After the house literally fell apart, we all had to relocate. Santos’s mom lives close by, so even though there’s a spot for him at the honors house, he’s living at home and helping out while she undergoes chemo. She’s battled cancer before and won, but I know the big guy is worried and he’s glad to have an excuse to move back in and do his part. Van’s splitting his time between Pete’s and Josie’s, which means his ass is being carted around in a mom-mobile one hundred percent of the time. He’s anxious to get back to driving and get his brace off, and I can’t blame him. Rosco was too smart to ever live at the hockey house, so he didn’t need to relocate.
But Mickey, Deano, Will, and Ollie did. Finding housing mid-year is tricky, and we all thought they’d be placed back at the dorms, which would be less than ideal not only for my four teammates, but also for the poor freshmen they’d get paired with. Somehow, there was a four-person suite available at the Playhouse. It’s where all the theater kids live, and I guess they don’t mind that their house sounds like a strip club.
Deano’s girl, Annabelle, is a drama major, so she hooked them up. I figure they either have incredible luck, or there’s a catch. Mickey’s been bugging me to come over, but I haven’t had the time, so as much as I hate to admit it, this team meeting was probably a good idea.
The Playhouse is on the corner of the street two blocksdown from our old place. I’m heading in that direction when I spot Rosco in the crosswalk.
“Hey, man. You ready to get advice from these fools?” he asks, smiling. Rosco’s a good guy, but he had a rough semester last fall. He’s in a much better mood these days, all thanks to his new girlfriend. If this were last year or even six months ago, I’d probably be rolling my eyes at the idea that love could really change your perspective that much.
But I’m a believer now.
Rubbing the back of my neck with my palm, I crack a smile in return. “Why do I think all of Ollie’s suggestions are going to have to do with sex?”
“Because you know him,” Rosco says, laughing. “Seriously, though, everything’s okay?”
It’s a loaded question because everything is not okay. I could list my worries in no particular order: Coach is barely talking to me, I’m not sure how the hell I’m supporting a family in a couple months, my asshole cousin just got out of prison and thinks I owe him a debt, oh, and we’ve got a national championship to win…
I need advice about a lot of things, but I’m not read to dump all that on my friends. It’ll work out. That’s what I keep telling myself.
“Holy shit, I should have been a theater major,” I say, as I take in the exterior of the house. It’s nicer out here than the inside of the hockey house has ever been.
Rosco and I turn to see Van making his way across the street. Pete’s next to him, carrying crutches. I can’t lie. It sucks to see Van at anything less than full strength, but he looks a hell of a lot better than he did when I dropped him on Josie’s doorstep before break. I guess I can chalk that up to love, too. And reconstructive knee surgery.
“You think if I start reciting Shakespeare, they’ll let me live here?” he jokes.
“It’s worth a shot,” Rosco says. “How the hell did those four knuckleheads score a place like this?”
Pete huffs out a laugh. “To be fair, we haven’t seen the inside yet.”
Two minutes later, we’re taking the elevator down to their suite.The elevator.
“I take that back,” Pete says. “This has to be one of the nicest places on campus. I thought the honors house was tricked out, but it’s got nothing on The Playhouse.”
The elevator doors open and Mickey’s there to greet us, grinning ear-to-ear. “Is this the fucking tits or what?”
“The fucking tits,” Deano answers, even though he lives here, and the question was not directed at him.
We’re herded inside the suite. Ollie’s lounging on a leather sofa, playing a video game while Will sits on a barstool at the counter setting out snacks. The carpet is thick, and the rest of the floor looks like hardwood. The furniture is the real kind you’d buy at a store and have delivered, not the plywood and foam stuff you get in most campus housing. Their TV takes up most of the south-facing wall, and in addition to the sofa, there’s a loveseat and a pair of recliners.
Maybe I missed my calling. The transition from goalie to actor can’t be that hard, right?
“No,” Rosco says, still standing by the door and shaking his head.
“No?” Deano asks. “No, you don’t want chips and guac? Or no, you don’t want pretzel nuggies? They’re whole wheat. Will’s mom buys them by the case.”
Rosco rolls his eyes and I practically read his mind. “No, you don’t live here. This is fake. You’ve set up this whole elaborate scene to prank us. Well-played,” he says, clapping.
“Fuck you,” Ollie says, not bothering to look up from his game. “The green hue of jealousy is not in your color palette, Rosco. And why would you begrudge us an apartment with all the comforts of home?”
“Home?” Santos quips. “That TV is easily the size of my little brother’s bedroom. How in the hell did you score this place two days before the semester started?”
“We told you,” Will says around a mouthful of pretzel. “Anabelle hooked us up. She knew this space was available and put in a good word for us. I might have also lied and said I was considering a minor in lighting design.”
“I don’t think that’s an actual thing you can minor in,” Pete offers.
“Well, we live here, so…I guess you’re wrong,” Ollie bounds of the couch and into the kitchen. We fill up our plates —actual plates because they have a real dishwasher that works and isn’t a hollowed-out shell where they store their cereal— and settle into the living room.
“Damn,” Van says, shaking his head. “You even have mini fridges out here so you don’t have to get up and refill your drink? This is the life.” He reaches out to open the little fridge and Mickey leaps into action, standing guard in front of the tiny appliance before Van even has a chance to open it.
