When he looks in the mirror, he doesn't flex. He doesn't posture or preen. He stares blankly at his reflection, eyes scanning his features. He knows he is handsome having been told many times by the ones around him. His mother as she fusses with his now short hair having eschewed the longer hair he favored as a child. From a blushing girl in his math class who passed him a note to meet after school where she presses her body into his emboldened by the seclusion of the dark underside of the bleachers. By a boy with false confidence, though BJ can see the shyness underneath, as they showered after wrestling. They linger in that hallowed hall of tribute to man's athleticism, exploring each other with a gentle firmness careful of the bruises on each other.