Andy Craig had stumbled onto the rowing team on accident. He'd only gone to the first information session about the team because they'd offered free pizza, but it turned out that Andy liked rowing—and he liked the people most of all. Andy wasn't fanatical about the sport itself, the way Max and Finn—and Drew, to some extent—were. He spent a little more time being cold and wet than he really wanted to.

But he stuck with it because his teammates were the best people he'd ever known, and he liked being a part of something bigger than himself. Something that felt important.

Still, though, when Drew's alarm went off at four in the morning that Monday, it was far from welcome. Andy groaned and rolled over, sticking his head under the pillow. He must be some kind of masochist, he figured, since he'd stayed with a sport for this long that required such gruesomely early hours.

"You awake, Andy?" Drew said. His voice was muffled through the pillow.

"No," Andy said grumpily.

He heard the overhead light flick on, a gross fluorescent fixture that didn't make anyone look good, especially at four in the morning. Andy squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

"Time to get up," Drew said in a disgustingly chipper, singsong voice.

"I'm quitting the team."

"You say that every morning," Drew said, poking at Andy's foot.

"I don't say that on Sundays," Andy said.

"Yeah, but we don't have practice on Sundays."

"Exactly—ugh—" Andy groaned as Drew ripped the comforter off him. He reluctantly resurfaced from beneath his pillow.

"Good job," Drew said with a grin. Andy held up his middle finger and Drew laughed.

Half an hour later, they were standing, bleary-eyed, on the dock. It was a strange morning—the sky was barely light but the air was already thick and humid, and a low, muggy mist lay over the river.

Andy glanced over at Drew, trying to suss out what he was thinking, but as usual Drew's face was impassive and unreadable. Yesterday evening, their coach had announced he was splitting up the four of them—Max and Finn would be rowing in a two person boat with each other, while Andy and Drew had been relegated to another boat with some of the new varsity members.

Andy wasn't thrilled about this development. Max and Finn had always been the more competitive of the four of them—and the hardest working—and it was clear that this would give them a better shot at medaling in their races. It made Andy feel a little shitty, though, and he couldn't tell if that feeling was justified.

The whole practice felt off. Andy was so used to seeing Max in front of him, accustomed to mirroring his friend's movements, but now he was behind a sophomore whose name he didn’t even know. Last year, the four of them had hit their stride early on, and switching to a different boat with different people now felt like going from a well-aligned car to a grocery store cart with a broken wheel.

As a result, by the end of practice, Andy was wet and tired and hungry and thoroughly irritated by the time they finished their drills and put the boat away. He'd spent half the practice with one eye on Max and Finn, who seemed to be having an incredible practice with just the two of them.

He stood with Drew as they watched Max and Finn bring their boat up from the dock.

"So that… kind of sucked, right?" Drew said after a moment, and Andy let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.

"Yeah," he said, laughing. "God, I'm glad you said something. I felt like such a fucking asshole but—"

"Yeah," Drew said, when Andy trailed off. "Believe me. I know."

"I mean—it's not like—I'm not—" Andy stammered.

"No, I get it," Drew said, nodding. "I'm happy for them but it kind of sucks for us."

"Exactly," Andy said, glad that Drew had articulated the strange, ugly feeling that had been oozing around inside him all morning.

"It'll be okay, though," Drew said. "I mean, we still have Tina as our coxswain. We'll adjust to it."

"True," Andy said. Tina was their fierce and tiny teammate who'd steered their boat all last year. She was more than just a coxswain, too—she'd been some mix of coach, cheerleader, mother, and drill sergeant.

"It'll still be a good year," Drew said, elbowing Andy gently. He glanced at Drew and offered up a smile he didn't really feel.

He hoped Drew was right.

* * *

"Can't believe those losers ditched us," Andy grumbled. It was the first Friday of the semester, and Andy had tried to rally the four of them to go to happy hour at the bar closest to campus. Max and Finn had flaked out at the last minute, claiming they were too worn out from the first week of classes.

"We'll have plenty of opportunities to drink with them, I promise," Drew said mildly. "And besides, it's not like they're gonna stop being our friends just because they're in a different boat now."

Andy made a grumpy noise. Yet again, Drew had managed to articulate a thought Andy hadn't even realized he'd had. He knew he was being ridiculous, but the worry had been burrowing into him like a termite that perhaps Max and Finn would outgrow him. This happened to him more often than he ever admitted to anyone—a worry would pop up in his head, nagging at him as it seemed to grow and grow and grow.

Drew punched him gently in the arm, and Andy knew it was Drew's way of telling him to stop worrying.

The bar was already packed when they arrived, though it was only four in the afternoon. The Cricket was an ancient, grimy bar just off the Bellamy campus, and it was the favorite haunt of many upperclassmen.

They got their drinks and ended up crammed into a booth with some of Andy's friends from his major. He was squished in next to Drew, their legs bumping under the table, and across from them, a pretty brunette leaned in, clearly trying to flirt with Drew as they all talked.

It wasn't working, of course, and from the very earnest, serious way Drew was responding to all her questions, Andy wondered if Drew even realized she was interested in him. It didn't seem like it, which Andy found a little endearing.

Andy left Drew to fend for himself, turning to his friend Rory.

"Where's Georgina?" Andy asked.

"She had some sorority recruitment event," Rory said with a shrug. Rory and Georgina had been together since freshman year. They were a picture perfect couple—when they were together, they looked like they were on their way to a modelling shoot for expensive outdoor apparel.

"So, you two getting engaged this year?" Andy asked, and Rory blanched.

"No, I don't think so," Rory said. "Georgina has a pretty set five year plan. So we'll probably wait until after graduation."

It was Andy's turn to grimace.

"No offense, but that sounds awful," he said, and Rory snorted. "Sorry—not that—I mean, it seems like it's good for you—"

"I get it," Rory said with a laugh as he held up his hand to cut Andy off. "I know you're afraid of commitment."

"Hey," Andy said with mock indignation. "I'm not afraid of commitment. It'd just be a crime to not share this—" He gestured down to himself. "—with as many women as I can."

Rory rolled his eyes.

"Keep telling yourself that, buddy," Rory said. "Anyway, can you believe Professor Woods assigned us an essay already? I thought…"

He trailed off, staring at something over Andy's shoulder, and Andy glanced back, following Rory's gaze to a tall, thin guy with a sleeve of tattoos up his arm throwing back a shot of whiskey at the bar.

"You okay, dude?"

"Uh, yeah, sorry," Rory said, shaking his head. "Saw someone I knew from high school. Anyway, have you started yet?"

Andy snorted.

"Dude, I'm planning on starting that essay the morning it's due," he said, laughing at Rory's scandalized expression.

* * *

A few drinks later, he and Drew extricated themselves from the group and closed their tabs. Andy had discovered that waking up at four in the morning didn't have to cramp his social life, as long as he could convince his friends that happy hour was way more fun than going out at ten in the evening.

"That girl was all over you," Andy said as they pushed outside. The air felt clean after being in the cramped, slightly humid bar, and Andy inhaled deeply. This was his favorite time of year—the worst of the summer's heat had burned itself out by now, but the world was still green and alive. He even liked the strange, almost mechanical drone of the cicadas.

"Who, Amy?" Drew said.

"Yeah," Andy said. "I'm telling you, if you ever start playing for the other team, you'll be knee deep in—"

"Thank you, Andy," Drew said, cutting him off.

"Word to the wise, though," Andy said as they walked up the street. "I've made out with, like, half the girls in her sorority and they are not known for their kissing abilities."

Drew snorted.

"It seems like you're the common denominator there," he said, raising his eyebrow.

"Rude," Andy said. "I happen to be an excellent kisser. You would know."

"Oh, please," Drew said, rolling his eyes. "I've kissed my grandma longer than you kissed me."

And maybe it was the need to defend his own honor, or the two dollar well drinks, or the song of the cicadas, but Andy found himself grabbing Drew's arm and hauling him into the alley they were passing.

"What—" Drew said, startled, as Andy threw his arms around Drew's neck and stood on his tiptoes, crushing their lips together.

Drew stiffened, and Andy expected him to pull away, but instead his hands flew automatically to Andy's waist, feeling bigger and stronger and more solid than Andy would have guessed.

So Andy deepened the kiss, turning his head slightly and darting his tongue across Drew's lower lip. Drew let out a little noise against Andy's mouth as his lips parted.

And that's how Andy discovered that the weirdest part about making out with his best friend in an alley was that it wasn't weird at all. Drew was taller than anyone he'd ever kissed—including the time Andy had hooked up with a girl on the Bellamy basketball team—and the feeling of Drew's stubble against Andy's face was unfamiliar, but not bad.

Drew faltered a little, and Andy took charge. Drew's hands clutched at Andy's sides almost desperately as Andy pressed himself against the hard, flat expanse of Drew's chest. Andy wanted to make this good for Drew—as soon as one of them came up for air, it would be the end of the kiss and they'd walk home.

Finally, they broke apart, both panting slightly. Drew's dark eyes were wide, and he looked a little shell-shocked.

He stepped back, wiping his hand across his mouth.

"So, uh, quick question," he said as Andy grinned up at him. "What the fuck was that?"

Andy burst out laughing.

"Well, you weren't impressed with your first kiss," Andy said, pretending to examine his cuticles. "So I thought I'd give you a better one."

"You are… so weird, Andy," Drew said, shaking his head, but Andy saw he was trying not to laugh.

"Are you mad at me?" Andy asked. "For giving you the best kiss of your life?"

"The only kiss of my life," Drew said. "But no, I'm not."

"Good," Andy said, leading them out of the alley. "Because it is an honor and a privilege to get to kiss me."

"Last time I checked," Drew said as they walked up the street, "getting to kiss me was a way more exclusive club than getting to kiss you."

"Shit," Andy said. "You're right. Fuck. Well, thank you then, I guess."

Drew rolled his eyes.

"You're welcome, Andy."

* * *

The dynamic of the four friends was shifting, and Andy didn't like it. He couldn't quite put his finger on what the issue was, which made things even worse. He felt uncomfortable and needy, and he didn't want to bring it up if he couldn't verbalize it. After all, what would he say?

Hey, Drew, do you think our friends hate me? There's no real reason to think that, but now I can't stop freaking out about it.

There hadn't been any specific incident, after all. But last year, they'd felt like a group of four, and now something was fracturing. Maybe it had something to do with the boat line ups, or maybe it was something else. But suddenly, it felt as if a hairline fracture had opened up between the two sets of roommates.

He'd never liked change—the shifts made him feel uneasy, as though the ground were shifting beneath his feet. Hell, he'd even had a hard time adjusting when he was fourteen and his newly-divorced aunt had stayed with them for a month, and—though he'd never admitted it to anyone—he'd been so nervous about going off to college that he hadn't been able to eat during the week leading up to his orientation.

Andy kept his mouth shut—for once. If Drew noticed something was different with their friend group, he wasn't saying anything. That, of course, wasn't particularly surprising—Drew had never been very talkative, and the only way to get his opinion on something was to ask for it outright.

So Andy did what he did best and decided to ignore the problem.

* * *

"I've been looking for you."

Andy's head snapped up in surprise and he saw his brother glowering at him from across the table.

"What are you doing here?" Andy asked. He was sitting in the little café in the atrium of the business school, killing time between classes. It was one of his favorite places on campus—the large skylights let in the sun, soft and diffuse, and there was always a steady of stream of people going to and from classes and meetings.

"Mom said we're supposed to hang out," Noel said. He dropped his backpack and sat down, folding his arms over his chest.

"I'm busy," Andy said.

"Doing what?" Noel asked. Andy gestured at his half-eaten sandwich in explanation and Noel rolled his eyes.

"I'm doing stuff," Andy said. It was true, too—Andy was very close to beating a level he'd been stuck on in some dumb phone game for weeks.

"Mom said—"

"I know what Mom said." Andy glared at his brother. They'd both received very pointed text messages from their mother encouraging them to spend time together since they were attending the same college now.

Noel glanced at his watch—because of course Noel was the kind of person who also wore a watch even though he was always glued to his phone or computer.

"I asked Mom about it and she said we have to hang out for at least an hour a week," he said. Andy groaned. An hour sounded like an interminably long amount of time to spend in the company of his weird little brother.

"She actually said that?" Andy asked, raising his eyebrow.

"Yes," Noel said in a very matter-of-fact tone. "I asked her to specify what she meant by quality time and made her give me a length."

In spite of himself, Andy couldn't help laughing at the image of Noel asking that without any trace of irony.

"You are so goddamn strange," Andy muttered.

Noel stared at him.

He stared at Noel.

"So what now?" Andy asked.

Noel pulled out a notecard from the pocket of his sweatshirt.

"I brought some conversation topics—"

Andy groaned, louder this time, and buried his face in his hands.

"Oh my god," Andy said. "Noel, have you spent, like, any time on planet Earth recently?"

When he looked up, Noel was glaring at him again.

"I'm making an effort," he said. "That's more than I can say for you."

Andy got up and crouched beside Noel, who frowned.

"What are you doing?" Noel asked as Andy pulled out his phone.

"Smile," Andy ordered. Noel's expression was more of a pained grimace than a smile. "No, really smile. The way humans do."

He took a picture of the two of them and quickly sent it to their mother.

"Okay," Andy said briskly, grabbing his stuff. "Quality time spent. Mission accomplished."

"But—" Noel said.

"See ya," Andy called over his shoulder as he quickly escaped to his next class.

* * *

Andy was bored and restless. On Tuesdays, he finished classes earlier in the day, which normally was great. But today, everything felt a little off. It was a warm, muggy day, where the air felt sticky against his skin, and there was a low, thin layer of clouds that turned the light all wrong. Rowing practice that morning had been frustrating, and all of them had been silent in the car back to campus afterwards.

The apartment was quiet when Andy got home. Max and Finn had been rowing in the afternoons as well, because apparently one grueling rowing workout a day wasn't enough for them. Andy stomped down the stairs, not because he was angry, but simply because sometimes it was satisfying to make a lot of noise, especially when he was home alone.

He threw the door to his room open and saw that he wasn't alone, though—Drew was sitting at his desk, one hand pulling at his dark hair as he stared down at his ancient laptop.

"Oh, hey," Andy said, throwing his backpack on the floor with a heavy thump and wincing as he remembered, too late, that his own computer was inside.

Drew grunted something in response.

"What are you doing?" Andy asked, kicking his shoes off and crawling onto his bed.

"Studying," Drew said.

Andy frowned.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Drew said, not looking up from the screen, where he was now typing, the keys clacking loudly in the stillness of the afternoon.

Andy bit his lip, looking at the familiar contours of Drew's broad shoulders. He knew Drew was naturally quiet, but that little voice in his brain kept piping up, suggesting that maybe something was wrong.

"Wanna go to happy hour?" Andy said, flopping onto his back.

"Can't," Drew said. "Big project due tomorrow."

Andy huffed.

"Okay, what about dinner?"

"Probably just grab something quick a little later," Drew said.

"You have to take a break sometime—"

"Andy," Drew said firmly. "I love you, but please shut up."

Andy made a grumpy, offended noise, and before he could stop himself, he grabbed a rolled-up pair of socks on his bedside table and lobbed them at Drew.

And he meant for them to bounce off Drew's back and roll away as a playful kind of fuck you. But Andy's aim was off, and the socks hit the water bottle on Drew's desk, knocking it over and sending water flying all over Drew's desk.

"What the fuck—" Drew jumped up from his desk, holding his laptop up away from the puddle of liquid.

"Oh, shit—" Andy said, leaping up. "Fuck, sorry—"

"Why did you do that?" Drew demanded, setting his computer on the bed. Andy reached over to help wipe up the mess, but Drew blocked him. "Just stop—"

"I'm sorry—"

"Whatever," Drew snapped. "Just—get me a paper towel or something."

Andy ran upstairs and grabbed the roll of paper towels from the kitchen, guilt blooming in his chest. He handed the roll to Drew, who was frowning as he examined his laptop.

"Is your computer—"

"It's fine," Drew said shortly.

"I'm sorry," Andy said, watching the water drip off of Drew's notebook, the ink smudging and running as Drew picked it up.

"Great."

"Drew—"

"What?" Drew said, turning to Andy, and Andy was speechless for a second at the coldness, the harshness, in Drew's expression.

"I—I said I was sorry," Andy said.

"I heard you the first ten times," Drew said, shaking out the notebook. Andy's face flushed. A strange, muted kind of panic was welling up inside him, emotion far out of proportion for the situation—he wanted Drew to say it was okay, that he was forgiven, that he hadn't fucked up—

"It's just water—"

"Why were you throwing socks at me, anyway?" Drew said.

"It was a joke—"

"You could have fucked up my computer," Drew said.

"Well, I didn't," Andy said. "And I would have paid for it if I had."

"Jesus, Andy," Drew said. "Do you ever think before you do anything?"

The words felt like a slap, and Andy recoiled.

"Don't be an asshole," Andy said.

"Don't be so goddamn immature," Drew said.

"Fuck you," Andy spat.

"Andy—"

Andy turned and stomped out of the room, and when he left the apartment, he slammed the door so hard behind him the windows shook.

Andy realized he was shaking. He walked quickly, not even sure where his feet were taking him. The clouds had darkened, and here and there a few fat drops of rain were splashing down onto the pavement.

You're being a fucking baby, he told himself, but it was useless. Something about what Drew had said, the way he'd said it had cut Andy deeply. Drew had barely even sounded mad—he'd sounded resigned, almost, like Andy was just someone he put up with, a useless excuse for a friend he'd committed to tolerating until graduation.

Do you ever think? Don't be so immature. They crashed around Andy's head as he walked, in a perfect, dreadful harmony with the words of so many of Andy's coaches and professors and instructors over the years.

Andy doesn't work hard enough. Andy's not reaching his full potential. Andy doesn't pay attention. They all boiled down to one thing: he's not enough, he's not enough, he's not enough.