The band finishes “Beyond the Sea” and launches into “Splish Splash.” As the tempo picks up, the dance floor fills with younger couples eager to show off their moves. I watch a man in a bowling shirt lead his partner through a complicated series of spins, their movements synchronized in a way that speaks to years of practice.
“You’re smiling.” Oliver’s voice is close to my ear, soft enough that it doesn’t carry over the music.
I turn to find him watching me with an expression I can’t quite decipher. “Am I?”
“Yeah.” His eyes crinkle at the corners. “It’s nice. You should do it more often.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I stare at my menu, pretending to study the appetizer section with interest. “The music is good.”
“It is.” A pause. “But I don’t think that’s why you’re smiling.”
Before I can figure out how to respond to that, our server arrives—a young woman with cat-eye glasses and a name tag that reads “Patty.” The table descends into chaos as everyone attempts to order at once.
“One at a time!” Patty says, her pen poised over her notepad with the patience of a saint. “Let’s start with drinks.”
The drink orders alone take five minutes. Gerard wants a chocolate milkshake, but also a cherry phosphate, but also maybe a root beer float? Kyle orders water. Alex quietly asks for a vanilla malt. When it’s my turn, I order a cherry cola, and Oliver orders the same thing with a grin that suggests he did it on purpose.
Food orders are even more time-consuming. Drew and Jackson engage in a passionate debate about whether cheese fries are superior to regular fries (they are, obviously). Gerard finallysettles on a burger that is explicitlynotthe Blue Suede Burger. Nathan orders the most protein-heavy item on the menu. Kyle orders a salad and then changes it to a steak when Alex quietly points out that hockey season is over, and he’s allowed to indulge.
I order a classic cheeseburger with the works, and when I say “with the works,” Oliver catches my eye and mouths “same,” and I feel like we’ve shared something significant even though it’s literally just burger toppings.
The band transitions into “At the Hop,” and the dance floor explodes with energy. Patty returns with a tray, expertly balanced on one hand, and skillfully distributes our drinks. My cherry cola arrives in a frosted glass with a striped straw, and when Oliver’s identical drink lands beside mine, our eyes meet over the rims.
“Cheers,” he says, lifting his glass.
I clink mine against his. “To fifties night.”
“To new old friends.”
The sweetness of the cola mingles with something warmer in my chest as I drink. Conversation swirls around us. Drew recounts the time Gerard accidentally set his own eyebrows on fire trying to light a birthday candle. Nathan defends his protein-centric lifestyle choices. Kyle threatens bodily harm to anyone who mentions his practicing dance moves in the shower. But gradually, as the appetizers give way to entrées and the energy of our arrival settles into the comfortable rhythm of a meal shared among friends, the volume dims.
Our burgers arrive in red plastic baskets lined with checkered paper, the cheese perfectly melted, the buns toasted golden.
“So,” Oliver says, angling his body toward me as he picks up his burger. The movement creates a pocket of intimacy in the crowded booth, like we’re in our own little bubble. “Senior year. Last one. Kind of wild to think about.”
“What are you hoping for?” I ask, surprising myself with the question. Normally, I’d wait for someone else to carry the conversation, but something about tonight makes me braver. Whetherit’s the music, the atmosphere, or Oliver’s shoulder, warm against mine, I couldn’t say.
Oliver takes a bite and chews thoughtfully. “Honestly? I want us to win another championship. Four in a row would be insane. Historic, even.” He wipes a smear of ketchup from his lip with his thumb. “But more than that, I want to leave the team in good shape. Make sure the freshmen are ready to step up. That Gerard doesn’t drive Kyle to actual homicide.”
“A noble goal.”
“Someone’s gotta keep the peace.” He grins, then sobers slightly. “I also want to figure out what comes next. I’ve been so focused on hockey that I haven’t really thought about the ‘rest of my life’ part.”
“You’re a sports management major, right?”
“Yeah, but that’s such a broad field. Coaching? Front office? Agent work?” He shrugs. “I have too many options. It’s paralyzing sometimes.”
I nod, understanding more than he probably realizes. The weight of an uncertain future is something I know intimately.
“What about you?” Oliver asks, nudging my shoulder with his. “What’s Ryan Abrams excited about?”
The question catches me off guard. People don’t usually ask what excites me. They ask about my grades, my plans, my practical considerations. But excitement? That’s different.
“The lunar eclipse,” I say before I can second-guess myself. “At the end of the month. It’s going to be spectacular.”
Oliver’s eyebrows rise with genuine interest. “Yeah? Tell me about it.” He sets down his burger and gives me his full attention. “Seriously. Explain it to me like I’m a hockey player who knows nothing about space.”
“So, a regular Tuesday.”
