Tank obviously did a rush job of inspecting in here, because as I reach my hand into the inside pocket of an old gray blazer hanging in the far left corner, my fingers touch what feel like three thin, square-shaped pieces of plastic. Removing the mystery items, I find myself staring at three photos, each featuring a semi-hot older blonde.

The woman is all smiles and completely naked. She looks about the same age as Big Dale, and is on a bed in what appears to be a hotel room. Despite the woman’s ratted-out blonde hair, deep tan, and nice body, I’m not the least bit aroused. In fact, I’m embarrassed and sick to my stomach, even ashamed in a weird sort of way, like I know I’m totally invading somebody else’s privacy.

So I’m about to put the pics back when it suddenly occurs to me who I’m really looking at.

An older woman with teased-out blonde hair, a deep tan, and a superb body.

I picture her lying on her side on a sandy white beach, wearing a yellow bikini and smiling at the camera.

It’s official. The woman is Helen Dawkins.

Big Dale is having an affair with a married woman!

I mean, this is my best friend’s father. This is Sarah’s father! Something about seeing the actual proof in front of my eyes enrages me. He’s nothing but scum. Scum of the earth. My heart plummets. I’m confused. I’m angry. I’m frustrated beyond belief.

I shove the photos back into the blazer and just stand there at the foot of the bed, slightly bent over, hands clutching my knees, feeling like I might puke. And that’s when it hits me that the reason I’m so upset is because I’m actually no better than Big Dale Foster. In fact, I feel exactly like a Big Dale myself. He sneaks around with a married woman, right? And what am I doing? Oh, just sneaking around behind Tank’s back, digging up all this steroid dirt on him and all this relationship crap on his dad. And to top it all off, as of this morning I’m having my own little secret affair with Tank’s cherished twin sister.

I hear the bathroom door open, so I stand up straight and try to gather my thoughts, knowing I have to do something with all of this information exploding inside me.

“So at least he’s not gay,” Tank is saying, laughing as he enters the room. “I can relax about that.” He looks at me. “What’s wrong? You look kind of green.”

There’s a silence. Then I decide to make a stupid play involving yet another lie.

“Tank, there’s something you need to know.”

“Like?”

“I left something out earlier, when I was telling you about the plant guys talking about coaches giving Blaine guys the juice.”