The Brawn and the Bookworm

It was a Tuesday afternoon when Lila, our new Pilates instructor, walked into the gym with a ghost from my past behind her.

I stood behind the gym’s counter, wiping sweat from my forehead after my afternoon strength training, and flashed my most dazzling smile. My face froze when I noticed the girl with brown skin and thick-rimmed glasses behind her. 

Nina Suárez. 

Lila waved and the corners of Nina’s mouth quirked upward in a polite acknowledgement of my presence, but her eyes did not light up, her smile did not widen. She followed behind Lila to the wood floor classroom, tossing her thick hair over her shoulder. 

She didn’t recognize me. But no one from high school would recognize me now, unless they were my friend on social media. The scrawny class president with glasses and terrible haircut was long gone. 

I busied myself with wiping down the gym equipment, trying to ignore the strange feeling in my chest as the bass of cheerful pop music leaked through the doors. Eventually, the class ended, and the two women approached the desk. I strode over, tossing a towel over my shoulder. “Good class?” 

“Hi, Archie. Yeah, lots of good energy today,” said Lila. “Can you log my timesheet?”

“No problem.” I stepped behind the desk and clicked around the computer, shooting a glance past Lila’s shoulder. 

“Hey, Nina Suárez. Long time no see.” I had always called her by her first and last name in high school, ever since we were partners for a project in AP history class our sophomore year.

She pushed her glasses up her sweaty nose as her eyes grew wide. “Archibald Greene?” 

I placed my forearms on the counter, adopting a pose of ease even as my heartbeat increased. “The one and only. You’re back in town?” 

She adjusted her gym bag, giving me time to admire her post-workout glow. “Yeah. Lila’s my roommate. She convinced me to try her class. What she did not tell me was that I wouldn’t be able to feel my legs after. Or arms.” She glowered at Lila, who shrugged. 

“You’ll thank me later!” Lila waved and headed out the door, her blonde ponytail swinging with every step. 

The gym was quiet, so I kept the conversation rolling. “What are you up to nowadays?” 

“I just bought the sweetest little bookstore. I’m opening in a few weeks.” 

“I’ll have to stop by.” 

She grinned. “And you? You’re working here?” 

“Yeah. My buddy Nate owns the place. I teach bootcamp classes.” 

Her eyes flicked to the black and white photos behind the counter, a collection of the staff and their fitness accolades. “Hang on, is that you?” She stared at the photo of me in board shorts, flexing on a stage and wearing a medal. 

“Men’s physique champ of 2019.” 

“What’s that?” 

“A bodybuilding competition. It’s for guys who don’t want to go full Arnold in their training.”

“Wow.” 

“It’s good exercise.”

She ran her eyes over my arms, the fabric of my T-shirt pulled tightly against my biceps. “Clearly.” Then she blushed and pulled out her phone. Before I could ask if she wanted to grab dinner this weekend, she was leaving. “Sorry, I’m running late. I’m meeting my contractor soon. I’ll see you later.”  

I watched her walk out into the sunny parking lot, passing under palm trees, and wondered why my limbs felt so tingly. 

#

If there was one thing that I learned in college, it was that girls didn’t like nerds. They liked guys with big muscles who could toss them around the bedroom, even if I still felt like the quiet, studious kid from high school. I also learned that with the right tricks and confidence, I could pull any girl I wanted. 

The next time I saw Nina’s name pop up on the pre-registrations for Pilates, I made sure I was in position. I did my warmup, stretching thoroughly. I was going for a new personal best on my Olympic lift today, a classic ploy to impress. I waited until 3:50, knowing that Nina and Lila would be the last two to leave class, then called Nate over to be my spotter. A bunch of people paused their workouts to watch. With the small crowd at my back, I concentrated on my form. I envisioned my success as my hands wrapped around the metal bar. I lifted, clenching my core. The weights soared, my quads screamed as I held the bar over my head in my squat position, then forced myself to stand upright, completing the clean. Grunting with effort, I let the 270-pound barbell fall to the ground where it hit the rubber turf with a clang. 

Nate whooped, and the rest of my audience cheered. I looked past them and saw Nina at the counter. She smiled as she shook her head, then walked out of the gym. 

Since she was unmoved by my performance, I tried other tactics. I brought Nina protein shakes, gave her a free class pass (which she politely refused), and finally resorted to asking Lila about her. She was single, but other than that I didn’t get more than “she’s really busy getting ready to open her store.” I begged Lila to ask Nina about me. She rolled her eyes. “You know her better than I do. Maybe try doing something she likes.” Then she waltzed into the classroom, leaving me to spiral behind the desk. 

#

Two weeks went by, and when Nina still hadn’t accepted my friend request on Instagram, I knew I had to do something drastic. So, when I saw her name on the list for Pilates, I clicked my name into the roster and sealed my fate, taking Lila’s advice.

I spread one of the gym’s yoga mats next to Nina and sat down. She raised an eyebrow at me. “Trying something new today, Archibald Greene?” 

“Thought I would give it a whirl.” 

She smirked. “Too bad all those muscles can’t save you from the pain you’re about to endure.” 

I could handle a few mat exercises. At Lila’s instruction, I grabbed a pair of measly eight-pound dumbbells and strapped on some ankle weights, loading them up fully and ignoring her recommendation to go lighter for my first class. 

To my chagrin, it turned out that Pilates is really fucking hard. Fifteen minutes into class, I was sweating so much I had to keep wiping down my mat. I made a mental note to make Nate buy the nice, grippy kind that Nina had brought with her. She didn’t slide around hers at all. We also didn’t drop our weights once, and soon those eight-pound weights felt like sixty. 

After our warm-up, we moved to the reformers, machines that looked suspiciously like medieval torture racks. I lay down on my sliding platform and grabbed the straps. Halfway through class, we held our feet in the hair in a boat pose, pulsing our arms up and down at our sides. The amount of shaking that was happening throughout my torso could have registered on the Richter scale. I dared to look at Nina, who was perfectly at ease in her pose, though her hair was plastered adorably to her forehead with sweat. She caught my eye and pinched her lips together, stifling a laugh. 

“We’re coming into our final set here, folks,” chirped Lila with eight minutes left of class. “Remember, breath to movement!” She took her place on her own reformer. “If you would like to level up, I invite you to join me in some advanced technique.” She placed her hands behind her head and stuck one foot onto the sliding platform, bracing the other against the wooden structure. “Who’s ready to burn their legs?” 

The class chuckled. 

Some did not opt for the advanced forms, but I was no quitter. I stuck my foot onto the slider and braced my hands behind my head, noting that Nina did the same. With the strength of her legs, Lila demonstrated how to glide the platform out a few inches until she was doing a sort of split, then slid in again. 

Every inch of me was slick with sweat. I inhaled deeply, trying to focus. If I could get through this class, then Nina had to talk to me again. This time I would ask her out. I inched the slider forward ever so slightly, but my foot shot forward off the platform, greased up from my own perspiration, and I blacked out as pain ripped through my quad.

#

Back out in the lobby, Nina sat with me as I clutched an ice pack to my thigh. The triumph of talking to her again was buried under waves of pain and embarrassment. Nate clapped me on the shoulder as he walked by with his car keys. We were headed straight for the walk-in clinic. 

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” asked Nina, placing a water bottle on the table in front of me and tucking a book back into her gym bag. 

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” I winced. 

“I thought power lifters knew ego is the enemy.” 

“You’re confusing me with a smart power lifter. I am a dumb bodybuilder. One who is desperately trying to impress a girl he likes.” Jesus. What was I saying? The pain was making my tongue loose. My thoughts were hazy. I gulped from the icy-cold water bottle, hoping it would help clear my head. 

Nina smiled sadly. “Maybe next time you could try talking to Lila like a sane person instead of showing off in her class.” 

“Wait, what?” A numbness that had nothing to do with the cold water settled in my gut. 

“If you just asked her out, you’d save yourself all this trouble.” 

“Did you say ‘Lila’?” 

“And good for you, she’s always liked the brawny ones. I still prefer more intellectual types, but it’s obvious you’re obsessed with her.” 

I scrubbed my free hand over my face. “Nina Suárez.” 

“Archibald Greene,” she deadpanned, like she hadn’t said the craziest thing I’d heard in my life. 

“I don’t like Lila.” Suddenly my face was hot, and I felt sixteen again, full of self-conscious nerves. 

Nina squinted at me, then her mouth fell open. “Oh.” 

At that moment, Nate hollered at me to get a move on. Nina held the door open for me as I limped outside, embarrassment turning my insides to acid.

#

In the walk-in clinic, Nate asked me what the hell I’d been thinking, and I told him the whole story. How I had always had a crush on Nina, and almost asked her to prom then chickened out. How this was my last chance at dating her, and I was completely fucking it up. My mood did not improve when I heard I’d be on crutches for a month. 

I took a week off, stewing in what Nina had said about preferring the more intellectual types. I had shoved that part of my identity away, burying it under whey and weights. It had worked so far. Hadn’t it? 

Laying on the couch and feeling sorry for myself, I flipped through Instagram. I saw a post from Nina, who’d finally accepted my request. Tonight was the grand opening of her romance-themed bookstore. With a burst of resolve, I dragged myself off the couch to make myself presentable.

The bookstore swarmed with people. I maneuvered through them clumsily and grabbed a book off the shelf before limping over to where she stood behind the register, glowing with pride.

She raised an eyebrow at me as her face split into a grin. “Interesting choice.” 

I glanced at the cover: a buff hockey player and a petite figure skater on an ice rink. “Is it any good?”

“Yes, once the guy stops posturing and asks the girl of his dreams out.”

I smiled as warmth spread through me. “Nina Suárez. Will you go out with me?”