Mrs. Fletcher(6)

“I’m going to miss you. A lot.”

“I know.”

After that, there was nothing to do but climb aboard and wave to her son until the doors slid shut. For a few seconds, the elevator didn’t move. Eve smiled awkwardly at the other passengers, all of them students, none of whom responded in kind. They were chatting excitedly among themselves, making plans, bubbling over with enthusiasm, utterly oblivious to her presence. Eve felt old and excluded, as if everyone else was going to a party to which she hadn’t been invited. It’s not fair, she wanted to tell them, but they were already going down, and nobody would have believed her anyway.





Meat Bomb


I was still a little dazed when we headed out to dinner, headachy from my daylong hangover—tequila shots will do that to you—and a little freaked out by my new surroundings, the high-rise buildings and unfamiliar faces. It was hard to believe I was finally in college, after all the endless build-up, a whole year of tours and tests and applications and interviews, the drama of choosing your future, graduating high school, saying goodbye to your friends and family and coaches, all that weepy shit.

It was exciting, I guess, to have the freedom I’d been dreaming about, the ability to do what I wanted when I wanted, no one to answer to but myself. But it was kind of a letdown, too. The truth is, I would’ve been just as happy to spend another year at Haddington High, where I knew everyone and everyone knew me, where I could be a varsity starter in pretty much any sport I chose, and get straight Bs without breaking a sweat. I had a slightly queasy feeling walking into town—the same feeling I got in airports and train stations—like there were way too many people in the world, and none of them gave a shit about me.

At least the fresh air did me some good. It had gotten pretty claustrophobic up in the dorm room, my mother doing that manic thing of hers, fixing everything up, offering all kinds of advice nobody had asked for, like it was rocket science to do your laundry, and she was the head of NASA. When she finally got on the elevator, I felt a deep sense of relief, which isn’t the way you want to feel toward your mom at a moment like that.

Zack put his arm around me, very casually, as we walked, like we’d known each other for years. It reminded me of my friend Wade, who used to do all kinds of homoerotic shit like that in the hallways. Sometimes he would even kiss me on the cheek or the side of the head, or give my ass a little squeeze, which was only funny because we were lacrosse players and everybody knew we weren’t gay.

“Bro,” he told me, “we are gonna have mad fun this year. Alcohol will be consumed in massive quantities in Room 706.”

“Weed will be smoked,” I said. “Parties will be had.”

“Dicks will be sucked!” he added, in such a loud voice that these two Asian girls walking ahead of us turned and gave us a look, like we were a couple of assholes.

“Not by me,” Zack assured the girls, quickly withdrawing his arm from my shoulder. “But you ladies should totally go for it, if that’s your thing.”

The girls didn’t crack a smile. They just turned and kept walking.

“It’s okay,” I told him. “No one’s judging you. Lots of people come out in college.”

“Eat me, douchebag.”

“That’s hate speech, dickhead.”

“Douchebag is hate speech?”

“Yeah. It’s offensive to douchebags.”

“Huh.” He nodded, like that made a lot of sense. “Then I apologize.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “We’re here to learn and grow.”

*

There were only supposed to be four of us at the pizzeria—me and Zack, plus Will and Rico, these chill dudes from our floor—but unbeknownst to us, Will had invited his camp counselor buddy, Dylan, and Dylan had brought along his roommate, this annoying kid named Sanjay.

I mean, it wasn’t like there was anything wrong with Sanjay, and no, I’m not prejudiced against Indian people or anyone else. It was just awkward. The rest of us were jocks and hard partiers, and Sanjay was a skinny nerd who looked like he was about twelve years old. And that’s fine, you know? Go ahead and be a nerd if that’s what makes you happy. Go design your app or whatever. Just don’t ask me to give a shit.

“Sanjay’s in the Honors College,” Dylan informed us. “Majoring in Electrical Engineering. Talk about badass.”

I guess you have to give Dylan some credit. He was trying to be a good roommate, doing his best to include Sanjay in the conversation and make him feel comfortable. It was just a waste of time, that’s all. Sanjay wasn’t going to be friends with us, and we weren’t going to be friends with him. You could take one look at our table and know that for a fact.

“Nice,” said Rico, who was a white guy with curly blond hair, a former high school wrestler. His real name was Richard Timpkins, but the Spanish teacher called him Rico, and his friends thought it was hilarious, so the nickname stuck. “I thought about Engineering, but I kinda suck at math. Plus I smoke way too much weed.”

“Maybe there’s a connection,” said Will, an ex–football player whose neck was wider than his head. “Just putting it out there.”

“It’s possible,” agreed Rico. “Bong hits and calculus are not a winning combination.”