The Play

Our showers have the sweetest set-up. Each one is its own individual stall separated by waist-high partitions, so we can see each other’s heads but not our junk, just the way I like it. In the stall next to mine, Con is dunking his head under the spray, smoothing his longish hair away from his forehead. He’s got a bite mark on his left shoulder. This fucking guy.

“Hey, about this weekend,” I start, deciding to poll more people about my dilemma.

But Conor misinterprets. Chuckling softly, he turns to grin at me. “Yeah, sorry ’bout that. I forgot to lock the door.” He raises a brow. “You should’ve joined us.”

I’m helpless to stop my dick from twitching. Bad enough that I’m not having sex with the parade of women throwing themselves at me at parties—now I’m being invited to threesomes? The universe has a lousy sense of humor.

“Nah, I’m not talking about the BJ. I needed—”

“Feed me!” The anguished shout reverberates in the shower area, making Con and me jump.

“For fuck’s sake,” Conor says, turning toward the doorway.

Matt and Treeface are standing outside Jesse Wilkes’ stall, the latter waving Pablo around in the air. I’m not worried about the egg falling into one of the showers, because it’s been established that pigs can indeed swim.

Jesse remains unfazed by the intruders. He simply squirts shampoo into his palms and lathers up his hair. “You can wait five minutes, Pablo,” he says cheerfully.

Matt glares at him. “Would you really do that if he was real? If your pet pig was standing in the doorway begging to be fed?”

“Hell yeah, I would. I’ve got three golden retrievers at home. They eat when I tell them to eat.”

Laughter bounces off the acoustics in the room. He’s got a point. I had a Jack Russell growing up and he ate twice a day, like clockwork. My control-freak father wouldn’t have it any other way.

Man, I miss that dog. I was ten years old when he died, and I remember crying my eyes out in my bedroom until Dad came in to inform me that real men don’t cry. Good chat.

“But he’s starving,” Tree says in accusation.

Jesse just gives them the finger before continuing to wash his hair. He’s even whistling.

Although…he’s shampooing rather fast… In fact, I barely have time to blink before he’s shutting off the water and darting through the doorway.

Conor grins at Jesse’s retreating backside. “Dude. I think they’re actually starting to believe it’s a real pig.”

“Right?” But I can’t deny that Pablo has developed a life of his own. Even I can’t be certain he’s an egg anymore. I think he might be a real boy.

“Anyway,” I say as I rinse off. “I need advice.”

“Hit me,” Conor replies, because that’s a normal response from a normal person. I don’t understand why Hollis—annnnd there’s no point trying to figure out Hollis. It’s like trying to understand the wind.

Toweling off, I quickly outline the situation. Unlike Hollis, Con does hesitate. He thinks it over for several beats before providing an answer.

“I’d tell her.”

“Yeah? Even though she might punch me in the face?”

“Well, sure, the messenger always risks getting shot, but is it better to leave her in the dark? What if you run into her and the boyfriend? What do you do, pretend everything is cool and that you don’t know he’s a total douchebag?”

“I’m with Con,” Foster pipes up from my other side. He’s been listening in this entire time. “You gotta tell her, man. And hey, if it turns out you’re wrong? You say I’m sorry, I was trying to be a good friend and look out for you, and I made a mistake.”

Which is precisely what this boils down to—me wanting to be a good friend. I hate the idea of Demi being played for a fool. Nico seemed like a good guy the first time I met him, but he was emitting some real slime vibes at the party. On the other hand, I hardly know the dude. Maybe he’s just a bit slimy. Doesn’t make him a cheater.

I poll a few other teammates in the locker room, and the consensus seems to be to tell Demi the truth. But it isn’t until Jesse texts his girlfriend for her opinion that I’m fully swayed to the side of morality. In all caps, Katie texts back a resounding:

TELL HER RIGHT EFFING NOW, YOU HEARTLESS MONSTER!!!!!!

I guess I have my answer.

 

 

13

 

 

Demi

 

 

There’s a text message from Hunter when I step out of Biology class late in the afternoon. He’s supposed to come by tonight for a fake therapy session, but apparently now he’s cancelling.

HUNTER: Need to cancel tonight. Last-minute thing in Boston.

 

 

ME: Didn’t we LITERALLY just talk in class earlier and confirm?

 

 

HIM: Yes, and then I LITERALLY just got a text from a friend and now I have to cancel.

 

 

ME: I demand to know why.

 

 

HIM: Bruins game.

 

 

ME: Is there really a game or are you just lying to get out of studying? Cuz you were acting super strange this morning. Even TJ noticed.

 

 

HIM: I wasn’t acting strange and there really is a game. Google it.

 

 

ME: I will choose to believe you. How are you getting there?

 

 

HIM: Teleporting, obviously.

 

 

ME: Jackass. Are you driving?

 

 

HIM: Ya. Why?

 

 

ME: When are you leaving? Maybe I can catch a ride with you??

 

 

I’m hopeful as I await his response. A free ride to Boston would enable me to visit my parents, who I haven’t seen since Labor Day weekend. It’s already mid-October, but I haven’t had much free time to make the trek into the city. I don’t have a car, an Uber would be too expensive, and the bus takes way too long.

Rather than texting, Hunter calls me. “Why do you need to go to Boston?”

“My parents live there. Our house is near Beacon Hill.”

“Fancy.”

“You’re one to talk, rich boy. So can I catch a ride with you?”

“Sure. I’m leaving around six, but if you want a ride back with me, it won’t be till eleven-ish.”

“That’s fine. Pick me up from here?”

“Yup yup.”

“Please don’t say yup yup. I don’t like it.”

“I don’t care. See you in an hour.”

He hangs up on me and I grin at the phone. Hunter amuses me. He makes a nice addition to my roster of male friends. The Lost Boys, as Corinne would say.

I take a quick shower and then put on a green sundress and the gold hoop earrings my parents gave me for my birthday in August.

I hate these earrings with a passion. They’re big hoops, and if it were up to me, big hoops would be banned in this country. But I slide them on now because I want Mom and Dad to think I wear the hoops on the reg. They have the tendency to act all wounded if I don’t fawn over their gifts.