Chapter Twenty-One
Daniel
I go back to the house in a kind of daze. The first thing I see is Beeker standing in the kitchen doorway, watching Trace rinse the blood from his nose and mouth.
He turns when I come in. “What the fuck is going on? What the hell happened between you two?”
I have to fix things with Tamsin, and I will. But there’s something else I have to do first.
“Trace is moving out.”
Trace jerks upright and turns off the faucet.
“Fuck that. If anyone’s moving out, it’s you.”
If Beeker hears the story and sides with Trace, I’d rather move out anyway.
“I’m fine either way. Let’s tell Beeker what happened.”
The amazing part is that Trace doesn’t even disagree with my version of events. It’s obvious he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with what he said.
How could I have been friends with him for so long and not know what an asshole he is?
But that’s not really how it’s been. The truth is, I’ve always known what an asshole Trace is. It’s not like he’s ever hidden it.
It’s just that I let it go.
Now I’m hearing Tamsin’s voice in my head.
The worst part is that you’re friends with someone like Trace. Someone who harasses women on Twitter and calls them bitches and sluts and cunts to their faces.
I’ve called out guys who use those words. But I’ve never stopped being someone’s friend because of it.
Until now.
Beeker holds up a hand to interrupt Trace in a tirade I haven’t been listening to. “Okay, that’s enough. Trace, you’re out.”
Trace explodes, but I don’t wait around to see that play out.
I should be glad I have one decent friend. But as I go upstairs to my room, I think about some of the things Beeker has said about women.
Even without calling anyone a slut, he’s still managed to say some pretty shitty things.
I feel like I know what Beeker would say if I talked to him about that. He’d say he doesn’t disrespect any of the women he actually knows. He’d say he just disrespects feminism in general. He’d say it’s political, not personal.
Once I’m in my room, I go over to the open window. I start to close it but I sit down on the floor instead. I’ve got a throbbing headache and the cool air feels good on my face.
I’m starting to realize something.
I’ve been thinking I could have it both ways. I wanted to be part of the boy’s club—or some version of it, anyway—and still be able to date a girl like Tamsin.
I wanted to be the good, decent guy who tells his friends not to call women sluts and not to make jokes about rape, but who could still be part of the club when the women aren’t around and the jokes aren’t too bad.
I thought I could keep the friends I know are assholes, and also be the kind of man Tamsin could fall in love with.
And that’s a cowardly fucking way to live.
Tamsin is worth a million Traces, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get her back. Including giving up the boy’s club.
There are better guys to be friends with. Guys like Will and Andre. I’ve always assumed I don’t have anything in common with them outside of football, because of my politics and my church. But maybe I’ve been wrong about that.
Maybe I’ve been wrong about a lot of things.
But kicking Trace out of the house was the easy part. My other problems with Tamsin run a lot deeper.
I haven’t been honest with her.
Tamsin said she doesn’t know if I lied to her about being a virgin. She said she has no idea if what Trace said is true or not. It kills me that she might believe Trace over me, but that’s exactly what I deserve.
Because I haven’t been honest with her.
I think about something she said.
Now that I’ve been sanctified by sleeping with you.
She said it sarcastically. But here’s the thing.
I didn’t sanctify her. She sanctified me.
I came to her broken, and she didn’t laugh at me or reject me. She didn’t decide I was too much trouble. She gave me a gift, and I didn’t tell her what that gift meant to me.
I didn’t trust her with the truth.
A chorus of bird song erupts outside, and I look out the window. Sometime in the last half hour the sky has gone from black to gray.
It’s dawn.
I have a lab at eight. Should I muscle through and go to bed early tonight, or try to get a little sleep before class?
I glance over at my bed. The covers are rumpled, and the sight sends memories stabbing through me.
My body tightens. My heart squeezes in my chest.
I still don’t know how to fix things with Tamsin. But I know I can’t lose her.
I need to think. So I decide to do something I haven’t done since I’ve been at Hart.
I decide to cut a class.
Cutting class to think sounds like something a snowflake liberal would do—not a hard-headed conservative engineering major. But I’m starting to believe those labels are fucking useless.
There’s a park a few blocks over, and it’s got miles of walking trails. I get dressed and grab my wallet from the bedside table, and that’s when I see Tamsin’s crystal thing, lying in a sparkling heap right where I put it last night.
I stare at it for a long time. Then I pick it up and put it in my pocket, and as I’m walking to the park I keep my hand closed around it.