The Best Possible Answer(47)

“It was beautiful,” I force myself to say. “Really beautiful.”

It’s the truth.

The hail lets up, and now it’s only rain falling down on us. Virgo stands up. “Well, pool’s closed, and we’ve got another free afternoon. We could head back up to the roof, have another game of Extreme Ping-Pong? If I remember correctly, Evan needs to redeem himself.”

“Better yet,” Evan says, “you guys want to come up to our place? Our dorm has a pool table. We could try for a game of Extreme Billiards—”

Sammie jumps up. “I love that idea!”

“I hate that idea,” I say. “Extreme Billiards sounds extremely dangerous.”

“Come on,” Sammie says. “It’s not like you have to be home—”

“I kind of just want to go to your apartment and take a nap.”

“No,” Sammie says, laughing. “No nap. You’re coming with us. End of story.”

“Ugh,” I groan. “But I’m so tired.”

Evan looks at me. “Come with us, Vivi. It’ll be fun. You can help me beat Virgo with your Extreme tournament skills.”

I think about what Sammie said. That she’s going to be gone soon. That I’m going to need a friend besides her. Someone who cares about me. “Okay,” I say. “Fine. I’ll come up for a little bit.” But no kissing, I think to myself.

No kissing, no boyfriends, no more breaking hearts.

*

We take the bus a few miles north to the campus of St. Mary’s. Their dorm is an old brick building a few blocks away from the central quad. We enter the lobby, to find it packed with people. “Crap,” Virgo says. “I forgot. It’s Sleepover Weekend.”

“What’s that?”

“A bunch of incoming freshmen stay overnight so that they can get a preview of college life,” Evan explains. “The RAs fill them with free pizza and get them drunk and then make them promise not to tell their parents. It’s why we have the highest student satisfaction rate in Illinois, particularly among underclassmen.”

We head to the basement, where the pool table is, but some of the weekend visitors are in the midst of a game. “Damn high schoolers,” Virgo says, and then he looks at Sammie and me. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Sammie says.

Virgo and Evan give us a quick tour of the common area. It smells like microwave popcorn and patchouli (a sort of gross combination), but it also makes me want to live on my own.

I can’t believe that I’m not going to Stanford. That I bombed everything except that stupid physics test. I know there are other options, other colleges that I could still get into, but I haven’t even thought about any. My father was so hell-bent on my following in his footsteps, I never even thought to research anything else.

The thought of it makes me dizzy and a little nauseous, but the last thing I need is to have an Episode right now. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down.

Evan and Virgo lead us up to their room on the fifth floor. Virgo unlocks the door and pushes it open. “Welcome to our man cave.”

“It’s way cleaner than I expected,” Sammie says. And it is. The decor is sort of typical boy—navy blue and gray comforters, a few posters on the walls, and Christmas lights strung on their bunk beds—but overall, it’s pretty nice, and it smells much better than the common room.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Virgo plugs in his phone and turns on Spotify. “Tame Impala?”

“That works.” Evan sits down on the bottom bunk—his bed, I presume—while Virgo climbs to the top. Sammie takes the one chair in the room, so that the only place for me is either next to Evan on the bed or on the floor. I choose the floor.

Virgo leans over the top bunk. “Want to contribute to the satisfaction rate?”

“Are you seriously thinking about getting us drunk?” Sammie says. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“No, you dork.” Virgo laughs. He sits up and pulls out his phone. “I’m hungry and I was just going to offer all the free pizza you want.”

“Oh, got it,” Sammie says. “Sure. That sounds good.”

After a few minutes of debating crust thickness and toppings (we settle on corn bread, half–Canadian bacon and pineapple, half-pepperoni), Virgo tries to call in our order. “An hour and a half for delivery versus half an hour pickup? Forget that. I’ll just come get it.”

Evan takes a few cans of pop out of the small fridge next to the desk and passes them around to us. We toast: “To rainy August days, drunk freshmen, and pizza deliberation.”

Evan takes out his guitar and starts to play again. I lean against the bed and watch him. I can’t help but feel sad at the thought of him—the thought that there’s this really nice person who I can’t let into my life—not because of who he is, but because of how hurt I am.

My phone dings and I pull it out of my bag. Sammie’s sent me a covert text: You are smitten.

I don’t write back. Instead, I just glare at her and shake my head.

About twenty minutes later, Virgo jumps down from the top bunk. “Time to get the ’za.”

“I’ll come with you!” Sammie says before she turns and winks at me.