After Senior Seminar Byron swung by the gym, even though it wasn't entirely on his way back to the dorm, because he had an inkling that the volleyball team might be practicing. A group of girls were indeed setting, passing, and spiking as he entered the gym, his detour proving fruitful. Byron hopped onto the first step of the bleachers and walked toward the far door, attempting to look casual but keeping a close eye on the court for his raven-haired friend.

When he reached the middle of the gym he paused. He hadn't spotted the raven-haired player, so he spent a moment searching. Just as he was forced to conclude that she wasn't there, he heard a voice from behind him.

“Looking for someone?”

Byron's heart leapt into his throat but he recovered quickly.

“Yeah, I was looking for someone to help me change a light bulb,” Byron said without turning around.

He felt someone walking in the bleachers behind him and then, although he kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, sensed the presence of someone standing next to him. “Oh, yes, volleyball players are notorious for their generous loaning of stepladders.”

Feeling that he had played it cool long enough, Byron looked up at the girl next to him. Sure enough, it was the raven-haired girl he had ogled when he last caught a volleyball practice, standing more than a full head taller than him, looking down at him. If he looked straight ahead, his eyeline would be just above her modest chest. He smiled his most winning smile at her and she returned it, a look of friendly mocking in it- if it hadn't already been evident that she knew he was here to see her, it was now. Caught. Again.

“What happened to your sexy hobo look?” she asked, still grinning at him.

Byron noticed that she wasn't dressed to play today, nor was she in her uniform, wearing jeans which didn't seem any more equipped to handle her bodacious lower body than her athletic shorts and a solid grey t-shirt. “I've embraced the uniform. Have you seen these pants? Puke brown and pleated? I mean it's so sexy it's not even fair.”

“Bella came down on you, huh?”

“I'll be honest, I was afraid she might eat me.”

“Who could blame her?” said the volleyball player, leaning closer to him so that their arms grazed each other.

Who was this girl? Byron was certainly no stranger to girls being receptive to his flirting, but this girl was so assertive and had taken control of the conversation so quickly that he felt like he was scrambling to keep up. Having to revise his normal role as aggressor left him feeling rather wrong footed. He even a felt little suspicious, as though she might have some ulterior motive, though he couldn't begin to imagine what that might be.

“I'm Byron.”

“Chloe.” the girl responded, she shadow of a smirk still gracing her charming features. Today, her dark hair had been pulled into a messy top knot. She wore no makeup. Her teenage skin wasn't perfect but Byron still appreciated the natural look. Byron realized that he had unconsciously been leaning slightly away from her, she had gotten so close that if he righted himself now they would be touching.

“Why aren't you playing today?” Byron asked.

“Ugh, that's JV,” Chloe said with a surprising amount of contempt.

“And you, of the acute jumping and slapping abilities, would not be caught dead with such amateurs.”

“You forgot standing, there is also a lot of standing,” Chloe said. “Anyway I'm pretty sure they don't let 19 year-old seniors play on JV.”

“You're 19?” Byron asked, surprised. “And they let you play volleyball?”

Chloe looked down at him, confused.

“I didn't think the school's insurance would cover a broken hip.”

Chloe laughed, half rolling her eyes, and gave him a playful shove. Even though the push was light and friendly, Byron could tell she had a lot of power she was holding back.

“Be honest,” Byron said, pressing his advantage, “they held you back a year because you're mad dumb didn't they?”

“No, I stabbed a mouthy new kid and had to sit out the rest of the year.”

It was Byron's turn to laugh. Chloe sat down, her thick butt bouncing slightly, and Byron followed suit. Even though much of her height was in her legs, Byron's head still only came up to her shoulder when they were sitting down, some of her lost height regained by the considerable cushion of her ass.

“Are you going to Fall-FuckFest?” Chloe asked

Byron had no idea what that was but he was going to make an effort to go to anything that was called FuckFest, especially if he knew a pretty girl was going to be there. “Yeah, wouldn't miss it.”

“Maybe I'll see you there, then.” Chloe's hand snaked onto Byron's leg. Her arm so long that she could easily rest her hand on his knee, which it covered completely. He looked at her. She made eye contact with him for a moment before looking away. “Maybe that way you'll stop stalking volleyball practices.”

Byron laughed again. And again he looked up into her face. This time she held is gaze. For a long moment there was silence, her hand still on his leg. Normally he wouldn't have dared in the middle of school, so soon after meeting someone, but this girl had been flirting so aggressively Byron wondered if he should try to kiss her.

“What's this?” came a slightly accented voice. “I leave you alone for a minute and you pick up a stray?”

A plump Latina was walking towards them. Byron would never have guessed that she was an athlete if he hadn't recognized her as one of the volleyball team who had been practicing with Chloe earlier in the week. She was tall, probably not quite as tall as Chloe, but she was decidedly more full figured, sporting a heaving chest and an evident tummy to match a well padded lower body. She, like Chloe, was dressed down. She stopped and stood over them, irritation on her sharp featured face. If she was messing around, it was a convincing deadpan.

Chloe slid her hand off of Byron's leg. “Amy, this is Byron, a sexy hobo.”

“He looks more like a poorly dressed ventriloquist's dummy.”

“I also make a lovely cake topper,” Byron said in a mock justifying voice, “I'm available to rent for parties.”

“Oh, he's quick,” said Amy appreciatively, still unsmiling.

“Yeah,” agreed Chloe slowly, “I'm not sure how I feel about that.”

She stood and Byron imitated her. This left him surrounded by the bodies of two girls who wouldn't even see the top of his head if they looked straight ahead. Amy was a good 2 or 3 inches shorter than Chloe but Byron was still only eye level with the nape of her neck. She had a rather slender, delicate neck and sharp jawline for someone so decidedly chubby. In fact, Byron thought, once you got over the severity of her expression she was fairly attractive- big, dark eyes, flawless light brown skin, and there was even something alluring about her scorn.

Young though he might be, Byron knew better than to change horses mid race, but perhaps there was a way to pursue Chloe without ruling Amy out for some later encounter after he had a chance to soften her with his charms. Regardless of how things played out from here he was pleased that his first week at Waycroft found him as the meat in an amazon sandwich. He wasn't sure if the situation would prove him extremely lucky or a terrible decision maker but his unassailable confidence drove him to recklessness rather than caution.

“So I might catch up with you guys at Fall-FuckFest, eh?” Byron said, wanting to make it clear to Amy that he intended to be a series regular rather than some bit playing guest star.

Amy raised her eyebrows at Chloe, who looked back at her, impassive. Her expression still aloof, Amy turned to Byron and considered him. “Hmm, I suppose we could use you as bait to catch some of the better fish.”

“I don't know,” Chloe countered, “sometimes I can't help but root around in the tackle box.”

Chloe draped a long arm over his shoulder. Although they had both just compared him to bugs that were intended to feed to fish, a thrill went through Byron. There was something extremely comfortable about Chloe's arm around him. He resisted the urge to collapse into her embrace. He slid his own arm around Chloe under the guise of playing up a bit. His arm fit comfortably around her waist, resting on the shelf of her protuberant ass.

“Oh Amy, you missed your shot. You could have had a crack at all of this.” Byron used his free hand to gesture at his small, slender body, making exaggerated feminine poses.

Amy rolled her eyes. “Oh please, if I showed you the slightest interest you'd be all over me.”

She sidled around to Byron's other side and put her arm below Chloe's on his upper back. Amy's hip nudged Byron further into Chloe. He was slightly smushed between the thick bottomed girls' haunches, the fat their saddlebags bulging onto his stomach and chest. Knowing he was playing with fire, Byron folded his arm into the plush softness of Amy's back.

“Not if he already belonged to someone,” retorted Chloe slyly.

Chloe used the arm around Byron's shoulders to pull him in closer. Amy, not to be outdone, pulled him back towards her. The girls each pulled in a stalemate, angling their hips in for leverage and smooshing Bryon further. Byron, for his part, was delighted by the turn of events. Play-acting or not, this scuffle was erotically reminiscent of one of Byron's secret fantasies- to have girls fighting over him, preferably with him in the thick of it. Keeping his body passive in the jostling, Byron's expression slipped into one slack with delight. It seemed that this did not go unnoticed by Amy because she sneered at him. “We better go before the little guy ruins his pants.”

“Ruins? My semen is a gift and a delight.”

Chloe laughed. Even Amy couldn't stop the corner of her mouth from twitching.

“We really should go, though,” Chloe conceded. “Hope to catch you at the party.”

The girls disentangled themselves from Byron, to his chagrin. He could still feel the ghost of their bodies in the warmth they left behind.

“Why do people always leave right after I talk about how great my semen is?” Byron asked, deadpan.

Chloe laughed again as they turned to go. She gave him a flirty wave over her shoulder and spoke softly. “See you later.”

Amy spared him only a look, it contained a lot of mixed messages but the headline was definitely exasperation. Byron stood dazed and watched them leave. He felt like he needed a cigarette. Whatever Fall-FuckFest was, he was going to do everything in his power to be there.

As he opened the door to his room, Byron was overwhelmed with by the smell of weed. Damien was sitting upright in bed, smoking a bowl.

“You weren't in class,” said Byron, unable to keep the irritation from his voice.

“Yeah,” said Damien, blowing out a cloud of smoke, “mental health day.”

Byron took the bowl from Damien without waiting for him to offer and took a long hit. He coughed slightly as smoke billowed from his mouth. “It hasn't even been a week of classes,”

“I take very good care of my mental health.”

Byron hesitated, not wanting to reveal his ignorance, but asked “What is Fall-FuckFest?”

Damien turned to Byron, eyes bloodshot and half lidded, and a broad smile stole slowly over his face.