I thought I knew about it. I thought I understood.
Turns out, I had no clue.
“I wanted to tell you so many times, Micah. But it just—I didn’t know how to make it fit.”
“Fit?” I ask, my eyebrows drawing together in confusion.
“You and me, the frat, the team, my family, that’s one world,” Seb explains with a sigh. His fingers have resumed scratching, wandering from his wrist up his arms. “And Olli…he was in another. He was something separate, something that was justmine. I thought if I kept those two worlds apart, I could have both, you know? Football and him. But that’s not how it works.”
That’s not how it works—the words echo deep inside of me, carving themselves into my bones.
Linden, I think. Andfootball.
That’s not how it works.
“If I had told you, it would have made it real. I knew you’d support me, but then I would’ve had to start thinking about a solution. Maybe I even would’ve had hope. I guess it was just easier to keep it separate and pretend I could compartmentalize forever.”
I almost don’t hear his words, my head spinning with everything that happened over the past weeks. Linden and I on his parents' farm, a summer that stretched forever.
Safe and separate.
Compartmentalized—just like I did with my family, everything stacked into one neat box.
Past, present, future.
I swallow thickly when I glance at Seb, realizing that I’m indeed watching my very own future play out in front of me right now.
I can’t, I think.I can’t do this.
“Seb,” I say, my voice breaking on the three simple letters. I don’t wait for him to look at me. Instead, I plunge right in.“I met someone.”
Linden, August 14th
I’m out of Sasha’s car before she has even turned off the engine. We had to park so far back that all I can hear of the party is a faint bass line and the occasional voice shouting along so badly that it could be any song.
I wait until two sets of footsteps crunch on the gravel behind me before I lay out my plan. “Okay, so we find Olli, make sure no one’s tearing his head off, we grab the idiot, and then head home again. Cool?” Despite the joyful buzz hanging in the warm evening air, my stomach is in knots.
On the way here, Vince was visibly disappointed when I told him about Olli’s history with the frat. My brain, however, goes straight back to the beach volleyball tournament a few weeks ago and those frat guys spitting in the sand, nearly getting in our faces—just because Olli and I had won.
And then there’s Olli’s dark grimace when I mentioned Davenport just a few days ago, floating before my inner eye.
It makes the scene feel a lot more ominous than a beach party has any business being especially since we haven’t even made itto the beach yet, blocked by the small forest that separates the parking lot from the lakeside.
Only hints of what's waiting for us come through: the drifting sparks of a bonfire rising above the treetops like confused fireflies, loud singing and laughing, and the occasional stragglers who are either on the hunt for a private spot or returning to the bustle of the party after having their fun.
I take conscious, deep breaths of the forest air as we’re hurrying through, hoping that its cool and damp tones will stick to me and save me from the heat that blasts into my face as soon as we make it out into the light of the party.
From all around, the Greek letters of Kappa Nu are shining at us; stitched on polo shirts with popped collars, painted on naked skin, and outlined in string lights. Olli really should be smart enough to know that this was enemy territory to him since he had been banned from all official Kappa Nu parties last year.
“Hey, I agree with finding Olli, but why not have some fun while we’re here? I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually.” Vince cranes his neck, looking around. With his height, he’s able to look over almost everyone’s head to take in the full spectacle that I can only guess at. It must be immense, the huge bonfire of which I can only see sparks flying up into the dark sky, the people dancing to the overly loud music, and somewhere, the origin of all those red plastic cups.
I’m a little envious of Vince's height and the fact that to him, this is just a party.
“Because,” I start, squeezing past a circle of people who are taking turns doing handstands on a keg. “I don’t want my friend to get punched.”
“Who says he’s getting punched?”
“Are you sure you know Olli?”
