“How much is Mama sending?” I ask Jake.

  He shakes his head in amused amazement. “Too damn much.”

  “Enough for a TV?”

  “When did you all get so greedy?” he laughs, taking his plate to the sink.

  “She’s forcing the money on us. We might as well enjoy it.”

  “What’s this ‘us’ shit? The check is coming in my name.”

  “Now who’s being greedy?” Weiss demands.

  “Calm down. Yes. It’s enough for a TV and new towels. We’ll go to Target the day it gets here.” He nods to Weiss. “Are you still seeing that girl that works there?”

  “Melissa, yeah. Sometimes.”

  “Often enough to get us a discount?”

  “If I call her today, probably. Not if I call her day of saying, ‘Hey, meet us at the store. I need a good deal on a Plasma’.”

  “LED is better for gaming,” Meyerson tells him. “Less blur.”

  “But the blacks are richer on a plasma.”

  “Who gives a shit about the quality of the shadow if the whole thing is blurry?”

  “You said less blur, not blurry.”

  “There’s no difference.”

  “Yes, there is!” Weiss exclaims. “Blur implies that it comes and goes with movement on the screen. Blurr-y means the entire picture is always out of focus.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “It’s what it sounded like!”

  “Stop shouting at me!” Meyerson shouts.

  “Stop being wrong!”

  “Just fuck and get it over with,” Eustis mutters.

  Weiss glares at him. “Don’t be homophobic, man.”

  “I’m not. I’m being very serious,” he answers solemnly. “You two need to have sex.”

  “I’m going to go take a shower,” Weiss says, disgusted with all of us.

  “Alone or was that an invitation for Meyerson?” I ask.

  “Fuck you, Pupper! Fuck all of you!”

  Meyerson stands, yelling after Weiss, “Don’t use my gray towel!”

  “They’re all gray, asshole!”

  “And we only have two of them,” Eustis reminds him.

  Meyerson frowns. “What happened to the other two.”

  “We only had three to start and some dude threw up on one at a party a few weeks ago. I threw it out.”

  “There’s only one hanging in the bathroom. Where’s the other one?”

  “I hide it in my bedroom so no one else will use it.”

  “You son of a bitch,” Meyerson seethes.

  I shake my head at him. “The rest of us are using the same towel.”

  “I fucking knew it.”

  I imagine Weiss using the towel after his shower. Meyerson after that. Me after that, in the evening when I’m getting ready for bed. My toothbrush is in that bathroom. It’s the only one in the cup. Are we all sharing that too?

  I feel like throwing up.

  Maybe living in the dorms wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Brooklyn doesn’t have much of an online presence. I’d probably have better luck finding her if I had a last name, but I don’t. Just a plastic pineapple with her number on it and the small, round profile pic on her very private Instagram account. Her face is fresh, hardly any makeup, and her long hair sits in a ponytail high on the back of her head. She’s smiling on a beach somewhere. The strings of a red bikini top curve over her shoulders and around her neck. She looks incredible.

  brookrook

  That’s her name online. I like it without really knowing why.

  I look at her picture way too often.

  “Go on and call her already,” Togiai says. “You’ve been staring at her picture for a week.”

  Wrong.

  It’s been two weeks.

  “I know. I know.” I slide my phone in my pocket to put myself out of my misery.

  “Why are you being like this? Since when do you go slow with girls?”

  “I go slow.”

  Togiai laughs, shaking his head over his books.

  “Hey,” I whisper fiercely across the table. “I’ve gone slow.”

  He closes his book over his arm to give me his full attention. It’s intimidating, even in a library at midnight. The guy is huge. His stare is dark and intense. “Name one girl.”

  “Chrissa. She was my first girlfriend. We never had sex.”

  “Doesn’t count.”

  “She’s a girl. She counts.”

  “Name one girl this year you’ve gone slow with.”

  Shit.

  Slow is a hard term to define. There are a couple of girls I’d say I’m taking it slow with right now, but that’s only because we’re not speaking. Not because they hate me! I want to make that very clear. It’s because we’re done with each other. Because they didn’t want to ‘go slow’ any more than I did.

  We had sex. It was fun. What’s next?

  You get shamed by your Polynesian buddy while trying to write an essay for Anthropology and Aliens, that’s what.

  “Brooklyn,” I tell him confidently.

  “Is that the girl in your phone right now?”

  “Maybe. Yes.”

  He shakes his head, reopening his book. “Doesn’t count.”

  “She counts.”

  “No. She doesn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re not going slow. You’re not moving. And it’s not a choice. She told you not to call.”

  “Shut the fuuu—” I hiss at him. My eyes search the tables surrounding us. They’re full of players on the team, including the three I live with. I haven’t told them about Brooklyn. I hadn’t planned on telling anyone about her but a week ago Togiai caught me staring at her pic like I’m Joe Fucking Goldberg on YOU and I felt like I had to explain myself.

  Togiai snorts. “No one’s listening.”

  “They can hear you.”

  “I meant no one cares.”

  “Well, that’s… harsh.”

  He shrugs. “Sorry.”

  He’s not sorry.

  Slowly, under the table where no one can see, I pull out my phone.

  I look at her picture.

  Because I am a creep.

  “You really think I should call her?” I ask Togiai.

  He lets his hands fall heavy on the table so I can see, hear, and feel how much I’m annoying him. “Yeah. Do it right now. Away from me.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So call her. You want to. Do it.”

  I spin my phone in my hand, debating. “I don’t know. I don’t wanna fuck it up.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since I met her.”

  “In a bathroom. For five minutes.”

  “Probably more like three.”

  “It must be love,” he drones, losing interest. “Call her. Outside. For at least an hour and a half.”

  “If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were tryin’ to get rid of me.”

  “Go the fuck away,” he replies bluntly.

  I grab my jacket but leave my books at the table. I tell Togiai I’m taking a walk, that I’ll be back in five, but he’s stopped listening to me. Still, he won’t leave my stuff there alone. He’s a good friend, even if I’m not.

  Once I’m out in the air in the dark, I feel less like calling Brooklyn. It’s instant. Like a return to sanity. Maybe it’s the blood flowing to my brain as I stride across campus or maybe it’s the girls walking by, smiling sweetly because I’m hot and a football player and they know it. Maybe it’s because I’m suddenly not bored out of my mind anymore and I’m thinking clearly again. I don’t know. I’ll never know. All I do know is that I’m not calling her.

  I’m not that guy. I’m not that thirsty.

  I’m tired as hell, though.

  I walk slowly, meandering with no real direction, but every step feels like it’s sloshing through water. I get this way at the end of the day sometimes. Bone tired and almost painfully exhausted. I wasn’t like this in high school, but high school was easier than college. I started losing sleep when I got here. Those first couple months, I lived in my room in the dorms. It wasn’t bad. I made some friends, went to a few parties. Missed more classes than I should have. I had a good time. After a while, though, the difference between my life and theirs started to show. As a student athlete, my schedule was tight. Between practice, meetings, games, studying, and classes, I had zero free time. I was burning out trying to make it all work and I saw my dreams starting to slip away from me. I couldn’t do the NFL if I couldn’t make it through my freshman year of college.

  One night after dinner with the team, I crashed on the couch at Eustis’ place. The next morning, I went to work out with him, Meyerson, and Weiss. We headed to class after that. Then the library to study. Then practice. Dinner. Back to their apartment to play Xbox until ten when all of them turned off the lights and went straight to bed. It was eerie how in sync it all was, but it made sense. They had to stay on schedule. We had another early workout in the morning.

  I slept on the couch again that night.

  And the night after that.

  The night after that.

  It’s been seven months and I’m still sleeping on that couch. My dorm room has become my Bat Cave. It’s where I keep all my clothes and give the appearance of a true freshman, but that’s not me. I’m on the team and that changes things. It changes everything. Mama would hate to hear me say it, but honestly, the rules do not apply to me. Not all of them.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. It’s probably the guys asking where the hell I went and if I can bring them an AMP energy drink when I come back.

  Nope. It’s Verizon reminding me that my bill is due in a week.

  While my phone is out, I check my emails, my messages, and my DMs. There’s nothing worth getting lost in but I keep on scrolling like I’m searching for something. Eventually, I land on her name. I knew I would.

  Brooklyn

  I added her number to my phone the night I met her. I didn’t trust myself to get that pineapple home without losing it, but it’s in my dorm room right now, hidden in a shoebox under my bed. Why is it hidden in a room I never go to? I’m not sure. I feel protective of it, though. The way I feel protective of her and the fact that she exists. That I’m into her more than I should be.

  My phone is ringing in my hand.

  I’m calling her.

  When the hell did I decide to call her?!?!?

  You didn’t! Dick laughs. I did!

  “Hi, this is Brooklyn,” she answers happily.

  Dick has gone rogue and now I’m screwed.

  “I’m not answering my phone because I don’t want to,” she carries on. “Leave me a message that I’ll never listen to. Bye!”

  I hang up quickly.

  My heart is hammering in my chest like I ran a mile uphill carrying Togiai’s big ass on my back.

  “Why?” I whisper to myself.

  The answer is simple. Dick is a dick.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  My phone rings.

  She’s calling me.

  I answer quickly. Too quickly.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Red Shirt,” Brooklyn replies calmly.

  Her voice. Fuck, her voice. I can smell her the second I hear it – spiced vanilla. I can see her skin – brown and smooth.

  She was worried I’d forget how I felt when I was with her in that bathroom, but the memory hasn’t faded at all. I’m there again now, looking at her smile, and I’m warm in all the right places.

  “How did you know it was me?” I ask.

  “Your number is local but it wasn’t saved in my phone. You got to voicemail but you didn’t leave a message, so you aren’t an automated telemarketing call. You’re a person. A person with my number, something I never give out.”

  “But you gave it to me.”

  “I gave it to you,” she agrees. “So it had to be you.”

  “I’m honored.”

  “You should be. You also shouldn’t be calling me. Red Shirt.”

  “Technically, I’m not a red shirt anymore,” I remind her, carefully outlining my loophole. “The season is over.”

  “And the new one hasn’t started. You’re not a starter. Not yet. You shouldn’t be calling me.”

  “But you’re glad I am. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have called me back.”

  She laughs; like sunlight. “You got me there.”

  I knew it.

  “I miss you,” I tell her playfully.

  I’m gifted with another laugh, this one fuller than the first. “You don’t even know me.”

  “I’m workin’ on it.”

  “I see that.”

  “You miss me too. Admit it.”

  “You’re reaching now.”

  I’m not. I’m dead on target. She’s laughing, happy I called. She’s thought about me too.

  “What are you doin’ right now?” I ask. “You wanna get coffee? Dinner? Fro-yo?”

  “Working. No. No. And maybe another time. I love a good French Vanilla.”

  “Working where?”

  “A coffee kiosk.”

  “That’s perfect. I’ll come buy a cup from you and we can talk about our terrible childhoods. Did you ever get lice? It sucks.”

  “I had mono once.”

  “Who’d you get it from?”

  “My cousin.”

  “Gross. Tell me all about it.”

  She laughs. “No. Not if you’re going to be judgmental.”

  “What if I promise to hide the fact that I’m being judgmental and I’m deeply interested instead.”

  “I want to hear the difference.”

  “You already heard judgmental.”

  “It was rude. Yes.”

  “Right. So, this is interested.”

  “Deeply interested.”

  “Deeply. Depths of the ocean deep.” I clear my throat, composing my face because if I’m smiling when I speak – which I have been since the second she called me back – she’ll hear it. The whole thing will be ruined. “Mono, huh? That’s fascinating. Tell me about that. Who did you share that experience with and how did it make you feel?”

  “Oh no,” she says slowly. “I hated that.”

  “Really?” I ask in my regular tone. “That’s my suave voice. That’s when I’m in full swagger.”

  “It’s fucking awful.”

  I laugh at her candor. She’s brutal and I love it. “Judgmental’s lookin’ pretty good right now, isn’t it?”

  “Your accent is different.”

  I chuckle, surprised. Confused. “What do you mean?”

  “It sounds different than it did in the bathroom. It’s… less.”

  “It comes and goes. I hang out with these guys from all over the country and my accent starts to change. I lose it a little.”

  “That sucks. I like the accent.”

  “Stick around. It’ll flare up again after I call my mama.”

  “Your mama,” she muses affectionately. “Are you close with her?”

  I lower my head, rubbing my hand up and down the back of my neck. “Uh, yeah. Real close. She brought me up alone most my life.”

  “She must be pretty tough.”

  “She is. But she’s soft too.”

  “You worry about her,” Brooklyn observes.

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “Is she still alone?”

  I frown. “She was never alone.”

  “You’re right. She had you. But you’re here now. Is she alone back home?”

  “No. She married a guy when I was ten.”

  “Why don’t you like him?”

  “What are you talking about?” I laugh uncomfortably. How did we get on this topic? And how the hell does she know so much about it? “I like him. I love him. He’s like my dad.”

  “It’s okay to not like your dad, though.”

  “What the—what are we talking about?” I ask. My tone is aggressive. I didn’t mean for that to happen, but I also didn’t mean to end up in a therapy session either.

  “I’m sorry,” Brooklyn apologizes. She sounds genuinely embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to do that. I have a bad habit.”

  “Of mind reading?”

  “I’m sorry. Seriously. I’ll stop.” She forces a chuckle. “It’s super annoying. I get why you’re upset.”

  “I’m not upset.”

  “Okay.”

  She’s right. I’m lying. I’m upset.

  I breathe out in a rush – a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “I don’t like that I don’t like him. He’s a good guy. He really loves her.”

  “You just don’t like him.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

  Why does that make me feel better? What the fuck does she know about it?

  Nothing.

  And yet, it’s like a little of the weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

  “What about your family?” I ask to get us going in a different direction. Away from me. “Are you tight with them?”

  “Very.”

  “How many siblings do you have? And before you answer, you should know that I’m not asking to try to get to know you as a person. You don’t seem very interesting. I’m trying to figure out if you’re a mass murder or not.”

  “Because I used to imagine them dying in fire as a kid?” she guesses.

  “Exactly.”

  “And I’m not interesting?”

  “Not even a little.”

  “Right. Six brothers and sisters. I’m number three.”

  “That’s way too many.”

  She laughs. “It definitely felt like too many sometimes. Being in the middle, I watched my mom raise most of my siblings and it looked exhausting. School, doctor appointments, dentist appointments, sports, practices and games. All the breakfasts, lunches, dinners. Feeding everyone on the holidays. Taking care of us when we were sick, and one of us was always sick. She wakes up before everyone else and she’s the last one to bed. I don’t know how she does it, but she never complains. She loves it.”