I reach my apartment and let out a relieved sigh. It’s not that I expected Law to follow me home, but that didn’t stop me from looking over my shoulder the entire time that I was walking.
Falcon is in the living room with our other roommates, Rory and Paul. They’re watching game tape, which is par for the course in our apartment. That’s the beauty of living with three dedicated basketball players—there’s no shortage of basketball-related activities. There are game tapes to review, strategies to discuss, and opponents to trash talk. And if they find themselves in need of a little light entertainment, they play basketball on the game console. It’s a never-ending cycle.
I drop my bag on the floor and say hi to the guys, but I’m not sure they even notice me. They’re all staring at the TV like they’re a part of a cult, and the screen is broadcasting their supreme leader. North Koreans would be proud of their dedication. Unbothered, I turn toward the kitchen to find something to eat. Right now, not being noticed is a good thing.
“Dinner’s in the fridge,” Falcon says without taking his eyes off the screen. So he did hear me, which feels nice. He’s the one person who seems to notice me, even in all my mediocre glory.
“Great,” I holler over my shoulder and retreat to the kitchen.
I open the fridge, and sure enough, there’s a Tupperware container. I take a moment to pray to the food gods before I open it.
“Please don’t be spinach. Please don’t be spinach,” I repeat like a mantra.
I pull the lid off and take another deep breath before I look at the contents and groan. It’s worse. Quinoa with broccoli.
I lift my eyes to the ceiling and mutter, “Thanks a lot.”
I slam the lid on the container and stuff it back in the fridge like the thing is laced with cyanide. It’s a shame we now have to burn the fridge to get rid of its offensive contents. I place my palm on the door and lower my head.
“You shall be remembered fondly,” I say.
Done paying my respects, I walk to the living room and glance toward my roommates. They’re still zombified by the TV. I tiptoe back to the kitchen and open the cabinet next to the fridge. I sneak my hand behind the bags of brown rice and oatmeal.
“Come on,” I mutter as I rummage around trying to get my hands on the contraband. It should be right here. Back left corner. I stuff my hand back there until my fingers touch the back wall of the cabinet. “Where the hell are you hiding?”
“Looking for something?” The voice is so unexpected that I jump back and ram the back of my head into the corner of the fridge.
“Fuck! Ow!” I curse as I rub my head and glare at my smirking former best friend.
He has his hands behind his back as he strolls into the kitchen. “Dinner’s in the fridge,” he says.
“Yes,” I say with a polite smile. “It looked delicious. Can’t wait to taste it.”
“Then why are you rummaging around in the cabinet?”
I wrack my brain for a good cover story. “I was looking for salt.”
“Salt?” Falcon has the bad cop routine down pat with his expressionless face and stoic tone of voice.
“Well, I tasted the quinoa. Great choice, by the way. There’s nothing I enjoy more for dinner than a bit of quinoa. And broccoli too. Awesome,” I say as I sneak covert glances toward the cabinet. There’s no way he found my stash. I’ve hidden it behind a ton of brown rice, and I buy a new packet every time I go to the store so that there will never be a sudden rice shortage, meaning nobody should ever have a reason to go digging in the back.
“You tasted it?” Falcon asks, an affable smile on his face, which immediately makes me suspicious because it looks fake as fuck. “But I thought you said you couldn’t wait to eat it? Which one is it, Andy?” he asks, and that smile is really creeping me out now.
Shit. “It looked like it could use some salt.” Words rush out, and Falcon raises his brows. I brace myself, grabbing the Tupperware from the fridge and a fork from a drawer. “I was going to sit down and enjoy this delicious meal, but I didn’t want to get up to go looking for salt should I need it. Wouldn’t want to interrupt the moment, you know? It’s a preemptive salt collection.”
Falcon cocks his head to the side so that his blond hair falls over his forehead, making him look boyish and oh so handsome. “Well, go on. Taste it then. If you need salt, I’ll get it for you.”
I force a smile as I open the container and pretend to smell the food. “Mm-hmm,” I say, trying to look appreciative. I shudder as I look at the contents. So much grainy stuff with bits of green mixed in it. It reminds me of frog spawn, and I can already picture myself spending the next two hours trying to get the taste out of my mouth.
I take a bite. If quinoa’s taste had a color, it would be the bland beige of hospital corridors. It’s just there. No excitement or anything that would make it remotely interesting. It has a slight nutty taste, but if I liked that, I would eat actual nuts. There aren’t enough words to describe how much I hate quinoa. Why does everything healthy have to taste so blah?
“So?” Falcon asks. “What’s the verdict? Should I get you some salt?” And with those words he uncovers the thing he’s been holding behind his back and places the container of potato chips on the counter in front of me.
“Damn it,” I mutter as I look longingly at the container. “Did you toss them?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
Falcon shakes his head in exasperation. “I keep finding junk food hidden in the craziest places. It’s like living with an alcoholic, so I’m warning you now, the moment I find Cheetos in the toilet tank, you’re going to rehab.” He taps at the now-empty potato chip container. “These things will kill you.” He says something else about trans fats and chemicals that cause cancer, but I’m mourning my loss and don’t pay attention.
It’s the one drawback of living with Falcon. He’s a health nut, and he’s been trying to turn me into one as well. It’s been a real challenge to accept him the way he is. I’ve already given up sweets, and by given up I mean, I won’t eat them at home. Instead I stuff my face with Snickers bars from the vending machine while I’m studying at the library. But now he’s coming after my potato chips, and I’ve got to be honest, I’m not appreciating this development. I’m already on thin ice in the library because of my snacking habit. I’m pretty sure the help desk lady thinks I’m doing drugs under my desk the way I’m sitting all crouched over as I try to sneak mini chocolate bars into my mouth. No way will I be able to do that with chips. They crunch too loudly.
“They’re potato chips,” I point out. “A potato is a vegetable.”
“Please,” Falcon scoffs. “I’m more potato than those things.” He points to my dinner. “Eat. It’s good for you.”
“Yes, Mom,” I mutter as I stuff quinoa in my mouth, hoping against hope that not chewing will somehow minimize the taste.
Falcon takes a seat at the counter because he seems to think I need a chaperone. I guess tossing the food out of the window is a no go. Falcon picks up an infinity cube and starts toying with it. He’s always been fidgety, but it has never bothered me that he taps his foot or snaps his fingers when he’s forced to sit still.
When he was younger it drove his teachers mad. One Christmas I got him a Rubik’s Cube. After that, whenever Falcon had to sit still, he would solve that, and peace was restored. Now, we have all sorts of toys strewn everywhere in the apartment, and all of us, Rory and Paul included, have gotten into a habit of finding puzzles and brain teasers for Falcon. He, of course, solves them all in no time because he’s smart, but he keeps them around for when he needs something to do with his hands.
“How was your day?” he asks. I almost choke on the quinoa. The whole scene is way too domestic for my liking. I’m afraid my imagination will run wild and I’ll do something stupid because while, for Falcon, I’m just his best friend, for me, Falcon is way more than that.
“It was fine,” I mumble through a mouthful of food. “Somebody took m
y seat in the library.”
“The horror,” he deadpans. “Let me guess, you took a seat somewhere else and stewed in your anger until the person left? Dude, I keep telling you you’ve got to stand up for yourself.”
“I didn’t have a leg to stand on,” I say. “It’s not exactly my seat, as in, it doesn’t belong to me, so I have no right to ask anybody to take a hike.”
Falcon steals my fork and takes a bite of the quinoa. He doesn’t seem to register what he’s doing, and I don’t stop him because if he wants to help me finish that sorry excuse for a dinner, I’m not going to complain.
He rolls his eyes at me. “It’s the science section of the library. Don’t you all have assigned seating or something?”
“Or something,” I agree.
“So then, next time say something, otherwise some newbie is going to hijack that spot from right under your nose. Want me to scare the living crap out of them?”
I snort, which makes Falcon throw me a questioning look. I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”
I doubt Falcon could scare Law off. Maybe I should mention that the person responsible for the hijacking isn’t exactly a stranger to Falcon? Then again, I’ve heard Falcon, Rory, and Paul trash talk hockey players for years now, and I don’t feel like I should give them any more ammunition for their—let’s face it—stupid feud.
“I actually did say something.” I lean back in my chair and brush my hair out of my face.
Falcon blinks in surprise. “You did?”
I bristle at Falcon’s astonishment. I can stand up for myself. Most times I just choose not to because it doesn’t seem worth the trouble. What does it matter if somebody cuts a line in the cafeteria or blasts loud music while I’m trying to sleep?
“And did you get your seat back?” he asks.
“Well, not exactly.” My face heats. “We... came to a mutual decision to both leave,” I say with as much dignity as I can.
Falcon snorts. “Next time, will you just call me?” he asks with fond exasperation. He stands up and tousles my hair. “You know I’ll take care of you. You’re like my baby brother, so it’s my job to protect you from the big, bad world,” he jokes as he stands up to leave the kitchen so he can get back to his game. “I’m already hesitant about going away for the summer. How will you ever deal without me?”
“Asola. Get your ass back here, you’ve got to see this guy,” Paul yells from the other room. Falcon hurries back to whatever team the three of them are studying right now, but my mood has plummeted at the mention of summer.
Falcon is leaving town at the beginning of June. He’s going back home to work for his dad. The Asola family owns a couple of bed and breakfasts and they offer guided hiking tours and fishing and boating and all sorts of other outdoor activities. Falcon loves it and is planning to take over the business one day.
He’s leaving in two weeks, and he’ll be gone until September, which sucks because I’ll miss him. The summer after my freshman year I went home too, but then the next year I got the job with Shaw, and now Falcon and I spend our summers apart. I’m being overdramatic. I drive up there every few weeks, so we see enough of each other, but I’m used to seeing him every day, so every year, it’s an adjustment, and the first few days of summer always suck.
I know. I’m a cliché. I’m the nerdy sidekick in love with his cool best friend, but if all goes according to plan, I will make Falcon realize that we are perfect for each other. For one thing, we already know each other through and through, so there will be no nasty surprises in store for either of us. He doesn’t mind my awkwardness and isn’t embarrassed to be seen with me, and I don’t mind the constant basketball chatter and his nervous habits. We just fit.
Too bad it’s obvious only to me and not to Falcon.
I stare at the remains of my dinner. My mood has soured at the mention of summer, and the little brother comment makes it even worse. That. How the fuck have I managed to turn this situation into such a mess? Falcon shouldn’t be seeing me as his little bro. I want to wow him with my confidence and quick wit, not be a damsel in distress who needs saving all the time.
Ever since realizing how average I am, I’ve been planning my eventual transformation into a new Andy. The cool Andy. The Andy who Falcon would be able to see in a new light. I thought I was doing a decent job. I stood up for myself in the library, didn’t I? I mean, I didn’t get to sit in my usual seat because I escaped before that could happen, but I didn’t leave without standing up for myself.
Sort of.
Maybe what happened in the library isn’t the best example, but I also…
And I’ve got nothing. I’ve got absolutely nothing else to put on that list. I try to wrack my brain for some kind of achievement, a milestone in my personal growth. I come up empty.
The realization slams into me. I’ve done shit all. Project Hero is in a rut even before it has begun. Somehow I’ve been making all these plans and haven’t actually executed any of them.
I straighten myself. Right. That’s got to change. I need a strong start to get this thing off the ground. I suppose some of the trouble I’m having with shaking my sidekick persona is that I still look like the old me. Falcon is used to me looking like the same nerd from the ninth grade. Maybe he would be able to see the changes in my personality better if I shook things up a little with a new look? Make the package more appealing, so to speak.
And Falcon’s leaving for the summer…
For the first time, it dawns on me that the fact that Falcon is going home for three months might actually be beneficial for me. I straighten myself, feeling excited. I can already see it. Falcon will leave behind the old Andy, the average dude who looks like he’s homeless half the time, and then, when he returns, bam! He’ll see the new, improved Andy. One who doesn’t look like an awkward octopus. And Falcon will realize that he likes this new guy way more than he could ever imagine. Cue a happy ending.
I have to start planning. A haircut would be a good start. Some new clothes. Nothing too drastic. I still want to look like me, only better. An improved version of me. Andy 2.0.
I glance down at my trusty combo of sweats and a T-shirt and sigh. How the fuck will I pull this off?
4
Law
I have to face the facts. I’ve turned into a stalker. I can already see the restraining order in my future. Still, I’ve come this far, so it would be a shame to quit now.
Mind made up, I push open the door of the small Italian restaurant and enter. It’s a little after three in the afternoon, so the lunch rush is already over, and the place is quiet. Only a couple of people occupy the tables near the windows.
It’s a sunny afternoon. For a while there, it seemed that summer would never arrive, but over the last week or so the sun has decided that it might as well make an appearance. Most people are sitting outside, soaking up the warmth and enjoying the fresh air. Not Andy. The guy is parked inside and he’s wearing a sweatshirt like he doesn’t trust that the weather will stay warm.
He’s got his nose in a thick book and his unruly hair is, once again, all over the place. His glasses have slid down his nose, and I watch as he pushes them back up with his pinky finger. There’s a pencil between his lips, which he’s methodically destroying as he chews on it like he’s a beaver.
He doesn’t notice as I approach him, so I figure payback is a bitch and snatch the pencil from between his teeth to save the poor thing.
Andy looks up with the kind of confused expression that people get when they’ve been completely in their own little bubble and it takes them a while to remember where they are and why.
He frowns and plucks his pencil back. “Are you trying to make taking my things a habit?” he asks. “Because if so, I should get a vote, and I’m gonna go with a firm no on that one.”
I smile and take a seat. For whatever reason, I enjoy the exchanges with this smart-mouthed guy. I like how genuine he is. People aren’t usually that honest in how they present themselves to
the world. We all have masks we put on when dealing with each other. Not Andy. He’s as authentic as they come. Right now, for example, he’s annoyed with me. It’s written all over his face. Not many people get annoyed with me, or if they do, they sure as hell don’t show it, so it’s a definite change to be in the presence of somebody who is not that thrilled to see me.
“Speaking of taking your things,” I say and place Andy’s wallet on the table in front of him.
He stares at the thing for a moment before he lifts his eyes to me again and frowns. “Did you steal my wallet?” he asks. The outrage is strong with this one.
“I rescued your wallet,” I correct him.
He gapes at me like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “From my pocket?” he asks with one eyebrow in an impressive arch. Supermodels get paid the big bucks to master that expression.
No one has ever accused me of stealing, so that’s another first and not a very enjoyable one. Andy reaches out his hand and pulls his phone, his book, and his empty plate away from me, glaring at my hands the whole time like he’s expecting me to snatch one of those items any moment now. He’s not even trying to be subtle about it.
I cross my arms over my chest. “Really? The plate too? What kind of thief do you think I am?”
“Not a very good one. Here’s a free tip: it’s more profitable to steal from the rich.”
I shake my head. I should get down to business and get Andy to agree to tutor the team instead of shooting the shit. I don’t have much time. The one class I promised my parents I’d take this summer starts in a half an hour, but instead of heading there, I take a seat. It seems I’ll have to skip Financial Management. What a shame.
“That’s a good idea in theory,” I agree, “but since stealing a wallet is usually something you do without going all Ocean’s Eleven about it, pickpockets have to cross their fingers and hope that they get lucky. Maybe the mark has been to the ATM recently and has taken out a thousand bucks.”
Project Hero Page 3
