“Friend of yours?” Logan asked, doubt in his voice. And a little humor. He knew theMean Girlsmeme that Jane was quoting.
“My old suitemate. Sort of. For a while. Last year. I mean—”
“Clock’s ticking here. Getting in or what?” Jane called. I couldn’t see the driver, but I assumed from her sitting in the front seat that it was someone she knew and not an Uber. I could tell it was a guy, but that was about it.
Was this the guy that had tamed Jane? I thought that was what Syd had said. I was curious, for sure.
“Wanna come?” I said to Logan.
“Where?” he asked. He ducked his head a bit to see past Jane and did a “hey, bud” thing with his hand that wasn’t quite a wave.
“Where are you going?” I said louder to Jane.
“Does it matter?” she answered.
I found it really didn’t. That thought warmed me, even though it was a nice night and we hadn’t really gotten any fall chill yet in Schoolport. I smiled at Logan. He smiled back.
“Yeah, I’ll go,” he said. “As long as food can be involved. I’m starving.”
“Food can be involved,” Jane said. “Schmitty’s?” she said to the driver, who nodded.
Logan and I got in the back seat, he being much too large for it, but he did some maneuvering with his long legs to make it work. And put them very much in my space, which I found I didn’t overly mind.
We did quick introductions. Jane’s guy was Stick, and before Logan or I could get one out, Stick came back with, “Believe me, we’ve heard every variation on Dick and Jane jokes with Stick and Jane, so don’t even bother.”
“I haven’t seen you around before. You must live off campus?” Logan asked him.
“The fuck I’d go to Bribury. I’m not some stuck-up Ivy wannabe prepster,” Stick said. He realized who was in his car and gave a shrug. “Yeah. Hurts, but true.”
“I’m only here because of hockey, man,” Logan said. “I hate those frat-boy types too.”
“And that’s why you’re allowed in my car,” Stick said, and they laughed the laugh of two bros connecting. Jane rolled her eyes at me in the rearview.
“Nah, I’m a townie. Born and raised right here in Schoolport,” Stick said.
“That’s cool. Schoolport reminds me a lot of my hometown in Minnesota,” Logan said.
“Really? That’s too bad,” Stick said, and they did a nodding thing—acknowledging Stick’s sick burn, I guessed.
“There’s a hole-in-the-wall bar just outside of town that does great burgers and doesn’t check IDs. Sound okay?” Stick said, driving off campus and toward downtown Schoolport.
“Fine by me,” Logan said. “Though I can’t drink anywhere public. In season. Too many phones around. It’d get posted somewhere.”
“That sucks,” Jane said.
Logan shrugged. “We have lots of house parties.”
He looked my way when mentioning that, and I looked out the window, trying not to think about his last house party and how we’d almost gotten together before a drunken girl barged in.
Schmitty’s was indeed a hole-in-the-wall, but the smell from the grill in the back had me forgetting I’d had pizza only a couple of hours earlier and saying, “Same,” when Jane ordered a burger and beer for herself.
We were in a booth, Logan and me across from each other, on the inside. Stick next to Logan. Jane next to me. They were huge booths, bench-wise, but had small tables, so we were close to the person we were facing. Logan, in my case.
The jukebox was playing some oldie that I vaguely remembered my dad listening to when he’d pour himself a scotch and sit in his chair reading. There were a few couples actually dancing in one corner. About half the booths and tables were full, probably typical for a Wednesday night. But every stool at the bar was taken with obvious regulars, their heads down, hands tightly wrapped around beer bottles and highball glasses.
We made small talk until our food arrived. Just when it did, a couple of friends of Stick’s came in and he and Jane grabbed their baskets and beers and moved to go sit with them for a while.
“That okay?” Jane asked. “To ditch you guys for a little bit?”
