No one knows how Doc got his nickname, because he's not a doctor and he doesn't look like a doctor and he doesn't have a doctorate and his name isn't Murdoch or Maddock or Braddock or Haddock, it's Jim Presley, but no one calls him by his real name, they call him Doc. Rumor has it the last person to ask for the story behind the nickname had a dumbbell thrown at him. Jeremy cannot handle having a dumbbell thrown at him. He could barely lift a dumbbell not that long ago.

"You're starting to show some progress, kid," Doc says, slapping Jeremy's back so hard with his meaty palm that Jeremy-Three-Months-Ago would have gone flying into the wall. Jeremy-Right-Now just says 'oof'. "Look like you could even take a hit instead of just running from one."

Jeremy is fast, really fast, and that's helped him off the radar of high school bullies because moving targets aren't worth the trouble. It also keeps him skinny, really skinny, which doesn't help him much with the ladies but is better than the alternative. Doc was the one who got him into the weight room. Doc says cardio with no resistance training is for idiots. Jeremy doesn't argue with Doc. No one argues with doc.

"Hopefully I won't have to do either," Jeremy says, and drops into a squat. Jeremy is a nice guy, or at least he tries to be one. He gets along with most people, but that doesn't stop assholes from behaving like assholes, and making friends in high school isn't as easy as he was always told it would be. Almost halfway into his sophomore year, he still doesn't know who he'd call to hang out on a Friday night.

Doc is cool, though. He's young for a teacher -- even for a gym teacher, who all seem to be younger anyway -- and he wouldn't look out of place in a biker gang. His voice is a low growl and he's been reprimanded for cussing at his students like, at least six times this year, and it's not even spring semester yet. He shows up to work hungover a couple of times a month. Everyone has a crazy theory for why he hasn't been fired yet, but Jeremy thinks it's just because everyone likes him. Even the girls who complain about him yelling at them for walking the track when they're supposed to be running think he's hot. Jeremy doesn't know why he's so nice to him in particular, but he's glad he is.

"You wanna try something new?" Doc asks. It sounds less like a question and more like a challenge. Answering no is not an option.

Jeremy grins. "Yeah, okay. As long as it's not more body saws? Those are hard, man!"

"Body saws are gonna be the reason you have abs someday and you'll thank me for it," Doc fires back and Jeremy nods rapidly in agreement. Satisfied, he leads Jeremy over to a punching bag in a vacant corner of the room. "You ever think about boxing before?"

"Not really," Jeremy answers honestly. He doesn't think about working out that much when he's not in the process of working out. It's easier to just do what his coaches tell him to do (and pray it doesn't involve body saws.)

"Think it'd be good for you. Think you'd be good at it. You're quick on your feet already, that's half of it."

"Yeah?"

"What, you think I'm fucking with you or something?"

"No, sir." Jeremy sideyes the bag. It's not something that gets a lot of use in the weight room, stored over with the old set of medicine balls that people only use when they're in a bind and the hanging leg raise machine that everyone hates. "So what do I do?"

Doc laughs, a deep, hearty laugh that makes the other students turn around to see what's going on. "Hit the bag."

"Yeah, but is there like a way I have to hit it or?"

"Nothing to think about, yet. Just hit the bag."

Jeremy winds up and lands what he hopes will be a solid punch. The bag barely moves. Doc laughs again, but not in a mean way. From behind, he moves Jeremy's arms for him, adjusting his stance.

"Hit it again."

Thud.

"Better. Again."

Clenching his jaw, Jeremy winds up and hits it again, harder this time.

"Yes, better. Get that power behind it. Again."

Again.