The Music of What Happens(93)

“You’re Rafe?” Stocky Guy said.

“Yep.”

“I’m Albie. And this here is Toby.”

“Hey,” I said, coming in and sitting down on my bed. “You have a radio with lots of buttons.”

“It’s a police scanner. Knowledge is power,” Albie said. “You have a bloody nose and lots of dirt on your legs.”

“Football,” I said.

Albie looked over at Toby, and they exchanged a look. “Great,” he said, in a way that meant not great.

I glanced around the room. “So I’m guessing you’re not studying to be a housekeeper?”

“Not so much,” he said. “Are you seriously anal-retentive?”

“Nah,” I said, realizing that I was, in fact, seriously anal-retentive, since just looking at our room was filling me with the strong urge to buy a vacuum cleaner. Or maybe a butler. “That’s a lot of black T-shirts.”

“Thanks,” Albie said.

“Albie shops at the waiter’s store,” Toby said.

“Yeah, that’s hilarious,” Albie responded. “You shop at the ‘I could never be hired as even a busboy because of my criminal record’ store.”

“Good one,” said Toby.

“So what do I need to know about Natick?” I said.

Toby and Albie shared another look.

“Run for the hills!” Toby said.

“It can’t be that bad. And I’m pretty sure I just came from the hills. I’m from Colorado.”

“Well, then I guess it depends on what kind of guy you are,” Albie said.

The old Rafe would have let it go. But I really felt like I had to call him on it. “Why do I have to be any particular type?”

He looked me up and down, in a very obvious way. “Well, you don’t have to be, but you are.”

I grabbed another paper towel from the roll on my desk and pressed it against my nose. “Okay, then,” I said. “What’s my type?” I crossed my arms and stuck out my chest a bit.

“I’m guessing preppy jock,” Albie said.

“And that’s … a bad thing?”

Albie shrugged. “Having a moth fly into your ear and lodge itself into your brain is a bad thing. Being a preppy jock is just … I don’t know. It’s a thing.”

“You mean it’s a bad thing.”

“Well, it’s not a moth burrowing into your brain, but, yeah, it’s kinda lame.”

“Geez, Albie!” Toby said.

“Well, he asked.”

Maybe it was the adrenaline from the football game and getting the nosebleed. Maybe it was just the irony that I’d finally been labeled something mainstream and acceptable, and now here was my loser roommate giving me trouble. “And I see you’re the type of guy who enjoys exploding cars and police scanners,” I said. “Are you in a militia?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re a genius. I am in a militia. You should probably sleep with one eye open.”

“Dork,” I muttered.

“Republican” was his response.

Me? A Republican? I imagined my mother’s head actually exploding. My face started to get red, and Albie turned toward me. His face had no expression, but I saw a flicker of something in his eyebrows. Fear? Was he afraid of me? No one had ever been afraid of me before, physically, at least. I felt like I had walked into a totally new dimension. Toby stood up and got in between us, which almost made me laugh, because it was like, What? Are we going to rumble?

“Is it horrified in here, or is it just me?” asked Toby. “Okay. Boys, here’s what we’re going to do.” He walked over to Albie and put his hand on his shoulder. “You. Are going to stop being defensive to somebody who totally didn’t deserve it.”

Albie shrugged his shoulder away for a quick moment, and then relented. He nodded.

Then Toby walked over to me. He was extremely skinny, and his spiky hair was platinum in places. If this were Boulder, he’d definitely be a gay kid. But, then again, who was I to label?

“And you. You’re going to take back your militia comment and never say anything negative again about that awesome poster, which happens to be for the coolest show in the history of television.”

“Survival Planet? Never heard of it.”

“Now that’s something we can help you with,” Toby said, squeezing my shoulder, and I blushed. Yes, possibly gay. And so, so not my type.

I took a deep breath before answering. “I’d watch,” I said. “Always up for something new.”

I looked over at Albie. He had paused in his unpacking and was just standing still, looking out the window. He looked sad. I thought about what I had said, calling him a dork. That was so not part of my plan when it came to the first conversation with my new roommate.

“Hey, Albie,” I said, “I should not have called you a dork. I shouldn’t have said any of that. I didn’t mean it. I have Tourette’s.”

He looked over at me and rolled his eyes. “If you have Tourette’s, then you did mean it. You just lacked the ability to filter your thoughts.”

Now I had to laugh. “C’mon, dude. You’re making it hard to take back the dork comment,” I said. His face fell, so I walked over and tapped him on the shoulder with my fist. “I’m kidding, kidding. God, sensitive.”