“Still, I mean, he could be a virgin.” Jack rifles through the papers. Fuck, where is my class schedule? I surreptitiously look around my desk for it. “What’s this?” he demands.
I look over at the sheet of paper he’s thrust out. Is it…? No, thank God. I grab the intramural informational sheet from his hands and drop it on my desk. The other paper he has is the literacy brochure.
My schedule with his classes rests innocently inside a notebook. I stack my papers together and shove them all in the drawer.
“It’s the Western intramural schedule.”
“What are you playing?” he says with suspicion.
“Softball. Is that okay?”
“Maybe. What position? Not catcher, I hope. Not with your knee.”
“This is intramural softball, Jack.” I emphasize the word in hopes he catches on that I don’t want him interfering or riding me about playing. I need to have a life outside of him and football. “And I don’t know what position I’m playing. I’m meeting with the team Sunday night.”
“You should play left field.” He studies the pamphlet in his hands for a second. “What is this? Are you doing some teaching internship? I thought you planned to major in English.”
“No, I took a grant writing class this semester and my coursework involves writing a proposed grant for the literacy center.” I watch him closely to see if he has any interest at all.
“Glad someone in the family likes writing.” He tosses the paper on the desk.
I watch it as it floats down and summon my courage. “Susan, the director of the learning center, gave me this for research. There’s a lot of adult learning resources out there. I didn’t realize how many, in fact.”
Hint. Hint.
Jack’s silent and his head dips down. For a moment, I think he’s seriously considering my words, but then he kneels on the floor. “Shit, Ellie, I think I got glitter on my shoes. Look.”
I look down, and sure enough, there are sparkles on his running shoes. During the move, glitter I used for some high school craft project must have risen to the surface.
“So?”
“So, I’ll get hazed over this.” He shakes his foot.
“You told me once that glitter was a stripper’s calling card. Tell your friends you went to a strip club,” I say impatiently. Obviously, he has no interest in learning disabilities and I’m too chicken to brazenly ask him about it. Jack has always been my best friend, and I’m afraid of saying something that would push him away.
Other people might have resented how their parents focused too much on one kid, but Jack hated that attention and has always gone out of his way to make me feel important and necessary. I repaid him by doing these things, only I’m not sure it’s the right way any longer.
I sigh at my own cowardice.
“Good point.” He checks his watch. “So you want me to swing by and pick you up in about an hour?”
Oh no. No way I’m going to dinner. “No, sorry. I’ve got too much stuff here to do.”
We both look at my immaculate room with its tidy desk, the clothes all put away, and the once pristinely made bed.
“Rrrrrright,” Jack drawls. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
“No, Jack. Really. I want to stay home tonight. Eat by myself.”
“You want to stay home. Alone. Your second night here?” He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Not to mention, after missing me for the last two months, you drove up early to move in and didn’t call me until all your shit had been unpacked.”
He stands now, towering over me. He looks pissed off.
“Um, yes?”
“Bullshit. You’re coming to dinner with me tonight. And if you keep saying no, I’m calling my entire house to come and carry you out of here.” He holds up his phone and shakes it at me. He lives with half of the offensive starters.
Jack doesn’t make idle threats, so I give in. “Okay. Fine.”
What’ll one dinner with members of his team do to me? Besides, in junior college, Jack hung around solely with the offense and Masters plays defense, so I’m not worried I’ll see him. Still…
“What’s the dress code here?”
“Shorts, flips, T-shirt.”
“For me, not you.” I throw a pencil at him that he snatches it out of the air. One of these days, I’ll learn not to throw things at a guy who wants to catch things for a living.
“It’s pretty casual.”
“I swear, if I show up and everyone wears a suit and tie, I’ll castrate you.” I shake my scissors at him before tucking them into the desk drawer.
“Shit. Ties are for away games. I don’t know what the girls are wearing these days. This summer it’s been mostly nothing. I can tell you that there are a lot of thongs. I remember those.” His eyes get dreamy.
“Jesus, Jack. I don’t want to hear that stuff.”
He laughs and mock throws the football at me. I duck and scowl when he laughs even harder. After a few fakes, he sets the ball down and starts to leave. At the door, he turns back.
“Thanks for coming tonight. I know you told me that you wanted to find a new—what did you call it?” He winds his hand in a circle.
“Tribe?”