25
Van
It’s been a shitshow of a day. Practice sucked. We sucked. And that sucks because we play Mercer this weekend and they’re on a winning streak. Coach kept us late because we kept fucking up, and by the time I showered and hauled ass to the library, I was half an hour late.
That’s bad, but what’s worse is that I accidentally left my laptop at the hockey house—the laptop with all the fancy software, the one that translates my notes and reads texts out loud.
I pulled a bonehead move, which is why Josie and I are walking to the hockey house now.
"Sorry about this," I say for the fifteenth time in the last five minutes. "And I should probably warn you that our heater’s kinda messed up right now, so it’s crazy hot at my house, which means I’m dragging you across campus to sit in a sauna and quiz me about a bunch of wars about roses...which makes no sense, by the way."
"It’s fine," she answers back. And even though she’s repeated the same thing to me at least a dozen times tonight, it feels like she’s being honest. “Actually, it feels good to stretch a little. I’vebeen boxing and unboxing books for hours. I think my body is permanently folded into the shape of the letter ‘C’.”
I will not offer to give her a backrub. I will not offer to give her a backrub. I will not—I blow out a breath and do my best to make conversation that doesn’t involve getting Josie naked. "What’s going on at the library that you had to pack everything up?"
"They’re installing new carpet in the main reading room and throughout the second and third floors. This is the kind of thing they usually do over the summer, but I guess it couldn’t wait. Britt was giving a tour to some donors last week, and one of them caught her shoe in a tear on the carpet and tripped. She’s fine, but she insisted that it be replaced immediately, and she’s paying for it, which is why we’re turning the library upside down right now. The good news is that the donors paid a ton of money to have it installed quickly. The bad news is we have to do all the packing and shifting and unpacking in a really short time frame, which is why Britt closed off the common areas tonight. We’re using them as storage. If all goes according to plan," she says, smiling, "you and I will be back in familiar territory by Monday."
I nod, but the truth is that Josie and I haven’t been in familiar territory in a damn long time.
We cross the street and my house comes into view. It’s in even worse shape now than the day I moved in sophomore year, but it’s well past dark, so maybe Josie won’t notice or care that I live in a shithole. I mean, why should she care, other than the fact that we’ll probably have to sit at the lopsided dining room table to study tonight. It’s not like we’re together, or even friends. Not really.
I’m not sure what we are. I mean, we’ve talked, we cried. We hashed our shit out and accepted each other’s apologies. But what does that mean for the future? Because I’m ready to pick up right where we left off, but Josie might not feel the same. I’m notgreat with words, but even I know there’s a difference between "I forgive you" and "I want to be with you".
The house is dim as we walk up the steps to unlock the door and go inside. I hear voices in the kitchen, but I’m guessing Josie doesn’t want to draw a lot of attention to the fact that she’s here. My plan to work in the dining room is out because it’s empty. And I don’t just mean there aren’t any people—the table and chairs are missing. The only things in there now are a couple bikes—because who doesn’t park their ride where people usually eat?
"Do you mind going up to my room?" I ask, knowing full well Josie might rather sit on the front steps.
She hesitates for a second, biting her bottom lip. Then the noises in the kitchen get louder. Whoever is in there isn’t too happy, and I’m guessing that’s what makes the decision for her.
"Yeah, um…I guess that will work," she says, clearly not sold on the idea, but walking up the stairs anyway. "We don’t have much to work on tonight, right?" she asks, looking back over her shoulder at me.
"Right. I’ve got another slides quiz tomorrow for Medieval History, but I’ll be able to take it before we leave for our game. I’m caught up on everything else right now, but we start new stuff in three of my courses next week, so…that’s gonna suck. I finally understand a book and now we’re done reading it."
Josie starts telling me about the next book on the syllabus for my lit class. She’s got a copy and she sent me the link for the audio file. Conversation flows between us better than it used to, as long as we stick to safe topics, like school. I thought we made some progress when we joked around last weekend at the pizza place with Iris, but Josie’s been all business this week. It’s strange, this dance we’re doing. It’s one step forward, two steps back, but the music’s hard to hear and we’re not always in sync.
I open the door to my room and step back, letting Josie in. But she just pauses there, sort of staring into my bedroom. I’m wondering if maybe Ollie got drunk and passed out on my bed? (It’s happened before, but usually not at 9 p.m.) Or if I left clothes in the dryer and Will threw them on my bed with a Post-it telling me to act like a goddamn adult and fold my laundry in a timely manner. (This has also happened, but I haven’t done wash in a week, so it seems unlikely.) Or maybe Mikalski’s cat—that he is definitely not supposed to have and one hundred percent thinks no one knows about—has escaped his room and taken up residence on my pillow. (This happens a lot, too.) To be on the safe side, I step into my room to take a look. But just as I do, Josie does the same, causing us to bump into each other and stumble. I manage to reach out and catch her shoulders and keep her from face-planting on my rug.
"I’m sorry—" We both rush to say at the same time.
She tucks her hair behind her ear. "I’m sorry," she repeats.
I toss my bag onto my desk chair and toe off my shoes. "Why are you sorry?" I ask. "Because I bumped you? That was all me. I was afraid there might be laundry on my bed. Or a cat. Or a 200-pound man."
"Those things happen often?" she asks, letting a smile show through.
"More often than you’d think," I say, grabbing my laptop from my desk, and holding it in the air like a trophy of dumbassery. "Besides, it’s my fault we had to come here anyway. We could have at least gone to Drip if I hadn’t left this here."
"It’s no problem," Josie answers kindly and that’s when I realize she’s just standing in the center of my room, still in her coat and holding her bag.
"Here, let me," I say, taking her tote and stowing it in the corner before hanging her coat on a hook by my closet.
For a moment, we just stare at each other.
There was a time when all I wanted was Josie Reynolds in my bedroom. And that hasn’t changed. It’s just that now, I don’t quite know what the hell to do with her.
I mean, I’ve got plenty of ideas, but we’re still warming up to each other, still testing the waters. We don’t talk much about the fact that we no longer hate each other, if that’s even the word for it. It’s an uneasy truce, for sure. Fragile. Like when your line’s gelling suddenly after being out of sync for days. You lean into it, but you don’t overthink it. And you sure as hell don’t discuss it.
"Is that ok?" Josie asks. I try to hit rewind in my brain, but I was so lost in my thoughts that I have no clue what she was saying. Doesn’t matter, though. I’d say ok to just about anything Josie wants.
