"And I thought I took my job seriously," I joke, offering a smile as I take the seat next to Van.
"Jeff’s big on rules and procedures. Most profs let us make up tests when we get back, but Jeff and Dr. Danforth are hardasses when it comes to that kinda stuff."
"We studied for this on Tuesday, right?"
"Yeah," Van says, logging in and pulling up the course. "I should be good to go, but these tests take forever. Like Jeff said, you have to read all this stuff while I look at slides and pick the right answers. Plus, we need to read for Lit, and I have questions about chapter 20."
"Don’t worry," I say. "We’ll have plenty of time to get everything done."
But it turns out I was overly optimistic. After we get everything finished, my phone beeps, signaling the end of our session. Van looks a little tired, but I’m hoping we can still talk. He’s got an away game this weekend and because Levi’s flying out to L.A. tomorrow, I won’t be back on campus until earlyMonday morning. I’m a little anxious about this conversation, but I’d rather have it now than wait until next week.
Van pushes back from the table and gathers his stuff. "So, do you still wanna?—"
He’s interrupted by a commotion at the main desk. And by commotion, I mean half a dozen hockey players. Britt’s working up front tonight and she must point the herd in our direction because they come barreling through the room.
"Hey, Josie," Pete says warmly, offering me a hug. When we met as part of the Legacy Scholars group freshman year, I had no idea Pete was roommates with the guy I’d just met. And after Van and I broke up, I was sure Pete would keep his distance when we saw each other at meetings and events, but he didn’t. We’ve been friends for the past few years and I’m glad. He’s a big teddy bear of a guy. I’m sure he looks intimidating on the ice, but I know what a softie he can be. Right now, though, he and Van are having an entire conversation with just their eyes. I laugh to myself because Mel and I do the exact same thing.
"Come on, man," Ollie says. "Norris is waiting for us."
Van’s not moving. "I thought we were starting in an hour?"
"The rink’s free now," another guy says, and he’s so excited about it that he’s practically bouncing up and down.
"Mikalski, did you take your meds today?" Ollie asks the tall, lean bouncy guy.
"Nah, man. I play better without them."
I hear Pete curse and I bite back a smile. Wrangling these guys must be a full-time job.
"Grab your stuff, Vandaele," Ollie says. "We need to get ready to kick some Bushtit ass this weekend."
Van stands next to me, seemingly frozen into the worn burgundy carpet.
"You should go," I say, just as he shakes his head and says, "We’re not finished yet. You guys can start without me."
His teammates don’t bother to hide their shock, but Pete's not having it. He clears his throat before announcing, "This is your captain speaking. Let’s go."
They file out, leaving Van and me alone. We just sort of stare at each other, but the moment is broken when bouncy guy—Mikalski—pokes his head back in the room. "Seriously—how long will you be?"
Before Van can answer, somebody yanks Mikalski by his hood and drags him off.
"Sorry about that," Van says, threading his hands through his hair.
I’m shaking my head. "No apology necessary. And if you need to?—"
"You said you wanted to talk?" he asks, cutting me off.
"Yeah," I answer, looking around the room. It’s not crowded, but there are a few people milling around the stacks and a couple study groups at the tables. "Should we go upstairs and see if the comfy chairs on the third floor are free?"
He agrees and we make our way back up to the far corner of the reference section. It’s occupied, but I’m undeterred. One of the perks of working here is that I know all the best spots. I lead Van to an alcove in the far corner of the room. There’s only one chair, but it’s more of a mini-couch. There’s plenty of room for two and even though it feels more intimate than it should, I guess it’s really no different than us sitting next to each other on my bed yesterday. Besides, there aren’t many other options and time is ticking. So I set my worries aside and dump my backpack on the floor. Van does the same, and now we’re facing each other just like we were downstairs.
It’s awkward, and I’m trying to decide where to start when Van begins to talk.
"It’s funny, Jos," he tells me, a smile playing on his lips. "For weeks, I tried to get you to talk to me. I used to go home grumpyevery night after tutoring because you made us stick to the rules. But now that we’re about to talk, I’m kinda nervous."
He’s not alone. I can feel pink patches blooming on my neck and face, a tell-tale sign of my anxiety. My fingers are busy fidgeting with a loose button on my cardigan, but that does little to keep my nerves at bay. “Me, too. But you were honest with me, so I owe you nothing less. I probably—no, I definitely—should have said this a lot sooner. I’m sorry, Van. I’m sorry for keeping secrets from you. I had my reasons, but it wasn’t fair.”
Van’s shaking his head. "You don’t owe me anything, Jos. I see that now. I was nineteen and dumb. Impulsive. I had this idea of what a relationship should be and when you didn’t fit into that stupid mold, I lost my shit. Hell, I accused you of cheating on me," he says, wincing. "I was way out of line, and I’m sorry for that."
