Someone unexpected catches a glimpse...

The morning classes crawl by without much drama. You keep your backpack on your lap during math just in case, but nobody seems to notice anything weird. By the time third period rolls around it's gym, and that's when the real dread sets in. Changing in the locker room has always been low-key humiliating for you anyway, guys like to joke about size even when it's not true, but today feels like walking into a trap you set for yourself.

You duck into the far corner stall to change, moving fast but careful. Shirt off, pants down, and there they are: bright pink satin staring back at you in the dim light. You bunch them up quick and shove them into the toe of your sneaker, praying nobody looks too close. The school-issued gym shorts are loose enough that you figure you're safe, but every time you move you feel the lack of anything underneath. It's not like going commando in boxers, this is slippery, airy, and way too exposed feeling. Your junk just... hangs there with nothing to hold it in place. You tug the shorts' waistband higher and hope for the best.

Out on the court it's dodgeball day, because of course it is. Coach splits everyone into teams, and you're stuck opposite Chantelle's squad. She's in those tiny gym shorts too, looking like she stepped out of an Instagram ad, while Sophie stretches nearby in a way that makes half the guys forget how to throw. Jess is on your team, giving you encouraging little thumbs-ups every time you catch a ball.

Things are fine until midway through. You dive for a low throw, land hard on your side, and roll. The shorts ride up instantly, one leg bunches high enough that the inner seam pulls tight against your thigh. For a split second the fabric gaps open just enough that if anyone was looking from the right angle... well, pink flashes. Not full exposure, but a glimpse. Enough to make someone do a double-take.

And someone does.

It's Mike, one of the louder football guys on the other team. He freezes mid-throw, eyes narrowing, then smirks like he just won the lottery. "Yo, Joe... you good down there, man? Looked like you got some... flair going on." A couple guys nearby chuckle, not sure what he means yet, but the tone is enough to make your face burn. You yank the shorts leg down fast, pretending you just got wedgied or something, and mutter "shut up" under your breath.

Mike doesn't let it go. Next round he lobs a ball right at your crotch, harder than necessary, and when you twist to dodge, the shorts shift again. This time the waistband slips just low enough that the top edge of satin peeks out for maybe half a second before you slap your hand over it. He definitely saw. His grin gets wider.

"Bro, are those...?" He doesn't finish the sentence out loud because Coach yells to keep playing, but the damage is done. A few heads turn. Nobody's pointing and laughing yet—it's too subtle, too quick, but you can feel the shift. Whispers starting. Eyes flicking your way more than usual. Jess shoots you a confused look, like she's trying to figure out if she saw what she thinks she saw. Sophie just raises an eyebrow and keeps playing, but there's a tiny amused tilt to her mouth now.

By the end of class you're sweating for reasons that have nothing to do with dodgeball. You bolt back to the locker room first, change in record time, and stuff the panties deep in your bag. Nobody says anything direct, but Mike bumps your shoulder on the way out. "Nice form today, princess," he mutters low enough that only you hear. Your stomach drops.

The rest of the day you feel like everyone's staring, even though they're probably not. Yet.