Spot

It’s break time, and V and I are walking the hallways of the USC building before class restarts. These precious minutes help us escape education, stretch our legs and breathe some fresh air.

While we’re making our way towards the classroom, V steps behind me and says something.

“Steven, you have a spot on your pants.”

“What?” I look down past my cream-and-navy-striped shirt towards the floor.

“A spot. A spot on your pants.”

“Where?” I look down at my cream pants. They better not be dirty. I hate getting light-coloured clothes dirty. It’s such a pain to get them clean.

“Here,” I hear her say.

“Where?” I turn twice like a dog chasing its tail.

“Here,” she points to a place on my left butt cheek.

I don’t see any spot on my pants. I pull away the fabric from my butt and the spot disappears. I let the fabric drop, and a dark spot appears. I do this several times until it clicks in.

Now, I know about the mystery of the spot.

Before coming to class, I was wearing a different t-shirt and a pair of black shorts. Underneath the shorts, I had on dark underwear. When changing clothes, I didn’t change underwear (they were clean). But, I never realized these pants were sheer enough that you could see through them.

“They’re my underwear,” I sheepishly tell V.

“What?” she asks.

“My underwear,” I say loudly and wave my hands to the side. A few people turn around. “I forgot to change to a light-coloured pair.”

“Oh.” She looks down.

“I’ll just pull my shirt out and stretch it over my backside so no one can notice,” I say as I pull down the shirt over the pants. “And if anyone mentions the spot again, then I’ll know they’ve been checking out my ass…”