So as my flight leaves the airport in Baltimore, I say goodbye to my summer, and to Caleb, one last time.
After landing in Madison, I collect my bags, and catch a rideshare to campus. School won’t officially start for more than a week, but as a junior, I can move into my on-campus apartment a little early.
After a quick stop to get my keys, I take the elevator to the seventh floor and find Apt 717. My roommate, Nora, isn’t home, but that’s fine. We don’t know each other well, except for a shared love of quiet spaces and a staunch stance on no pets. She’s allergic; I don’t have the time to care for one. We met on the student forum and agreed to share space and living expenses for the year. She’s an environmental engineering major from Cleveland. That’s literally all I know. Oh, and she’s gluten-free.
Speaking of gluten, I need to get some food. I unpack in a timely fashion, then throw a load of wash in, making a note to replace Nora’s detergent pods. The campus transit takes me out to the highway where I load up on staples and head back home in time to switch my laundry and make a sandwich.
This is delightful. Fine. Perfectly acceptable. Is my life as thrilling as my night with Caleb? Not even a little bit. But crazy thrills and excitement aren’t for everyone. There needs to be a logical, levelheaded person in every crowd, and I volunteer as tribute.
Chapter 3
Whit
“I’m getting another beer.Anybody else?” Koz asks, and we all answerhell yes.
It’s four in the afternoon on a Saturday, and I’m sitting at Wolfie’s getting hammered with a couple guys from the hockey team. Ah, college life, I’ve missed you. Classes start Monday, and though I’m not the most studious guy I know, I always make a decent effort.
Koz returns with a tray of sliders and a couple baskets of wings, courtesy of Lindsay, our favorite bartender. She’s got a major crush on Van, another one of the hockey players, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He does eat the wings, though.
Then again, so do I. I will say that, when I do mine in the air fryer, they’re crispier, but beggars can’t be choosers, so I keep my mouth shut.
The door of Wolfie’s creaks open, letting midday sunshine in and we all shield our eyes.
“My dudes,” Pete Bergeron calls, walking over to our table. His eyes scan the crew. “Where the hell is Booker? It’s our last weekend before training starts.”
“He’s at a purity retreat,” I say, completely serious. But still, Van spits half his beer clear across the table.
“Christ Almighty. Are you serious?” he asks.
“Yep. His folks are making him go, obviously.”
“Damn,” Koz shakes his head.
“He needs to cut ties with them,” Ollie says, and I agree. I just don’t see it happening. For as long as I’ve known Booker—and we met a few days after he was born, when I was a seasoned five-month-old—he’s been under his parents’ control. His mom, Kim, is actually a really good person, but she’s been drinking the Kool-Aid for too long, and I think it’s just easier for her to go along with her husband at this point. And Grant, Booker’s dad, is a former pro-quarterback who found Jesus and never let him go.
Now, I’m a firm believer that religion is a personal thing. What works for you is fine with me. It’s none of my business. If Booker signed himself up for that purity thing, I wouldn't care. That’s totally his choice. But that’s the issue—it’s not his choice. Unfortunately, Grant Zabek doesn’t agree with my live-and-let-live stance. He decided long ago that he and his family would be pillars of their faith community, and that was that.
The topic turns to the upcoming season, the freshmen, and the competition. Last year was not a winning season for the Bainbridge Wolves, and these guys are hyped to change that.
Ollie challenges us to darts, which is an awful idea when none of us are exactly sober, but in our buzzed state, we think he’s a genius. I shoot a text to Knox and Ty, my other two brothers from other mothers, but neither responds. I’m not surprised. Knox is probably still hungover from the party we threw last night, and Ty? Well, this morning, he was on his way to make a terrible decision. And I’m not sure I want to know how that panned out.
It’s a good time here at Wolfie’s, but I’m still restless. I spent the night with a stage-five clinger. Nothing much happened, but I have no doubt she’s telling half the campus that we’re hooking up. Fact is, about five minutes in, I could no longer fool my body into thinking I was with Lucy, so I faked a headache and pretended to fall asleep. That night I shared with Lucy a week ago has been running through my head on a loop ever since. That’s nothing new. Lucy’s been turning my world upside down for years.
But this is different, worse. I need to get my groove back, dammit. Even parties aren’t the same. What I want is a chance with Lucy. We’ve settled for summer flings, but that’s not enough. We agreed it was our final night together, but I can’t stop thinking about her. She made it clear she has no room in her life for a relationship. That means I need to move on.
Easier said than fucking done.
* * *
Lucy
My pencils are sharpened, my pens are new, and my Post-its are fresh out of the pack.
I love the first day of school.
Even at twenty, there’s a thrill to a new school year starting, new possibilities to explore, new opportunities to conquer
And school is so much easier to navigate than personal relationships. Still suffering from my Caleb-induced hangover, I gave in and agreed to meet up for coffee with Chris, this guy I had Chem with last year. He lives in my building, and we keep seeing each other in the elevator. So, when he asked me out yesterday, I said yes.
