Chapter 3
Dylan
Did the past hour even happen, or did I dream the entire fucking thing?
I walk into my house, and Scott is right where I left him.
“Hey, man,” he says over the couch.
Should I tell him what just happened, or keep it to myself?
Given that I had far too much to drink last night, and Cecily seemed very eager to chit-chat, I keep the past hour to myself.
I need to feel out what Monday will be like.
I don’t know what to expect. She could be beautiful but a psychopath.
I could have imagined the entire thing, and Monday at four means I’m meeting with no one, and it turns out, I’m actually a psychopath.
“Damn, dude. You feeling okay?” I ask, coming around the couch.
Scott shrugs. “Told you, I’ve been contemplating life.”
That’s not Scott. Scott’s normal tone is pussy, ass, alcohol, hockey, repeat. He’s not hardcore into dope or anything stupid, but he’s pretty out there with his ideas and wants.
“Are you depressed?” I ask.
He points at his head. “That’s what alcohol is—a depressant. Just let me sit here in it. I’m having a moment.”
I grab him an Advil and hand it over. “I can’t have you mopey all fucking day. Take the fucking pills, and your moment will last another ten minutes. I need Scotty back.”
He takes the pills and says, “I’ve been thinking about how to fuck up Stanford this year.”
“Yeah?” I sit next to him. “How the fuck are we gonna do that?” It’s been back-to-back years of Stanford winning. They’re almost to a fucking five-year streak.
“We take Travis down. He’s the top dog. We need to watch him, learn his weaknesses. Scope out the games just like Coach Evan’s would.”
I nod. “Good plan.” I smack his chest. “I’m not gonna fuck around and find out anymore.”
Scott laughs. “What?”
“Thinking of Viv at thirty freaked me the fuck out, man. It was a wake-up call, so I’m taking a break from all of it.
Ever since that shit with Layla, I need a fucking break.
Honest to God, break. Get my head back on straight.
That sort of thing.” I smack him again. “I swear to you, we’ll beat Stanford this year. ”
He nods with a smile. I think this asshole is stoned out of his mind.
I laugh. “Advil isn’t going to do shit, huh? How much weed did you smoke?”
His head falls back as he laughs. “Don’t fucking tell Westley. I didn’t want to be hungover today, and I’m drinking that nasty shit tomorrow in case I need to take a piss test and pass.”
I nod. “Did Rocky take that Senior home last night?”
He nods. “But you and I both know he’s going to keep fucking her if she keeps coming back.”
“Why do they do that?” I ask, flailing my arms. “Guys got a reputation, and sorry to say, but she thinks she’s special, but she’s not.”
He snickers, “Hearing her blabber her mouth last night was ridiculous. Yeah, brother, I couldn’t fucking agree more with you on that one.”
“Enough shit talking for me in one morning. I have homework and a study group. Shit to do, man. Enjoy your high.”
I walk down the hall to my bedroom, bumping into Westley coming out of his room.
“Ding dong,” I say.
“Dong ding,” he replies. I smack his back as he walks past me.
Westley doesn’t hook up with randoms. The guy’s a fucking saint, and I need to be taking notes from him.
Note to thyself: Be like Westley.
He’s humble, confident but not arrogant, and, overall, a down-to-earth kind human being. He’s the shit.
When I enter my bedroom, I sit down at my desk and read all the bullshit text required for biology and history.
I hop onto Zoom for a study group, listening to these people bicker over theories, all talking over each other, and it’s overstimulating as hell.
But I got through it and finished my assignment. Mission accomplished.
By the end of the night, I’m convinced I really imagined what happened at the gym today.
How did something sour turn sweet? I went to the campus gym, bullshit lied to Viv, and then I met a beautiful woman looking for friends her age.
What gets me is that she goes to college and doesn’t seem to have any trouble making friends.
But I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt.
Maybe she needs a friend, and perhaps this is my first step toward stopping from banging everything that walks my way.
That’s my prayer.
Be more like Westley.
Amen.