Wrecked(16)

“Actually, I was just heading down to the café.”

“That sounds good,” he says, and waits.

Haley smiles, this time with her eyes. They walk out together.

“Anyhow, you were saying?” he asks as they descend the stairs to the Hard Math Café. She walks alongside him. Richard considers himself average tall. This girl is eye level.

“Uh . . . what?”

“About your injury.”

“Oh. Right. Concussion. I’ve been pretty out of it, dealing with pain, missed almost a week of classes. Still pretty out of it, actually. I mean, that one problem you helped me with was taking hours.”

“Calc II homework used to take me hours, even without a brain injury.”

“Thanks. Still.” She sighs. “It’s frustrating.” They reach the door to the café. Richard pulls it open, and she walks in ahead of him.

“Must suck to not be able to play anymore,” he comments. “Are you sure you’re done for good?”

“It’s my third concussion. No one in their right mind would put me on the field again. And it’s not like this is the World Cup or we’re playing for money, you know? I’m expendable.”

“Hey. No one’s expendable.” He says this mock--severely.

“Turns out I am.” She’s looking with great interest at the board listing the day’s specials. “I may just have to get a big fat chocolate brownie to go with the java. Eat my feelings and get an extra caffeine boost. It’s a win--win.”

“Well, we can’t let you face that brownie all by yourself,” he says. “That’s not how we do it at the Hard Math Café.”

“I’m not sharing,” she says seriously. “You’ll have to get your own, Math Dude.”

A hesitant grin takes shape on his face.

Haley breaks out a full--fledged smile. She presses her shoulder against his, a little shove. He staggers slightly. “Ha. Fine.” Her eyes return to the board. “I’ll give you a piece. Small piece.”

They take their coffee and her brownie to an empty table. Along the way she stops at the filling station and pours milk and Sugar In The Raw into her mug. Once seated, she leans back, breaks off a corner of the brownie, and holds it out to him. Richard holds up a hand and shakes his head, so Haley pops it in her mouth.

“Good, because I’m actually not one of those splitting types,” she says.

“Splitting types?”

“You know the way women always split meals at restaurants? Like they don’t want to admit that they can finish an entire entrée?”

“That’s a thing?”

“Go out to dinner with a bunch of women your mom’s age and I guarantee they will all share. ‘Oh, who wants to split the ravioli with me?’ ‘Anybody want to share the free--range chicken?’ ” Haley slips into this dead--on imitation of a middle--aged woman. Adds a sort of cackle. He laughs. “This girl eats the whole brownie,” she says. “And the whole entrée. By herself.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“Unless dinner seriously sucks,” she adds.

“Hmm. Define ‘sucks.’ ”

She looks thoughtful. “Tofu steaks,” she decides. “I do salad bar on those nights.” Richard laughs again.

They’re both quiet for a minute. It occurs to him that Haley’s comment makes an excellent segue.

“Speaking of tofu,” he asks nonchalantly, “how do you know Carrie Mason?” He thinks he notices her eyes widen ever so slightly. “I saw you talking to her last week.”

“I don’t,” she says. “She knows my roommate. But now you have to tell me how you jump from tofu to Carrie.”

“Is your roommate a militant vegetarian?”

Haley smiles. “I don’t think she’s a militant anything.”

“Well, Carrie is. A militant everything, actually.”

She laughs. “How do you know her?”

“We dated,” he replies. Her eyes definitely widen now. “What?” he says. “Is that such a shock?”

“Uh . . . yes.”

“Okay, I want to ask why, but . . . maybe I don’t?”

Her gaze, which has been locked on his pretty much throughout this whole conversation, breaks off now. She purses her lips, glances over his shoulder toward the counter, the espresso machine. The exit.

“Listen, I don’t know you at all, so I shouldn’t judge,” she begins.

“Now you have to tell me.”

She shrugs. An okay--you--asked--for--it gesture. “You seem sort of easygoing. Carrie seems really intense.” She polishes off the rest of her brownie. Sits back and regards him.

“That’s it?”

“Isn’t that enough? I mean, from the outside I’d say you aren’t one bit compatible. If you guys were an analogy, I’d say you are to preppy as she is to . . . earthy. You are to bacon cheeseburger as she is to . . .”

“Tofu steaks?”

“Lentil loaf.”

“Tempeh hot dogs.”

Haley screws up her face. “Ugh, that stuff is nasty. Tempeh. What exactly is textured protein product? Brrr!” She shudders.