as it would have been to chuck it out my car window like a gumdrop.
I was still wearing my awful laced-up high school jeans, so I took my new drink upstairs with me to change. The stairs felt longer and steeper than usual.
It had been a few weeks since I’d done laundry, and I’d packed all the clothes that were both decent and clean. The only clean PJs I had left were the ones I absolutely hated. They were infamous. Old and worn; pale blue and red plaid; big, boxy, and, like most of my clothes, they had pale yellow coffee stains everywhere.
When it first happened-when they met and it was love at first sight-I blamed it on those pajamas. As much as I hated them, I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out because they gave me something substantial to blame.
Janie came to visit me at the U of R over her spring break, junior year. She drove up on a Friday afternoon. I told Peter I couldn’t make our dinner because I thought I was going to fail my psych midterm.
“In fact,” I told him, while we were walking to the dining hall for breakfast, “I’m just going to put myself in seclusion this weekend.”
Peter met me at my dorm every morning and we walked over together. It was his solution to the fact that I was chronically late for my first class. He thought if I was up and out, I was more likely to make it on time-so, he came to get me every single morning. It was the best part of my day.
“Come on,” he said. “I found this Indian place.” He raised his eyebrows up and down at me and smiled. “Apparently, it’s a total dive, but Connor from my lit class says it’s really good, and he’s a total food snob. He says you’ll actually see Indian people eating there. That’s how good it is.”
“You don’t like Indian food,” I reminded him, fighting the urge to touch his face. Every time I was around Peter, no matter how much time we spent together, I had to make a concentrated effort to keep my hands off of him. Something about the line of his jaw, and the smoothness of his skin, just made me want to grab him, smell his neck, hold his body against mine. I’d never felt that way about anyone before. It was hard to focus on anything else.
“You like Indian food. You were just talking about it. And I always make you eat Chinese.”
“You’re always the one buying,” I said, calling out something we never talked about.
“I’m a gentleman.” He scrunched up his nose and shook his head at me like I was being ridiculous. “Come on, Van. Indian. We’ll order in if you want. You can smell up my room with curry and I won’t even complain. Friday. It’s our thing. Come on!”
“Pete, I want to, but I can’t,” I said. It was killing me to turn him down. “I really have to study.”
“It’s just dinner. I’ll leave you to study for the rest of the weekend.”
I made a fist and pushed it into his shoulder. “Next week. I promise.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.” He looked hurt, but I thought my absence might make his heart grow fonder. And I knew that I didn’t want him to meet Janie.
When Janie came up to visit me at the U of R, she brought charcoal masks and nail polish. We painted our toenails and hobbled around with toe separators stuck to our feet, and it was so nice to just hang out with her again. It was familiar and fun, and in my head I rationalized that this was why I didn’t want Pete around. I didn’t want him getting in the way of me spending time with my best friend. I wanted a weekend with Janie that was just like old times.
I’d swept the video store clean of Matt Dillon movies. We were all settled in with pizza and Pop Rocks, watching The Outsiders , when Pete knocked on the door.
I opened it without thinking. Peter didn’t live in my dorm, so he usually had to buzz me to get in. It didn’t occur to me that it could be Peter, but it was. He’d snuck in with some other girl’s boyfriend.
“Wow,” he said, surveying the scene. It must have been drizzling
I was still wearing my awful laced-up high school jeans, so I took my new drink upstairs with me to change. The stairs felt longer and steeper than usual.
It had been a few weeks since I’d done laundry, and I’d packed all the clothes that were both decent and clean. The only clean PJs I had left were the ones I absolutely hated. They were infamous. Old and worn; pale blue and red plaid; big, boxy, and, like most of my clothes, they had pale yellow coffee stains everywhere.
When it first happened-when they met and it was love at first sight-I blamed it on those pajamas. As much as I hated them, I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out because they gave me something substantial to blame.
Janie came to visit me at the U of R over her spring break, junior year. She drove up on a Friday afternoon. I told Peter I couldn’t make our dinner because I thought I was going to fail my psych midterm.
“In fact,” I told him, while we were walking to the dining hall for breakfast, “I’m just going to put myself in seclusion this weekend.”
Peter met me at my dorm every morning and we walked over together. It was his solution to the fact that I was chronically late for my first class. He thought if I was up and out, I was more likely to make it on time-so, he came to get me every single morning. It was the best part of my day.
“Come on,” he said. “I found this Indian place.” He raised his eyebrows up and down at me and smiled. “Apparently, it’s a total dive, but Connor from my lit class says it’s really good, and he’s a total food snob. He says you’ll actually see Indian people eating there. That’s how good it is.”
“You don’t like Indian food,” I reminded him, fighting the urge to touch his face. Every time I was around Peter, no matter how much time we spent together, I had to make a concentrated effort to keep my hands off of him. Something about the line of his jaw, and the smoothness of his skin, just made me want to grab him, smell his neck, hold his body against mine. I’d never felt that way about anyone before. It was hard to focus on anything else.
“You like Indian food. You were just talking about it. And I always make you eat Chinese.”
“You’re always the one buying,” I said, calling out something we never talked about.
“I’m a gentleman.” He scrunched up his nose and shook his head at me like I was being ridiculous. “Come on, Van. Indian. We’ll order in if you want. You can smell up my room with curry and I won’t even complain. Friday. It’s our thing. Come on!”
“Pete, I want to, but I can’t,” I said. It was killing me to turn him down. “I really have to study.”
“It’s just dinner. I’ll leave you to study for the rest of the weekend.”
I made a fist and pushed it into his shoulder. “Next week. I promise.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Okay.” He looked hurt, but I thought my absence might make his heart grow fonder. And I knew that I didn’t want him to meet Janie.
When Janie came up to visit me at the U of R, she brought charcoal masks and nail polish. We painted our toenails and hobbled around with toe separators stuck to our feet, and it was so nice to just hang out with her again. It was familiar and fun, and in my head I rationalized that this was why I didn’t want Pete around. I didn’t want him getting in the way of me spending time with my best friend. I wanted a weekend with Janie that was just like old times.
I’d swept the video store clean of Matt Dillon movies. We were all settled in with pizza and Pop Rocks, watching The Outsiders , when Pete knocked on the door.
I opened it without thinking. Peter didn’t live in my dorm, so he usually had to buzz me to get in. It didn’t occur to me that it could be Peter, but it was. He’d snuck in with some other girl’s boyfriend.
“Wow,” he said, surveying the scene. It must have been drizzling
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