Chapter 18 Blue #2
Instead, I get an eye roll. “I’m fine. It’s late, and I’m tired, and I really don’t feel like going out right now. But thanks for checking.”
“You have to eat something,” I tell her. “Why not order your favorite meal?”
She shakes her head while giving me a look that says I'm clueless. “I said it’s fine, and it is. I’ll grab a bowl of cereal or something, but I’m really not that hungry anymore, just cranky. I’ll probably head to bed soon.”
That last sentence is clearly not an invitation for me to join her.
It’s probably too risky because people are milling around, but I also get the sense that Liza’s just done with the day.
I should probably leave it alone, but I can’t.
The whole point of life is to enjoy it, so why deny yourself something if you really want it?
“It’s not that late. It’s not even ten. You can make it with time to spare. I’ll even drive you, so you can just run in and pick it up.”
Two little lines form in between Liza’s eyebrows. “What part of ‘it’s fine’ do you not comprehend?”
“Okay, okay, I get it. You’re not in the mood for pizza anymore. But they have subs, too.”
Liza’s given me a lot of lethal looks this year, but the one she’s shooting my way right now could lay me out permanently.
“Fine,” I concede, realizing that she’s probably just as pissed about the money she lost as she is about the pizza that was swiped.
It was probably only about ten or fifteen bucks, but I know she’s careful with every penny, so she’s not going to shell out more money when she can eat something at home.
And dammit, that pisses me off even more.
“At least let me find out who the culprit is. The freshmen seemed clueless, but that doesn’t rule them out. They—”
“Don’t you freaking dare,” she says, ratcheting up her glare.
“That would be mortifying. I’m still not over the time a lunch lady handed me a frozen pb&j because there wasn’t enough money in my account for a hot lunch.
And that happened more than a decade ago.
No freaking way are you sleuthing out the bandit and making a big deal about it. ”
My brain takes a second to process what she’s saying.
Can school cafeterias actually do that? I mean, what’s the harm in letting a kid get a hot meal?
I have questions, but I’m keeping them to myself because she’s already worked up enough, and my job is to help her feel better, not worse.
She keeps insisting she’s okay, but we both know that’s not true.
Liza tosses her empty can into the recycling bin. “It was probably a mistake, anyway. The last thing I need is for you to interrogate half the team because everyone would be wondering why I had a meltdown over a twelve dollar pizza. I could order one if I really wanted to. But I don’t. I’m fine.”
If I took a shot of alcohol every time Liza insisted she was fine, I’d be stumbling around campus wasted off my ass every day. And then I’d probably puke. Yeah, let’s not play that game.
“You’re sure you’re good?” I ask, finishing my soda and launching the can into the recycling bin.
“Never better,” she lies.
“All right, then. I’m gonna hit the books for a bit. I’ve got another test in Portfolio Management. I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess. We’re meeting at the library at two, right?”
“Yep, see you then.”
Liza’s gone a second later. Part of me wants to go after her, the way a real boyfriend would, but she doesn’t seem to be in the mood for company, and anyway, I’ve got to get my ass downtown before Rinaldi’s closes.
Half an hour later, I stroll into the kitchen to find half my housemates gathered around the table playing some card game.
Ollie’s been on a kick for us all to bond, and it looks like tonight is poker night.
Although, knowing these guys, it could be a cutthroat game of Go, fish!
I don’t pay them much attention as I riffle through the junk drawer for a marker.
I find one and scrawl Liza’s name all over the damn box.
Once her food is stored safely on the same shelf where she keeps her coffee creamer, I turn toward the guys.
“Liza’s pizza is in here. Eat it and die. Are we clear?” I ask.
A few eyes go wide, but everyone nods. I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but I’m not worried that my warning has given away our secret. If anything, the guys probably figure I fucked up and I owe Liza a pizza to make up for whatever dumbass thing I did.
After that, I head upstairs to cram for my test. My fingers are itching to send her a text or even just ask if she’s doing any better, but I resist the temptation.
I want her to see her surprise tomorrow when she’s brewing her daily cup of coffee.
Besides, I didn’t run out to grab dinner for her so she could thank me.
I just like doing nice things for her. I like knowing that freaky little pizza is going to make her smile, and it doesn’t matter if I’ll be there to see it.
I don’t need the credit. I just need Liza to have a good day.
Because we’re friends. And that’s what friends do.