaded.”

He raises an eyebrow, but nods and gestures for me to follow after him.

“Did you like what you saw?” he purrs, but I ignore him, working my way through the crowd toward a side door. “Or was it … clinical. I bet you felt like it was clinical, huh?”

“Just shut up and move. I don't feel good.” Not a total lie. I woke up with cramps, a headache, and bloody sheets. I hate being on my period. Using both hands, I push the door handle down and slip out.

“Chuck!” Spencer yells, pushing out after me. “You're bleeding.” His eyes are wide as he points to my pants.

Oh.

Oh no.

No, no, no, no, no.

I look down and there it is: every girl's worst nightmare.

“What the fuck?” Spencer chokes out. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. I just … I'll be fine. Go take your stupid fitness test.” I try to move away, but Spencer grabs my arm. He looks dead serious now, and also like he's starting to get a little pissed off.

“Dude, you're bleeding profusely. Like, that's an alarming amount of blood. Let me take you to the nurse's office.” I grit my teeth and try to appreciate that he's concerned about me. That's cute, it really is. It just … I don't need some guy telling me how much blood there is. I'm fully aware.

“Please let me go. I promise I'll take care of it.”

Spencer's eyes narrow, and he grits his teeth. Fuck. I can see he's digging his heels in now. This is leading toward a conversation I wasn't ready to have yet.

“Spencer,” I repeat, sighing and closing my eyes. I adjust myself, and a bit of blood runs down my leg and drips on the floor. I mean, I've had heavy periods like this before, and I'm not concerned, but why does it have to be happening right here in front of a cute boy I like?! He's now staring at that tiny spot of bright red like he's afraid I'm going to keel over and die. I pull a wet wipe from my bag and clean it up. “Please go back in the gym, and let me deal with this.”

“You looked like you were going to pass out in there. Fuck, you still do.”

“I looked like I was going to pass out because I've never seen so much naked cock in all my life,” I grind out, and he looks at me funny. Like, really funny. Like maybe for the first time, something's starting to sink in.

“But you're gay?” he hedges, narrowing his turquoise eyes, and I sigh.

“Not all gays guys see tons of cock, Spencer. Now, please. Let me go.”

“Not when you're bleeding like that.” He scoops me up in his arms before I can protest and starts off in the direction of the nurse's office. I'm seriously caught halfway between wanting to punch him … and waiting to maybe kiss him.

“Spencer …” I start as he keeps walking, seemingly determined to ignore me. “I need to tell you something.” My heart is racing, and I feel sick to my stomach. Also, I really need a tampon. Or a menstrual cup. Or like, seriously, a shower. “Please me put me down, so I can talk to you.”

“You can talk to me after we get that bleeding stopped. Did you cut yourself or something?”

“Spencer, all I need is a tampon to stop the bleeding.” His face scrunches up.

“Why would you need a—”

He stops walking. Just stops. Freezes. His arms get tight around me. His turquoise eyes slide over to mine, and this look of horror crosses his face.

“I was going to tell you this week. I mean, that's why I asked you to ask me out at the end of it, so I had time to—”

“What are you inferring here?” he whispers, setting me down carefully and stepping back. His cream-colored gym t-shirt sticks to his sweaty skin, highlighting every single beautiful muscle underneath. I can see his pulse fluttering violently in his throat.

I look away and close my eyes for a moment to gather myself. I knew he'd be the hardest one to tell. I knew it.

When I glance back, Spencer's still staring at me like he can't or won't figure it out on his own. I'm going to have to spell it out.

“Spencer, I'm … I'm a girl.”

His nostrils flare, and we just stand there staring at each other.

“No,” he says, but I'm nodding my head.

“Yes. I'm … on my period.” My cheeks flush, and he takes a step back from me like he's horrified. Hopefully not of my cycle. I mean, it isn't pretty but it's natural and normal. “That's the bleeding. I'm okay. I just … could you escort me back to the dorm?”

“You're not a girl; I saw your dick.” Spencer's adamant about it. My cheeks flush even brighter red, and I feel this strange urge to just curl up in his arms. Never going to happen. Sexual chemistry does not a relationship make. We are nothing to one another, virtual strangers.

“That was a fake packer penis,” I whisper, and his eyes get even wider. Slowly, I reach up and unbutton the top buttons on my shirt, so he can see the white tape of the bindings. “I've been using these to hide my breasts.”

“Holy shit,” Spencer breathes, turning away and putting his hand on the wall. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.” A bead of sweat drips from his forehead to the floor as he leans over and takes several deep breaths. “I'm not gay, am I?”

“I mean, not for being attracted to me,” I start, unsure where to go from here. “I think we just have, maybe, like physical chemistry or something?” Spencer looks back at me with this fresh expression on his face, one I've never seen before. It's almost … tender.

“You're a girl,” he repeats, and I nod, swallowing hard.

“My name is Charlotte,” I tell him, “but you can still call me Chuck if you want. The twins do.”

Spencer's eyes widen, and that tender expression snaps in half, like a lightning bolt shattering the expression on his face. He rakes his fingers through his silver hair.

“The twins know?” he says, voice ice-cold.

“They figured it out on their own; I didn't tell them. Not Ranger or Church either. It all just sort of … happened.”

“Ranger and Church know?” he repeats, his turquoise eyes darkening as he looks at me like I've just kicked him in the nuts.

“They do … and so does Ross,” I whisper, because if I'm being honest, then I might as well go all the way with it.