That can't be right...

Naked?

Wait a minute. That can't be right. Coach Preda can't really mean to make you work out naked.

Can she?

You blink in surprise, looking at the coach. She's a tall, athletic blonde in her late twenties, wearing white shorts and a tight blue shirt, long socks and sneakers, with a polished whistle hanging round her neck. She's looking right at you, clearly unimpressed with what she sees.

"Come on," she says impatiently. "We haven't got all day. Get your clothes off."

You turn to look at the girls, all dressed the same way as the coach. Shannon, your study buddy, a quiet, nerdy redhead with freckles and glasses. Tammy, a curvaceous brunette who sits next to you in math class and cracks you up with dirty jokes when you're supposed to be working. Grace, a tomboyish Asian girl who sometimes comes over to your house to smoke weed and play video games. Chloe, an ash-blonde cheerleader who's never given you the time of day, and who you've had a crush on for as long as you can remember. Ashley, a green-haired skater chick and notorious bully who likes to plink you with spitballs during history tests.

You know these girls. There's about twenty of them in the class, all clad in gym uniforms and looking cute as hell. Some of them are your friends, some of them are your enemies and some of them barely know your name. You see them every day of your life. And now you're supposed to get naked in front of them?

That can't be right at all.

Some of them are giggling, while others look at you with round, curious eyes, like they're waiting to see if you'll actually go through with it. Ashley, in particular, has a lecherous grin playing over her face, as if she's been waiting for this moment all day. A thought crosses your moment. Is it remotely possible, just maybe, that she had something to do with the disappearance of your clothes...

You don't have the chance to think about it. Because at that exact moment, you feel Coach Preda's hands grip your jeans and yank them firmly down around your ankles.

"If you want something done right," she says in satisfaction, as the girls burst into laughter and you scramble to cover your crotch, "you've got to do it yourself."