With school back in session after winter break, a lot of my time is about to be consumed by my studio class alone, not to mention my other lecture classes.
I was clearly mistaken for thinking it was smart to take eighteen credit hours this semester. Call it the overachiever in me. Or that I’d rather graduate as quickly as I can, so I can get a job and pay off the insane amount of debt I’m wracking up in loans.
All that school work leaves little time to play, and that also means Keene and I barely see each other. Spring semesters are the worst, since that’s when baseball season really starts kicking into gear. But since things don’t really get heavy for another week or two for the both of us, I use the time to hang with him instead.
Well, if hanging out is me playing God of War on the couch in our dorm suite’s tiny living room while he’s occupied with icing his knees and messing around on his phone.
I’d offered to do something else, maybe go for a run or even hit the gym with him, but he’s been pretty beat from getting back into preseason training and practices this week. He’s not out of shape by any means, but when he goes back to squatting behind a plate in full gear after months of not doing it, I’m sure it takes a toll.
And he seems content with this, so I’ll take it.
“So what’re you thinking for plans this summer?” I ask, tapping away on my PlayStation controller a little harder than might be necessary. I’m having a bitch of a time defeating this boss, and it’s starting to piss me off.
“In terms of…” Keene says, trailing off.
I roll my eyes, not bothering to look away from the TV. He knows exactly what I mean.
Each summer since we turned sixteen, Keene and I have taken a road trip together. In high school, it was usually just up to Washington or down into Cali, but the summer we graduated, we went all the way to Nashville. Don’t ask me why, seeing as we both hate country music, but it’s somewhere we’d always wanted to go.
And maybe I wanted a chance to see the city we could’ve been living in for college instead of staying on the West Coast. See if there was any regret on Keene’s face while we explored the city.
Thankfully, I didn’t find any.
Though we take turns choosing where to go each year, I always let Keene have some input. Even when it’s my turn to decide, like this year, he should know by now that I’ll always give him a say. I’m not nearly as much of a control freak as he makes me out to be, and it’s meant to be fun for the both of us.
Even if he puts on his shit music in my car.
His silence makes it clear he wants me to spell it out for him, so with a quick glance at him on the other side of the couch, I say, “Why’re you playing dumb? The trip, of course.”
I feel him shift on the couch before asking, “Isn’t that like six months from now? Little early to be thinking about that, isn’t it?”
“Um, no?”
Okay, so maybe he’s a little right about the control freak bit.
But the chuckle that floats out of him is somewhere between true laughter and his mocking laugh, giving him away. It’s the one he makes before he says something like—
“You and your goddamn plans.”
Yep. That.
“Fuck off, Kee. Someone has to be the responsible one,” I grind, speeding up my fingers on the controller.
His go-with-the-flow style of life isn’t usually a bother to me. It’s just who he is, and he’s been that way since…well, forever. I swear, the only real “plan” Keene has had in his life is to play baseball for as long as he could. It’s more of an ambitious goal, and though I’m biased, I think he has the talent to make it happen.
But even then, I don’t know if he even has a backup for if something happens and he doesn’t go pro. Like if an injury takes him out of the game for good. Living life and thinking it’ll all just work itself out is insane to me, and no matter how hard I try to get it through his thick skull that plans are a good thing, he doesn’t get the hint.
“Just like you were the responsible one on Monday when I was almost late to practice?” he points out, and even though I’m not looking at him, I know his brows are raised at me. “It’s your year to pick, anyway. You just let me know where, and I’ll be there. Just remember, we only turn twenty-one once.”
I’m not at all surprised by this response. But like I said, that’s just Keene. Flying by the seat of his pants. Though, I’ll admit, his carefree attitude might actually be one of my favorite qualities of his. Sometimes.
Other times, it just pisses me the fuck off.
Hell, I remember plenty of times when we were kids, or even teenagers, where he’d forget his swim trunks for a weekend beach trip because he didn’t pack until ten minutes before we left. Or he’d have to stay up until four in the morning to finish papers in high school because he’s the world’s best procrastinator…and also hated English with a passion. At least the latter has gotten better with age and discipline—and because he has to stay on top of his grades to play baseball. Yet he almost always forgets something whenever he leaves for an away series, even if he’s learned to pack the night before, thanks to yours truly.
Most of the time it’s socks, so I’ve learned to pack an extra pair in his duffle, just in case.
Biting my lip in concentration as I go in for another attack in the game, I offer, “Vegas?”
He’s silent for a moment, but I glance up briefly to see him wrinkling his nose. “I feel like we’d need money to go there. A lot more than we have, at least.”
Touché.
“Hmm. Maybe when we’re like twenty-five and you’re making millions in the majors, we can revisit it.”
He snorts, eyes still locked on his screen. “Planning to make yourself my sugar baby, Pen?”
“If you’re making millions, I think you can spare a couple grand for us to play some poker.”
Right then, the boss I was fighting on the screen kills me with a sword to the chest.
“Fuck,” I mumble, and I drop my controller onto the coffee table with a clatter of annoyance before looking at him again. “New York?”
He glances up over his phone, brows raised. “Might as well drive to Alaska at that rate. It’d be closer.”
“You don’t need to exaggerate.”
He takes that as a challenge, the dick. But two minutes and a Google search reveals that Juneau, Alaska, is four hours closer to here than New York City.
Go figure.
“Alaska could have some killer hikes.”
“But at least they have baseball in New York,” I counter.
At the end of the day, I could win this non-argument with that point alone. The only thing Keene really cares about are the activities we do on our trips. Usually, it consists of hiking and sightseeing, but visiting every MLB stadium is on his bucket list, so knocking one or two off every time seems to be a common theme.
Take the year we went to Nashville, for example. We stopped in St. Louis and Kansas City on the way back, per Keene’s request, to catch a game at each one. Or the year we did our trip to Cali, we got to all but one of the stadiums there, and that’s only because the Giants were out of town the days we were near San Francisco.
If I’ve counted right, I think he’s up to twelve now. Or is it thirteen?
Regardless, he’s got plenty to go. And an East Coast road trip could knock a bunch off the list if we planned it at the right time.
“We’d need at least a month,” he says in rebuttal. “And while I know we’re both adults, our mothers would throw a bitchfit if we were gone for that long.”
He’s got a point.
“Fine.” I sigh, running my hands through my hair. “I guess we’ve got a bit of time to think of something else.”
“If by a bit, you mean months?”
“Oh, bite me.”
His brows raise, eyes still fixated on his phone. “You’d probably like that too much, kinky fucker.”
I’m half tempted to smack his phone clear out of his hand for that one, but I refrain. Barely. I’m not one to be needy for his undivided attention, but the level of distraction he has tonight is a bit…weird.
“What’re you doing on that thing, anyway? If it’s porn, it must not be very good if you’re still out here.”
He doesn’t even laugh at the joke, giving me a clipped response. “Just texting.”
Vague isn’t really his style, but letting him get off that easy isn’t mine, so I dig further. “And what’s her name?”
Keene looks up from the screen and blinks. Then blinks again before saying with a perfectly straight face. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I give him a knowing smirk. “If you say so.”
“If there was anything to report, you’d know about it.”
Normally I’d believe that, but the way he rolls his lip with his teeth after he says it gives him away.
Keene’s not one for hooking up often, and as a monogamist, it makes sense. So if he’s wanting to keep this to himself, I’ll let him. For the time being. But I’ll get it out of him eventually. Probably when the seat next to me at his home games is taken. Or when she starts staying over. Hell, part of me hopes the latter starts happening here soon. Then I wouldn’t feel so bad about the racket Bristol causes.
He locks his phone and taps it against his knee. “By the way, the party the Chi O’s throw for the baseball team at the beginning of each season is next weekend.”
“Nice subject change,” I note before actually registering what he said. Then I let out a low groan, hating any time a sorority party is brought up. “I guess you mentioning this to me is your way of saying that we’re going.”
And now I’m tempted to smack his face for the smirk he gives me. “Is that your way of saying you’re not gonna go?”
Damn him.
I hate parties, at least the kind thrown in high school and even college. They’re just an excuse for a bunch of stupid, horny people to get shit-faced and do things they’ll regret the next day. It never fails that some kind of drama happens too, whether it be a very public break-up or a fight between two drunken fools.
It’s just not my scene. At all.
But for Keene, I’ll go. He knows that too, which makes it all the more irritating.
I’m not one to worry about something as trivial as fitting in with the jock or Greek crowds, and I don’t go actively seeking out chances to be around those people either. They’re just not my people.
Then again, no one really is besides Keene. Maybe a couple other people I’ve met last semester in my studio. They could be friends, if I put in a little more effort, but my inability to trust anyone sort of inhibits turning acquaintances into anything more than that.
Having a bunch of friends isn’t all that important to me, anyway. When it comes to close relationships, I’d rather have quality over quantity.
It’s not to say that I can’t have a good time at parties. I did in high school, though I was a lot more comfortable letting loose around people I’ve known my entire life. Hell, Keene and I used to run the beer pong tables whenever we’d get a group of people together, though flip cup has always been more my speed. And it was a great time.
But college is just different.
Eventually, I always end up having a good time, though. It just takes a bit for that to happen.
Letting out another groan, I cave. Like I always fucking do. “Fine. I’ll go.”
He grins. “You can never say no.”
Truer words have never been spoken.
“What can I say? I’m whipped, and you don’t even put out.”
He lets out a bark of laughter, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Best friend perks, I guess.”
“Maybe for you,” I grumble. “I don’t see any perks for me, though.”
“Free beer?”
I cringe. “That tastes like piss.”
A nod, then he says, “The joy of my company?”
“Someone’s stroking their ego a little too much lately.”
He laughs again. “Okay, okay. Point made. Wouldn’t be the same if you didn’t go, though.”
That makes me smile.
No matter how many friends he has or how popular he gets as the years pass, I’m still his number one. Just like he’s mine. We might’ve been basically family since we were born, but we still choose each other.
Always have, always will.
And damn if that doesn’t make me feel like a million bucks.
