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“Why would it be awkward?”
“Because Kodiak has been tagging along on our girl adventures, and it’s hard to shop for some things when he’s with us. Plus, we can’t talk sex tips when he’s there either.”
“Right. Okay. Noted. Spend time with Kody over the holidays. Why isn’t he here right now?”
“Because he needs too many rewards when he’s studying, and I don’t want lockjaw or a broken vagina going into exams. You’re welcome for the overshare. I have several more years of this before we’re even Stephen.” She pushes back her chair and stands, ruffling my hair on her way past me. “Love youuuuu!” she shouts as she skips up the stairs.
I consider how absent I’ve been lately, the way I’ve been brushing off Kody, the way I’m always hoping no one’s around when I come home. Lavender’s right. I’ve been scarce.
Kody isn’t big on confrontation, especially when it comes to me. Mostly because he’s felt a lot of responsibility for how messed up Lavender was when they were kids.
Maybe we’re more alike than I thought.
My story isn’t due until tomorrow, but I want to hand it in early, if possible. So after I finish my read-through, I get myself together and head out. I don’t usually have much in the way of test anxiety, but today is different. Once this story is handed over, I’m in the final stretch of being Clover’s student. The invisible barrier that’s been between us in the form of her ethical dilemma should cease to exist soon. I’ve sent her an electronic copy, but I’m handing in a paper one as well. I have it time-stamped by the English office before I drop it in Clover’s mailbox.
And then the wait begins.
That afternoon, I shoot the puck around in the driveway with Kody when we need a break from studying, and I play video games with River, BJ, and Quinn when my brain can’t handle more information. But time feels like it’s moving backwards.
I have two more exams, and I’m aware that final grades aren’t due until after the exam period has finished. I know better than to reach out before the grades have been submitted.
* * *
Thankfully my lastexam happens to fall on final exam day, which means I have a reason to stick around campus right to the end. On Friday afternoon, when exams are done, I fight the urge to stop by Clover’s place. Instead, I end up at the bar with a few of the guys from the team. Even Quinn shows up for a bit, but he’s scarce this semester, only around for hockey, and otherwise locked in his room studying. He had a breakup awhile back and I don’t think he’s getting over it. His one mistake in the form of Bethany early in the semester seemed to be the beginning and the end of things on the dating front from what BJ tells me.
I order a beer and nurse it, watching the clock. Since I passed over my final creative writing paper at the beginning of the week, the grade should be in by now, even though the deadline isn’t until tomorrow.
I glance around at my teammates to make sure none of them are paying attention to me as I pull Clover’s contact up on my phone. I don’t know what protocol is here. Do I wait for her to reach out? Is she waiting on me?
I open the thread and see humping dots, indicating that she’s composing a message. I wait for something to come through, but the dots continue to hump along the screen until it goes blank again.
I send a message of my own:
Maverick: ?
I don’t know if this is a standoff or what, but I’m tired of waiting. And really, I can’t see her being the one to step over the line. It has to be me. I throw a twenty on the table and leave the bar.
Nineteen
No More Walls
Clover
Two hours ago, my TA emailed the final story grades for my creative writing class. Ninety minutes ago, I submitted them. I’ve been sitting in my living room ever since with my phone in my hand, text message composed, my finger hovering over the send button. The screen goes blank every five minutes.
Fifteen minutes ago, Maverick sent a question mark.
I know I should decide one way or the other. But now that I’m here, at the end of the semester, I don’t know what the right choice is anymore.
The knock on the door startles me, and for a moment I worry that Gabriel is showing up unexpectedly again. It’s late, though, and the knock is coming from the back door, not the front.
Maverick’s last exam finished hours ago. And I haven’t seen him since he left my office last week.
I push out of my chair and cross the living room on unsteady legs, phone still in my hand. He stands on my back deck, wearing dress shoes, black pants, a gray button-down, and a black wool jacket—the kind someone would wear for a nice dinner out. He looks older. Refined. Not like a student.
He tucks one hand in his pocket and quirks a brow.
I hit send on the message:
