Page 24 of Lovefool

SUTTON

When Lake told me we were going to be peacefully protesting on campus today, I wasn’t expecting the package to include one crushed foot courtesy of some old lady’s mobility scooter.

Honestly, the turnout is crazy. I even made a sign and everything. The message is pretty straightforward—ANIMALS DESERVE BETTER—in big, bold letters. The fact that so many companies still test on animals is insane, especially because it’s so immoral.

I’m excited that I’ll get to see Lake in her natural habitat. At first, I wanted to go so I could protect her in case things got out of hand, but I’m realizing now that she’s the veteran here.

Nobody is doing anything illegal. They’re engaging in elevated conversations about the state of our fucked-up world, practicing community, and advocating for something bigger than themselves. It gives me hope for humanity. I want to be a part of Lake’s world. I want to be a part of my dad’s world. This is simply a slice of the adrenaline pie that my father experiences on a daily basis.

When an elbow comes flying in Lake’s direction, I block its trajectory with my body, shielding her in the safety of my shadow. I tower over pretty much everyone here, and there’s something comforting about tracking her head of blonde hair bobbing underneath my eyeline.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about the inevitable kettling. The pacifist inside of me is at an identity crossroads, staring down one long, winding path into the greater unknown, which blends into an overarching penumbra. The other is lined with various tribulations that thrive in the darkness of uncertainty—invisible bear traps hidden in dense grass, potholes sunken into freeze-thawed concrete, impenetrable thickets flaunting claw-like thorns. I know the evacuation plan—grab Lake and haul ass to the nearest building to hide.

Oblivious to the fact that I’ve just recently become a frequent flyer of Anxiety Airlines, Lake looks up at me with her big, Bambi eyes, a million-dollar smile stretching across her lips. “Isn’t this awesome? I’m so glad you came! The community here is like nothing you’ll ever experience anywhere else.”

She’s not wrong. I truly believe Granny over there would take a bullet for me.

Everyone is welcome no matter their background. I hate to admit it, but there’s definitely a hierarchy in hockey. There’s one in every competitive sport. Talent gets you far, and hesitation gets you a semipermanent spot on the bench.

We’ve managed to amass a dense yet impressive crowd, and my war-wounded toe is beginning to throb. Poster boards of varying sizes populate in my periphery, followed by black-and-white photographs of animals in distress and brightly colored signs that scream at the empty heads of corporate.

I swallow harshly; nausea wrings my stomach like it has a debt to pay. “Are you sure this is safe?” I shout over the commotion.

“Not remotely, but only if we get caught!” Lake yells back, her tone concerningly devoid of fear. She’s a trouble-attracting magnet. I’d be impressed by the way she holds her own if I wasn’t constantly worried about her safety.

A flock to our right gets a little unpredictable, and before I know it, my large body is getting smushed into her small one without warning. I hug her into my chest to stop myself from crushing her.

“And you do this all the time? With no backup?”

We’re face to pecs, the rowdiness of the swarm seemingly so unimportant that it doesn’t even make a dent in her bubble of fortitude. She welcomes the bedlam with open arms, watches in awe as it unravels around her.

“You didn’t strike me as a scaredy cat, Sutton,” she teases with a tone that she definitely can’t be using when our bodies are one wrong move away from indecency. I can feel her heart cantering against my belly, and her faint strawberry perfume is inexplicably distinguishable despite the melting pot of smells all around us.

Lake is the only person in this world who makes me simultaneously horny and terrified at the same time.

“I’m not.” (At least, not for the reasons you think.)

My delivery is shaky, B-list at best, and she rubs her hand up and down my arm in an effort to comfort me.

“It’s okay. Everyone’s first time is different. Scary, vulnerable, sometimes a little bloody.”

I snort. “Har, har.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to be out here,” she insists.

I don’t mean to go all crazy protector mode on her, but I can’t help it. And no, it’s not because I have some unresolved savior complex. It’s because, despite having only known her for a short while, the thought of Lake getting hurt is inconceivable.

“I’m fine, Lake. It’s you I’m worried about. This is all so dangerous. What happens if the police come and everyone flees and you get trampled? What happens if they resort to tear gas or some shit?”

Fuck, thinking about it makes me sick.

I’m powerless when it comes to my father. Nothing will ever stop him from helping those in need, not even a selfish request from his own son. I’ll be damned if I let Lake think she’s alone in any of this. Judging by the talk we had at the restaurant, it’s clear her mom has done some irreversible damage to her sense of community.

She takes my hand and lifts it to cup the soft curve of her cheek. “Nothing like that is going to happen. You worry too much. This is supposed to be fun, remember? Plus, getting caught in a stampede builds character.”

Great. Maybe I do worry too much. Not all protests end in death and destruction…right? If I prepare for the worst, I’m allowing the worst to happen.

With a growl caught halfway in my throat, I acquiesce, sighing out all the air in my lungs. “You really like this stuff, don’t you?”