If I was lucky, I could sneak into the kitchen to grab one of my prepped meals and hide out in my room until she decided the apartment was too boring. And then I’d have the common area to myself where I could play a K-Drama on our TV and social media stalk Weston on a private browsing window.
Just as I was getting pumped about my plans, I turned into the kitchen to find Taylor rapidly typing on her laptop and one of her friends sipping a glass of wine. They were both staring at the screen with intense glares but looked up at me once I appeared at the doorway.
“Hi, Coco,” Taylor greeted in her usual singsong tone. The nickname she dubbed me sounded sugary sweet. It made me want to throw up.
I smiled at them. My cheeks ached at the forced nicety. “Hey.”
“How’s it going?” her friend asked. The girl had the most blunt bob I’d ever seen and was dressed in an all-pink tracksuit, reminiscent of the early 2000s.
“Alright.” I started towards the refrigerator. My mother raised me with manners - unfortunately. So, it was impossible for me to not add, “How are you two?”
“Shitty,” Taylor complained and slammed her laptop shut. I watched her gather her blonde curls in one hand while fanning herself with the other. “Did you know half the football team are taken? Why are these guys shacking up during the small window of time they have to date anyone?”
I couldn’t think of an answer, so I tried to wrinkle my brow with hopes that it made me look like I gave two cents. And for effect, I added a sympathetic hum. Yes, I really sold it.
“I don’t know why you would want to date one of those knuckleheadsagain,” tracksuit said as she rolled her eyes.
“David was just a one-night stand. I need something to last for at least a month. It’s on the list,” Taylor said with a groan. “My stupid list.”
I’d heard her talking about this list one night. She’d gotten drunk and her friends dropped her at the front door before heading off to their next party. As I held her curls in my hand, she puked, mostly missing into our toilet while telling me her plan to date every type of guy before she settled down in the suburbs with some tech geek.
“And not every guy is taken,” tracksuit consoled. She was now holding up her phone to use the camera as her mirror. I watched her pout and un-pouted her lips before taking a photo. “There’s Dakota, Kevin, and…”
Weston, I finished for them.
“Briggs,” Taylor said with a sigh. “God, if I could get Weston Briggs, game over. Eff the list.”
Tracksuit made a face. “He’s a little overrated if you ask me.”
I finally stopped hovering and opened the refrigerator. Taylor must have finally done a grocery run because the thing was fully stocked. She’d even replaced my oat milk as she promised.
With one ear trained on their conversation, I opened my Tupperware and transferred my chilled pasta into a glass bowl.
“Have you seen him shirtless?” Taylor questioned her friend. “There is nothing overrated about that guy.”
“He’s the one involved in that kid’s accident though,” her friend replied.
Still eavesdropping, I carefully set my food in the microwave and closed it with a barely audible click.
“Shit,” Taylor said and bit on her glossy lip. “Was that confirmed?”
With courage, I asked, “Accident?”
Tracksuit looked at me, shocked I inserted myself in their conversation. She quickly recovered and stood up taller in the excitement she’d be able to share some gossip with someone outside of her circle. “Weston’s possibly crazy.”
“He’s not crazy,” Taylor defended. “It’s rude to call someone that. It’s like… a negative connotation for people with mental illness.”
“Fine, sorry,” tracksuit sighed. “He’s unwell.”
I nodded, encouraging her to continue.
“A few weeks ago, this guy on campus allegedly raped a girl at a party,” Tracksuit continued. “Weston found out.”
“What did he do?” I questioned. Curiosity lurked in the corners of my mind and refused to let me relax until I heard the end of the story.
“Beat the guy nearly to death,” Tracksuit drawled in a dramatic narrator-type voice. “And that’s not an exaggeration. The guy was on a ventilator until yesterday. There was an article on his recovery in the town newspaper. Only a few people know about Weston’s involvement. His name wasn’t in the story.”
“The guy deserved it,” Taylor whispered with disgust coating every word. “Raping a girl warrants a beating.
