Is it Carl?
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, I HIT THE RINK FOR A SOLO SKATE, ducking out just as the men’s team arrives for their second day of training camp. Then I manage to squeeze a run in afterward but keep it short because it’s more humid outside than I expect. On my way back to the dorms, I get a phone call from my twin, and soon I’ve got Wyatt whining in my ear about our mom, who didn’t appropriately fawn over the new song he sent her. I guess she didn’t love the arrangement, but the way he’s ranting, you’d think she told him to forsake music altogether and get a job in pharmaceutical sales.
I slow to a jog, enjoying having the campus all to myself. Once classes start on Monday, Briar will be buzzing with life. The cobblestone paths will be teeming with students and faculty, the wrought-iron benches crammed with bodies. There’ll be people sitting in the quad for as long as the weather permits. Blankets strewn on the grass while students throw Frisbees and footballs around. Even when the weather changes, the campus will still be beautiful. A blanket of snow, frost in the trees. I love every season in New England. This place is in my blood.
It’s in my brother’s blood too, and yet Wyatt has had trouble staying still his whole life. He’s always had a serious case of wanderlust. Always convincing our dad to take us on epic trips in the offseason. Surfing and zip-lining in Costa Rica. Hiking in South America. Scuba diving in the Maldives. He and Dad are super close, but (as much as he’d deny it) Wyatt’s actually a huge mama’s boy.
Which is why I laugh and cut him off midrant. “Okay, can we just stop with the fake outrage? We both know you’re going to do what she suggests in the end.”
“That’s not true,” he argues.
“Really? So you’re not going to adjust the bridge of the song then?”
“If I do change the bridge, it’ll be because I feel like I should, not because Mom said so.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. Keep telling yourself that, champ.” I loudly cough out the words, “Mama’s boy.”
“I am not a mama’s boy.” The outrage is back.
“Isn’t your profile pic a photo of you and Mom?”
“Yeah, from the Grammys,” he growls. “Who wouldn’t use a picture of themselves at the Grammys?”
I wouldn’t. But that’s also because I have no interest in throwing on a fancy gown and getting my picture taken at award shows. I could’ve gone with them to the ceremony last year—Mom wrote an album for a new indie rock trio that was nominated for several Grammys—but that’s more Wyatt’s scene than mine.
“Whatever. Clearly I’m not going to get any support from my beloved sister.”
“Beloved,” I echo with a snort. “That’s rich.”
I reach the front doors of Hartford House and stop to tie a shoelace that’s come undone.
“Anyway, I gotta go now,” I tell him after I hop to my feet. “I’ve got a ton of plans today.”
“Later, traitor.”
I’m on the road not long after, driving to my best friend’s place in town to take advantage of the sunny, humid morning.
Diana lives in a new apartment complex called Meadow Hill, which is inaptly named because it’s neither in a meadow nor on a hill. Hastings, Massachusetts, comprises mostly flat residential streets, little parks, and wooded trails. Still, I love this new housing development. White-railed balconies overlook a massive landscaped courtyard that features a huge pool and rows of lounge chairs with red-and white-striped umbrellas. It’s heavenly.
Instead of her voice crackling over the intercom outside her lobby, I hear it wafting down from her balcony.
I look up to find her waving at me. “Don’t bother coming up! I’m heading down! Meet you at the pool!”
I shift my oversized beach bag to my other shoulder and follow the flower-lined path toward the rear of the property. I’m shocked to find the pool area devoid of people. Not a single soul there.
Diana dashes out the back doors in denim shorts and a bright pink bikini top. Her platinum blond hair is in a high ponytail that swings from side to side as she bounds toward me.
If there’s one word to describe Diana Dixon, it’s firecracker. Barely over five feet, she possesses a scary amount of energy, a flair for the dramatic, and a complete and total lust for life. She’s one of my favorite people in the world.
“Where is everyone?” I demand when she reaches me. I gesture at the empty pool. “How is nobody taking advantage of this sunshine?”
“People have jobs, Gigi. Not everyone can be ladies of leisure like you and I.”
That makes me laugh. She’s right. I keep forgetting this isn’t college housing. Actual adults live here. Diana’s the youngest of the tenants, in fact.
During freshman year, she roomed with me and Mya in a triple suite, but at the end of second semester, her aunt passed away and left Diana this apartment. I was bummed to see her go, but really, I don’t blame her for fleeing the dorms. She’s a homeowner now, with her own private space and a mortgage completely paid for by her late aunt’s estate.
I suppose I could’ve been in a similar position—my parents offered to rent or buy me an off-campus apartment when I started at Briar. But the idea didn’t sit right with me. They already pay my tuition; I passed on a scholarship because it felt wrong taking an opportunity away from someone who might not be able to afford an Ivy, when I come from a wealthy family.
On the same token, I don’t want extra perks thanks to my rich parents. Living in the dorms is cheaper than off campus because everything’s included, so if my parents were already going to fund my entire college experience, I feel better not accepting any more money than needed.
“I hope you brought sunscreen, ’cause I’m all out.”
I lift the corner of my bag. “I got you covered, babe.”
“You always do.”
We lay our towels on two loungers. I brought spray-on sunscreen with me, so we take turns with the can, spraying ourselves while the sun beats down on our heads.
“How was cheer practice this morning?” I ask her. “Is that new chick still angling for your job?”
Diana’s a flyer on the cheerleading team. The top girl, or at least she was last year when they came in second at nationals. Yesterday she texted me she was worried she might lose that position to some new freshman dynamo whose high school team won the last four high school national championships.
“Margo? Donesies,” Diana says flatly. Her eyes convey regret rather than relief. “She tore her ACL at practice this morning. Our trainer says she’s out for the whole year.”
I whistle in dismay. “Shit. That’s brutal.”
Injuries are a fact of life for student athletes, but sometimes it’s easy to forget how fickle the human body can be. One minute you’re vying for top girl, the next you’re sidelined for an entire cheer season.
“Yeah, I feel bad for her.”
Kicking off my sandals, I grab my bottle of water and sit at the edge of the concrete pool deck. The water is warmer than I expect when I dip my feet in.
I glance over my shoulder. “Are you still dating both those guys?”
Diana ditches her flip-flops and comes to join me. “Oh, plot twist. It’s three now.”
“Jesus. That kind of multitasking would make me break out in hives.”
She heaves an exaggerated sigh. “Yes. It’s starting to be a bit much. You have to help me decide who to pick.”
“Can’t we date them all?”
“We have been! I’ve been trying to narrow it down from two to one for the last few weeks, and instead, I just ended up adding one to the list! But I’d like to start getting naked, so it’s time to pick. I can only give one of them my flower.”
I choke midsip of my water. “Yes, your treasured flower.”
Diana’s no virgin, but she’s picky as hell about who she sleeps with. She also likes to make me laugh by using the most absurd language to describe sex and body parts.
Her green eyes dance playfully. “Anyway, I need your help. Help me decide.”
“All right, let’s hear it. One of them is the guy from your squad, right? The stunt guy? What was his name again? Actually, I can’t remember either of their names. Wow. My memory sucks.”
“Nope, I’m not reminding you. I don’t want to bias you. Because the third guy has a really bad name.”
“What! What is it! Please tell me. Is it Roger? Biff? Is it Carl?”
“I’ll tell you at the end. After you pick.”
“You’re such a tease. Okay. Suitor A. The cheerleader.”
She nods. “He’s so athletic. So dedicated. Really funny. Cocky but not arrogant. Sex appeal galore. Only con is that he sings everything.”
“Like he sings a lot of songs?”
“No.” She groans. “He sings everything. Like, ‘I a-am go-ing to chew-ooh some guuuum nowwww!’”
Her musical rendition has me keeling over in laughter. “Oh my God. I love him.”
“It’s legit one of the most obnoxious things I’ve ever experienced in my life. Suitor B is an actual musician and he doesn’t sing nearly as much.”
“Oh, I remember the musician. He wrote you that song and tried to rhyme Diana with banana.” I firmly shake my head. “No love song should have the word banana in it. Also, your family’s from Savannah. Missed opportunity right there.”
“He’s not a great rhymer,” she concedes. “He’s also not very funny. He doesn’t get my jokes and he’s super intense.”
“The intensity is a musician thing.”
“I know, but I like a good sense of humor in a guy.”
“Is Suitor C funny?”
“Oh my gosh, yes. And he’s sort of dorky. He’s a physics student. Really smart, but not condescending. Super sweet. He’s not my usual type, but we bumped into each other at the Coffee Hut last week, and I was oddly attracted to him.”
“Con?”
“Sort of insecure. He constantly asks about my exes, but then gets pissy when I answer any of his questions.”
“That’s annoying, but at least he’s not singing the questions.”
“Very good point. Oh, he’s also a bit older,” she reveals.
“How much older?”
“Six years. He’s twenty-six. He’s doing his masters.”
I purse my lips, thinking it over. “All right. Based on the available data, I’m between Suitor A and C. I guess it all depends on whether you want a cocky cheerleader or a sweet academic. If it were me, I’d probably take a chance on the academic. It’d be a nice change of pace for you. And I bet he’s going to be good in bed. I have a feeling.”
“Intriguing. All right. Decision made! Suitor C it is.”
At that, she slides off the deck and plops herself into the pool. She instantly submerges, dunking her head in the water before popping up and shaking her ponytail like a wet dog. I get sprayed and start laughing.
“You’re evil,” I accuse, but the cool droplets do feel nice on my face. Actually, screw it. I adjust the strings of my bikini bottoms and then jump into the water too.
It’s heaven. Cold and refreshing, a nice antidote to the thickening humidity and relentless sun.
I float on my back for a few moments before remembering something very important. “Hey, wait, what’s Suitor C’s name? Spill.”
Diana does a slow butterfly stroke toward me. Stalling.
“Is it Carl?”
She releases a defeated sigh. “Percival.”
My jaw drops. “And he’s only twenty-six? What kind of parents do that to their kid? Does he at least go by Percy?”
“He doesn’t love Percy, but maybe I can wear him down.” She starts floating beside me, laughing to herself. “You know what? I don’t even care. I like Percival. He’s the one I want.”
We spend the next hour in the pool, floating and treading water and chatting about nothing. Then we spend another hour getting some sun, until my growling stomach becomes too difficult to ignore.
“Damn, G, keep that thing down.” Diana looks over and grins.
“I can’t help it. I’m starving.”
“Want to order some lunch?”
“I can’t. I’m meeting Will in town. Actually…” I sit up and stick my hand in my bag to search for my phone. “I should check the time.”
“You know how I feel about this Will thing,” Diana chastises. “You have no business hanging out with your ex-boyfriend’s friends.”
“He was my friend first.” I check the screen. “Shit. It’s almost one. I need to start heading out soon. Wanna join us?”
“Nah. I want to run through some of the choreography we learned at practice this morning. You should come back tonight, though. There’s this new reality channel on TV, and they released a roster of shows, and some of them are batshit. It’s amazing.”
“Oh my God, have you watched Fling or Forever? My mom and I are obsessed with it.”
“Yes,” she blurts out, and we proceed to spend about fifteen minutes discussing the best but also the worst dating show on the planet. The kind of crack that makes you feel bad about yourself after you realize you wasted ten hours of your life on it.
Eventually I have to cut us off so I can go inside and change for lunch.
Diana’s not the only one who chides me about remaining close with Case’s friends. I’ve heard it from almost everyone in my life, and their warnings flutter in the back of my mind as I walk into Sue’s, the restaurant where I’m meeting Will Larsen.
In my defense, I really was friends with Will long before I started dating Case. He’s Boston-born like me, and we attended the same high school. Went out a few times too, before we realized you can’t find two more platonic people than us. Like, zero chemistry.
Will is the one who introduced me to Case freshman year, and the one who convinced me to go on a date with him. Having played hockey my entire life, I always shied away from dating hockey players. Mostly because I know what they’re like.
As in, notorious fuckboys.
Hmm, so really, when you think about it…this is all Will’s fault.
“Hey,” I greet him, giving him a hug as he rises from the table.
He smacks a kiss on my cheek, then flashes his perfect white smile. Will has those boy-next-door looks that women can’t resist.
“Hey. Look,” he says, holding up a laminated page. “New menus.”
“Shocker.” This place revamps their menu about once a month. It’s like the owners can’t decide what kind of restaurant they want to be.
“They got rid of all those artisan sandwiches,” Will tells me. “I’m bummed. I liked those.”
“Aw, they were great.” I skim the latest menu, frowning. “There’s a lot of sushi on here now. This alarms me.”
Will snickers. “Maybe they can rename the place Sue’s Sushi.”
“No, it should be Sue’s Super Sushi Shop. Say that five times.”
“And then they could start serving soup and change it to Sue’s Super Sushi and Soup Shop.”
“Oh, even better.”
We continue to scan the menu options. I sort of feel bad for the owners. They’ve been struggling to stay afloat since they opened two years ago. Meanwhile, their biggest competitor, Della’s Diner, always has a line out the door. Della’s has been around forever, though, a beloved landmark in this town. My mom waited tables there when she went to Briar.
Will and I settle on burgers and fries, because that seems safer than ordering sushi from an establishment that only last week called itself an all-day breakfast place.
“You have that charity game this week, right?” Will asks while we wait for our meals.
I nod. “Thursday. Want to come root for us?”
“If I’m not too exhausted from training camp, then definitely.”
“How’s the new team gelling?”
“Oh, perfectly. You know, like oil and water. Blending right up.”
I laugh. “That bad?”
“Worse. Those Eastwood guys all have humongous chips on their shoulders.”
“Yes, I’m sure it’s one-sided,” I say dryly.
Will stubbornly shakes his head. “I’m just saying, they’re in our house. They could afford to be nicer.”
“See, that’s the problem. You’re calling it your house. Like they don’t belong.”
“Well, they don’t belong,” he grumbles. But he’s smiling now, a tad rueful. “Point taken. Maybe it’s not one-sided. But anyway, yeah, it’s only the second day of camp and everyone is ready to kill each other. No way we’re even making the playoffs this season, let alone going all the way.”
I reach over and pat his forearm. “Don’t worry. At least one Briar hockey program will win the Frozen Four this year. The women will get it done for you, sweetie.”
“Aw, thanks.”
The waitress comes over with our drinks, and Will takes a long sip of his soda before dropping a bomb.
“Miller’s transferring.”
“What? Since when?”
Miller Shulick is another Briar player, and a damn good one, playing on the second line last year. He’s also a really sweet guy. His only flaw, really, is being best friends with Jordan Trager.
“Since this morning,” Will says glumly. “Coach secured him a spot at Minnesota Duluth.”
“That’s a good program.”
“Yeah. He’ll go from being top ten here to top three there. Definitely an upgrade. It’s just a bummer to see him go. We’re throwing a thing for him Friday night. Barbecue, booze. Maybe sit around the firepit. You down?”
“Yeah, for sure.” I like Miller. I’m sad he’s leaving. “That is a bummer. Why can’t Trager be the one transferring?”
“Because we can’t have nice things.”
I snort. Even Jordan’s teammates can’t stand him.
“Anyway, tell your girls about Miller’s party. The more, the merrier. Is Mya back yet from wherever she’s been jet-setting?”
My roommate, Mya, is my other best friend at school. Her dad is the ambassador to Malta, her mom an heiress to a shipping empire, so Mya spends her summers sunbathing on yachts in the Med or staying in fancy European villas. Which is funny, because as snooty as her parents are, she’s the least pretentious person you’ll ever meet.
“You know her, she doesn’t show up until the day before classes start. Diana’s in town, though.”
“Cool. Bring ’er to the party.”
I lift a brow. “Are you inviting any of the new guys?”
“The fuck do you think?”
“I take that as a no.”
“Of course it’s a no. That would be rubbing salt in Miller’s wounds.”
The waitress arrives with our food. After we thank her, Will takes a bite of his cheeseburger, chewing for what seems like forever.
When he speaks again, I realize he was trying to find the most nonchalant way to ask his next question.
“So what’s going on with you and CC?”
His attempt at nonchalance fails horribly.
Laughing, I pop a french fry in my mouth. “And there it is.”
“What?”
“The Case interrogation. What, you think I really believed you just called me up out of the blue and invited me to lunch?”
“We have lunch together all the time,” protests Will.
“Sure, but this particular lunch just happens to fall the day after I tell Case we’re not getting back together? Very suspicious.”
“Purely coincidence.” He winks at me.
“Uh-huh. I’m sure.”
“I swear.”
He takes another bite of his burger and chews extra slow again. He watches me, waiting for me to fill the silence. But I don’t. I simply munch on my fries and pretend not to notice his growing impatience.
“Okay, you gotta give me something here,” he blurts out. “What the hell am I supposed to tell my boy?”
“Ha, I knew it! He totally put you up to this.”
“Come on, you know he’s sorry, G. He feels like total shit about everything.”
I swallow my growing frustration. “I know you’re only looking out for him, but can we please change the subject?”
I search the table for ketchup and realize the waitress forgot to bring it. Instead of trying to flag her down, I take advantage of the perfect way out of this conversation.
I rise from my chair. “Just gonna grab some ketchup from the counter.”
I’m so focused on placing distance between me and Will’s questions that I don’t pay attention to my surroundings. I reach the counter at a brisk pace and slam into none other than Luke Ryder.
