“Okay.”
“Brush your teeth before you go to bed.”
“Okay.”
“I love you. Eat the spaghetti.”
“Okay.”
He ends the call. I sit on the edge of the bed for a minute and look at the closed laptop. I think about opening it and starting Problem 3 again, but I should probably read the Cog Psych chapter and take notes. I don’t do either. I plug my phone in and go to bed without finishing the problem set. I need to turn my brain off for the night.
All of this is a Tuesday-Lucy problem.
Tonight-Lucy needs sleep.
At six-thirty, the alarm goes off, but I’m already awake. I need coffee right now, and maybe another few cups later today. I eat the off-brand frosted flakes Gianna pretends to be morally superior about and then spread out my notes on the kitchen table. I read for forty minutes. I retain — I don’t know. Some. I keep looking at the laughing jock in the photograph on my fridge and let the rush of butterflies roll through me every time.
At eight, I have Real Analysis. The professor is talking about uniform continuity. I know what uniform continuity is, so I draw tiny boxes in the corner of my notebook.
At nine-thirty, I cross the quad. Late August in Michigan does this thing where the morning is cool enough to make you put on a jacket, and then by the time you’re on the other side of campus, you’re carrying the jacket. I’ve reached the point where I’m carrying the jacket. Then I have Cog Psych. I take notes and study for the quiz. Then I have a statistics methods seminar — the seminar I’m in, not the class I TA. There are only threepeople in the room. The professor calls on me twice, and I get both questions right, but that’s because numbers are easy.
When class lets out, I shoulder my bag, which by this hour weighs as much as a kindergartener, and I cut across the quad toward the dining hall, where Gianna has the team’s Tuesday lunch Camdenk, which is forty-five minutes out of her entire weird equipment-manager day. She has texted me twice already to ask if I’m coming.
She is at our corner table when I get in. She’s wearing a Wolves polo, her hair is pulled back, and she has a tray with two slices of pizza and a banana. I have a burger I have already lost interest in.
“Oh my god,” she says with wide eyes. “You remember that girl from my English class? Today she had on a mini skirt that cut up her thigh. I could see her pink panties, Lucy. Bright-freaking-pink!”
I chuckle, sitting down. “Maybe she didn’t know.”
“Oh,” she says, leaning back. “She knew. She absolutely knew. She kept looking down at it and taking selfies. Then she left the classroom, talking to the camera.” She makes a gagging sound. “I can’t believe people follow her.”
I tilt my head at her. “Are you still stalking her?”
“I can’t help it. She’s one thing online and something else in person. It drives me mad. Literally don’t trust social media. It’s all an act. I can’t believe my brother ever went near her.”
I still. “What?”
She looks flustered by it. “I know. It’s seriously disgusting.”
“That’s why you’re obsessed with her?” I joke.
She scoffs, throwing her hands up. “I’m not obsessed with her. I just literally don’t understand the male species, including my own brother.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “If she’s wearing that kind of clothes, I guess it attracts––”
“Hey,” she interjects. “He’s still my brother. Yes, a jock. A really good athlete, but he’s not like the other guys.”
I don’t argue with her because I won’t win.
Her eyes flutter shut. “Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe my brother is like every other guy, and I refuse to see it. Good luck with him today, by the way.” She has a rich sense of sarcasm in her tone. “I can’t freaking stand her.”
I take a bite of my burger, heart racing at the thought of seeing Benson Reeve today. I don’t think Gianna realizes how much hold her brother has over campus.
She pushes the banana toward me. I peel half of it. We sit there for a second in the dining hall noise — somebody’s phone playing TikTok audio at the next table, the chatter of friends coming together to eat, and two girls at the salad bar laughing about something.
I pull out my phone and Venmo my mom forty dollars. Then I shoot her a text message.
Me:The money I sent over is for Bear’s field trip and home lunch. He said it’s due on Friday.
