Nick broke our kiss. “Your head all clear?” he whispered.
“Yes,” I whispered back, even though it was a lie. So many thoughts were swirling around in my mind. “My head’s all clear.”
Chapter 8
Charlie
It always cracked me up when people asked if Nick and I were identical—we weren’t. Sure, we had the same red hair and blue eyes, and yeah, our height difference wasn’t too drastic, but if we stood right next to each other, it couldn’t be more obvious who was who. Nick looked like a hockey player, built and broad-shouldered, while I was lean. I was the fastest on the hockey team, but Coach Meyer wanted me to bulk up; hence, a trip to the gym with a customized workout plan. “If you want to play college hockey,” he kept reminding me, “you need to put on some muscle.”
I was on the slide board when Val Palacios walked by, dark braid swinging. She pretended to do a double take. “No, wait, Charlie, is that really you?”
Everyone knew I hated the gym.
“Nope,” I said, shaking my head. “Wrong, per usual. I’m Nick, not Charlie.”
Val smirked as she unrolled her yoga mat. “Nice try, but your twin’s over there.” She gestured to the left. “Singing along to Miranda Lambert while he does medicine ball slams.”
“And to think that I’m the one in the musical.”
She laughed, and I smiled. Val was cool, easy to talk to. She was like Sage in that way. “How’s that going?” she asked. “Clearly you haven’t lost your voice.”
“Nah, not yet.” I continued to slide from side to side while she started doing sit-ups. Her belly-button ring glinted in the light. Val was wearing nothing but a purple sports bra and black spandex. “That’ll be more like mid-October.”
“Stocking up tea, then?”
“More like stockpiling.”
She smiled. “What kinds do you like?”
I shrugged. “Nothing too wild. Lemon with honey, usually. But Morrissey told me that ginger tea is also pretty soothing, so I think I’ll try some of that this year too.”
Val switched from sit-ups to side planks. “Is that Super Cute Luke? The cross-country PG from Michigan?”
I kept my cool, only raising an eyebrow. “Super Cute Luke?”
“I had dinner with Nina the other night.”
“Ah.” I nodded. Sometimes it slipped my mind that Val was casual friends with Nina and Sage. They’d all roomed together in Merriman last year.
“Yeah.” Val laughed. “I think this is…what? Like her tenth Bexley crush or something?”
I stopped sliding and stepped off the board. “Wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Speaking of crushes…” She dropped out of her plank. “I heard about you and Dove.”
“Damn.” I snapped my fingers. “The press release wasn’t supposed to go out until tomorrow.”
Val rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched, fighting a smile. “You’re such a jerk.”
I shrugged again. Dove and I were done. After rehearsal yesterday, I offered to buy her ice cream at Captain Smitty’s in town, then I just sort of did it. As she licked her one-scoop-of-strawberry-in-a-sugar-cone, I told her I thought we should press pause on our relationship.
“What do you mean?” she’d asked, and I watched as her eyes welled up, two heavy teardrops slipping down her face a beat later.
I reached out and took her hand. “I really like you,” I said. “But I don’t think we should be together right now. I mean, with the show and everything, it’s probably better if we go back to being friends.”
To be honest, it wasn’t my best effort.
“So, I heard Dag’s having a mixer with Merriman tonight?” Val asked.
I tried not to smirk—this was the real reason for today’s visit to the gym. I had a feeling Val would be here. “Yeah, at ten.” After successfully pitching the idea to our housemasters, Daggett’s house council had been prepping all week for tonight’s get-together.
“Is there a theme?”
“Nope. We’re just gonna play board games and Xbox and stuff.”
Val nodded and took a sip from her S’well water bottle. It was bright orange like Luke’s, but not as big. “I like to stay hydrated,” he explained when Reese first teased him about it. He also had a blue one, always filled with coffee. “And caffeinated.”
“You should come,” I said. “Sage has told me about your legendary Fortnite skills.”
Val laughed. “But I’m not in Merriman anymore.”
“Who cares? You were a year ago.”
“Well, sure, I guess that’s true,” she said as I invited myself to join her on the yoga mat. Partner stretching was pretty effective.
“Nobody will care,” I assured her. “Come. It’ll be fun.”
She didn’t respond.
I leaned forward to touch my toes.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be there.”
* * *
There was shouting coming from the common room when I came back to Daggett after dinner, Luke right behind me. We’d gone to Peace Love Pizza with everyone.
“Dude, I’m telling you,” I heard Paddy saying, “I don’t know where it is! It was right here last time I checked!”
“Where what is?” I asked.
Kyle sighed. “Twister.”
I eyed the bookcase where we kept all our board games. Monopoly, Clue, Life, Scrabble, and a few random others. But sure enough, there was no Twister. “Here, let me text Sage,” I said, unlocking my phone. “She has one.” The two of us had once played for hours, determined to master the game.
I’ll come by @ 8:30, she responded, and I sent a thumbs-up back.
“All good,” I told the guys, and after Kyle sighed in relief, Luke and I left to go upstairs.
“So what’s a mixer?” he asked once we’d reached the second floor. “Is it like a date party?”
“Sort of,” I said. “I mean, yes, the activities are usually similar, but a mixer’s when one house invites another over, and a date party is when you ask someone from whatever house you want. Date parties are typically more formal too.”
“Which do you like better?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Mixers, because they’re more relaxed. Less pressure.”
“Yeah, because you’re so awkward.”
I responded by hip-checking him into the wall, and he crashed into Dhiraj’s closed door. “Come in!” we heard him call from inside.
Luke didn’t say anything; the look he gave me was enough. But then he did speak, his voice low, “I am going to kill you.”
A surge of something shot up my spine as I took off down the hall, racing toward my door. Unfortunately, though, Luke was pretty damn fast. I was closing in on the last few feet when he launched himself up onto my back. We promptly fell to the floor.
No wrestling followed. If Luke was Nick or Paddy or Jack or basically anyone else, I’d guarantee we’d be rolling around on the ground right now, trying to get the other to concede first. But he was Luke, so I scrambled up before anything could happen.
“Okay, truce.” I turned to unlock my door. My heart was trying to make a break from my chest. Relax, I told myself.
Luke grabbed the remote and flopped down on the chesterfield once we were inside. “Yup, cool,” I said, after chugging about half a bottle of water. “I wanted to sit on the floor anyway.” Now flipping through the channels, he was sprawled across the entire couch. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Copy that,” he said, settling on Law & Order: SVU. It was past 7:30 p.m., so the episode was probably a little over halfway through.
I rolled my eyes and retrieved my laptop from my desk. And then, without me needing to employ more sarcasm, Luke made space for me. I sat and propped my feet up on the trunk.
“You’re welcome,” Luk
e said.
“Oh, sincerest apologies…” I started, but dropped off when I shifted to look at him. His legs were in the way, and I bit the inside of my cheek. I really liked being able to see his face. So before my conscience gave me the go-ahead, I found myself saying, “You know, you can stretch out if you want. It’s fine.”
Two seconds later, his legs were draped across my lap. I situated my MacBook on his shins and then tried to seem really interested in my Twitter feed to disguise the fact that I was sneaking way too many peeks at him, to figure out if he was as on edge as I was. Because he didn’t look it; he had his TV-watching face on: stone-cold serious, with his arms folded over his chest. But each and every time I glanced up, his eyes were a little droopier. “Hey, do you mind if I take a nap?” he asked when the credits got going.
I looked to see his eyes already shut; he was going to sleep with or without my permission. He hadn’t even taken his glasses off. I smiled, and said, “Mi casa es su casa.”
“That accent was terrible.”
I laughed. “I take French.”
“Je le sais.” (I know that.)
“You speak French?” I asked, curious since Luke was in Señor Cortez’s Spanish class.
“Un peu.” (A bit.)
“Comment?” (How?)
“Mon père.” (My dad.)
“Your dad sounds pretty cool,” I said, then sort of winced, remembering Luke’s dad died when Luke was only twelve. (“Colon cancer,” he’d told us in this matter-of-fact, but still thoughtful voice. “It was extremely aggressive.”)
But Luke nodded, eyes still closed. “He was. He was an expat growing up, lived all over the world for my grandfather’s job. He met ma mère in Tokyo.” He yawned. “But Paris was his favorite.”
Another yawn, and then he nestled deeper into the couch.
I got the message. “Fais de beaux rêves.” (Sweet dreams.)
“Merci,” he whispered, and it didn’t take long for his breathing to slow. I watched him for a few beats, and then went back to my computer—but not before putting my hand on his knee.
When he didn’t wake up, I left it there.
* * *
Luke slept like a rock. Totally and completely knocked out. There was no movement when a bunch of guys started playing broomball in the hall, and he didn’t even hear Sage’s arrival. I did, though, her voice loud and clear before she swept into the room: “No, Dhiraj, Sage isn’t really here! I’m a ghost!” Girls weren’t allowed upstairs, but Sage ignored that rule most of the time. I was sitting at my desk by the time the door opened. “Have you heard from Luke?” she asked, setting the Twister box on the trunk before noticing him. “Oh my gosh,” she breathed. “How long has he been like this?”
“About a half hour,” I said.
Sage knelt down and snapped a picture with her phone. “Nina’s going to die.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, come on, she has to know it’s never going to happen.”
“It isn’t?” Sage looked at me. “Did he say something to you?”
“No.”
She shrugged. “Then I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Bullshit, I thought. Because again, I’d known Sage for seventeen years. I knew her. So I wasn’t buying the pleasant anything is possible! expression on her face. I think she had the same gut feeling I did, that Nina would be smart to find crush #11, because crush #10 wasn’t ever going to pan out. Nothing was said, though; Sage had already moved on.
“Luke.” She gently shook him. “Time to wake up.”
“Mmm,” I heard him mumble. “Pass.”
Sage laughed. “Come on. It’s almost time to rumble in the jungle!” That was the dance theme that had won out for tonight: “Rumble in the Jungle.” It had been my suggestion, and President Jennie had kicked Nick out of the meeting because he’d been laughing so hard. I couldn’t understand why—it was only a mere coincidence that “Rumble in the Jungle” had been the theme of our fifth birthday party.
Luke sat up and took off his glasses so he could rub his eyes. He looked disoriented, like he could’ve slept until morning. “What’s tonight’s getup?”
“Well, I’m going as a tiger.” Sage gestured to her outfit: black Converse and shorts with a cropped orange shirt. She even had a pair of tiger ears on her head and a tail dangling from her back belt loop. I honestly had no idea where she found this stuff. Whatever the theme, she never had any trouble pulling an outfit together. We hadn’t agreed on Danny and Sandy until the night before last year’s “Dynamic Duos” spirit day, and I sure as hell hadn’t expected her to say, “Oh, yes! I have this black cat suit that’ll be perfect!”
I rose from my swivel chair. “Really?” I went to dig through one of the plastic storage bins in my closet. “Because I was getting more of a zebra vibe.”
“Hysterical as always, Charlie,” she said drily. “So funny.”
I laughed and found what I was looking for. “Here you go,” I said to Luke, and tossed him his headgear for the dance: an official Survivor Buff bandanna that Mom and Dad put in my stocking a few Christmases ago. A jungle always backed up to whatever beach the castaways made camp on. I watched as he tugged it on over his bedhead.
“How do I look?” he asked after.
“Legit,” I said, a lesser-known synonym for super cute.
“Awesome,” he said, and then gave me a nod when he and Sage split. I face-planted on the still-warm couch and just lay there until it was time to go downstairs.
* * *
People broke off into certain clusters right away, some to play Xbox, some to check out the board games, and others disappearing into the hall to face off in cornhole. I challenged Val to Twister about fifteen minutes after everyone showed up, and was now looking down at her. She was on all fours, as if about to do a crab walk. I was above her, my feet planted so that the sides of my calves were pressed up against her thighs, and bent over so I could touch a hand down to the green dot over her shoulder. “Cinnamon Orbit?” she guessed after I let out a deep breath.
“Altoids.” I winked.
“Okay,” Dhiraj said. “Right hand yellow.”
The eight or so people around us laughed as we shifted, because in three-two-one, we got even closer. My hand was now under Val’s back. You really can’t script this stuff, I thought.
Dhiraj spun the spinner again. “Yellow again. Left hand.”
Val sighed. Both my hands were now underneath her back, arms pretty much wrapped around her. “Fancy meeting you here,” I said.
She rolled her eyes, but there was that secret smile again. “How are you so good at this?”
“Raw talent.”
She shook her head. “No way.”
I laughed. “Lots of practice.”
“Really?”
I nodded and told her to search “Ultimate Twister Fails” on YouTube. Nick had pulled one over on me and Sage, offering to be our cameraman for critique purposes. Half a million views and counting.
Val smirked as we moved again. “Oh, I absolutely will. Right when I get home.”
I whistled. “Have you gotten sick of the walk yet?” Sage had her bike, but if you lived in Simmons House, you got your steps in during the day.
Val made a valiant attempt to shrug. “I like to walk.”
“Must get lonely, though.”
“That’s why I wear headphones.”
I nodded. “Smart.”
Then there was a beat of silence except for our breathing and Dhiraj’s latest call: “Right leg green!” but I knew I had her when she bit her lip and whispered, “Although I actually forgot them tonight…”
Chapter 9
Sage
“Well, yeah, the campus was nice,” Reese said after a spoonful of ice cream, “but I don’t think I’ll apply…I mean, I just didn’t get that vibe, you
know? The feeling of being at home?”
Everyone at our table nodded. “Plus,” Nina said, “there’s the whole no guys thing.”
“Oh my god, Nina.” Jennie laughed. “You are…”
“I believe the phrase you’re looking for is boy-obsessed,” Luke said drily when she trailed off. He popped a cherry into his mouth. No ice cream for him, only a bowl of maraschino cherries. His fingertips were stained with red juice. (“You’re going to make yourself sick,” Charlie warned earlier, with Luke smirking back: “Impossible. My stomach has built up a high level of tolerance over the years.”)
The girls laughed, but Charlie sat up straighter in his chair as Val dropped into the empty seat next to him. She was wearing her soccer uniform. “Hey,” he said, slinging an arm around her. “How’d the game go?”
“But you’re right, Nina,” Reese agreed. “Girls-only does kind of suck.” She’d gotten back from her visit to Wellesley this afternoon. It seemed like every day we seniors were MIA, getting excused from classes to go on college tours. Last week, Charlie had gone up to Maine to visit Bowdoin. The hockey coaches had shown him around.
Meanwhile, Luke’s college conundrum had been solved surprisingly quickly; he was applying ED to the University of Virginia. “My dad went there,” he’d told us. “He took me to his reunion when I was ten, and I remember telling him afterward that I was going go there too.” He laughed. “My counselor joked that it’s a sign, because UVA has all the programs I want, and she thinks I’d be a strong candidate for this one scholarship…”
Charlie teased him. “Following in your father’s footsteps!”
Luke rolled his eyes. “Says the person whose list only consists of tiny New England schools. And your dad went to Bowdoin, right?”
“Hockey offers.” Charlie shrugged. “You only play where they want you.”
Luke shrugged back. “Who said you had to play?”
Instead of answering, Charlie seemed to consider.
“He really is your new best friend!” I’d joked earlier, although the words had sounded hollow. Because, my heart now sank, you’re the worst one, keeping secrets from him…
If We Were Us Page 8
