“Will…hmmm. We could go with Willie Wonka, or maybe Wonks,” muses Ollie.
“Wonks? Vetoed. That’s fucking awful,” Van says, and I agree.
“You got anything better?”
Van just shrugs. “Not yet. Let's give it a couple days.”
But Ollie’s not having it. “By then it could be too late. Remember when we were freshman, Van? And there was a guy named Newman?”
“Yeah, Scotty Newman.”
“Nope. ScottyPalmer. Everybody had called him Newman since he was a freshman because he was the new man. See? That’s terrible. We can’t let that happen again.”
Santos just shakes his head. “I used to room with Newman for away games. Good guy. He never seemed to mind the nickname.”
Ollie shoots him a glare. “That’s not the point. Scotty Palmer’s acceptance of a mediocre nickname is not my problem. The fact that Will has no nickname and you assholes don’t see the seriousness of this situation? That’s my problem.”
“Well,” Santos says, rising, “my problem is I’m hungry as fuck. I’m gonna make a sandwich while you brainstorm nicknames.”
“Uh, should we just call him by his last name? That’s good enough for most of the guys,” Van says.
Rosco’s been half sleeping this whole time, but he lifts his head and opens his eyes to look at me. “What’s your last name again?”
“Franconetti,” I reply.
“Great. Call the kid Frankenstein. Now we’re done,” Rosco says before closing his eyes again.
Ollie sputters about how that’s a bottom-shelf, basic-bitch excuse for a nickname, and everyone else sits back and laughs.
I tense up. Logically, I know they’re just joking around, and they’ll probably just call me by my last name, like Santos said. But the mere mention of Frankenstein sends me spiraling. It shouldn’t. And my 11th grade lit teacher would scold me if she could hear my thoughts. Frankenstein’s the name of the doctor, not the monster. I know that. I aced that class. But a look through my high school yearbooks and you’d know that any nickname that comes close to comparing me with a hideous monster? Yeah, nope.
“Fine. Call him Frankie and let’s call it a day,” Rosco responds.
“Frankie? No way. That’s so unoriginal. What’d they call you back in Juniors?” Ollie asks.
“Frankie,” I say.
“See? Predictable…Alright, let’s give it a minute. Maybe when the other new guy gets here—what is his name?”
“Dean Strathmeyer,” Van says.
“Yeah, when Strathmeyer gets here later today, we’ll pick nicknames for both of you,” Ollie says.
“Ten bucks says we’re gonna call them Franconetti and Strathmeyer,” Van jokes, earning him a high five from Rosco and laughter from the rest of the guys.
Yeah,I think I’m going to like living here.
3
Mel
“How is Wolfie’s this crowded?” I ask my best friend Ian as we share a booth in our favorite campus dive bar. “It’s literally move-in weekend. Shouldn’t everybody be moving in? Or at least at frat parties? God, is it just me or does it feel like there are a thousand people in here?”
Ian looks around the bar and then back at me. “I’m not so concerned about the number of people. But damn, Mel. Look at how fuckingyoungthey all are. Jesus.” He shakes his head and I laugh.
“You’re hardly ancient, Ian. You’re only twenty-four.”
“Yeah, and that kid’s nineteen,” he says, pointing at a gangly guy who’s attempting to get the bartender’s attention.
