The Futures(30)

I tuned out quickly. I was thinking, mostly, how hungry I was. Maybe I could slip out for a slice of pizza and get back before she noticed. But a minute later, Julia said my name. I turned to face her. She leaned against me, briefly, in recognition.

“So Sebi finally finishes the bottle,” she continued. “We’re upstairs, in his room, and he goes over to the window. Then he pulls down his pants and starts pissing all over the crowd at the frat next door. Just, like, so casual about it.”

The group laughed. Julia’s eyes were glittering.

“Some of the guys from next door get really mad. They come over, trying to start a fight. They’re threatening to call the cops, all that stuff. We’re downstairs at that point, too. Sebi had passed out in his bed. They keep asking who it was, who did it, no one’s going to tell. But then Sebi strolls up to the front door himself and asks what the problem is. And he’s totally buck naked.”

They laughed louder. “So funny,” the scrawny girl said flatly.

“So the frat guys are backing away, they don’t know what to think, and Sebi offers to walk them home, throws his arms around their shoulders, being all friendly. He was completely blacked out at that point. He tried to pull one of the guys in for a hug, and that’s when they all finally ran away. No one wants to fight a naked dude.”

Julia was grossed out when this happened the previous night, at the party at the hockey house, grimacing at the sight of Sebi’s bare ass. But not anymore. She was beaming, clearly thrilled with the story’s reception.

Later, when we were finally alone, I asked her what that had been about.

“What the hell, Jules? That was embarrassing.”

“Oh, come on. It was hilarious. You’re never going to let Sebi live it down.”

“Yeah, but we’re his friends. These people don’t know him.”

“Relax.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”

Relax? She wouldn’t even look at me. I felt a smoldering curl of disgust. “What’s with this attitude?” I snapped. I wanted to grab her by the shoulders, shake her until she listened. How did she not get it? “Jules. Why are you being like this?”

“God.” She rolled her eyes again. “Whatever. I’m going to the bathroom.”

She walked away. In those days our fights seemed to come out of nowhere, and with more and more frequency. They were about stupid, meaningless things, but Julia could so easily turn vicious, like an animal baring her teeth. I never knew what to say. I just wanted it to be over. It always seemed easiest to concede before things escalated. I was good at apologizing, even if I didn’t know what I was apologizing for.

I pushed through the living room, which was tight with bodies. The bathroom door was locked. When the door finally opened, some other girl emerged, her expression smeary with drink. She gave me a hazy smile. I went back to the kitchen, then to the backyard, then again to the living room. Julia was nowhere. I pulled out my phone and texted her, then I opened the front door to check the porch. Nothing. I called, but she didn’t pick up. Five minutes passed, then six, seven. Ten minutes. Fifteen. Where was she? Maybe this was some kind of punishment, forcing me to navigate this awful party alone. She probably enjoyed the thought of it.

Then, just as I was about to call again, I saw her coming down the stairs from the second floor. She pushed her way past the crowds. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair messy. She was staring straight ahead. She noticed me and came over, but she was still avoiding my gaze. “Had to use the bathroom upstairs,” she muttered. Then I noticed Adam McCard behind her, bouncing down the stairs two at a time.

She walked several paces ahead of me the whole way home. She wouldn’t even let me come close. As good as an admission of guilt, in my mind. When we got back to the dorm, I was going to tell her that I’d sleep in my own room that night. But outside her door, when Julia turned to face me and looked up at me for what felt like the first time all night, her eyes were brimming with tears. Her lower lip quavered, and she burst into a sob. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I’m sorry, Evan. I’m so sorry.”

*

I checked my cell phone when I got back to my desk that afternoon. Julia had texted, asking me how my day was. It was sweet. I smiled to myself.

We usually ordered dinner from a regular rotation of places in the neighborhood: Italian, Chinese, Thai, Vietnamese, Turkish. Roger always took charge, dictating what everyone was going to order so we could share, and he calculated the tab ahead of time so that we could maximize our thirty-dollar per diem. That night, around seven, he threw a balled-up piece of paper at my head to get my attention.

“Peck,” he said. “Let’s go. We’re going out for dinner.”

“Picking up? Or out out?”

“Out out. It’s deader than a doornail around here. Hurry up,” he drawled, standing. “I made a reservation. A new Indian place on Ninth.”

My stomach rumbled as we walked to the elevator. Roger had that slightly satanic ability to discern your desires with perfect accuracy. Going out for dinner, eating at a table with real tablecloths, hot and spicy food washed down with frosty beer—it was, in fact, exactly what we needed in that moment. And so, by the time we emerged into the last of the day’s sunlight, I was actually in a pretty good mood.

“Evan!” I turned and saw her squinting against the lowering sun. Julia.