Page 4

Byron

I powder my hands with flour before taking the pizza dough that has been rising on the counter for the last two hours and ripping it in half.

Pressing it down onto the pizza pan I work the dough from the center out.

When it reaches the edge of the pan I fold the ends to make the best-tasting crust my roommates will ever have.

With the rest of the dough, I rip off little pieces, making a bunch of different individual pizzas with all the toppings my housemates requested.

Marcus– who stayed and used his fifth year of eligibility after he was forced to redshirt due to an ACL tear his sophomore year– wants pepperoni, sausage, and onions.

Aaron- our star senior defenseman– wants mushrooms, peppers and onions.

Our newest roommate, Josiah Ramsey, wants a Hawaiian pizza, which is absolutely revolting, but I’m not going to be the one to ostracize our new roommate.

He’s the best wide receiver our football program has seen in a decade, and even though he is a good friend, he is not someone I would want to piss off.

But I want it noted, Jalen would never have eaten pizza with pineapple on it.

When all the pizzas are on pans and prepared to be baked, I wash my hands and start scrolling through Instagram as I wait for the oven to preheat.

I rush past ads and posts from people I haven’t spoken to since we graduated high school.

Stopping at Dalton Powell’s carousel of his summer break.

The last picture has me pulling up my text thread with Jalen.

This round of pictures is the most pretentious yet.

That’s until I notice the little profile picture and username displayed before the number of likes.

Lolaspics and 744 others liked Dpowell’s photo.

How the fuck does Lola know this asshole?

Dalton Powell is the type of hockey player that gives our sport a bad name.

Jalen and I grew up playing against Dalton.

He and all his rich, entitled teammates loved talking shit about the poor kids from the otherside of the Brooklyn Bridge.

Their favorite jab being that we only played hockey because of a program that helped kids who wouldn’t be able to afford it otherwise.

They really hated losing to us, like having money somehow made them better athletes.

The real kicker was when he signed to play college hockey at Hamilton University, Westvale’s biggest rival.

I enjoy putting him into the boards every time we play, or if I’m lucky, we drop the gloves and just go at it.

Suddenly it feels like there is an elephant sitting on my chest. Dalton has had everything handed to him.

The private schools and fancy cars. Money he could throw around at clubs or parties just to make everyone think he was the man.

I knew it was all a facade he used to mask his shitty personality.

A high pitched ding brings me back to reality, I slide the first tray of individual pizzas into the oven so everyone will have some of what they asked for when we sit down together. Marcus walks through the door just as I’m closing the oven.

“Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes,” I tell him. After he gives me a nod, I ask, “Where have you been all day?”

“I was at Indy’s place. The girls bought a new coffee table, so they needed help moving things around.”

“I would have helped.” And I would have. Ulterior motives or not.

I might look like a dumb jock, shaggy blonde hair, tattoos, the occasional black eye, but I’m a really smart guy.

It bothers me to no end that I can’t tell you what happened to Lola and I over the summer.

The weekend Lola came down to the city for the draft we had so much fun that Lola was going to stay in New York for a few extra days.

I was going to show her where I grew up. I wanted her to meet my mom.

That was going to be the first time I’d seen her since school ended and I couldn’t wait to get her all to myself in that hotel room.

She was finishing her makeup when she got a call from her parents.

Her mom was berating her for taking so many days off of work.

I know doctors have crazy work schedules but I don’t think Lola taking a few days off means she doesn’t work damn hard to be exceptional.

I think her parents just like having control over her. Lola told me that she is the black sheep of her family. Her sister followed the path that was carefully laid out for her. When they say jump she asks how high. Her brother does the same.

You ask Lola to jump, she is going to sit.

“Lola wasn’t there. She was out buying groceries. She has some new recipe she wants to make.”

“Lola had nothing to do with whether I would have helped or not,” I tell my roommate as my knife slices through a head of lettuce.

The room grows hot under his gaze. I pull at the collar of my t-shirt.

Marcus looks me up and down before tilting his head. “Mhmm, sure. How much longer before dinner is ready?”

“Like fifteen minutes.”

“Cool, I’m going to shower then I’ll be right down.”

It takes me five minutes to finish the salad. So, I give Jalen a call after I switch out the pizzas in the oven.

I plop myself down on the carpeted floor in front of the television stretching my legs out in front of me.

Coach had us moving in the freshman first thing this morning and then I came right home and started on dinner.

Put a hockey stick in my hand and have me work the ice all day no problem, stand for twelve hours and suddenly my hamstrings feel like they are going to snap.

“Huhh” the groan leaves my lips in a cathartic moment that has me wondering how bad my joints are going to be in thirty years.

“Hey, By,” he says through staggered breaths. The familiar voice sounds weird on the other end of a FaceTime call. It still feels like he should be walking through the door at any moment.

The muffled hello sir of his doorman interrupts whatever he was going to say next. The apartment he and Ivy are renting in Manhattan is a far cry from the ones we grew up in Brooklyn. The thought that he lives in a two bedroom apartment in the heart of Manhattan is crazy to me.

“Dude, why are you so out of breath?”

“I’m just coming back from a run. We start training camp in a few weeks.”

“I still can’t believe that you are going to be playing in The Garden. It’s going to be insane.”

I hear a faint “Hey Babe” from Ivy when Jalen walks into their apartment. I watch the smile grow on her face as he wraps her in a hug. I patiently wait for their kiss to end, and when it lasts longer than a couple of seconds, I clear my throat.

Ivy’s cheeks turn a rosy shade of red, and I let out a little laugh.

“Man, I really haven’t missed walking in on your guys’ PDA every day.”

“You’re one to talk, Byron,” she grunts. “How many times did I walk in on you with some random girl on the couch?”

I put my hands up in surrender. When someone has you caught, it’s better to back down.

“How is school going, Ivy?” I ask her, trying to redirect the conversation.

“It’s good. It’s only been three weeks, but I finally feel like I’m getting the hang of living in the city. It’s just a little bit different from Westvale,” she jokes.

Jalen kisses the top of Ivy’s head before telling her he is going to do his cool down and shower before dinner.

Jalen stays on the call while he stretches so he can sit at the table for dinner with the guys.

Before I pull the last of the pizza out of the oven, I call the guys to the dinner table. I prop my phone up at the end of the table so he can join us and we fill him in on the first few days back in Westvale and the party we have planned for Saturday.

Jalen stops mid-sentence.

“Have you seen who Dalton Powell followed on Instagram today?”

“Who is that?” Josiah asks.

“He plays hockey at Hamilton. Jalen and Byron grew up playing against him. He is the most entitled prick you’ll ever meet.” Aaron fills him in.

“Yeah, well, now Lola is liking his pictures.”

All four pairs of eyes slowly look my way.

“Why do you care? I thought you guys were just friends.”

I think that’s a lie we have all told once or twice before. After our communication dwindled this summer I didn’t know what to tell my friends when they asked how things were going with us. How could I tell them what was going on when I had no clue myself.

“I would care if any of my friends started hanging out with someone whose motives are always selfish.” I make sure I’m not looking any of them in the eye when I say that.

Suddenly it feels like all of the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. I remind myself to breathe and that this is probably just another one of Dalton’s ploys to get under my skin.

“Well, he was in Philly this summer,” Marcus says cautiously with his eyes focused on his slice of pizza.

It all clicks. They must have met when Lola was home this summer. Suddenly it feels like a pizza cutter has been rolled through my heart.