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“So you do know him!” Spencer said when I lowered my hand. “Who is he?”
“His name is Lark, and he’s in my pre-calc review period.”
Spencer narrowed his eyes. “You seemed to know him before that.”
“Yeah, I wasn’t sure at first.” I popped a fry in my mouth. “But it was definitely from middle school.”
“Didn’t you always go to private schools?” Flash asked.
“And?”
“He just doesn’t seem…” Flash waved a hand. “He looks like a product of public school.”
I clenched my jaw. “Christ, do you hear yourself sometimes?”
“What? His clothes are a dead giveaway.”
“And you won’t get rid of your holey sweats because of some superstition about game days.”
His cheeks colored. Good. These guys were my friends, but sometimes they were ridiculous. They wouldn’t know what to do with themselves if they were ever disowned. They’d never suffered a day in their lives. In a warped way, I was thankful for my childhood illness because it made me see the world differently. How your creature comforts could be snatched from you in the blink of an eye.
But I couldn’t fool myself. My illness aside, I wasn’t much different from them. I also did everything my parents asked of me—and sometimes I wondered why it even mattered since Dad had stepped in before I’d sent off my college application. He’d already spoken to the coach and dean on my behalf, and that didn’t sit right with me either. Was I here on merit or not?
Once I finished college and earned a paycheck on my own, maybe I’d finally step outside the box I’d been put in.
“What the hell kind of name is Lark?” A-Train asked.
“I don’t know; what kind of name is Alistair?”
The guys cracked up.
“That dude eating lunch with him is my roommate,” Bones muttered. “Emil.”
“And?” Flash asked.
“He’s all right, I guess. But he’s got a mouth on him. He’s already complaining that I leave too much of my shit on the floor.”
“I’d complain too,” A-Train said. “No doubt your side of the room is a pigsty.”
“Right?” Spencer added. “Have you ever seen the inside of his locker? It stinks like moldy socks in there.”
“You do realize our uniforms are washed by the locker-room manager, right?” I told Bones. “I know it takes effort to drop it off in the bin on your way out the door, but for fuck’s sake, don’t make us smell you.”
“The ladies don’t seem to mind,” Bones said, sniffing his shirt. “I clean up nice.”
“Ugh, I already feel sorry for your roommate.”
“Emil is apparently a double major—music and dance—so you just know he ‘prances’ around the room, judging me.” He used air quotes on the wordprancefor effect.
I rolled my eyes. “Way to go full stereotype. Dancers—maleandfemale—probably have more stamina than you.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he teased, tossing a napkin at me.
My face heated. I knew they weren’t talking about Lark or his friend, but still. At least that helped explain Lark’s new friend, who was obviously from the same program.
“Maybe I would,” I replied, keeping a level tone. “Some of the ballerinas are hot.”
Flash mimicked a guy railing someone from behind. “You should go for it, Henners.”
