I nod. “I know so.”
Chapter One
COLBY
Fold, make it flush.
Remove the wrinkles.
Get out all the wrinkles.
Fold.
Remove wrinkles.
And fold.
“Dude, what are you doing?” Stryder strolls into the pool house, apple in hand, civilian clothes on, and an annoyed look on his face.
“Folding clothes.” I study the folded shirt and then stick it into my sleek mahogany dresser, the same dresser I’ve used for the past three years during breaks from Air Force Academy classes.
Flopping onto my bed, Stryder props his head up in his hand and takes a bite of his apple. “We’ve been away from the Academy for an hour and you haven’t changed out of your ABUs yet,andyou’re folding your civvies like someone is going to inspect them.” Tossing one of my folded T-shirts, he says, “Live a little, man. Just stuff them in your drawers.”
Not paying Stryder’s lecture any attention, I pick up the discarded T-shirt and start folding it the same way I’d fold my PT shirts. I’m not in the mood to roll them up like my sand Ts.
“You know how I am when I get here. I like to get myself situated.” I need to organize in order to feel at peace.
“And it takes you forever,” Stryder complains. “It’s our fourth year, our last Thanksgiving break, we only have two more breaks after this before we graduate, so let’s drop the military life for a second and just breathe.” Tossing a pillow at me, he pulls my attention away from my laundry. “Take a deep breath, man.”
From our very first day, when we began basic training, Stryder has been by my side. We shuffled in next to each other, wide-eyed and nervous that fateful first night. We watched each other get clipped, our hair cut to mere millimeters off our scalps. We stood in line together, not speaking a word during immunizations, and when we were starving, exhausted, and ready to fall apart, we were by each other’s side providing encouragement to one another.
Three years later, we’re still together, still nagging each other like an old married couple, still pushing each other to be the very best we can, and both vying for a slot in pilot training.
Stryder comes from a long line of fighter pilots, stretching from his grandfather to his dad, to his uncles and his brothers. It’s in their blood. It wasn’t a question of what Stryder would be when he grew up; it was how he would get there.
I, on the other hand, had listened to story after story of my grandpa talking about his brief moment in the Air Force, where he flew until he was grounded for medical reasons, a dark moment in his life.
It seems it’s a Brooks family tradition to have many “dark moments” in life.
One of those dark moments is why I haven’t been back home to see my mom since I left for the academy. I can still remember the shock in her voice when I told her I’d be staying with Stryder rather than heading home. After the third call saying I wasn’t returning, she gave up.
Thankfully Stryder’s parents don’t mind sponsoring me, and given that I get to hang with my friend and live in their luxury pool house while on break, it’s a win-win for me.
“You know it doesn’t work like that for me.” I pick up another shirt and start folding it, even though it was perfectly folded when I packed it.
The crunch of Stryder’s apple echoes through the small pool house. “How long is this going to take?”
“Why?”
“There’s a party in Woodland Park at one of my high school friend’s houses. His parents are gone for Thanksgiving and left the mountain house to him. It’s going to be sick, man.”
“No.”
“Colby, come the fuck on. Hardie and Joey are going to be there.” Joey—aka, Josephine—and Hardie round out our little foursome. We grew up in different parts of Colorado Springs, oddly never meeting until we were accepted into the United States Air Force Academy - USAFA.
“Joey’s going?” Stryder nods, surprising me. Between the four of us, Joey and I are the most alike with our drive and study habits, our minds set on one thing and one thing only: flying a jet. When everyone else goes out on the weekends to catch a movie, we’re in our dorms, studying. Practicing. Perfecting.
“Come on, you know you want to go.”I really don’t. Stryder tries the playful approach tossing my socks at me. I bat them away.
