Page 117 of These Secret Years

“It’s great,” he says, just as fast.

“We haven’t really gotten a chance to⁠—”

“Yeah, I know. This is good. I like Thai food.”

“Okay good.”

“You guys are really taking this assignment seriously,” he says, deadpan.

“I always take assignments seriously.”

“And Deandre?”

“He loves a project.”

“Yeah, I noticed that when we were roommates. He has more model car sets than anyone I’ve ever seen.”

I laugh at that. I’ve noticed all the cars in Deandre’s room. I don’t think I knew he made them himself, though. Or maybe it’s something I forgot.

“He took me to the grocery store Monday,” Sullivan adds.

I frown at that. “He didn’t mention it.”

“He’s got me making protein smoothies.”

“Ah. How are they?”

“Easier to make than bacon and eggs.”

“You can tell us if any of this is too much.”

“No, I don’t mind it. I guess I missed him.”

And me? I want to ask but don’t.

I clock the entrance to the restaurant a hundred yards away. “Looks a hell of a lot like he missed you, too. Why didn’t you guys stay in touch sophomore year?”

“I don’t know that I ever really considered him a friend.”

“Why? He obviously considered you one.”

“I guess it wasn’t as obvious to me then. You guys—you all had your own thing.”

“Football, you mean?”

“Yeah. You were on a team. I had my own friends anyway.”

“You still talk to them?”

“Just Chelsea,” he says.

“How’s Chelsea?”

“Both our majors got a little more cutthroat this semester, so we’re having to reprioritize some things.”

“Hm.” I want to know more about what he means by that, but we’re at the restaurant now, and I open the door. The A/C inside does immediate wonders to cool my sweat. “What’s she majoring in?”

“She was a music major, but she switched last year, and now she’s doing a double major in film and journalism.”