And his name.
“At least you can check off one more thing on your list,” I said. “Started essay.”
“Don’t joke about my lists. They’re super helpful.” He took another bite of pizza, straight from the crust. He chewed, and it piled in his cheeks like a chipmunk. A pleased glimmer shone in his eyes. “And I already marked that off yesterday.”
Of course he had.
“To be honest, I haven’t spent too much time in the library since I got here,” said Ryan. “Not for actual work anyway. It’s nicer than I thought it would be.”
I didn’t say anything, and he seemed to understand why.
“Don’t judge.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
“Exactly.”
I shrugged and continued to eat from the second plain cheese pizza. It looked better than the first one, whether or not it was going to give me a stomachache.
“I always hated to do my work in the library,” he explained. “Too quiet and studious.”
“Things you aren’t?” I asked.
“So much pressure to get things done. I don’t do well with pressure.”
“Says the star football player.”
“That’s different. I’m playing then.” He paused, running his tongue along his teeth as he took stock of his words. “Wasplaying.”
“How long did you play?”
A crease formed between Ryan’s eyebrows. “Maybe since I was thirteen or so? We had flag football before, which I used to do after school.”
“Devoted,” I commented.
“It’s just something I did,” Ryan said as if it were the easiest thing in the world. “My friends played, and so I played. It was a small town.”
“Where everyone knew everyone?”
“Pretty much.” He shrugged. “You know how it is?”
“No. I lived in a suburb on the edge of the city for most of my life. I would be lucky if I knew our next-door neighbor at any given point to let them know what kind of cardboard was allowed in the recycling bin.”
“You and your family lived in an apartment?”
I hesitated, wondering just how much I was about to hand over to Ryan. “A condo. You were in a little house with a picket fence?” By his face, I could tell I wasn’t far off. “The perfect nuclear family?”
“Kind of actually,” he admitted.
“I’m sorry. That’s not bad.” I tried to correct myself. He was right; I was the opposite of a bundle of joy. “It’s a good thing.”
“Sometimes. Everyone knew my dad. My teachers knew him. The whole town did. I was constantly trying to be more like him, though I wasn’t. The only things we had in common was that we both played football and were liked.” He paused, as if he didn’t want to say something. He cleared his throat. “I got to be me when I got here. No one made fun of me or judged me based on my family. You get that?”
I stared at him. “Sort of.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m just saying, I think our college experiences might be a little different.” I said.
