~BBW, Intrigue, Stufffing, ~SWG - a FA's study project ex-cheeerleader partner turns out to be more than he thought possible
Sometimes things happen that feel like dreams, like there's no way what just happened could be reality, know what I mean?
You know they happened, but when you tell the story, you sound like you're lying, like there's no way things could have lined up the way they did, only they did.
Let me tell you what I'm talking about.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
I was in a Sociology class last year, an intro-level course, pretty basic stuff. Didn't have to really pay any attention to the teacher, so I went in on the first day expecting I'd be spending a lot of class-time day-dreaming, doodling, watching my classmates, you know that kind of thing.
And that's all it would have been. Just business as usual in my second year at a crappy community college. Only the professor started going on about some 'team project' we were all going to be presenting at the end of the semester.
We drew names, got bunched into pairs that day and told we should find time to get together and brainstorm ideas for presentations. Again, pretty basic stuff. Only thing that made it stand out was who I got paired with.
Her name was Anna, and I knew who she was already. Not on a personal basis, you know, but she was recognizable. She was on the cheer squad last year as a freshman, and she'd made herself. . . very visible. Made a big deal of herself. Grew a lot as a person.
Okay, I'm just making jokes.
See, long story short, Anna Ratcliffe started out looking like an average, slim, fit, pretty cheerleader, maybe a teensy bit chunky, and ended the season as the fat cheerleader, and I mean the fattest cheerleader. Not just 'the chubby cheerleader,' the fat one. Girl must have packed on the Freshman fifteen twice over by the end of the year.
I specify that she wasn't the chubby one, because at my school, we definitely have some chubby cheerleaders. Ten girls on the squad, there's always at least four of them are visibly overweight. Side effect of living in the fattest state in the nation. Usually though, the overweight ones have uniforms that fit them properly.
If (read:when) they gain weight, they get a bigger one. Except Anna. Anna never got the next size up. That outfit was tight at the start; by the end of it, there were dozens of theories flying around as to how she got it over her fattened form, and the most likely one was witchcraft.
Most of the fat girls on the squad, they wore a large enough uniform, do their best not to draw attention to themselves, but Anna. . . Oh Anna. She'd be out there on the field, playing with the mascot, flirting with the players, and the whole time, she'd be busting at the seams, world-class muffin top hanging out over the waistband of her skirt, her tummy hanging out there for the world to see.
Just this once, the fat, (oh did I mention really fattest?) cheerleader was a show-off.
Anyway, the point of all this is to say that I knew who she was on a very general level, and now I was going to have to find out on a more personal one.
We talked immediately after that first class about getting together to think up ideas for presentations, or rather, I talked, and she chewed on a king-sized Snickers bar nonchalantly right in front of me, not a trace of embarrassment. . I suggested we meet at a park later that week, she suggested we get started right away, meet up at the student union in an hour. So that's what we did.
---------------
This is a good time to describe Anna's characteristics other than her apparent affinity for overly-tight clothes and a beyond-healthy appetite for desserts and candy that was affecting her feminine physique.
She's a very pretty girl by anyone's standards, classically beautiful, angular face, smooth, tan skin, and shoulder-length blond hair. She's tall compared to most girls, about 5'11. And after last year, distinctly chubby all over. I'm talking muffin top, poochy belly, thunder thighs, fat rolls if she leans to one side or another kind of chubby. Bordering on fat.
What else. . . Oh yeah-- she's got gigantic tits. Should have mentioned those first since they're basically completely impossible to miss. I mean, they're not so impressive compared to some of the BBW models you see online, but for a girl at Anna's visible-but-not-extreme level of overweight, they were WAY disproportionate. Also, they were pretty much constantly out on display, sometimes intentionally, other times. . . Well, trying to conceal tits like Anna's would be like trying to hide an elephant under a napkin. She's got a nice, fat ass, as well, but let's be real, with tits like she's got, you're only gonna notice that ass when she's walking away from you.
Anyway, the story. In the first bit of Freshman year, I'd see her pretty regularly. Football games, walking to class, but mostly in the cafeteria. Girl was always in the cafeteria when I went. Always eating, as far as I could tell. Didn't seem to have an effect at first. I thought, 'eh, she must just be one of those girls with a crazy metabolism!'
I kept going to the football games, and somewhere around mid-season it became very clear she was not one of those crazily blessed girls. Her boobs took the first few pounds, of course, and that was nice. She wasn't exactly 'flat chested' at the start, but it was fun to see her moving up through the cup sizes, plumping up them titties 'til they're nice and round, big and bouncy.
Only it didn't stop there. She kept gaining. And they kept not giving her a larger uniform. I went to every game, and I don't even give a crap about football. I have no clue if we won or lost a single one, I was just too interested in the war between Anna's growing fatness and her tiny, tiny outfit.
I sound creepy. I wasn't obsessed or anything, it's just that the fight of the fat was more fascinating than the football game I was supposed to be watching. I didn't get hung up on her and start stalking her outside of the games or anything, trying to see her being fat in other ways.
Didn't have to be, really, I feel like her not getting a bigger uniform probably had a lot to do with her not asking for one, because she kept wearing the same tiny clothes around campus, despite the fact she was obviously getting bigger and bigger. I saw her mostly in the cafeteria during the spring semester, and I swear, her pants were never once buttoned up. Always unbuttoned, belly always bulging out. This was a woman who was pretty dedicated to being fat everywhere. Completely unashamed of her excessive curvature.
I said she put on the freshman fifteen twice over. I wasn't exaggerating, the girl started the year looking like what you imagine a college cheerleader to look like, ended it looking like a large, fluffy, woman-shaped marshmallow. And I'm pretty sure she gained even more during the summer, because the clothes she was wearing that day as a Sophomore were more than a tiny bit tight.
If you haven't put it together yet, Anna was basically my dream girl, at least physically and in regards to her weight, and this sociology assignment was my in. This was my chance to make a favorable impression on the buxom, pudgy
princess I'd been seeing around campus for the past year.
---------------
I showed up a bit early for our meeting at the Union. Better early than late, you know what they say.
Anna apparently doesn't know what they say, because she walked up to the table ten minutes late, holding tightly onto a very full MacDonald's bag. She was breathing heavy for a second, but as soon as she could talk, she got straight down to business, “Do you have any ideas for what we're going to talk about?”
I did, and I told her about them, but one after another, in between bites of Big Macs and other stuff , she shrugged them off, until finally, I was out.
“Well what about you, do you have any bright ideas?” I was a bit exasperated, so I might have been kinda rude, but she didn't respond to that.
No, she jumped straight into her idea, “I was thinking we could do something where we talk about prejudice towards fat people.”
She shoved the last of the burger into her face, covered her mouth with her hand and continued with her mouth full, “I mean, I used to be skinny, and now I'm fat, so I can do some proper compare and contrast. Talk about fat-shaming and how it's total crap.”
I was surprised with how open she apparently was talking about her weight gain, but not in a bad way. More of an encouraging way. Still, I needed to respond somehow.
The women I spend time lusting over tend to be a bit closer to the 'morbidly obese blob of blubber' end of the obesity spectrum, so I told her honestly that, from my perspective, “You're not that fat, Anna, what are you even talking about?”
She raised her eyebrow disbelievingly, “Daniel, you can try and be nice to me about this, but the fact is, I have literally put on fifty plus pounds since I started going here.”
She stood up and took a step back to let me get a good, clear look at her soft, bloated body, and the poor, poor clothes she'd outgrown, “I bought these jeans two months ago, and this morning, I spent thirty minutes getting them up over my hips, realized I'm way too fat to even dream of buttoning them, said 'screw it,' and went to class like this, fat belly pouring out all over the place! Then I get myself some MacDonald's. I. am. fat.”
She sat back down.
“Eh,” I said, “You're way curvy for sure, but fat? Nah. You'd have to gain like twenty pounds before you're there.”
Definitely an opinion most people would disagree with, but I remind you, this was coming from the kind of man who prefers his women fat enough to have serious difficulties with airplane seating.
This is where things went weird.
See, instead of backing down like I was expecting, she looked me straight in the eyes, shrugged her shoulders, and answered, “Fine.”
“Fine, what?”
“Fine, I'll gain twenty pounds.”
I was completely at a loss for words, and when I finally managed to speak, all I could say was “Wait, seriously?”
She shrugged again, shoved a handful of french fries into her mouth and shrugged, “Why not? Gotten this big. Besides,” she rested her hand on her round, bulging stomach, “twenty pounds would bring me to a nice, round two hundred pounds, perfect for a demonstration thing.”
I just sat there, wide-eyed and unbelieving. She'd just agreed to basically fulfill a fantasy of mine.
Frankly, though, as much as I wanted it to happen, I didn't think she could do it, I mean, she had something like four months to gain twenty pounds, and yeah, you hear about women gaining like that all the time, but it's usually coming from 98 lb. twigs who think eating a french fry will turn them into a sumo wrestler. Point is, not accurate sources.
So we made a bet.
“Fifty bucks says you can't even do it.” I challenged.
No hesitation, “Deal.”
I pushed my luck, “All right, so how's about we weigh-in, before and after, keep you honest?”
She shrugged, “”Sure, whatever, my dorm's right over there.”
Things were going my way. We crossed the street to her dorm and took the elevator to her room.
Walking in, the state of her room told me one thing very clearly-- this was a woman who loved her some junk food. If her flab wasn't proof enough of this, the multiple unfinished boxes of cookies and snack cakes told the story of a woman with the appetite of a half-starved hippopotamus with one hell of a sweet tooth.
She closed the door behind us and pointed off to the spare bed, “Sorry about the mess. Scale's. . . somewhere down under there, I think.”
I knelt down to look, and it took a while, but eventually I found it, dusty as hell, as far as could be from the light of day. I got the sense Anna hadn't weighed herself in a long, long time.
But she seemed remarkably cavalier about the whole thing for someone who had so clearly piled on the pounds since the last time she'd been clothes shopping! “Just set it over there.”
I did as she said, then sat back onto the bed for a fantastic show. Anna wasn't ashamed of her body, apparently, because she started stripping down to her bra and panties, both of which were more than a little overwhelmed by the amount of pure WOMAN that was Anna.
I just stared, open-mouthed, probably drooling on my shirt, at what was in front of me. What did I call her earlier, 'buxom?' Yeah, she was a few pounds beyond that now, she was positively busting at the seams, her curvaceous body on display for me, thick, juicy, like an overblown hourglass, J cup chest, round hips, with a very well-fed, doughy stomach sticking out in front of her. Her ass was two perfect globes of flab, round and smooth, sticking out behind her proudly, lightly sprinkled with a spattering of cellulite.
She sidled up to the scale, and I admired the amount of jiggle each little movement caused in her soft, flabby body. This was a well-fed and lazy woman, that much I knew for a fact.
She paused before she actually stepped onto the scale, to pinch a juicy roll of fat at her side, like she was checking to see how much more she had to hold on to than she remembered. I noticed a shy smile playing at the sides of her mouth, before she became very cavalier about the whole thing, “Let's see the damage, then!”
And she stepped on. The dial spun around for a second, stopping, eventually, on “189. Well crap, ten pounds more than I thought..”
Blank face, no shock and horror, none of what I'd expect from a girl who just got that kind of news. But that wasn't important, I had to keep the conversation relevant to the bet.
“So the, uh, deal is that you get up to 210 by the end of the semester, yeah?” I was starting to worry she might back out at this point, but no, she actually seemed unaffected by this.
Sort of unaffected anyway, She scrunched up her face like she was thinking, “Eh, well I know I'm 189 right now, but that's on a full stomach, so does it really count?”
She paused to give her soft, bloated belly a quick rub and a squeeze, like she was testing it while she thought about this, then turned back to me and bargained, “205 by the end of the semester.”
I wasn't falling for it, though. “How about you get to stuff yourself full before the second weigh in, that work things out?”
She didn't press the issue, just shrugged, “Eh, sounds fair enough;”
She smiled widely, “let's DO this!”
She walked over to her freezer, and pulled out a half-eaten gallon carton of ice cream with the spoon sticking out. She plopped herself onto the other end of the bed and dug in. Between mouthfuls, she asked me, smiling, “So, how are you gonna get me that $50? We talking cold cash or credit card?”
“Well what makes you so sure you can actually DO it?” I replied.
She laughed, “Steve, last time I weighed myself was two months ago, and I was 180 straight up back then, and if I can gain ten pounds in two months without even trying, I can DEFINITELY gain twenty in three!”
The conversation went off after that, to a lot of places. We actually had a lot in common, which is something I never expected. We made some plans to meet up again at the first football game of the season, as friends, not as classmates.
A Presentation of Plumpness
by Cylon Bob
________________________[
by Cylon Bob
________________________[
Sometimes things happen that feel like dreams, like there's no way what just happened could be reality, know what I mean?
You know they happened, but when you tell the story, you sound like you're lying, like there's no way things could have lined up the way they did, only they did.
Let me tell you what I'm talking about.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
I was in a Sociology class last year, an intro-level course, pretty basic stuff. Didn't have to really pay any attention to the teacher, so I went in on the first day expecting I'd be spending a lot of class-time day-dreaming, doodling, watching my classmates, you know that kind of thing.
And that's all it would have been. Just business as usual in my second year at a crappy community college. Only the professor started going on about some 'team project' we were all going to be presenting at the end of the semester.
We drew names, got bunched into pairs that day and told we should find time to get together and brainstorm ideas for presentations. Again, pretty basic stuff. Only thing that made it stand out was who I got paired with.
Her name was Anna, and I knew who she was already. Not on a personal basis, you know, but she was recognizable. She was on the cheer squad last year as a freshman, and she'd made herself. . . very visible. Made a big deal of herself. Grew a lot as a person.
Okay, I'm just making jokes.
See, long story short, Anna Ratcliffe started out looking like an average, slim, fit, pretty cheerleader, maybe a teensy bit chunky, and ended the season as the fat cheerleader, and I mean the fattest cheerleader. Not just 'the chubby cheerleader,' the fat one. Girl must have packed on the Freshman fifteen twice over by the end of the year.
I specify that she wasn't the chubby one, because at my school, we definitely have some chubby cheerleaders. Ten girls on the squad, there's always at least four of them are visibly overweight. Side effect of living in the fattest state in the nation. Usually though, the overweight ones have uniforms that fit them properly.
If (read:when) they gain weight, they get a bigger one. Except Anna. Anna never got the next size up. That outfit was tight at the start; by the end of it, there were dozens of theories flying around as to how she got it over her fattened form, and the most likely one was witchcraft.
Most of the fat girls on the squad, they wore a large enough uniform, do their best not to draw attention to themselves, but Anna. . . Oh Anna. She'd be out there on the field, playing with the mascot, flirting with the players, and the whole time, she'd be busting at the seams, world-class muffin top hanging out over the waistband of her skirt, her tummy hanging out there for the world to see.
Just this once, the fat, (oh did I mention really fattest?) cheerleader was a show-off.
Anyway, the point of all this is to say that I knew who she was on a very general level, and now I was going to have to find out on a more personal one.
We talked immediately after that first class about getting together to think up ideas for presentations, or rather, I talked, and she chewed on a king-sized Snickers bar nonchalantly right in front of me, not a trace of embarrassment. . I suggested we meet at a park later that week, she suggested we get started right away, meet up at the student union in an hour. So that's what we did.
---------------
This is a good time to describe Anna's characteristics other than her apparent affinity for overly-tight clothes and a beyond-healthy appetite for desserts and candy that was affecting her feminine physique.
She's a very pretty girl by anyone's standards, classically beautiful, angular face, smooth, tan skin, and shoulder-length blond hair. She's tall compared to most girls, about 5'11. And after last year, distinctly chubby all over. I'm talking muffin top, poochy belly, thunder thighs, fat rolls if she leans to one side or another kind of chubby. Bordering on fat.
What else. . . Oh yeah-- she's got gigantic tits. Should have mentioned those first since they're basically completely impossible to miss. I mean, they're not so impressive compared to some of the BBW models you see online, but for a girl at Anna's visible-but-not-extreme level of overweight, they were WAY disproportionate. Also, they were pretty much constantly out on display, sometimes intentionally, other times. . . Well, trying to conceal tits like Anna's would be like trying to hide an elephant under a napkin. She's got a nice, fat ass, as well, but let's be real, with tits like she's got, you're only gonna notice that ass when she's walking away from you.
Anyway, the story. In the first bit of Freshman year, I'd see her pretty regularly. Football games, walking to class, but mostly in the cafeteria. Girl was always in the cafeteria when I went. Always eating, as far as I could tell. Didn't seem to have an effect at first. I thought, 'eh, she must just be one of those girls with a crazy metabolism!'
I kept going to the football games, and somewhere around mid-season it became very clear she was not one of those crazily blessed girls. Her boobs took the first few pounds, of course, and that was nice. She wasn't exactly 'flat chested' at the start, but it was fun to see her moving up through the cup sizes, plumping up them titties 'til they're nice and round, big and bouncy.
Only it didn't stop there. She kept gaining. And they kept not giving her a larger uniform. I went to every game, and I don't even give a crap about football. I have no clue if we won or lost a single one, I was just too interested in the war between Anna's growing fatness and her tiny, tiny outfit.
I sound creepy. I wasn't obsessed or anything, it's just that the fight of the fat was more fascinating than the football game I was supposed to be watching. I didn't get hung up on her and start stalking her outside of the games or anything, trying to see her being fat in other ways.
Didn't have to be, really, I feel like her not getting a bigger uniform probably had a lot to do with her not asking for one, because she kept wearing the same tiny clothes around campus, despite the fact she was obviously getting bigger and bigger. I saw her mostly in the cafeteria during the spring semester, and I swear, her pants were never once buttoned up. Always unbuttoned, belly always bulging out. This was a woman who was pretty dedicated to being fat everywhere. Completely unashamed of her excessive curvature.
I said she put on the freshman fifteen twice over. I wasn't exaggerating, the girl started the year looking like what you imagine a college cheerleader to look like, ended it looking like a large, fluffy, woman-shaped marshmallow. And I'm pretty sure she gained even more during the summer, because the clothes she was wearing that day as a Sophomore were more than a tiny bit tight.
If you haven't put it together yet, Anna was basically my dream girl, at least physically and in regards to her weight, and this sociology assignment was my in. This was my chance to make a favorable impression on the buxom, pudgy
princess I'd been seeing around campus for the past year.
---------------
I showed up a bit early for our meeting at the Union. Better early than late, you know what they say.
Anna apparently doesn't know what they say, because she walked up to the table ten minutes late, holding tightly onto a very full MacDonald's bag. She was breathing heavy for a second, but as soon as she could talk, she got straight down to business, “Do you have any ideas for what we're going to talk about?”
I did, and I told her about them, but one after another, in between bites of Big Macs and other stuff , she shrugged them off, until finally, I was out.
“Well what about you, do you have any bright ideas?” I was a bit exasperated, so I might have been kinda rude, but she didn't respond to that.
No, she jumped straight into her idea, “I was thinking we could do something where we talk about prejudice towards fat people.”
She shoved the last of the burger into her face, covered her mouth with her hand and continued with her mouth full, “I mean, I used to be skinny, and now I'm fat, so I can do some proper compare and contrast. Talk about fat-shaming and how it's total crap.”
I was surprised with how open she apparently was talking about her weight gain, but not in a bad way. More of an encouraging way. Still, I needed to respond somehow.
The women I spend time lusting over tend to be a bit closer to the 'morbidly obese blob of blubber' end of the obesity spectrum, so I told her honestly that, from my perspective, “You're not that fat, Anna, what are you even talking about?”
She raised her eyebrow disbelievingly, “Daniel, you can try and be nice to me about this, but the fact is, I have literally put on fifty plus pounds since I started going here.”
She stood up and took a step back to let me get a good, clear look at her soft, bloated body, and the poor, poor clothes she'd outgrown, “I bought these jeans two months ago, and this morning, I spent thirty minutes getting them up over my hips, realized I'm way too fat to even dream of buttoning them, said 'screw it,' and went to class like this, fat belly pouring out all over the place! Then I get myself some MacDonald's. I. am. fat.”
She sat back down.
“Eh,” I said, “You're way curvy for sure, but fat? Nah. You'd have to gain like twenty pounds before you're there.”
Definitely an opinion most people would disagree with, but I remind you, this was coming from the kind of man who prefers his women fat enough to have serious difficulties with airplane seating.
This is where things went weird.
See, instead of backing down like I was expecting, she looked me straight in the eyes, shrugged her shoulders, and answered, “Fine.”
“Fine, what?”
“Fine, I'll gain twenty pounds.”
I was completely at a loss for words, and when I finally managed to speak, all I could say was “Wait, seriously?”
She shrugged again, shoved a handful of french fries into her mouth and shrugged, “Why not? Gotten this big. Besides,” she rested her hand on her round, bulging stomach, “twenty pounds would bring me to a nice, round two hundred pounds, perfect for a demonstration thing.”
I just sat there, wide-eyed and unbelieving. She'd just agreed to basically fulfill a fantasy of mine.
Frankly, though, as much as I wanted it to happen, I didn't think she could do it, I mean, she had something like four months to gain twenty pounds, and yeah, you hear about women gaining like that all the time, but it's usually coming from 98 lb. twigs who think eating a french fry will turn them into a sumo wrestler. Point is, not accurate sources.
So we made a bet.
“Fifty bucks says you can't even do it.” I challenged.
No hesitation, “Deal.”
I pushed my luck, “All right, so how's about we weigh-in, before and after, keep you honest?”
She shrugged, “”Sure, whatever, my dorm's right over there.”
Things were going my way. We crossed the street to her dorm and took the elevator to her room.
Walking in, the state of her room told me one thing very clearly-- this was a woman who loved her some junk food. If her flab wasn't proof enough of this, the multiple unfinished boxes of cookies and snack cakes told the story of a woman with the appetite of a half-starved hippopotamus with one hell of a sweet tooth.
She closed the door behind us and pointed off to the spare bed, “Sorry about the mess. Scale's. . . somewhere down under there, I think.”
I knelt down to look, and it took a while, but eventually I found it, dusty as hell, as far as could be from the light of day. I got the sense Anna hadn't weighed herself in a long, long time.
But she seemed remarkably cavalier about the whole thing for someone who had so clearly piled on the pounds since the last time she'd been clothes shopping! “Just set it over there.”
I did as she said, then sat back onto the bed for a fantastic show. Anna wasn't ashamed of her body, apparently, because she started stripping down to her bra and panties, both of which were more than a little overwhelmed by the amount of pure WOMAN that was Anna.
I just stared, open-mouthed, probably drooling on my shirt, at what was in front of me. What did I call her earlier, 'buxom?' Yeah, she was a few pounds beyond that now, she was positively busting at the seams, her curvaceous body on display for me, thick, juicy, like an overblown hourglass, J cup chest, round hips, with a very well-fed, doughy stomach sticking out in front of her. Her ass was two perfect globes of flab, round and smooth, sticking out behind her proudly, lightly sprinkled with a spattering of cellulite.
She sidled up to the scale, and I admired the amount of jiggle each little movement caused in her soft, flabby body. This was a well-fed and lazy woman, that much I knew for a fact.
She paused before she actually stepped onto the scale, to pinch a juicy roll of fat at her side, like she was checking to see how much more she had to hold on to than she remembered. I noticed a shy smile playing at the sides of her mouth, before she became very cavalier about the whole thing, “Let's see the damage, then!”
And she stepped on. The dial spun around for a second, stopping, eventually, on “189. Well crap, ten pounds more than I thought..”
Blank face, no shock and horror, none of what I'd expect from a girl who just got that kind of news. But that wasn't important, I had to keep the conversation relevant to the bet.
“So the, uh, deal is that you get up to 210 by the end of the semester, yeah?” I was starting to worry she might back out at this point, but no, she actually seemed unaffected by this.
Sort of unaffected anyway, She scrunched up her face like she was thinking, “Eh, well I know I'm 189 right now, but that's on a full stomach, so does it really count?”
She paused to give her soft, bloated belly a quick rub and a squeeze, like she was testing it while she thought about this, then turned back to me and bargained, “205 by the end of the semester.”
I wasn't falling for it, though. “How about you get to stuff yourself full before the second weigh in, that work things out?”
She didn't press the issue, just shrugged, “Eh, sounds fair enough;”
She smiled widely, “let's DO this!”
She walked over to her freezer, and pulled out a half-eaten gallon carton of ice cream with the spoon sticking out. She plopped herself onto the other end of the bed and dug in. Between mouthfuls, she asked me, smiling, “So, how are you gonna get me that $50? We talking cold cash or credit card?”
“Well what makes you so sure you can actually DO it?” I replied.
She laughed, “Steve, last time I weighed myself was two months ago, and I was 180 straight up back then, and if I can gain ten pounds in two months without even trying, I can DEFINITELY gain twenty in three!”
The conversation went off after that, to a lot of places. We actually had a lot in common, which is something I never expected. We made some plans to meet up again at the first football game of the season, as friends, not as classmates.
