“Well, I do,” I said.
But he didn’t listen. “Now, a guy who wasn’t sure if it still worked would just start slapping things around, like, the minute he got home from the hospital,” Hartley said. “Actually, before that. He would be yanking on it the first time he was alone in the hospital bathroom. And the mystery would be solved.”
Now he was starting to piss me off. “Honestly, you have no idea.”
“Then tell me, Callahan. If I have no idea.” He pinned me with his gaze, and then we were having one of our stare downs. I’m a fierce competitor, of course, but it was impossible to win against Hartley. It was impossible to win if you’re me, anyway. Because staring into Hartley’s chocolaty eyes always took me apart, reminding me just how much I wanted to climb inside his gaze and never come back out.
I looked down into my drink and tried to explain. “Okay, your paralyzed boy? For a long time he won’t be able to tell what works and what doesn’t, because a spinal injury shocks your entire system. He can’t feel anything below his ribcage for a while, and it’s terrifying. Then the doctors start arguing about what he’ll get back, and scaring the shit out of his parents.”
When I looked up again, Hartley regarded me with a quiet, liquid gaze.
Though I wished it wouldn’t, my throat began to feel hot and tight. “And your poster boy? He has a catheter up his weenie, okay? And he doesn’t even know — probably for weeks — if he can poop like a normal person.” I gulped my drink as an excuse to look away. “It takes a long time for everything to settle back down and start working again. And even then, your boy might be psyched out about the whole thing. Even a committed horn dog might take a vacation from jerking off. If only to preserve his own sanity.”
Hartley’s expression softened. “That really sucks for our hypothetical friend.”
“Hypothetically, yes.”
There was a silence for a minute, but it was not an uncomfortable one. My shoulders began to relax again. I’d never told Dana any of the gory details about spinal cord injury, because I didn’t want her to think pitying thoughts about me. But something about Hartley always loosened my tongue. Hopefully I wouldn’t regret it later.
We sipped our drinks for a little while longer, until eventually he set my game controller on my knee. “Let’s find out if your goalie’s reflexes are still sharp after two margaritas.”
“Yes, let’s,” I agreed.
Chapter Eight: But You Shouldn't Have
— Hartley
I was looking over my notes from bio lab when someone knocked on my door. “Enter!” I expected to see Corey wheel in to throw me some attitude about the two more RealStix wins she’d pulled off the other night. But it was Dana who came in. “What’s up, girl?”
She bounced into the room and shut the door behind her. “I want to have a party.”
I tossed my bio notebook onto the desk and gave her my full attention. “Sounds like a plan. What’s the occasion?”
“Well, it’s Corey’s birthday on Friday.” She heaved herself onto my bed. “But we’re not having a birthday party, because those are for five-year-olds.”
“Obviously.”
“I want to throw a party anyway, because…why haven’t we done this already? Our room is great, so we’re totally overdue. So my gift to Corey is that I’m making a giant batch of my famous sangria. And we’ll invite everyone we know.”
“Awesome. What do you need from me?”
Dana fidgeted. “Well, are you free on Friday? Because you’re the person Corey knows best.”
“I wouldn’t miss it. And the hockey team has a home game at seven. I could bring Bridger and some of our crew over by ten.”
She clapped her hands together. “Perfect! And there’s one more thing…”
“Now you’re going to ask us to buy the alcohol, aren’t you?”
Dana grinned. “How did you know?”
“Because your fake ID sucks, and Callahan doesn’t have one.” I picked up my phone to text Bridger. “Call your order into the package store on York, and we’ll get Bridger to pick it up Friday night.”
“You’re the best, Hartley.” She popped off my bed and scurried out the door.
Same to you, Dana. The game of roommate roulette was not always kind to First Years. But Dana was awesome, and Corey was lucky to have her.
Friday night, when I approached the outer door to McHerrin, there was already music and laughter spilling out into the night. Nice. “This way, guys.”
A dozen hockey players followed me into Corey’s room. Dana’s Something Special pals were already inside, and I recognized some other Beaumont First Years. Mumford and Sons was playing in the background.
“Welcome!” Dana waved a ladle in our direction. “The sangria is over here.” She stood over a big plastic tub, a stack of cups beside her.
I accepted a drink. “Awesome, Dana. Where’s the birthday girl?”