And the answer is no. I don’t have a fucking clue. Phoebe James is the one person on campus I should stay the hell away from. She’s also the only person I’m drawn to.
“Be careful,” Knox warns.
The truth is that I passed careful about two weeks ago.
He turns to walk up the steps just as Whit comes lumbering down, singing, “Livin La Vida Loca,” like it’s 1999.
Knox shushes him and ushers him back upstairs, but the damage is done. Phoebe stirs again in my arms and her eyes flutter open.
“Did I fall asleep?”
“Yea. I’m not trying to spoil anything, but Janey and Jeff won.”
She swats my arm playfully. “I’ve seen this movie like, thirty times. I’m aware.” She looks around. “Did you turn another movie on? Or was that your phone?”
“Neither. That was Whit, drunk off his ass and singing. And even three sheets to the wind, the guy has perfect pitch. Meanwhile, I couldn’t sing if my life depended on it. I’m sorry he woke you up.”
“I just can’t believe I fell asleep.”
“Uh, I totally can. You said you’ve seen the movie a million times, and it wasn’t exactly suspenseful.”
“I know, I just… I’m not much of a sleeper, really.”
“Maybe the movie was so predictable that your mind and body fell asleep in protest.”
“Blasphemy.” She laughs. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s you. Maybe you make me feel safe.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her to leave. To run. To get the hell away from me if she knows what’s good for her. The very last thing she should feel in my arms is safety.
And yet, I pull her close, tuck a nearby blanket around us, and close my own eyes.
***
It’s Sunday night dinner, and I know I’m going to catch hell. Booker was away at another retreat Saturday, and Knox slept the weekend away. Whit went home to help his mom do wedding stuff, but we’re all back at The Chapel now.
I’m setting the table when the door opens and Fallon, one of Booker’s sisters, walks in. “Hi,” I sign, grateful that I’ve picked up enough ASL over the years to actually have a conversation with her. “You picked a good night to come,” I tell her. “Whit’s grilling steaks. And Knox is on salad duty, so you may want to supervise and make sure he doesn’t chop off a finger.”
Fallon smiles and signs that she’s going to hunt Booker down first. I get the feeling she’s pissed and needs to vent, so I just set out knives and forks and gather drinks.
Half an hour later, we all sit down to dinner and dig in.
“Whit, no joke. I’d sell my soul for another bite of this steak. It’s so fucking good.”
“Uh, no offense, Knox, but I’m pretty sure the going rate for your soul would be about five bucks,” I tell him, signing as I talk, like we all do. We’d never leave Fallon out.
“Oh, look who’s got jokes. Ha ha. You’re just trying to deflect so the conversation doesn’t turn toward you and your overnight guest.”
“She--”
“Don’t even give me that bullshit about her falling asleep. Dude, your cuddle game is epic, clearly. I didn’t know you had it in you,” Whit tells me, taking a sip of beer.
“Seriously, we were studying, and--”
“Studying, uh-huh. Yea, I’ve got a Psych study group that meets every Wednesday, and that’s not how we study. You need to watch yourself dude, you’re in too deep.” Before Knox can say more, there’s a clatter at the far end of the table and we all turn our attention to Booker and Fallon. And if I thought she looked pissed before, she’s straight up livid right now. Her face is flushed as she reads a text on her phone. Standing up, she gives her plate to Knox, then signs, “Sorry, guys. Everything’s great, but I need to go.”
Meanwhile, Booker pleads, “Don’t leave. Just stay here for the night. Nothing good is going to happen if you go home this angry.”
She fires off a rapid series of signs I can’t track, but it makes sense when Booker grabs his keys and tells her there’s no way in hell she’s driving when she’s this pissed. They leave in a hurry and we turn to Whit. Not only is he super close with Booker’s whole family, he can read hands better than any of us.
