They beat it after that, taking some food with them. Once the door clicked shut, I turned to see Luke looking at my bulletin board. So I took the opportunity to look at him. Cool and casual in his denim jacket and navy sweatpants with white stripes down the sides. Backward baseball hat too. I quickly blinked when he pivoted to face me.
“Who’s this?” He pointed to a photo. “With you?”
I stiffened at the shot. It was an old one, taken on the Vineyard…of me and Cal. We were in Edgartown, Mad Martha’s Ice Cream in the background. Cal licked his cone beside me, his wheat-colored hair shining in the sunlight. Meanwhile, I was smiling so hard my jaw ached, because Cal’s arm…well, it was slung around me. Loosely, lazily, and to everyone but me, brotherly. I remembered not wanting to look at the camera, instead feeling the pull of Cal’s dangling fingers, wishing I could…
“Carmichael?”
“Oh, that’s Cal,” I said, hoping my voice stayed level. “Kitsey’s high school boyfriend.”
“Gotcha.” Luke reached to smooth one of the photo’s curling edges. My eyes followed his fingers, long and tapered. I hooked two of mine onto my rope bracelets and squeezed as tightly as I could. “How old are you here?” he asked.
“Fourteen.”
He nodded. “You look really happy.”
“I was,” I said before I could stop myself. And I haven’t been that happy in a long time. I cleared my throat. “You can tell because my eyes are crinkling…or so my mom has told me.”
Luke nodded again. “I know. I noticed that.” He motioned to a few other pictures, most of them from summers past. “You’re a cute kid.”
I shifted from one foot to the other. You’re a cute kid.
You’re.
You are.
Present tense.
I released a deep breath. “So it’s almost eight…”
We sat on the couch, a couple of feet between us. Luke dipped a chip in the salsa while I grabbed the remote and turned on CBS. Then I got up to nix the lights after asking him if it was okay. Survivor was always better in the dark; it was easier to lose yourself in the show.
“Okay,” I said when I was seated again, this time closer. My knee bumped his as I shifted to get comfortable. “This year, it’s in Thailand, and the theme is…”
“Shh,” Luke cut in, right as an island appeared on-screen, familiar music beginning to play. “Stop. This is your show; don’t worry about me. Just watch like you always do, and I’ll ask any necessary questions during a break.”
And with that, he submerged another chip and leaned back, focusing on Jeff Probst hanging out of a helicopter.
I watched him for a moment, and then did the same.
* * *
He spoke when a Geico commercial came on, during the first break. “Well, Alyssa’s a complete moron.”
I glanced at him. “Why do you say that?”
“Because,” Luke said, “she found the hidden immunity idol, and literally told the first person she saw.” He shook his head. “I guarantee it spreads around camp, and then all the votes will be put on her tonight so they can flush it out.”
“Their tribe has to lose the immunity challenge, though,” I reminded him.
“Oh, they will. The other one obviously has the physical edge.”
I smirked. “Well, aren’t you just a student of the game?”
“So you agree?”
I nodded.
Luke grinned and shifted so his body was angled toward mine. “And what do you think about—”
Someone was banging on the door again, and it swung open half a second later. “Thompson said you had guac,” Carter Monaghan said as he flipped on the lights. Eddie Brown and Dhiraj were with him. They didn’t waste any time making themselves at home on my floor, only an arm’s reach away from the food. Thank god for commercial breaks, I thought to myself.
“Hey, Luke,” Dhiraj said, giving him a nod. They knew each other from cross-country.
Luke nodded back and then reached up to adjust his glasses. It had only taken me a couple of meals with Luke to realize he was shy. He was always more of a listener, giving Sage or the girls his undivided attention, and every now and then, he’d unleash a sarcastic comment or two (which was always met with a laugh). But whenever other people stopped by the table to say hi, he took a vow of silence and started to fiddle with the salt and pepper shakers.
“All right, I hate to ask this,” I said, barely moving to knock my knee against his, “but why aren’t you three in your rooms?”
Eddie and Dhiraj stopped chewing and glanced at the door; Carter didn’t. “Why would we be in our rooms?” he asked innocently.
“Oh, Monaghan.” I shook my head. “I expected more from you. You of all people should know that study hall is from eight to ten.” I looked at Eddie. “And what time is it?”
The sophomore swallowed. “8:24.”
“We were just taking a five-minute break,” Dhiraj added, the two of them jumping up and hurrying out of the room. “See you later!”
“Really, Charlie?” Carter snorted. “Enforcing study hall? You sound like Steve.” He then grabbed the remainder of the chips and guac and left before I could do anything.
More food, I thought. Next week, I’ll get more food and leave half of it outside the door. With a sign that says, PLEASE TAKE ONE.
“Steve?” Luke asked.
“Stephen Carver.” I rose from the couch to retrieve dessert. “He’s one of the other prefects. Lives on the third floor.” I grabbed a white bag from on top of my fridge. “Wears noise-canceling headphones when he does homework.” Seniors didn’t have mandatory study hall, but I had no doubt Stephen was upstairs with his head buried in a book. “He had the second-highest GPA in Dag last year.”
Luke raised an eyebrow. “Who had the highest?”
I dropped back down next to him and ignored the question. Instead, I handed over the bag. “There’s a bunch of flavors,” I told him, “but raspberry isn’t my thing, so you have to eat those.”
Luke reached inside and pulled out a chocolate macaron. And then, he gave me this look. “You do know I was kidding, right? You seriously could’ve gotten pretzels or goldfish and I would have eaten them. You didn’t…” He took a bite and groaned. “Oh god, these are so good.”
I laughed. “They aren’t legit, but Pandora’s does a hell of a knockoff.”
He munched. “Thank you.”
I let myself smile. “You’re welcome.”
* * *
By midnight, the only homework I’d accomplished was an econ problem set, something that should’ve been done in forty minutes, but ended up taking an hour and some change.
Because I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
After Survivor ended (Luke was right: Alyssa had no choice but to play her idol), we got to work on our map assignment, and it came together pretty quickly. The text we chose was an 1803 letter Thomas Jefferson wrote to Meriwether Lewis, appointing him to head up a cross-country journey to explore the Pacific Northwest. It was several pages’ worth of material, and one second, Luke was laughing as I read the letter aloud in my President Jefferson voice (which sounded a lot like Mr. Magnusson), and the next, we were both hunched over Luke’s laptop, surfing the internet for examples of FBI dossiers. “Because that’s totally what this is!” he exclaimed. “I mean, come on, Lewis is the agent, and Jefferson’s briefing him on the operation—telling him to cipher his notes, providing him with foreign passports, and to abort if something goes wrong…”
“An expedition?” I mused. “Or a covert mission?”
Luke looked up from the screen—our eyes met. “That’ll be the title for the essay.”
I laughed. “You really like this stuff, don’t you?”
“What stuff?” he asked, now pounding his keys. UNITED STATES OF AME
RICA appeared in the top left-hand corner of our blank Google doc, and underneath, CONFIDENTIAL!
“This stuff,” I repeated, thinking of all the movies and TV shows we’d talked about: the Jason Bourne trilogy, White Collar, James Bond, Bones, etc.
He understood what I was getting at, nodding. “Yeah, I really like this stuff.”
After we finished, I walked him downstairs, and Mrs. Shepherd intercepted us in the front hall. She was on duty tonight, and I’d forgotten she also was Luke’s math teacher. “Are you ready for the test tomorrow?” she asked, total news to me. Had he even studied yet? Mrs. Shepherd wasn’t exactly known for being the easiest teacher in the math department.
“One can only hope,” Luke said smoothly, but his shyness was creeping up. I felt him take half a step closer to me, the backs of his fingers brushing against mine.
At 12:30 a.m., I gave up on French and texted Paddy: Milk and cookies?
Oreos okay? he responded.
Fine, I wrote, even though it didn’t matter. I wasn’t hungry. And I didn’t even wait for his usual thumbs-up emoji before unlocking my trunk and digging through winter sweaters until I found what I was looking for. I’d already downed one splash of whiskey by the time he slipped into my room. He tossed the package of Oreos at me and went to grab a glass. I was stretched out on the chesterfield, so after helping himself to the bottle and taking a few cookies, Paddy settled down in my swivel chair. I poured myself another two fingers. We did this sometimes, just hung out and drank a little to take the edge off.
But never in the middle of the week.
And Paddy wasn’t an idiot.
“So…” he said. “What’s up?”
I didn’t answer.
“Something wrong?”
I stared at the ceiling.
“Is Bowdoin pressuring you?”
I shook my head, not in the mood to talk hockey tonight.
Paddy didn’t believe me. “If you don’t want to commit, then don’t commit. You also have Williams and Trinity, plus…”
“Hamilton,” I shut my eyes. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t,” he replied. “You know I won’t.”
“Thanks.”
“But for what it’s worth,” he added, “you’re going to light it up at whatever one you pick.”
“Yeah, since I won’t have to get past you on the blue line.”
Paddy chuckled. “Nick better get ready.”
“Trust me, he knows.” I forced myself to laugh. “It’s what keeps him up at night.” With Nick at Yale next year, and Paddy at Princeton, I knew their first game against each other would be one for the books.
It was silent for the next few minutes, both of us sipping our drinks and listening to the creaking of the house. My eyes were still closed, allowing myself to picture Luke: his slim body with long limbs that I sort of wanted to hug as hard as humanly possible. But they snapped open when Paddy got up and switched on my fan. “It’s a sauna in here.”
At that, I drained my glass, and said it: “I’m going to end things with Dove.”
Paddy sighed. “Seriously, Charlie? After only two weeks?”
I nodded.
“Is there someone else?”
“Yeah,” I responded. “I think there is.”
Chapter 7
Sage
Thursday night, I waited for Nick on Mortimer’s back stoop, the dorm’s outdoor lights having already flickered on for the evening. For the most part, campus was calm—dinner had come and gone, and so had underclassmen curfew. We seniors had an hour before check-in at 9:00 p.m.
“Hey,” Nick said a minute later, pushing through the door. He gave me a hug, my whole body humming in his arms. “You ready?”
“Hell yeah.” I nodded and followed him over to the bike rack.
How’s your day going? he’d texted during lunch, when I was stirring my spoon aimlessly around in my soup.
Not great, I responded.
Why not? he asked.
Mrs. Collings, I wrote, which was all that needed to be said. Mrs. Collings was the evil queen of the science department, and I’d less than impressed her on our latest test. Basically the whole class had bombed it, but that was beside the point. I should’ve studied harder.
Nick sent back an angry-face emoji, along with, We’ll do some cheering up later!
Now we gripped Cherry Bomb’s handlebars and took off, bumping over Bexley’s cobblestones. Him up front, me in back. We passed under a streetlamp, and the breeze rustled his thick hair. “Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked as we veered onto Darby Road. “The test?”
“Not really,” I answered. “It was a total nightmare, and now Jack’s suggesting we stage a coup.”
Nick stretched his hand back. I latched on to his fingers and smiled against his knuckles before kissing them. “Makes sense,” he said. “His mind was definitely elsewhere at soccer this afternoon. Passes were off, and he kept missing the net.” He chuckled. “I bet he was in the middle of plotting.”
I giggled.
“See, there we go!” Nick exclaimed. “There’s a laugh!” He glanced over his shoulder and flashed me a grin before directing us through Bexley’s wrought-iron gates, toward town.
“Where’re we going?” I asked once we’d gone beyond Main Street. Instead of crossing back over to campus, Nick had turned onto a quiet lane. It was lined with shingled cottages, lights on in most of them. Through one window, I could see a football game playing out on TV.
“Oh, up through the back neighborhoods,” he replied. “I think it really clears the head. Getting away for a little.” A shrug. “At least it does for me.”
I leaned forward to kiss the back of his neck. “Keep pedaling.”
* * *
“How about your day?” I asked later, as we circled a cul-de-sac. “Busy? I didn’t see you at lunch.”
“Yeah,” Nick said. “Extremely busy. I had to hit the gym during lunch because my college counseling meeting ate up my entire free period.” He sighed.
I sighed right along with him. College counseling and applications basically added another class to our schedule, piling onto an already huge workload. I had a session with my counselor tomorrow, to continue brainstorming my Common App essay. Two meetings already, and all I had was an outline. “Was it about your essay?” I asked Nick.
“Uh-huh,” he answered. “One of Yale’s supplementary questions.” He laughed, but I could tell it was forced. “I have a draft, but it’s rough, Morgan. I’m sending it to the magician so he can work his magic.”
I didn’t need to ask who “the magician” was, my eyes suddenly prickling. It wasn’t his fault, but Charlie was so extraordinary academically that he made me feel overwhelmingly ordinary at times. I know he worked hard for it, staying up late and operating on very little sleep some days, but still. Did Nick feel the same way? Because obviously this college process was no big deal for his twin; he’d barely mentioned his applications. Half of me wondered if they’d already been submitted.
“You know he’s gonna break up with Dove,” I found myself saying, to change the subject. Enough college talk. “Tomorrow. He’s taking her to Captain Smitty’s.”
Nick was quiet, then let out a slow whistle. “Well, that’s a shame.”
My eyebrows knitted together. “A shame?”
“Yeah, because from now on, she’s going to associate Captain Smitty’s with getting dumped. Ice cream will be ruined for her.” He snorted. “Such a bummer.”
I laughed.
“What’s the deal breaker this time?” Nick asked.
“Not sure,” I said, since I never asked why Charlie broke up with these girls so suddenly. Sometimes he told me, sometimes he didn’t. It didn’t matter, though. Because deep down, buried beneath all the better as friends and it’s no
t you, it’s me bullshit, I knew the truth…or at least suspected. This morning’s run came to mind: the way Charlie and Luke spoke so quickly as they ran, so in sync that they’d picked up their pace and left me behind. “Hey!” I’d said after catching up. “I might be a third wheel, but I’m still here!”
While Luke laughed, Charlie’s cheeks colored and he hadn’t spoken to Luke for the rest of the run. Not one word.
Now, I swallowed hard. “Too clingy, probably,” I told Nick. “They spend way too much time together.”
“You’ve been clocking them?” he asked drily.
“Haha.” I rolled my eyes. “I meant especially because of the musical. They’ve started extending rehearsals to three hours, I think.”
“I wouldn’t mind spending three hours with you,” he said.
A ripple went through me.
“Would that make me clingy?”
I bit my lip. Was that rhetorical? Or did he really want me to respond?
Nick steered the bike off the street, braking beside a community park. There was a playground and maple trees with paper lanterns dangling from their branches. Nick hit the kickstand and wandered over to the nearby gazebo. I grinned once he sat down, catching his drift.
“Whoa there, tiger,” he said a couple minutes later, kissing me as I ran my hands through his hair—or raked, possibly. “Take it easy.”
“You take it easy.” I kissed him back. He was just as bad, pulling me onto his lap and tugging my hair out of its ponytail. Warmth burst in my chest. It was like we’d both been waiting forever for a chance to do this. We didn’t have hours and hours like Charlie and Dove; we had secret and stolen moments.
No, it wouldn’t make you clingy, I caught myself thinking, heart racing. Not at all, because I feel the same way. Hours and hours. We might’ve started with a stupid game of spin the bottle, but now we’re something, something not stupid, something…
If We Were Us Page 7
