Chapter Six Scarlett / Evan
SCARLETT
My entire body is aching by the time I get back to my apartment.
After Evan did his best at pissing me off in the library, I thought the most effective way to blow off some steam would be to text an old hookup buddy.
Turns out that if you haven’t slept with anyone in months and have never set foot in a gym, having quick, enthusiastic sex with a football player will cause some injuries, tire you out and make you realize just how little time you have for certain extracurricular activities.
When I push open the door to my apartment, I’m already back in an irritable mood and Wren and Kennedy come rushing toward me, both in the matching silk pajamas they got for Christmas last year.
“Where have you been? We’ve been in crisis mode for hours,” Wren exclaims, tugging on my arm and pulling me into the living room. I collapse onto the pile of cushions on the couch, sighing blissfully when my body molds into them like each crevice knows exactly where to go.
“What are we crisis-ing about now?” I ask, honestly a little afraid to find out the answer.
Wren narrows her eyes at Kennedy. “Ken, tell her.”
“It’s actually not that big of a deal at all,” Kennedy says, mostly directed at Wren, before she takes a seat on the coffee table in front of me. “But I downloaded a dating app.”
Wren screams into a pillow and I frown. “What could you possibly need that for?”
I know Kennedy doesn’t date much, mostly because she’s sure that no one is going to reach her high standards and doesn’t see the point in shopping around.
She’s convinced the love of her life will fall into her lap one day, and I’ve been following along and waiting for that day for her too.
It will happen. This girl is full of way too much love for it not to.
“To date, obviously,” Wren screams, seeming more excited than Kennedy, who just grimaces.
“Like, willingly? You want to . . . actively date people?”
Kennedy’s shoulders drop. “I mean, not really, but I’m bored and I need to try something. Not everyone enjoys hooking up with strangers.” She gives my outfit a once-over, wiggling her eyebrows up and down, and I sink deeper into the cushions.
“Okay, well, Ben is a friend that I like to have mildly fulfilling sex with every once in a while. There’s a difference,” I argue, rolling my eyes.
“Right,” Kennedy says. “Not everyone wants to do whatever that is.”
Wren shuffles closer to my side, knocking her knee into mine. “You haven’t done that in a while. Is everything okay?”
I bite my bottom lip anxiously.
I’d told them about the list the second I got home from my parents’ house last week, but they think it’s hilarious and that I can easily complete everything by the end of the year.
I’ve been trying to tell them that it’s not that simple, but they still don’t get it.
Like a lot of things to do with my family, neither of them fully understands how it feels, and that’s okay.
They do their best to support me in whatever way they can, but sometimes I know they think I have it all really easy.
“I’m fine. Just irritated, I guess,” I explain, fiddling with the tassels of a cushion. “I got paired up with Evan for a project for my fashion and business class. And he, as usual, thinks it’s great we’re working together.”
Wren shrugs. “Things could be worse.”
“Really? How could things possibly get any worse?”
“He could actually hate working with you and be making your life a living hell.”
“I honestly would prefer it.” Kennedy and Wren share a look like they want to say something, before turning to me, the expression gone. “What was that look?”
“Nothing,” Kennedy says innocently. They both share another look, but I don’t have the energy in me to decipher their secret-eye-contact-mind-reading thing right now.
“Oh, and I haven’t got started on that list either,” I add, rubbing salt into my own wounds. I’ve hardly had time for anything this week after catching up on the homework I was behind on and now starting this project.
“We did offer to help you with it,” Wren mentions.
“As much as I would love you to, the last time I asked you guys for help trying to do something for my family, we quite literally ended up in jail.”
“It was a holding cell,” Kennedy mumbles.
“Still jail.”
Wren’s cheeks turn pink like she’s still embarrassed about what we did when we were teenagers. “Okay, fine, don’t accept our help, but you need cheering up and Kennedy needs some eye candy. And I know the exact place to do it.”
“Karaoke?!” Kennedy asks hopefully.
“No, the—”
I close my eyes. “Wren, if you say the h—”
“The hockey rink,” she finishes, jumping up from the couch. “Miles has a game today and I promised him we’d all go.”
“You didn’t think to ask first? What if I was really, really busy right now?”
“But you’re not, so . . .” She wiggles her eyebrows at me, and I can’t help the laugh that comes out of me. “Wear your jersey if you haven’t burnt it yet.”
“It’s still on my to-do list,” I grumble.
EVAN
I knew I’d regret promising to go to Miles’s hockey game because after the day I’ve had, I’d much rather be anywhere else but here.
There is no amount of staring-at-the-wall time or caffeine that can make sitting through tonight’s game any easier.
I really shouldn’t complain too much though, because the look on Miles’s face when he sees me slightly makes up for it.
Our friendship has grown in the last year or so—especially after Xavier and Miles lost their best friend and our other housemate Carter in freshman year.
I didn’t want to bombard them with my existence, but I still tried to be there for them.
I cooked most nights, cleaned up when they were too tired to, and made sure the house was still standing.
Since then, I’ve kind of taken a back seat.
Maybe if I didn’t, I wouldn’t find spending so much time with them this irritating.
But this is me trying to change that. This is my contribution to our friendship. One I hope my dad will recognize.
I make my way to the seat Miles has reserved for me behind the players’ bench, and I immediately realize how out of place I look.
I still haven’t bought a jersey, so I settled on an NU Bears cap, wearing it backward to hide my messy hair, and a plain cotton T-shirt.
I always feel a little weird when I have too much skin exposed, but I try not to think about it.
I’m making myself comfortable when I see the three girls making their way toward me.
Wren is already scanning the ice as the team warms up, trying to find her boyfriend, and Kennedy is chanting something unintelligible as she shakes Scarlett’s shoulders.
Scarlett, as usual, looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.
When they get to our seats, Wren and Scarlett stop by the boards to grab Miles’s attention and Kennedy takes the seat next to me.
I’ve always liked Wren and Kennedy. They’re both nice, funny in their own way, and they think whatever is going on with me and Scarlett is hilarious.
I’m just glad someone else besides me thinks it’s somewhat amusing.
Kennedy leans into me and whispers, “If you look at her any longer, she’s going to notice.”
I straighten, and I’m pissed that I don’t have any sleeves to fuss over to distract from my nervousness. I don’t know Kennedy that well, but she’s always friendly and makes the effort to talk to me when we’re alone—even if 99.9% of the time, it’s about Scarlett.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, taking my eyes off the back of Scarlett’s head. I tap my knee three times, but Kennedy’s gaze is still on me, and the itch isn’t gone. I tap it again nine more times, until my breathing returns to normal.
Multiples of three means I’m safe.
Kennedy narrows her eyes at me, and I notice the blue face paint on her cheek with Harry Butler’s jersey number on it.
Harry’s another player I’ve awkwardly slid into a friendship with.
He doesn’t really talk much unless Miles is dragging him into conversations or when Kennedy tries to challenge him to a dance battle.
“Yeah, sure you don’t,” Kennedy mocks.
I open my mouth to say something, to ask her what she means by that, but I think better of it. There’s no use trying to overanalyze another ridiculous comment that doesn’t mean anything.
I tap my knee with the pad of my index finger six times before pressing my thumb hard enough that I can feel it into the pocket that forms in the crease of my knee. I wish my nails were slightly longer, sharper, just hard enough so I’d at least be able to nick some of my skin when I feel like this.
I take a deep breath and hold it for a few counts before exhaling.
This is the college experience, Dad, I tell him telepathically, trying not to have a panic attack at a hockey rink.
Somehow, just saying it in my head gets me to relax a little. This is fine. Everything will be fine if I believe it will. It’s just a hockey game next to people I tolerate. People do this all the time.
Scarlett takes a seat next to me, and a fresh and crisp smell follows. I can never pinpoint what she smells like, but she just smells rich. It’s intoxicating. She doesn’t even look at me as she says: “Branson.”
“Scarlett,” I greet, turning to her as I smirk. “Twice in one day. Aren’t I so lucky?”
“Wish I could say the same.” She looks me up and down, eyes fixed on my jeans and T-shirt. “No tie. Are you finally experimenting with your wardrobe?”
“I’m full of surprises.”
“I’m sure you are.” She surveys me again, like she’s storing all this information away for later. “You’re wearing a hat too. What’s up with that?”
I snort. “Someone’s curious.”
“Well, I apologize for trying to make conversation,” she huffs, crossing her arms.