Best regards,
Anonymous Donor Committee
My email pings again. This time, the rugby captain enthusiastically confirms his team’s participation and asks if they can be as creative as possible. I tell him that creativity is absolutely encouraged and make a mental note to one day follow the rugby team, because these guys are DTF.
I open a new document and start typing.
COMING SOON: THE MOST SENSATIONAL CHARITY EVENT IN BSU HISTORY
Posted by The Ice Queen | March 4th | 9:34 PM
Hey there, puck bunnies! Ice Queen here, your go-to gal for the coolest takes on all things Barracudas.
Get ready to discover what art can truly be when you add beefy men to the equation.
Details coming soon.
Until next time,
Ice Queen skating off!
Short, sweet, and guaranteed to have the entire campus refreshing my blog obsessively. I post the teaser and close my laptop, already imagining the chaos about to unfold. Oliver thinks he’s doing this for charity. The athletes will think it’s another competition. But honestly?
This isallfor me.
27
DREW
When my phone buzzes right as Oliver stands up, I get the distinct impression that my life is about to get exponentially more complicated.
“Listen up, assholes!” Oliver’s captain’s voice cuts through the general chaos of twenty-something hockey players crammed onto a charter bus. “I’ve got an announcement from the Berkeley Shore Community Foundation.”
I glance down at my phone, already knowing what I’ll find. The Ice Queen’s latest blog post loads slowly on the shitty bus Wi-Fi.
“They want us to participate in another charity event,” Oliver continues, bracing himself against a seat as the bus takes a sharp turn. “This time for the cancer ward at Berkeley Shore General.”
Gerard perks up from where he’s sprawled across two seats, his legs dangling in the aisle. “Is it another roller disco? Because I’ve been practicing my backward crossovers.”
“Not exactly.” Oliver’s clearly trying not to laugh, which immediately puts me on edge. “It’s a sensual art performance.”
“What the fuck is that?” Kyle asks from somewhere behind me, his voice flat as always.
Oliver clears his throat. “Beats me. Although the Ice Queen seems to know already. I guess we will have to wait and see.”
The bus goes dead silent for approximately three seconds. Then it explodes.
“A sensual art performance?” Nathan’s voice cracks. “Like…like nude modeling? Because I don’t think my mom would?—”
“Body painting!” Gerard shouts, bouncing in his seat with enough enthusiasm to make the whole bus shake. “We could paint each other! I saw this thing on Instagram where they use glow-in-the-dark paint and?—”
“Interpretive dance,” Kyle cuts in, his tone suggesting he’d rather eat glass. “But make it sexy. Like that weird shit they do at art galleries where everyone pretends to understand what’s happening.”
In the reflection of the bus window, I see my face has paled. Another partnered event. Another excuse to be pressed against Jackson Monroe while half the campus watches. Another night of pretending that every touch doesn’t set my skin on fire.
“Poetry reading,” Oliver suggests with a completely straight face. “But we’re shirtless. And oiled up. And the poems are all about penises.”
The bus erupts in laughter, but I can’t join in.
