“First what?” I say, stopping in his doorway.
“You should probably take advantage of”—he waves vaguely at me—“all that. Jack should see you like this.”
I fold my arms, uncomfortable. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
Cohen shrugs, putting my things in a stack. “Your choice. But—” he hesitates, considering me, and then he goes on, “he’s not going to be thinking about Wet Willy if he sees you. I promise. I think him seeing you like this would only do good things for you.”
I shift my weight, eyeing him hesitantly. “You’re sure? You’re not just saying that?”
His eyes flit briefly over my face. “Yep,” he says, his voice light. “I’m sure.”
“How would I even see him?”
Cohen shrugs again and puts down my books. “Easy.” Without hesitating he pulls out his phone, dials a number, and starts talking a few seconds later. “Hey, man. I’ve got that game I borrowed. Can I bring it over real fast?” There’s a silence for a second, and then he says, “Cool. Be there in a few.”
I smile. “You talk like such a guy,” I say before I can stop myself, leaning against his door frame.
Cohen grins at me. “Dude, man, bro?”
My smile turns to a laugh. “Exactly. Girls don’t talk like that.”
He tilts his head to one side. “Don’t they? Just with different phrases?”
“I don’t,” I say with a shrug.
“You don’t,” he says, considering me. Then he says, “Well, are you coming with me to Jack’s?”
I square my shoulders, but they’re trembling suddenly. This is my year. This is my terrifyingly uncomfortable year.
Isn’t it?
“Yes,” I say, a sort of panicky feeling rising in my gut. “But I need a favor.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Okay. What do you need?”
“I need a pep talk.” The panic is still growing.
He winces. “I don’t know that I’m any good at pep talks outside of football.”
“You have thirty seconds to get good at them. No one believes pep talks coming from themselves. Ergo, you need to do it.” I can hear the anxiety in my voice. Am I really going to put myself in front of Jack? Like…on purpose?
How could this possibly be a good idea?
“You know what? I’m not going. I can’t do this,” I say.
Cohen holds up one finger. “Hang on. I haven’t done my pep talk yet.”
Pretty sure he’s not going to change my mind, but I stare at him, waiting.
“All right.” He comes to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. “You’ve got this. It’s going to be fine.”
I just stand there, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t.
That’s it. That’s the entirety of his pep talk.
I burst out laughing; I can’t help it. Somehow my worry fades away in the face of my laughter. “That’s it?” I manage. “That’s all you’re going with? That was terrible!”
He purses his lips, but I can tell he’s trying not to smile. “I told you I wasn’t good at pep talks.”
