“Football field, gym, bed.” As he spoke, we kept our arms wrapped around each other, too excited to realize how odd it might be. But we were both huggers and hand warmers, and whatever involved comforting touch.
Haven cleared her throat, too polite to tell him to get his hands off her designated security friend.
“This is my best friend.” I reached out, tugging Haven into our little world.
Hart’s eyes brightened. “The one who surfs?”
I nodded. “And wants to travel for a living after school.”
“Wicked,” he said and smiled at her.
She tried to smile back, but the lack of people distracted her. “Very wicked…so, where’s the party? I thought we’d be swinging off banisters and doing keg stands.”
“Oh, no, that was last week,” Hart teased. “Sorry you missed it. Tonight, we’re more of a small group who argue over orange and red properties or who did what in the study room with the candlestick.”
When Haven gave him a confused look, and he returned it, I laughed and became their translator. “He’s talking about board games. She didn’t grow up with board games or TV unless it was late-night cable.”
“I’m very proficient inI Dream of Jeanie,” Haven offered.
I slipped out of Hart’s embrace when he asked about classic American television, and got a glimpse of David disappearing into the kitchen. I smiled at the strangers in the living room, who offered me obligatory waves and polite ‘hellos.’
The kitchen was an outrageous display of wealth. The glossy finery made me wonder whether people actually cooked inside, or if it was as useless as an IKEA display. One thing that my siblings and I could ruin in our family home was the kitchen. Mom even had a TV installed above one of the counters so we could watch cartoons while helping her bake. Another wave of nostalgia engulfed me. Big houses with small rituals were the source of most of my homesickness.
A guy with gold-wire framed glasses, dark brown skin, and a look of absolute concentration carefully placed a couple of candles around the edge of a sheet cake. Based on my current catering knowledge, I estimate the trays of food on the island cost about $300. On the ground were pot after pot of houseplants. The space was one part fine dining, one part greenhouse.
“Hi,” I greeted.
The guy looked up, confused for a moment before offering me a warm smile. “Hello.”
It was quiet for a second as he continued placing the candles, and I stood in the doorway, awkwardly watching.
“I’m Yara.”
“Nathaniel,” he said without looking up.
“Nice to meet you.”
He nodded. More silence.
“I’m a frie—David invited me,” I explained my presence. “I thought I saw him come in here.”
“Bathroom,” Nathaniel nudged his chin toward a long hallway leading into the back of the house. There were at leastsix visible doors, each closed with light filtering out from underneath.
“Right.” I clasped my hands behind my back. “Mind if I wait here for him?”
“Not at all.” He moved to get more candles. I took a seat at the counter on the lush, green-threaded barstool.
Nathaniel’s fresh fade and thick biceps conjure images of a smiling athlete pinned to the dining hall’s bulletin board. He’d been on the school website’s front page more times than any of his fellow teammates combined. He was a true golden boy of Westbrooke’s dreams.
“I remember you made that winning touchdown last year,” I said. “They say you broke the school’s losing curse.”
“Lucky catch.” He shrugged, offered me a shy smile before pushing his glasses on top of his head. Nathaniel moved some plants from one side of the room to another. He even lifted the large pots with one hand and little to no effort.
“Rumor has it you once won the lottery and survived two plane accidents. People say that’s why they recruited you. Apparently, whatever you touch turns to gold,” I teased, trying to trigger a conversation.
According to my stealthy Google search underneath the table, Nathaniel held the all-time best receiving record in the NCAA. Westbrooke hadn’t even qualified for the playoffs until last year, when Nathaniel stepped on campus. After his arrival, they’d lost only two games in the entire season, a nearly impossible feat.
Nathaniel was a fantastic contender for the annual picnic basket fundraiser BWD hosted, featuring a handful of eligible Black men on campus. Charming smile, incredible arms, and a winning record. His basket would undoubtedly spark a bidding war. If I could get him to open up and trust me, maybe I could convince him to get involved in a worthy cause.
