Chapter 2 #2
“I'm used to it,” I finally reply, and his grin grows wider. I thought people in New England were supposed to be reserved. Seems like it's the other way around for us two.
“Lucky you, I’m a total baby when it’s cold,” Ian says, sticking a thumb at the thick parka that’s hanging over the seat next to him. “Low-key jealous of people like you.”
That’s gotta be a joke. There’s no way someone like him could be jealous of me.
“Where the fuck is Nick?” he mutters under his breath, to nobody in particular, at least until he swivels his head up to face me. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s great, but he can’t get anywhere on time to save his life.”
“Have you tried messaging him?” I supply, and Ian rolls his eyes.
“His phone’s probably dead again. How he manages to keep himself alive is beyond me, but Nick is Nick. You can’t help but love the guy.”
I sure hope I can help it, especially with how Nick looks. It makes sense that the two most attractive guys I’ve seen on campus so far are best friends.
Ian fishes out a plastic container from his backpack. “Anyway, you want a cookie while we wait? I made ‘em myself this morning.”
He—what? Where did that come from?
“Do you…carry cookies around everywhere you go?” I ask, like an idiot.
“I sure do!” He beams at me while shaking the container. “Want one?”
“No thanks,” I say out of instinct.
Ian doesn’t reply immediately, instead choosing to send me a smirk that sends an inconvenient blush up my neck. “Come on, Cal.”
Did he give me a nickname? I realize I’m smiling, so I try to play it off as nervous laughter.
“Not to hype myself up too much, but they’re so fucking good.” He waves the now-open container at me again, and I oblige, picking out a small cookie. He watches me with palpable expectation, so I take a small bite.
As soon as I do, I wish I grabbed a bigger one. He’s right—they’re so freaking good.
“This is ninety percent chocolate,” I say, and then I stiffen. “That’s a good thing. I didn’t mean it as a criticism or anything.” I restrain myself from squashing the remainder of the cookie in my fingers out of stress, waiting for Ian’s response.
“Dude, it’s fine. I can tell you like them; it’s written allll over your face,” he drawls. “It’s fuckin’ cute as hell.”
Relief washes over me at the same time my blush moves up into my cheeks.
Did Ian call me cute? He has to be joking. First the comment about my arms, and now this. The most likely explanation is that he says this kind of stuff to everyone.
I stuff the rest of the cookie into my mouth to silence myself.
He snickers again, but almost as quickly as his mood shifts, it swings back. He sits up straight, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. I wonder when Nick is gonna get here—”
Nick chooses that moment to appear, smacking the back of Ian’s head and ruffling his hair. Ian responds by punching Nick’s shoulder.
Is violence affection? If that’s what friendship entails, I sure hope that isn’t the case.
“Sup, fucknugget,” Nick coos at Ian, who sticks his middle finger out as a voiceless reply. “And hey, Callum. What’s good?”
“These. These are good,” Ian replies for me when I make an uncomfortable pause, shaking the container of cookies at Nick. “You don’t get any because you’re late.”
“Yeah, yeah, what did you expect from me?” Nick quips, flopping into the seat beside Ian. “Anyway, we’re here to talk about the massively unfair project plan that Scotty here stacked against himself.”
It takes a second for me to connect the nickname with Ian’s last name, Scott, and when I do, he’s blushing. Not that his cheeks need any more color to look good, but the pink tint makes him glow.
Shoot. Not again. He’s a guy who’s being nice to me—I can’t be rude and get all hot for him.
“I can do part of the report,” I offer, hoping it serves as a distraction from my own imminent blush.
“Can you still do the voiceover?” Ian asks.
“Why the voiceover?”
“Uh, it’s because…uh, you have a great, neutral-accented speaking voice!”
“I believe your exact words after class were ‘ideal timbre,’” Nick supplies. He nudges Ian, smirking widely and ruffling his hair.
“Dude, shut the fuck up!” Ian smacks Nick’s hand away.
“I’m telling the truth, ass-muncher.”
Ian fights back a laugh before wiping any traces of it off his face. “Suck my dick, bro.”
Holy swearing. I dart my gaze between the two bickering athletes, not sure how to react. Nick's eyebrows are raised, and he's…biting his lip. That's odd.
Then he strokes Ian's forearm. “Oh, I know you want it. I'm gonna give your poor, deprived cock the best sloppy toppy it’ll ever have.”
Huh. I was not expecting that. Wait, are they…
Ian scoffs. “Sloppy toppy? More like toothy torture, coming from your sorry ass. I don't know about you, but I’ve kinda grown attached to my epidermis…”
Two pairs of eyes flick over to me, and my breath catches. They definitely forgot I was here.
“Sorry. We have an…interesting friendship," Nick says.
Seemingly agreeing, Ian punches Nick’s chest. They do have an interesting friendship, I'll give them that.
“Okay,” I say, changing the subject. “I’m fine with doing the voiceover, that video thing, and more of the research.”
Ian opens his mouth to speak, but Nick beats him to it. “Yeah, that would be a good idea. I’ll send the final split today or tomorrow.”
“Sounds good,” Ian and I say at the same time.
The three of us stand up and head for the lecture hall, and even though I’m used to silence, the lack of conversation somehow gets to me.
“I can film my part and send it over by next Monday for you to edit,” I say, if only to make some kind of noise, and Ian stops walking, turning to face me with a confused expression.
“Dude, this part isn’t due for another two weeks. You’re chilling.”
“I mean, I have time, so…” My phone buzzes, distracting me, and I pull it out. There are two emails in my inbox, and my palms dampen when I skim through the first one.
Inbox: West Wisconsin Community College
From: reginacross
I hit delete and block Mom’s contact before I can even read the subject line.
It can’t be anything good, or anything I want to see.
I should block Dad’s email address, too, since I still need to look at my old account to finalize my college transfer, and then I skim the next, hopefully better, message.
Inbox: WMUMail
From: WMU Health
Subject: MHW Triage Complete
Callum Cross:
We are pleased to inform you that the triage process for Mental Health and Wellness Counseling is complete. You are scheduled for an initial appointment with Anita Young, MSW at 2:30 p.m. on January 12.
My heart jumps, both from excitement and trepidation, all at once. I power off my phone and shove it back in my pocket, even though I know nobody could have peeked.
I’m a mess, and that isn’t lost on me, but this is a chance for me to change that. Coming all the way to WMU is only half the battle, and if I want to be a normal member of society again in a reasonable timeframe, I’m going to need a push.
I just wish I didn’t need it in the first place.
“Hey, Callum, you okay?” Ian asks.
Oh, shoot. He was waiting for me?
“Yeah. I, uh, got an admin email,” I say.
“Cool.” He rotates his head, pointing to the lecture hall. “Anyway, you should come sit with us. I promise Nick and I won’t be too obnoxious.”
That gets a smile out of me, and I follow Ian in. Those two might have an unfamiliar dynamic with each other, but they seem like good friends.
And they’re both being nice to me. Unexpected, but not unwelcome.