Chapter 6 #2
“His emotional support plant?”
She ignores me. “Freddie Donavon, Troy Hawkins, Alfie freakin’ Spencer?” She says it like she’s announcing the second coming. I blank. I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Only the hottest guys on campus. They throw those legendary house parties. I’ve been trying to get an invite all year.”
“How do you even know this?”
“Because I have eyes? And Instagram? And a functioning libido?” She pulls up her phone, scrolling rapidly.
“Look. Freddie—geology major, arms like Thor, dating that environmental girl Alex. Troy—engineering, cheekbones that could cut glass, has this mysterious girlfriend who dresses like she murders people professionally. In a hot way. And Alfie, oh my god, he’s so hot.
Declan agreed we could have a threesome with him someday. ”
“Oh!” I say, remembering hot guy Freddie from freshman year. He broke my roommate Alex’s heart before hastily repairing it. I never forgave him though. “Yeah, I know who Freddie is.”
She shoves the phone at me. A group picture of four very different but equally attractive guys fills the screen. They’re all grinning with their arms around each other, solo cups raised.
“Your tutor lives in the Cool Guy House,” Riya announces. “And you didn’t think to mention this?”
“Because it’s not relevant? He’s just helping me pass Creative Writing.”
“Helping you pass while looking like that?” She gestures at the photo where Ethan’s laughing at something off-camera. “Girl. The cosmos is trying to give you a gift. Take it.”
“He’s a football player, Riya.”
“How do you know? He doesn’t have any photos of him playing, which they all usually do.”
“The way he sits, the way he talks to other athletes, the stupid ESPN-ready jaw.” I close my laptop harder than necessary. “Trust me, I’ve had eighteen years of Jackson and his friends. I can spot them a mile away.”
“Maybe he’s different—” Riya starts.
“They’re never different.” I think about Jackson’s high school friends, how they’d corner me at my locker to ask if I could do their homework.
How they’d laugh when I said no, call me uptight, ask if I even knew how to have fun.
“Trust me. Under all that plant-dad aesthetic, Ethan’s just another guy who peaked in college. ”
“Okay, but counterpoint,” Riya says. “You’re lonely and need to be shown a good time. Look—here’s your good time!” She points enthusiastically at the photo and accidentally double-taps.
My face goes hot. “Riya!”
“Oops.”
“How old is that photo?”
She checks. “A year.”
Oh god. At least it’s on her account, not mine.
“I need to finish this before dinner,” I mutter, reopening my laptop. “If I’m going to survive watching Mom fawn over Meredith-who-won’t-last-till-Christmas, I need at least one thing in my life that makes sense.”
“Of course. But please, please, please let me know if we can go to one of their parties. Seriously, it would make my entire college experience. Promise?”
“Yes, alright, I promise.”
My phone lights up with an Instagram notification. I immediately shield it from Riya before checking. Oh god, he must have seen she liked his old photo. Riya has tons of pictures of us on her feed—there’s no way he hasn’t figured out we’re friends and that we were stalking him.
Ethan
Hey, this is Ethan from tutoring. Can we push Thursday to 4 instead of 3?
I stare at the message longer than I should.
That’s fine, see you then.
Here’s Greg’s progress btw. Thought you might want to see.
A photo of his plant appears in the chat.
Gee thanks, he looks beautiful. Don’t know what I would have done without this update.
He says thanks. He’s getting better at being humble. It’s a growth process.
He’s a plant. Isn’t everything a growth process?
...
Piper Renner, did you just make a plant pun?
no.
I’m screenshotting this
I have no idea what you’re talking about.
Too late. Greg’s already proud.
I’m smiling at my phone like an idiot when Riya clears her throat.
“That’s him, isn’t it?”
“He’s sending me photos of his plant.”
“That’s weird.”
“I know.”
“Weird in a kind of adorable way though.”
I lock my phone. “Doesn’t matter. He’s still a jock. And I have an app to finish that will scientifically prove why that’s incompatible with everything I need in a partner.”
“Right.” Riya’s using her ‘I see through your bullshit’ voice. “Because science has never been wrong about matters of the heart.”
“Science is rarely wrong about anything.”
“Uh-huh. Hey, what’s your app say about you and plant boy’s compatibility?”
“I haven’t run those metrics and I’m not going to.”
“Coward.”
“Pragmatist.”
“Same thing sometimes.”
I throw a cushion at her, but she’s not wrong.
I could input our data, see what the algorithm says.
But what if it confirms what I already know—that guys like him and girls like me exist in different universes?
Or worse, what if it says we’re compatible, and I have to confront the fact that my algorithm might not be able to protect me from making stupid choices after all?
Another message pops up.
By the way, I know you’re Riya’s roommate. Took me 2 minutes to figure out. If you want to know more about me, just ask.
You don’t need to stalk my Instagram
But if you are, be sure to check out my summer pics. They’re pretty hot.
My face burns. He figured it out.
Of course, he’s calling me out. And, of course, he’s so confident about himself.
Better not to engage. Better to finish the app, pass the class, survive tutoring, and keep my distance from boys who make plant puns and look like trouble wrapped in a very attractive package.
Even if they do call out my stalking with a winky face.
Especially then.