Most usually end up being harlequin-style romance books—the kind with naked men on the cover, typically with their arms around a scantily clad woman. Normally, I bypass these since they rarely feature queer romance stories, and there is only so much straight sex I can handle. Once, I lucked out and found not only a queer romance, but one that included hockey players. It’s one of the only books I’ve kept, since I usually exchange them once I’m finished. Maybe, if I don’t find anything new today, I’ll just re-read that one.
“Finding everything okay, hon?” the woman from the front asks, stopping next to me with clothes folded over her arms. I blush, because that is always my body’s first reaction to someone talking to, or looking at, me.
“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.”
She smiles and totters off beneath her mound of secondhand clothing. I go back to the books, carefully picking each one up and inspecting it. I create a pile forkeepand a pile forleave. At the end, there are quite a few in the keep pile, and if my mental calculations are correct, I’ll still leave here today only spending seventeen dollars. Figuring out how to carry everything without damaging any books takes me a minute, but I manage to get everything to the counter. Naturally, my face is on fire and I have a hard time meeting the cashier’seye. Why does every single thing have to feel so fucking embarrassing?
“Looks like a successful day!” she says happily, typing things into the register one by one. When the price comes out to four dollars cheaper than I’d been expecting, she winks at me. “Fantasy books are free today.”
I smile back this time, even though the kindness makes me squirm. “Thank you.”
“Are you a student over at the university? You come in often,” she notes, and I nod. “We get some nice university things on occasion—college kids buying new, and donating the old. They get snapped up right quick, but I could set a few things aside for you next time I see some?”
Shame burns in my chest, hotter even than the blush on my face. I suppose being a regular at a place like this makes it pretty apparent that I don’t have money to burn, and I wouldn’t spend frivolously even if I did have it. Her offer is both kind and warranted, seeing as I have almost nothing to show for my time at school.
Student athletes aren’t provided any team merchandise beyond jerseys, and the fifteen percent discount that is offered on apparel at the school store barely brings the price of a shirt down to thirty-five dollars. I have only one SCU hockey shirt, and I only have that one because Nate made a huge production of “accidentally buying the wrong size and color” and he “couldn’t be bothered to return it.” He’d given it to me and then gone back to buy another for himself, acting as though the whole charade wasn’t wildly transparent. My friend, wild and energetic and social butterfly that he is, might also be the nicest person I’ve ever met. I love him dearly.
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that,” I tell the woman, and she beams at me as she hands me my bag.
“See you next time, hon.”
I breathe out hard as I leave the store, cheeks puffed out as I exhale and shake out my arms. The fact that talking to someone as nice as that makes me anxious is ridiculous and a little embarrassing. I need to channel my inner Nate. Maybe by feigning confidence, some will find me be accident.
As I walk toward the SCU campus, my phone buzzes with a text message. I pull it out, already sure I know who it is. There’s only one person I know who texts me regularly.
Nate
Micky Mouse, where you at??
Jack
Downtown. Finished my shift and went to the thrift store.
Nate
You check your email? Coach wants us to come in for a meeting this afternoon.
A lead ball of fear plops heavily into my stomach at these words. Panicked, I pull up my email and wait impatiently for it to load without the use of Wi-Fi. I speed up the pace of my walking, glancing up from my phone and trying to mentally calculate just how fast I could make it to campus. I could run, if I needed to.
Just as Nate said there was, an email from Coach Mackenzie is sitting unread in my inbox. It was sent two hours ago.
“Oh my god,” I whisper to myself, and speed up again until I’m half jogging.
Jack
Oh my god I didn’t check my email! I didn’t see it holy shit thank god you said something.
Nate
Chillllll, Micky Mouse, it’s not for another two hours. I figured you were in your dorm reading or I would have texted you sooner.
Sorry, pal.
Seriously, stop panicking. I can feel it happening from here.
Jack
I might be late, I’m still like two miles away from campus!
