9. Odin
CHAPTER 9
ODIN
My tiny little research partner is into me, which is great because she’s hot. I don’t see an issue, apart from the fact that my life is ruined and my foot is in a giant cast. And, also, I can’t move very well. I pay minimal attention to the teacher through the rest of class, demand that Thora come to my house whenever she’s done with her shit today, and I wheel myself toward home.
Only I don’t get very far because my athletic advisor appears out of nowhere, jogging toward me on Forbes Avenue. “Odin! Hold up, please.”
I squint at him, backlit by the sun. Behind him, construction cranes work on new classroom buildings, likely partly funded by revenue from television contracts for my football team. Meech looks pissed, which is fair. I’ve been blowing him off for a few weeks. “Hey, Meech.”
Demetrius Thomas is in charge of keeping the entire football team in line—academically, behaviorally, you name it. Most of the time, he’s worried about our academic eligibility to play ball, but I suspect his vigorous chase down the city streets today is more related to scholarship shit. He wheezes a bit, holding his hand on his chest as he catches his breath. “ Been trailing you since the Cathedral of Learning, kid. Your brother tell you I came by your house?”
“He might have said that. A lot of people have been stopping by.” This is always true—girls with flowers. Football fans wanting to know what my injury means for their fantasy draft. My coaches.
Meech leans against the window of the Seven-11. “You’re supposed to be withdrawn from school, Stag. Medical withdrawal. What are you doing going to class?”
I sniff. This guy is still acting like I will play football in the fall for my final year of eligibility. Meanwhile, I’m months away from even walking again. Exactly one running back has ever come back from a ruptured Achilles tendon, and he was already on a pro team when he got injured. I stare at Meech and lean on my knee roller. “I have something I need to do next week, then I’ll sign the forms.”
Meech arches a dark brow above an angry set of eyes. “You need to address this before finals. You haven’t been going to class, Odin. Failing out is different from a legitimate withdrawal for an injury.”
There’s no way I’m pulling from this final presentation now. Thora would be smug about doing it all herself, and she’d fuck it all up, trying to argue the entire internet. I’m not sure why I care so much about this stupid assignment, but I also know she’s got a lot riding on her perfect grade point average. “I don’t know what to tell you, man. I have a presentation I have to do next week. I will roll directly from there to the registrar’s office. Or yours, if you can handle that stuff.”
“What day next week?” He crosses his arms over his chest, standing over me. Meech played ball back in college, too. Didn’t go pro. Now spends his days wrangling assholes like me. I’m actually pretty good. I don’t get my girlfriends pregnant. I don’t blow my rent money on tattoos. My big annoying flaw is staying enrolled in school when I ought to bow out .
“Tuesday,” I tell him. “I’ll be done by ten.” I turn around and roll toward my house before he can shout after me. I don’t think he follows me, but I don’t check.
It’s obvious my parents were at the apartment. By the time I get myself back up the stairs, the fridge has been stocked with soup and grilled chicken. There’s a bowl on the coffee table full of little baggies of roasted almonds, and approximately 700 bananas teeter on a rack on the counter. I cram almonds into my mouth and play video games until a tap on the door announces the arrival of Thora Janssen. I look at my watch. I’ve been ignoring the world for hours. I guess my brothers and my cousin Stellan all went straight from class to workouts.
“Come in,” I shout, hoping I left the door unlocked.
She slips in and sinks onto the couch beside me. “God, what a day. I was at the law clinic this afternoon. You wouldn’t believe the things human beings do to one another, Odin. It’s horrifying.”
“I forgot you work at the law clinic.” I adjust my posture so I’m facing her as best I can.
Thora nods. “I mean, it’s volunteering. But yes.”
I nod, too. “Yeah. You helped Wyatt get his shit together. Turned his whole life around.”
Thora purses her lips. “Honestly, I just check people in for the most part. It’s people like your mom who are actually doing the work. They’re the ones who change lives.”
“Okay, but you’re there helping. Someone has to check people in. Right?”
She makes a face at me, like she wants to stick out her tongue or leave rather than accept appreciation. I grunt. She must think I’m a gorilla. Maybe I’m just hungry. I hear a sound and stare at her. “Was that your stomach? ”
Thora looks sheepish. “Yeah. I’m going to grab dinner after we finish our draft.”
I frown and shake my head. “We should eat. My parents brought soup.”
“Soup?” She looks like she never heard of it before. Or maybe she’s not used to parents who make food. Her family sounded bitchy when I knocked on her door this morning.
“Yeah. I’ll share if you heat it up for us.”
Her face lights up. “Deal. You’ve got clean bowls and stuff, right?”
I flip her the bird, and she cackles, yammering at me about mean landlords and terrible employers while she heats soup on the stove.
She carries two steaming bowls to the couch, a pair of spoons tucked into her back jeans pocket. I stare at them. Am I supposed to reach in and pluck them out, thus touching her ass? Does she want me to touch her ass? She was ogling mine earlier…
“Hello? McFly?” Thora waves a hand in my face. She sets the bowls on the coffee table beside my boot cast and must have been asking me something.
“Say again? Sorry.”
“I was asking where you keep the napkins.” She glances around and, spotting a roll of paper towels, strides toward them to rip off a few. The question about the spoons is answered when she pulls them out with one hand, tucks a paper towel into my hoodie pocket, and hands me a bowl of soup, all in one smooth motion. Seeing my impressed face, Thora smiles. “Bartender skills.” She grabs her soup and sits beside me, close enough that I can smell floral perfume above the garlicky aroma of my dad’s minestrone. “Oh shit, this is good. Your parents made this?”
I nod, slurping some of the broth. A surge of emotion hits me along with the flavors on my tongue. Dad started cooking when he retired from pro hockey to raise me and my brothers. Not sure why I feel like sharing, but I blurt, “My dad stayed home to support my mom’s judicial career.” Thora’s eyes go wide. I take another bite of soup, and she matches my movements, silently waiting for me to tell her more. “Mom’s on the Commonwealth Court now, but she did family court for a long time. She’s Juniper?—”
Thora gasps, cutting me off. “Juniper Jones, is your mom? Holy shit. She’s a hero. I met her at the student law clinic a bunch of times. She’s amazing. She remembered that I was going for the Rhodes scholarship. She’s your mom? Of course, she is…”
I eat more soup, but I’m not sure how to respond to all of that. I’m more used to people freaking out about my dad. I guess there are more sports fans in my social circle than…are court fans even a thing? Law fans? “You want to be a lawyer?”
Thora nods and sets her empty soup bowl on the coffee table with a clang. “I’m definitely going to be a lawyer. I told you why I’m going to England, right? To study international approaches to child welfare and recidivism for nonviolent crimes? Your mom is the star of a bunch of case studies I’ve read for class. Didn’t she start in sports law? That always seemed out of character to me…”
I finish my soup and stretch forward, batting Thora’s hand away when she tries to help me reach the coffee table. I might not be able to do much, but I can set my own fucking bowl down when I’m done eating. I pop my evening pain meds into my mouth, swallow, and explain, “Mom had to switch jobs sort of abruptly, and my Uncle Tim had an opening.” I turn to face Thora, adjusting my cast to sit sideways on the couch. “Can we be done talking about my family now?”
“Hm. Sure.” Thora reaches for her backpack and pulls out the laptop, which is really more of a barely portable desktop machine on its last legs. “Let’s crank out a draft.”
She has, of course, written most of it already and included way too many footnotes and parenthetical asides, which I delete until she acknowledges that my version is much more streamlined and effective. We get most of a draft down while she gets us more soup. By the time she leans back with her hand on her belly, I’m exhausted but still hungry. This would be the perfect time for me to make a joke about eating my next course…between her legs. But it wouldn’t be a joke. Not for me, anyway. I scratch my neck. “I have to do something else. My head is spinning.” I make my way to my feet, and Thora looks concerned. When I frown at her, she schools her features. “I’m not fragile, you know.”
“Ha! I can see that. I just…want to be helpful. That’s all.”
I rest my knee on the couch, so I’m not putting weight on my bad foot; like a good patient, I scratch my neck. I haven’t shaved in a while. Maybe I’ll grow a beard now that I don’t have to wear a helmet over it. She continues to stare at me like I’m fragile until I stretch and sit back down on the couch. “All right,” she says, looking at her phone. “Let’s map out a plan to finalize this and practice our oral presentation.” She clacks away, sending notifications to me, which I ignore as the meds kick in and begin to dull the throbbing in my lower leg.
I must be dozing off because Thora startles me by resting a hand on my shoulder. “Hey,” she says, and I don’t like the soothing tone in her voice. I like it better when she’s mean to me. “I’m going to head out.”
I try to respond, but all that comes out is a grunt. She stands up and then bends to grab her backpack, and my lizard brain overtakes my rational mind, and I rest my palm on her backside. I don’t squeeze or rub. I…hold it like a firm little watermelon, all for me
Thora glances back over her shoulder, a laugh in her eyes. “Can I help you? ”
“I don’t know, can you?”
She chuckles and lifts my hand from her ass, placing it on my chest and patting it in place. “Some other time, Stag, when you’re less stoned.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” I yell after her when she closes the apartment door. At least, I think that’s what I say. I fall asleep before I can check.