chapter fourteen

I blame it on the break in. I wake up in pitch darkness to a muffled thud from the living room and sit up in bed in alarm, picturing the people who trashed this place coming back for seconds. I’m buck naked but I don’t care, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and tiptoeing to the closet to retrieve the baseball bat I stashed there for just such an occasion.

I fold my fingers around the doorknob and twist it as quietly as I can. Then I yank open the door, lift the bat with both hands, and leap into the living room screaming at the top of my lungs.

A female scream joins mine.

For a long second, we just scream. Then my eyes adjust to the light and I see Andi crouched by the coffee table with her shirt half on and a couch cushion held up like a shield. Beneath the cushion I see her penguin panties and bare legs.

“You asshole!” she bellows, chucking the cushion at me. It’s too big to sail far and lands harmlessly near the television.

My pulse is racing so fast that it’s making me dizzy and I have to grip the wall to steady myself. There’s so much adrenaline in my veins that I feel a bit sick. And more than a little mortified.

I risk a glance out the corner of my eye. Andi has pulled on her shirt and is straightening her jeans so they’re right side out.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

She glares at me. “A baseball bat?”

“It’s your favorite sport.”

She’s not buying it.

“I was thinking about the robbery,” I admit.

Her shoulders soften slightly as some of her irritation ebbs away. “Are you just going to stand there naked?”

I finally remember I’m nude. “You like me best this way.”

She smirks and sticks her foot in her jeans.

I check the time on the microwave. It’s two-thirty. I don’t know what time we went to sleep, but it wasn’t very long ago. Once we’d recovered from the couch sex, we’d moved things into my bedroom. I left the desk lamp on so I could see Andi’s hair splayed across my pillow, the pale glow of her skin against my dark sheets, the way she bit her lip when I moved inside her, the way she smiled a little as she came again.

And again.

Her sneaking out in the middle of the night is a slap in the face.

“Where are you going?”

She doesn’t look up. “Home.”

“Why?”

Now she looks up. “Seriously?”

“What? It’s late. And there are vandals in this area.” I say the word “vandals” with as much ominous intensity as I can. “And I need the baseball bat, so you can’t take it with you.”

She fixes her hair. “I’ll be careful.”

“Andi.” I cross the room and stop her when she puts her second leg in the jeans. “This is a very dangerous neighborhood. Don’t go.”

She covers her eyes. “Oh my God, Kellan. Please. Put some pants on.”

“I don’t want to put my pants on. I don’t want you to put yours on, either.”

She parts her fingers half an inch and peers out at me. “Why not?”

“Why not? I...” I rack my brain, trying to think of a decent answer. The truth is, I don’t really have one, I’m just acting on instinct. I want Andi to stay because I want her to be here. “Because we have class together in the morning,” I say. “We can walk over. I can make you breakfast.”

She looks unconvinced.

“Because if you leave I’ll have to drive you home and it’s cold out and I’m naked.”

Her mouth twitches and I know I’m winning. I pinch the hem of her shirt between two fingers and slowly lift it to see her panties. “Because I’m not ready to say goodbye to these penguins just yet.” I stroke a finger across the front of her crotch. “And because you were going to leave without saying anything.”

She meets my eyes. “That’s what you do.” There’s no vitriol in the words. I’ve seen Andi angry enough times to know the signs; she’s just being honest. And she’s not wrong. That is what I do. Correction: it’s what I did.

“Don’t be like me,” I say softly, watching my thumb pass over a penguin building an igloo while pretending not to notice that my other hand is raising the shirt. There’s a moment of resistance, then Andi raises her arms and lets me take it off. She hadn’t bothered with the bra and we both feel it when my cock takes notice, bumping against her thigh as it hardens.

She laughs tiredly. “Kellan, I can’t again.”

I let go of her shirt. “Oh. In that case, maybe you should go.”

She laughs louder. I see the chipped tooth.

“Jerk.”

I lead her back to bed, watching the penguins as they disappear under the covers, and pull her against me, back to front, smelling her hair when I inhale. It doesn’t take long to hear her breathing quiet as she fades away, her soft snores as she dreams. Despite the energy jolt from the non-attack, I have no trouble drifting off right behind her.

It’s our first time sleeping together.

* * *

The following morning I make breakfast while Andi showers. When she comes out of the bathroom wearing my Burnham hoodie, I feel like I’ve won the jackpot. Maybe it’s old-school, but I like seeing my name on her.

“I made waffles,” I say, sticking two on a plate and sliding them across the counter as she takes a seat on one of the barstools. “Do you want something to drink?”

“Juice.”

I pour two glasses, plate up my own waffles, then join her. We eat in silence for a minute, then Andi asks, “Have you ever thought about being a chef?”

I add more syrup. “No.”

“You’re a good cook.”

“Thanks.”

“And you’re undeclared.”

“I don’t want to be a chef; I just like cooking. And I’m not going to get a degree at Burnham then turn around and go to culinary school.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“What are you going to do?” I counter. And though I asked the question because I wanted to avoid hers, I also want the answer.

She puts a large piece of waffle into her mouth. “Finish my degree and figure it out,” she says around the food.

“In Avilla?”

She makes a face. “Could be anywhere.”

The words are like a hundred locks turning on a hundred doors, opening an entire world of new possibilities, new visions of Andi someplace, any place. Places I didn’t have the nerve to invite her. College. Halloween party. Sports Banquet. It’s not too late for that last one, but she speaks up before I can open my mouth.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she says. “It’s your third year and you’re still undeclared. What are you going to do?”

“Dodge my course advisor, probably.”

Which, of course, is easier said than done, when I open the front door to find Bertrand on the frost-covered street. He’s still wearing his soccer shorts, but this time he’s added a puffy black jacket to the mix. It’s bright and sunny but the air is crisp and the road quiet, the grass tipped with white as we crunch our way down the stairs, Andi in the lead.

“Hey,” Bertrand says when we approach.

“Hi,” Andi replies.

“Stalker,” I say.

He extends a hand and Andi shakes it. “I’m Bertrand, Kellan’s course advisor.”

“I’m Andi.”

“She’s in the film class,” I say, when he looks at me. “The one you signed me up for so you could ogle Ms. Shaw. He’s in love with Ms. Shaw,” I tell Andi.

“Shut it, McVey.”

We start walking down the sidewalk.

“I met with Ms. Shaw a couple of weeks ago,” Andi says after a block. “She mentioned she was looking forward to the Italian film festival coming up next week.”

“You should invite her,” I tell Bertrand.

“Thanks, Kellan. That wasn’t incredibly obvious.”

“You should also stop wearing those shorts all the time if you’re not actually playing soccer.”

He gives me a dark look.

“Love is pain,” I add.

“Is that what this is?” He nods between Andi and I.

“He did try to attack me with a baseball bat,” Andi says.

“Andi!” I exclaim. “I didn’t attack her. I was just prepared to.”

“That’s so much better.”

“I mean, if she was a robber.”

Bertrand’s trying not to laugh. “Relax. You got robbed. Now you’re frightened. It’s normal.”

“I’m not frightened.”

Andi snorts.

“I’m just ready.”

Now Bertrand snorts.

“You know what?” We stop at the doors to the Klein Building. “Just go inside, Andi. I need to talk to Bertrand for a second.”

“I’m not talking to you about Ms. Shaw,” he says firmly.

“It’s not about her. Stop being so obsessed.”

Andi leaves us to bicker.

“What?” Bertrand asks.

“Sociology.”

“What about it?”

“That’s my major. I’m declaring it.”

“Sociology? Why?”

“Did you think I was going to become a film critic? Sociology is sensible. It leaves a lot of options open.”

“You just picked it because it was easy.”

Through the open doors I see Andi disappearing into the crowd. “Or maybe sometimes I get things right on the first try, even if it takes me a while to appreciate it.”

“Are you just saying that so we can stop these walks?”

“I would say anything to stop these walks.”

“Because nothing will stop them.”

“God, just ask her out already.”

He clears his throat. “I bought tickets.”

“To the film festival?”

“Yeah. Full passes.”

“Do you like Italian film?”

“I like it as much as I like Portuguese and Russian and Thai film,” he replies. “Which is to say, I don’t know anything about it.”

“So we’re the same.”

He nudges me toward the auditorium. “We’re nothing alike.”

I crane my neck to see Ms. Shaw in her usual position at the far set of doors, speaking with a student. She wears some sort of strange feather hairpiece and she’s touching it self-consciously.

“Compliment that feather thing,” I whisper as I get swept into the swarm of last-minute students arriving for class.

Bertrand ignore me and strides down the hall.

I’m smiling when I drop into the seat next to Andi.

“What was that all about?” she asks.

“I’m helping Bertrand with his love life.”

“I heard about what you said to Nate,” Marcela says.

“Fuck!” I jolt in my chair and find Marcela waiting in the seats behind us. “It’s too early for this, Marcela.”

“I’m an early riser.”

I unclench my fists. “Are you two doing it now? Can this be over?”

“I can’t kiss and tell.”

“That was literally the whole purpose behind our ‘relationship.’ Minus the kissing.”

“Whatever. Not everyone needs to advertise their love story. Some things are private. I just came to say thanks.”

“As in...thank me?”

“Yeah. You’re not as awful as everyone thinks.”

“No one thinks I’m awful!”

“All the girls at The Sling do,” Andi pipes up.

“Not now, Andi.” I stop glaring at her and glare at Marcela again. “So we’re done? You can stop sneaking up on me?”

“I’m in this class. I’ll always be here.”

“You’re here for five minutes.”

“Well, today’s your lucky day. I’ll be here for fifteen, since we’re getting the outline for next week’s in-class essay.”

“Just tell me if you and Nate hooked up. Was he the life of your party?”

“Stop trying to make innuendos. You don’t know what they are.”

“Are they different than puns?”

“Yes,” Andi says. “Give up.”

The conversation is interrupted when Ms. Shaw switches on the microphone and clears her throat. It might just be me, but it looks like she’s blushing. Like maybe somebody invited her to a film festival and complimented her weird feather. I take notes as she explains the in-class assignment will consist of an eight-hundred word essay, written in class, detailing what we learned from the films we watched. Normally when a professor gives us an outline for the exam or an essay, my mind stays completely blank. But with the exception of boring Citizen Kane—which became semi-interesting after the fact—the movies we watched were pretty good. I understand why we’re watching them, and even if the story isn’t necessarily to my taste, I understand why they’re important and relevant and I like being aware of it.

I like noticing things I never noticed before.

* * *

Crosbie and I brace ourselves as the team bus jostles over yet another pothole on our way to nearby Oregon State for a mock meet. Mock meets are exactly what they sound like—pretend track and cross country meets where we travel to other schools to see how we’re measuring up. This is the first one of the year, and though we’re always under strict instructions to stay in our hotel rooms and follow all the rules, there’s never been a mock meet where we didn’t do the exact opposite. I’m pretty sure I’ve been to every bar and club in the state, with Crosbie right there beside me.

When we reach the campus at six o’clock, we go for dinner and listen to the coach’s standard lecture about behaving ourselves. Everyone nods obediently, but ten minutes after we retire to our rooms—ostensibly for the night—there’s a knock on every  door that’s the cue to creep down to the elevator and out to whichever club comes most highly recommended and has the cheapest cover charge.

Tonight, however, instead of leading the pack, Crosbie and I lie on our queen beds and slowly turn to look at the door. Then we look at each other. It’s almost ten o’clock on a Friday and instead of hitting up another foam party, I want to watch the last hour of game two of the World Series and debate the decision to pull Hewlett in the fifth inning, after he ground into his second double play. Crosbie loves all sports but he’s not as into baseball as he is into Nora, and he’s been texting her all day, trying to convince her to come to his parents’ house for Thanksgiving in a couple of weeks. Apparently she has a phobia about turkeys.

“You going out?” Crosbie asks when I haven’t moved after two minutes.

I hesitate. “Probably not.”

He nods. “Cool. I think I’ll just stay here, too.”

“Cool.”

A pause. “Are you going to call Andi?”

“Just to talk about the game.”

I see him smirk. “Right.”

I ignore him and dial Andi’s number. She picks up on the third ring. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You watching?” It’s the World Series; I know she’s watching.

“Yeah. Aren’t you supposed to be out dancing with snakes or something?”

“That’s tomorrow night.”

She laughs.

“They should have left Hewlett in,” I say. “They need his speed.”

“Speed doesn’t matter if he doesn’t get on base.”

“He needs the vote of confidence.”

“Where are you?” Andi asks.

“I’m at the hotel. Crosbie’s here, too. Are you at home?”

“No, I’m at Doolin’s, the pub near The Sling.”

“I know it.”

“And they know you. There’s a dartboard here with your face on it.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“Okay, but I’d be lying.”

“Who are you with?”

“Julian.”

I sit up in alarm. “Crick?” I haven’t seen Andi since we parted ways after class on Wednesday, but we’ve been texting and I thought maybe some sort of boundary had been established. A boundary with me on one side and Crick way, way on the other side in the very far distance.

She laughs. “Relax. He’s not here.”

“That’s not funny, Andi.”

“It’s as funny as the time I zipped that rat inside your duvet cover.”

“That wasn’t funny either. You’re not a funny person.”

“You were just jealous you couldn’t catch a rat and I could.”

“I also couldn’t sleep for a week.”

“Are you really with Crosbie?”

“Yeah. Why?” I lower my voice conspiratorially. “You hoping for a little phone action?”

“Dude,” Crosbie says.

I roll onto my side so my back is turned. I know Andi’s not going to talk dirty to me, but there’s nothing that says I can’t enjoy the fleeting moment of possibility.

“Dude,” Andi says. “No.”

And moment over.

“How about when I get back?” It sounds like a stranger is saying these words. How many times had a girl tried to corner me for round two and I’d raced around like that stupid trapped rat, desperate for a way out? My sudden anxiety ratchets up ten fold when Andi doesn’t reply right away. I force myself to sound casual. “Just kidd—” I begin, ready to play it off like a joke.

“You’re back on Monday?” she checks.

I freeze, praying desperately that she didn’t hear, but of course she did. She’s Andi and my luck is shit.

“Oh,” she says. “Right. Never mind.”

“No,” I say quickly. “I was just—”

“Totally fine.” Her tone is brusque.

“No, I mean, I want to.”

“I have to go.”

“Andi,” I say seriously. “Stop. I thought you weren’t going to answer.” I hate that we’re still in a weird place. Growing up we saw each other every day. We didn’t even make plans, hanging out was a given, as natural as breathing. Until it wasn’t.

Through the phone I hear cheering in the background, and I glance at the muted television to see a player rounding the bases.

“Whatever, Kellan. I’ll see—”

“No!” I say it too loudly, getting to my feet and hustling into the bathroom so Crosbie can’t eavesdrop.

“Oh, come on!” he calls behind me. “Don’t leave when it’s getting good!”

I flip him off over my shoulder and close the door, taking a seat on the edge of the bathtub.

“Andi. You still there?”

An aggrieved sigh. “Yes, Kellan.”

“I’m sorry,” I say seriously. “We’re back in the evening on Monday, probably around six. Come over. You can let yourself in if we’re running late; I have a key under the corner of the front step.”

She sighs again. “I can’t do that, Kellan.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t wait for you. I can’t always be waiting.” The last word is so faint I can barely hear it, but it doesn’t matter, because I know what subtext is now, and she’s not just talking about waiting on Monday. She means waiting that summer for me to admit I cared about her, and instead I kissed another girl—on camera, in front of thousands of people. She means waiting for me to figure out what I want, and not run away in the middle of the night after I get it. She means waiting for me to stop breaking her heart, because somewhere deep down, I’ve always known that that’s what I do. Whether or not it’s intentional, it doesn’t matter when it’s broken.

“Plus I have a game that night,” she says as an after thought. “So I’ll just wait on that bench instead.”

“You’re still not getting any playing time?”

“I’m getting a scholarship; that’s what matters.”

“Where’s the game? I’ll come when I get back. I’ll cheer for you.”

“No, don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because there will approximately nine people watching, and the second you show up, they’ll watch you instead. That’s even more embarrassing than only having nine fans.”

“I’ll make a sign that says, Watch Andi!”

“I will kill you.”

“Let’s hang out on Monday after the game. Whenever you want. I’ll wait for you.”

She hesitates.

“Then after we can go back to my place—or your place—and I can let you do all sorts of things to my body.”

She laughs, a heartfelt belly laugh that probably turns heads in the bar. “How lucky for me.”

“You’ll finally have an outlet for all those dirty things you write in your journal.”

“Kellan...”

“Did you want to get started now? Just tell me what’s on the first page.”

“There’s no journal, you ass.”

“I’ll go first. We’ll start simple. What are you wearing? Don’t say that old A’s shirt.”

“The old A’s shirt.”

“You ruin everything. I don’t know why I’m friends with you.”

When I return to the room, Crosbie’s still lounging on the bed, looking smug.

“How’s your girlfriend?” he asks.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“So what is she?”

“My...friend.”

“Are you taking her to the Sports Banquet?”

“It’s still a month away.”

“It’s going to be here in no time. Nora and Marcela are already planning their outfits.”

“Did Marcela convince Choo to take her?”

“Not yet, but she’s working on it. She’s really fixated on the free steak.”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t started badgering me.”

“She probably assumed you’re taking Andi.”

I drop onto my bed. With everything else that’s been going on, I hadn’t thought much about the Sports Banquet—or who, if anyone, to take. “Is it really that big a deal?”

Crosbie’s not helpful. “You know it is.”

I run a hand through my hair. “If I take Andi, everyone will talk.”

“So? Actions speak louder than words. Taking Andi would say, ‘Hey everyone, we’re not just friends anymore, and it’s none of your business anyway, so fuck off. Also, come see Crosbie’s Holiday Magic Show at Beans on December eleventh.’”

I lie back against the pillows. “That’s really saying a lot.”

He arches a brow. “Isn’t it about time?”