Chapter 1 #2
Maybe I can get drunk and forget that entire phone call with my mom?
But, even if I do, when I wake up tomorrow, it’ll still be the same.
There’s only so long you can stick your head in the sand before something bites your ass.
I’m pretty sure Joe Flannigan taught me that saying, though I could be wrongly attributing it to him now because he’s on my mind.
He taught me a lot of things, though. Like how to change a bike wheel and the oil in your car.
Before he got sick, Joe was a normal guy, going to work, spending time with his family, going to the bar occasionally with the guys and getting drunk.
Then he got sick and we watched him turn into a shadow.
He stopped leaving the house and got hooked up to a respirator.
Had a lung removed. Was in and out of the hospital for a while until they realized there was nothing more they could do for him and he chose to receive hospice at home.
I’ve tried not to think about what Evan was like during all this. We’d stopped hanging out shortly after my mom met Bryce. And before that, we were so young. I doubt I had the emotional maturity to even understand how Evan might have been feeling.
People are already drinking when I come downstairs. Priestley spots me walking past the living room and puts his arm around my shoulders, leading me into the kitchen.
“Listen, if you’re not feeling up to tonight-”
I cut him off. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Because I really need my VP at these things. People expect to see our faces at events, it’s part of our roles as leaders of this fraternity.”
“I know. Don’t worry, I’m here, and I’m fine.”
“Good.” He gives my shoulder another squeeze before letting me go. “Have a drink, we’re going to have some fun tonight.”
‘Fun’ isn’t exactly the word I’d choose to describe a forced party when you’re feeling like shit, but I can pretend. It isn’t like I haven’t been practicing for years.
I grab a drink, just so I have something to hold, and paint on a fake smile for all the people Priestley introduces me to.
As soon as I can, I find a place to hide, slipping into the utility room on the ground floor and find Ben doing the same thing.
“You avoiding everyone too?”
Ben jumps at the sound of my voice. His wide eyes relax when he sees it’s only me.
“Man, you scared me! I thought it was Priestley come to chew me out.”
“Don’t worry about him,” I say. But Ben doesn’t look convinced.
“Why are you hiding out in here?”
“Why are you, Mr. Vice President?” He grins before a blush spreads over his cheeks and he lowers his eyes.
I take a sip of my watery beer and wince. “I’m just not really in the mood for a party tonight, you know?”
Ben shakes his head. “I get it. Priestley should have never made you come. Bereavement leave is something you’re entitled to, regardless of what type of job you’re doing.”
“He’s right, though. I have responsibilities. I’ll just have to suck it up.” Hearing the words, I feel a pang of guilt. My vice president instincts kick in and I say, “Anyway, Priestley isn’t so bad.”
“Maybe not to you. But he treats me like I’m an idiot.” Ben drops his gaze into his cup.
My heart sinks.
“Hey man, don’t let him boss you around. He might be the president of the fraternity, but he’s not your dad.”
This only seems to depress him more. I slap him on the back. “Everything okay? I could talk to him for you, if you want?”
He smiles, and there he is—my carefree friend who always seems to let everything slide off his back. “Everything’s fine. Don’t talk to him, it’d only make things worse.”
I lean against the washing machine, catching the smell of detergent and damp clothes, and make a mental note to find some way to get Priestley off Ben’s back without making it obvious. Right now though, I think he’d prefer it if I changed the subject. “So … see any girls out there you like?”
Ben blushes and rubs the back of his neck. “No, you?”
I hadn’t even been looking. I shake my head.
“Have you … dated anyone, since Mira?”
The cup I raise to my lips swallows my groan. Ben perches beside me, the smell of his expensive cologne mingling with the damp in the air.
“You need to move on,” he says. His eyes are planted on the floor.
“It’s fine. I’m not even hung up on her anymore.”
Ben raises an eyebrow.
“I’m not, I swear.”
“So why aren’t you out there talking to any cute sorority girls?”
“Can I be honest?”
Ben nods vigorously, giving me that look he gets in his eyes when he’s been handed a difficult task and is determined to do a good job.
“The thought of flirting with sorority girls makes me tired.”
He’s quiet and I swallow, waiting for him to call me weird.
But then he bursts out laughing and I’m reminded of why we’re friends—and why I’m hiding in the utility room with him instead of partying out there with everybody.
Ben and I rushed together freshman year, and there were times when he was the only thing that got me through it all.
Any time I tried to talk to my stepdad about how hard it was, he’d just laugh and say, “Welcome to the Ivy League, Nathan.” Not helpful.
“I know what you mean. Those sorority girls are high maintenance.”
“High maintenance? Mira told me they have detailed checklists for what they’re looking for in husbands, and none of us tick off even half their lists.”
Ben shakes his head. “It makes sense, I guess. They don’t want to end up with a dud.”
“Yeah, but this is college. Husbands? Really?”
He laughs, shrugging. “Maybe they’re the smart ones? While we’re fooling around at frat parties, they’re planning their whole futures.”
I lean into the washing machine with a sigh. “I guess, but I can’t even imagine getting married, can you?”
When I look at Ben, he’s gone bright red. He shakes his head.
“What the hell is going on in here?”
We both shoot up at the sound of Priestley’s voice.
He stands in the doorway with his arms crossed.
Shiny, black hair slicked back from his handsome face.
He’s still wearing the navy blazer he was wearing earlier.
He hasn’t even undone a button on his shirt.
And he’ll still look just as polished when the party’s over.
He looks us both over with disapproval. We look embarrassingly shabby next to him—I’m not even wearing a jacket—but anyone would look disheveled next to Priestley.
“I’d expect this of you, Benjamin … ” Ben and I share a look. No one calls Ben ‘Benjamin’. “But my VP? Come on.”
“Sorry, Priestley,” Ben says.
“Don’t apologize, just get back out there and mingle.”
I slide past Priestley, avoiding his glare as he stands in the doorway, practically blocking my escape.
Most of the guys are leaning against walls, flirting with the sorority girls Priestley invited.
I hardly ever see Priestley talking to girls at parties.
I bet he has one of those ‘husband’ lists, but for girls.
A long, very detailed list of qualities he’s looking for in a future wife.
I wonder if any woman will ever tick them all off?
I slip into the kitchen before Priestley can grab me and introduce me to the heiress of a diamond mine or something. I’m about to make sure Priestley didn’t corner Ben when he slips into the kitchen and stuffs his hand into a bag of chips.
Archer slaps him on the back. “Where have you been?”
Ben and I share a glance. “Just talking to some people,” I lie.
Even though these guys are my brothers and we pledged to look out for each other, I don’t want to admit to them all that I’ve been hiding from the party. Ben is different—I can trust him completely to keep things between us.
Archer slides a Solo cup across the counter to me. I frown, eying it.
“What’s in it?”
“Vodka.”
I pick up the cup, considering. I shouldn’t be drinking vodka at any of these mixers. A couple of beers to look social, as Priestley always reminds me. Nothing more. I’m a leader in this fraternity, I can’t be seen getting sloppy and drunk. Plus, Coach Sanchez has us on a strict nutrition plan.
Just as I’ve decided to decline, citing an early morning workout, Mira comes in from the garden with a couple of friends. She smiles at Mark and then her gaze finds me and turns guilty.
I take the drink and swig it, Archer and Miles cheering me on.
The next thing I know, we’re all chanting chug, chug, chug while Miles does a row of shots off the counter. Tears of laughter are streaming down my face by the time he gets to the last one.
Everyone is congratulating Miles for his feat when I spot Priestley making his way through the people mingling in the main room. I grab Ben by the arm, ushering the guys out of the kitchen before Priestley can reach us.
We slip out the back door, all snickering like schoolboys hiding from our moms. A slight chill in the air bites at our exposed arms and faces as we make our way across the soggy grass to the clubhouse in the garden.
The dilapidating shack stinks of weed and sweaty socks, but it’s away from Priestley and that’s the main thing.
I lean against the wall and sip my vodka while the guys talk about girls.
What would Evan make of this scene? A bunch of frat boys getting drunk, talking about sorority girls.
Ever since Mom called to let me know Joe had died, thoughts of Evan have been creeping in every now and then.
Just when I thought I’d expelled him for good.
Would we still be friends if I hadn’t fucked up so badly back then?
Listening to Archer lament on the many great (physical) qualities of Zeta Tau president Annabeth Montgomery, a finger of doubt creeps in.
It wasn’t just that I fucked up, was it?
There was the fact that every time I looked at Evan, heat crept up my neck and my pants got uncomfortably tight.
No other guy has ever had that effect on me.
And that’s why I decided Evan was something better kept in the past. But do I still feel that way now?
Would he still have that effect on me as an adult?
Now I’ve had an actual girlfriend and I know I’m into women?
“Won’t Priestley come in here and find us?” Miles asks as Archer downs the last of his drink. He rolls off his beanbag and starts raiding the mini fridge for a beer.
“No, he hates this place,” he says, finding a Coors behind some moldy cheese. “He’s been trying to get it torn down since he became president.” Archer cracks the beer open and takes a loud swig. “At least when Nathan’s president, we won’t have to worry about that.”
I’m glad it’s dark in here so no one can see how uncomfortable I am.
“Why did you guys vote for him?” Miles asks.
“He’s not that bad.” Archer shrugs, a grin spreading across his face. “Plus, his dad’s richer than God and he likes doing all the shit no one else wants to do.” He looks at me. “Your dad’s probably the only person who can match the Rosenthal family money.”
“He’s not my dad,” I say, my voice coming out smaller than I’d intended.
Archer just shrugs as he takes a joint from the pocket of his chinos and lights up. “Stepdad, same thing.”
Say something, anything.
“I don’t even know if I’m going to go for president next year,” I say finally, my voice sounding stronger than it did a second ago. “I like being the VP. I’d probably be terrible at it, anyway.” Plus, I have way too much on my plate already.
“No, you wouldn’t,” Ben says.
“All those meetings and organizing everything.…” I trail off.
Ben shakes his head. “That’s not the only thing the president does. He gets to choose the causes we support and the kinds of things we do for fundraisers. I’m sure you could do better than benefit dinners at the country club for obscure charities no one’s ever heard of.”
“All charities are good causes,” I argue weakly. “Anyway, Priestley is our president and I’m his VP, so we shouldn’t be talking about this.”
“Are you going to tell Priestley?” Archer asks with a raised eyebrow.
“No.”
His lips quirk, his eyes saying I knew you wouldn’t.
The guys fall back into easy conversation, but I’m rattled. I wait until enough time has passed to leave without looking suspicious before going back to the house and sneaking up to my room.
The party is winding down, but the murmur of voices and the soft thump of bass from the speakers still travels through the floor.
I try to tune into it, but every time I close my eyes, I see Joe Flannigan in his blue overalls, taking Evan and I out on our bikes.
Scolding us for stealing his cigarettes with a sly smile that told us he wasn’t really mad.
Evan’s mom—Theresa—in her grocery store uniform, making us pancakes at the counter before school.
That whole world usually feels like a dream.
But right now, it’s so clear I could swear when I open my eyes I’ll find myself in my old room.
Evan curled up beside me in an old hoodie.
The PlayStation on pause and the light from the TV illuminating his face in a soft blue glow.