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I play on my phone to pass time until I hear the lock click open. The door inches open and one green eye peeks out.
“Unless you are selling alarm systems, I’m not interested.” My eyebrows creep towards my hairline.
“Didn’t realize you were sponsoring Taber’s security systems now.” The door opens just enough so I can see exactly half of Wes’ face.
“After a few incidents with a pack mule over carrying its load, I figured better not take any chances.” Fighting the urge to smile, I do my best to sound annoyed.
“Very funny. Are you going to let me in or not?” The annoyingly handsome side profile disappears and the door swings open.
“Welcome to the lacrosse quarters, Trip.” Wes sweeps his hand majestically down the hall, one that is an exact replica to mine except for the colour. The lacrosse team scored an ugly burgundy wall colour, whereas Stella and I got mustard yellow. Between the two assaulting colours, I prefer the burgundy.
We hike up the stairs to the second level, reaching about halfway down the row of doors before stopping. Wes swipes his access card across the keypad and at the green light, we step inside.
I am not sure what I expect Wes’ dorm to look like, but an exact replica of my own living room is not it. The same ratty sofas line the two walls, facing an ancient television set that looks too old to function (Stella and I proved otherwise), and even the location of his bathroom is parallel to my own. For some reason, I pictured the varsity residences as… well, more glamorous. Or at least in a state of disaster.
Looking around the room, I don’t see a single pizza box, dirty dish, or any sort of overflowing garbage. The only thing out of place is a lacrosse bag strewn across one of the sofas. The overall cleanliness of the room feels underwhelming, if not boring.
“This one’s mine,” Wes points to the corner room, the one Stella has in our dorm. It’s slightly bigger than my own, but not by much. Peeking my head into the room, I breathe a sigh of relief when I spot dirty socks peeking out from under his bed. Wes is human after all.
I take a step into his room and run smack into a huge, flat screen TV. I’d been so focused on finding evidence of dirtiness that I hadn’t registered the 72” plasma screen precariously balancing on cardboard boxes just inside the doorway.
“That looks secure.” I don’t realize I say it out loud until Wes laughs.
“You should have seen me taping it down on move-in day. Nico just about became the first Latino Flat Stanley.” I lean forward to take a closer look and yup, I can see clear masking tape holding the boxes together.
“I can only imagine.” I totally could. When it comes to pulling off ludicrous charades, Wes is in a league of his own.
I move my eyes past the gigantic monitor and note the rumpled blue bedsheets and faded pictures taped to the wall. Between the discarded socks and the unmade bed, Wes has nearly sunken to my level of sloppiness. There’s hope for him yet.
“May I?” I gesture towards the pictures and Wes gives me a nod, closing the distance between us so he can point out each one.
“That’s Nico and I graduating elementary. We were in the fifth grade and our moms thought it would be cute to dress us up as if it were a proper graduation, so we ended up being the only kids wearing mortarboard hats and matching gowns. Thankfully, we both had the dashing good looks to pull them off.” I laugh, looking at the little boys in the picture playing with their matching tassels. Nico’s heritage makes it easy to distinguish between the two, although even without the differing skin tones, the cheeky dimples popping out on the one’s smile couldn’t be mistaken for anyone but Wes.
“This one is the first time I scored a goal playing lacrosse in high school. Took days for the smell of Gatorade to wash out of my hair.” Turning to the next grainy print, I’m hit by an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. The shot was taken after the team drenched Wes, laughter breaking across his features as he sits in the middle of the puddle. The picture is almost an exact replica to the first memory I have of Wes: him laughing on the ground, sitting in a pile of my underwear. The familiarity of the scene is eerie to say the least.
“And this last one is from prom last year.” Doing my best to shake off goosebumps from memory lane, I look at the last photo and suck in a breath. It’s a graduation shot of Wes looking unbelievably handsome in a suit, standing next to the most beautiful girl I have ever seen. The two of them are laughing into the camera, Wes doing some sort of butler pose while the dark-haired beauty curtsies for the camera.
“Your date was stunning.” An uncomfortable feeling resembling disappointment settles in my chest. Wes isn’t the type of guy interested in social outcasts. He’s a social butterfly who attracts other, outrageously gorgeous social butterflies who ooze the same level of confidence as himself. The type of girls who are carefree enough to be captured laughing on camera.
The type of girls who had friends in high school.
Shaking his head, Wes chuckles good naturally, “You should have seen the number of guys who kept asking her to dance. Thank God my parents didn’t allow Lace to attend the after-party.” I frown, trying to register the odd response.
“Your parents didn’t let your girlfriend attend the after-party with you?” Wes looks at me in horror.
“Lace is short for Lacey. As in my younger sister. As in blood relation.”
“Oh.Oh.”Wes bursts out laughing, and my cheeks redden immediately. Quickly taking another peek at the picture, I start to see the similarities I had missed before. Lacey’s dark locks and porcelain skin match that of her brother’s perfectly. Her smile is missing the dimples but the twinkle in her hazel eyes is one I’ve seen many times.
Feeling ridiculous for my misassumption, I decide to ask the more obvious question: “Why was your sister your prom date?” It couldn’t be because he had no other options. Our friendship may be questionably platonic, but my vision is perfectly intact.
An emotion I can’t quite identify flickers across Wes’ face before his charming smile slides back into place. “I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you. Now, quit wasting time and show me how far you’ve gotten on that paper.”
Wes
Nothing. She’s done absolutely nothing.
I thought she was joking when she pulled out the assignment sheet in response to my comment. Turns out Trip deserves an Olympic gold medal for procrastination, because if I’m hearing right, the reason behind her lack of progress is because she spent two hours in the library… watching Netflix.
