Gerard, mercifully oblivious, continues cataloging Ryan’s facial features as though he’s an art critic at the Louvre. “Has anyone told you that you look like a young Paul Newman? Because you look like a young Paul Newman. Elliot would agree. Elliot loves Paul Newman. Speaking of the love of my life, whereisElliot?”
As if summoned by the invocation of his name, Elliot Montgomery rounds the corner of the reference desk, a clipboard in his hand, and his expression locked into professional mode.
“You must be the pool delinquents,” he says. “I’m Elliot Montgomery, librarian and Dean Morris’s assistant for the summer. I’ll be coordinating your summer penance activities.”
Jackson scratches his head. “Uh, Elliot? We all know who you are. Gerard is your boyfriend. You’re my best friend. Why are you…” He gestures his hand at Elliot’s stoic demeanor.
“Because right now, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you.”
“Oh fiddlesticks. I’m getting a boner,” Gerard whispers.
Elliot’s gaze lands on his boyfriend with laser precision. “Mr. Gunnarson. The one with the memorable posterior.”
Gerard beams. “That’s me!”
“Keep talking, and your punishment will be much worse.”
The way Gerard mimics my pose—hands in pockets, hips angled, toes curling in his flip-flops—would be funny if it didn’t suddenly make it even more obvious what’s happening to me.
“Let’s establish some ground rules.” He consults his clipboard. “You will report to me every morning at eight o’clock sharp. You will complete any assigned tasks without complaint. You will conduct yourselves as representatives of Berkeley Shore University, which means no more late-night pool infiltrations, no more naked sprints across campus, and absolutely no more incidents that end up on gossip blogs.”
Drew and I exchange a look. The Ice Queen is going to be devastated.
“Your first assignment begins today.” Elliot flips a page. “The university archives in the basement of this very building have been neglected for decades. Boxes of documents, photographs, and memorabilia need to be sorted, cataloged, and organized. You will be working in pairs.” He reads off the pairings like a sentencing. “Drew Larney and Jackson Monroe. Gerard Gunnarson and Nathan Paisley.” A pause. “Oliver Jacoby and Ryan Abrams.”
My heart stutters. Ryan’s eyes meet mine, wide and slightly panicked.
“Be warned. It’s dusty down there.” He surveys us one final time. “Any questions?”
Gerard raises his hand. “Is there going to be a heartfelt moment at the end of this where we all realize we’re not so different after all and form lifelong bonds?”
Elliot stares at him for a long, uncomfortable moment. “Mr. Gunnarson, the only thing you’re going to realize by the end of this summer is that actions have consequences.”
Gerard watches him go with undisguised admiration. “This is just likeThe Breakfast Club.We’re all here for detention, thrown together by fate, forced to confront our differences, and Elliot is definitely the principal. The authority figure who doesn’t understand us but secretly wants us to succeed.”
“This is nothing likeThe Breakfast Club,” Nathan says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “InThe Breakfast Club, there were five people. There are six of us. The math alone disqualifiesyour analogy.”
Gerard’s mouth drops open like Nathan just insulted his firstborn. “Themath? Are you going to math your way out of a cinematic parallel? That’s the most Nathan thing you’ve ever said, and you once corrected a professor’s grammar during a fire drill.”
“It was a misplaced modifier. It changed the entire meaning of the evacuation instructions.”
“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about.” Gerard wheels on Ryan, who has been standing quietly at the edge of the group, doing his best impression of someone who wishes he were invisible. Gerard slings his arm around Ryan’s shoulders and tugs him into the conversation. “Ryan, back me up here. This is totallyThe Breakfast Club. We’ve got the jock, the rebel, the brain—that’s you, by the way?—”
“I didn’t agree to be the brain.”
“You didn’t have to. It’s self-evident.” Gerard tightens his arm around Ryan’s shoulders. “You’re my new bestie, and besties back each other up. That’s, like, rule one of the bestie code.”
Ryan’s gaze finds mine across the group, his eyes wide and pleading.
I shake my head, biting back a grin. “When it comes to Gerard, it’s best to just go with it. Fighting only makes it worse. Trust me. Drew tried to resist the bestie designation once upon a time and ended up with a friendship bracelet glued to his wrist for three weeks.”
“Superglued,” Drew corrects from his bookshelf. “I still have a bald patch on my arm.”
“Worth it,” Gerard says without a shred of remorse.
Jackson steps forward and claps Ryan on the shoulder from the other side, effectively sandwiching him between two enormous athletes. “Honestly, man, just surrender. One day, you won’t even blink twice at seeing Gerard come out of his room with morning wood.”
A genuine, pin-drop, hold-your-breath silence blankets the room. Ryan’s eyes, which were already wide, achieve a diameter I didn’t think was anatomically possible.
