“Nah, more like the athletic center. I’ve got practice,” he says, not sounding sad at all about having to leave early. “Have a good week, Josie.”
“You too, Pete,” I say, before sliding into my new spot. Unfortunately, Kyle slips into the seat next to mine and launches into a dissertation about the trivia night we’re hosting in a few weeks. I’ve already done the heavy lifting of securing a venue, ordering food, and publicizing the event. Kyle has the only task left and he’s been talking about it for the past ten minutes. Kendra stops by our table and Kyle takes the opportunity to start from the top and bore her with every minute detail of a gathering he didn’t even plan.
I take the opportunity to check my phone and see how the kids are doing. Milo left school early with a tummy ache and Tillie texted an hour ago to tell me she threw up three times. Ugh. I’m hoping it’s something the twins have passed to each other and not to the rest of us, but when I open my text thread, I see the plague is spreading.
Levi: I’m the last man standing, Josie. Picked up Zane from practice and he damn near hurled in my car. I was feeling pretty proud of myself for making it back in time for him to use an actual toilet. Brother of the Year, right here. But then, about five seconds after Mrs. Fulton (May God bless her doll-collecting soul) left, Iris lost her lunch all over my shoes. Wish me luck.
Josie: Hoping it’s just a 24 hour thing! Fingers crossed. And if it gets you, I’ll be home tomorrow night to take over.
I look up from my phone, but Kyle’s still talking at Kendra and she’s soaking up every narcissistic word. Breaking out a book might be too obvious, so I do what all the kids do: I scroll mindlessly through my phone to pass the time.
Claire Fowler’s column, “Am I the Dumbass” came out inThe Howlertoday and I look forward to reading it each week. She gives the best advice and she’s not afraid to tell it like it is. I’mtempted to walk across the room to where she’s standing and tell her that her advice to the guy who’s been crushing on his best friend’s ex was really good, but I’m afraid if I start moving, I’ll attract Kyle’s attention, and that’s never on my to-do list.
I’ve played every word game I can find, so I navigate over to the WolfWeb, which is Bainbridge’s own social media platform. There’s a picture of the swim team at their latest meet, and a shot of student volunteers picking up trash across campus. It’s all the usual stuff, but it beats listening to Kyle hear himself talk.
I stop scrolling when I see a picture of Mel and Will. She’s got a figure-hugging black dress on and he’s wearing a tux. They look good together. She told me about the fundraising dinner, but I haven’t seen pictures yet. I flip through more pictures and spot Santos all dressed up. There’s a picture of Booker and Ian looking as handsome as ever, and I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face. I flick my thumb against the screen one more time, and my smile fades. Van’s standing in between two tall, leggy blondes. They look like models, all three of them. His hair falls in waves over his shoulder, and his dimple is on display. His charm radiates off the screen. The girls’ eyes are trained on him. But he’s looking straight ahead.
I turn off my phone and make a few notes about what Kyle is mansplaining. It’s a safe bet that I’ll end up doing whatever has him so stressed, and I can guarantee it won’t take me more than five minutes to get it done.
Maybe I should stroll through the room and see what the other committees have left to do. I could volunteer myself for all the odd, random jobs.
My schedule won’t allow for it, but maybe if I keep myself that busy, I won’t have time to think about how much I’m beginning to look forward to my tutoring sessions with Van. I won’t dwell on how much our conversation at Wolfie’s felt almost like a date, and how much I really didn’t mind that. Iwon’t fixate on Van’s picture or the gorgeous girls who flank him. Whom he dates—or even stands next to—is none of my business.
No matter how much I wish it still was.
16
Van
It’s ass o’clock in the morning and I wake up with a start. My room is dark, and my phone says it’s 6:12 a.m. I don’t have class until noon, and I like to hit up the gym for conditioning, but I’ve got hours until I need to be there.
Closing my eyes, I roll back onto my side, hitching the covers up around my shoulders. I’m willing myself to sleep when I hear a noise again. What the hell? It sounds like cats dying or mating or some shit. Mikalski’s got a cat that he thinks the rest of us don’t know about, but there’s only one. Oh, fuck. I hope there’s only one.
The scream-cry continues, so I climb out of bed and throw on some sweats before shuffling out into the hallway. Santos is halfway down the steps, so I take them two at a time to catch up.
“What the hell are they doing down there?”
“I’m kind of afraid to look,” he answers, scratching at his chest. “Damn, it’s early.”
“Get used to it, buddy,” I joke, clapping him on the shoulder. “This time next year, you’ll be heading out the door to do your student teaching every morning.”
Pete just smiles. It’s wild. He’s actually looking forward to starting a day job—and one that requires him to be surrounded by middle-schoolers. My best friend is a brave man.
The cry sounds again and I realize our teammates are howling like wolves. At six a.m.
“Jesus, stop the wailing. My ears are gonna bleed,” Santos says, shaking his head and making his way toward the kitchen. I follow him because if I have to be up this early, I’m gonna need caffeine.
“Wait!” Mikalski shouts, sliding in front of us and blocking the entryway. “You guys can’t go in there yet.”
“Fucking hell,” I mutter. “If you guys broke the fridge, we’re gonna punch your throats so hard you’ll never howl again.”
“Van,” Ollie scolds. “There is no need to threaten violence. We have not broken anything. In fact, we did a little…art project. And we want you guys to see it.”
Mikalski’s practically bouncing on his toes and Deano’s looking pretty proud of himself.
“Art project?” Santos asks. “What the hell did you guys do?”
“It’s fucking awesome, if I do say so myself. But wait, Mickey’s right,” Ollie says. “You guys can’t go in yet. Deano, is it dry?”
