Page 5

It’s inspired by the view of Lake Superior we were just enjoying, but Dawn transformed the landscape into a series of flat triangles in a rainbow of colours.

At first, the mural looks like a geometric abstraction.

But, when I squinch my eyes half-shut, the shapes of the landscape jump out at me. It’s like real life on colour steroids.

This is going to be so great during the winter when everything is grey. I feel happier just looking at it, I say.

Dawn flings an arm around my shoulder. Ah, praise. Please go on.

I have a great idea. We should eat lunch right in front of your mural this week and listen to all the compliments from passersby.

My sweet summer child. Now the unveiling is done, nobody will notice my mural again. Public art gets ignored.

Even if it’s twelve feet tall and uses every colour in the spectrum? I scoff. Then I look over the huge surface. How did you actually paint the whole thing? Was there a ladder or scaffolding?

Dawn is in the midst of explaining about boom lifts when a deep voice calls out, Hey, Andy!

I turn to look and it’s Big Ass Boy from last night. I groan inside. What have I done to deserve this?

I wait until he reaches us, which with his long legs and undeserved energy, takes only two seconds.

Oh, hey there, I say. Of course I remember his name, but I don’t want to inflate his ego any further.

Remember me? Jack, Jack Sinclair. He beams at me and then Dawn in his puppy-on-meth way.

She introduces herself with an over-the-top friendliness, which means she thinks he’s cute.

Today he’s fully clothed in black jeans, a frayed T-shirt, and a navy hoodie.

It’s great to meet again when we’re fully dressed.

Dawn giggles, but I stay straight-faced. At least I was wearing actual clothing last night. But maybe it’s a typical jock icebreaker that makes women giggle and simper. Not me, of course. I say nothing and wait for his next inanity.

So, thanks again for last night. I went by your room to return your stuff, but you weren’t there, he begins.

Really, there’s no need. I told you I don’t want those clothes back. In the unlikely case that Bryce demands his sweatshirt back, I’ll send him directly to Jack. Picturing my ex forced to walk into a locker room full of sweaty jocks is a delightful fantasy.

Jack flashes me his brilliant smile. I hate to ask you a favour since you’ve already done so much, but I was wondering…

is there any way you can help me get my stuff back?

My phone, my keys, my wallet, and those were my favourite jeans.

I could knock on Jenny’s door, but what if her boyfriend is there?

I don’t want to make things worse for her.

I roll my eyes. I’m impressed that you even remember her name. Is there anything else I can do for you? Maybe write your essays for the term, or finance your trip to Europe? Seriously, he’s not even one of my residents.

He blinks his long lashes. No, this is it. And I’ll owe you one. A big one.

It’s hard to imagine what you could do for me.

Dawn chortles in a most suggestive way. She thinks there’s one big thing that the jacked Jack could do for me.

You never know. Maybe you’ll need furniture moved or something. I have a pickup truck, he offers.

Before I can refuse, Dawn announces in a saccharine voice, Of course she’ll help you. What are RAs for if not to solve student problems?

Thank you so much, Andy, Jack gushes, as if I were the one who agreed. He hands me a crumpled piece of paper. This is my teammate’s phone number. You can message him when you’ve got my stuff, and I’ll come over and pick it up. You’re a lifesaver.

Then he gallops off to do whatever golden retriever puppies do on a Sunday afternoon.

Dawn watches him go. Oh, there’s a whole pack of them. Or whatever you call a group of hot guys. A sizzle?

I believe the collective noun for brain-dead jocks is ‘a hockey team,’ I grumble as we head towards my residence building. Why did you volunteer me to help him?

She blows out a raspberry. If he’s the guy you saw naked last night, I’m disappointed you’re walking straight today. You should have ridden that pony hard and put him away wet.

I make a pained face, but she continues. Come on. You haven’t even dated since Bryce, and you need to get back in the saddle.

I sniff. While I admire your ability to spew equestrian clichés, I have no interest in having sex with an idiot who majors in one-night stands.

Andy, it doesn’t matter how smart he is, because you won’t be talking. He’s built like a brick house. Too bad you didn’t see his peen.

His penis quality doesn’t matter. He’s a freshman, so he’s, what? Eighteen years old? I’m not into boy toys.

Dawn sucks in a breath. Well, he certainly doesn’t look like he’s eighteen. But the real question is, are you into him? Because I think he’s into you.

I don’t even acknowledge this observation. Both Dawn and Emily have way too much imagination when it comes to men. They see potential relationships everywhere. But there’s no way that Jack is interested in me. He’s a hockey god, and I’m a mere mortal.

Besides, he’s just your type, she declares.

I can’t help asking, How do you figure that?

Because when we watch movies, you’re always into those beefy man-child characters. Like that guy in The DUFF. , or Noah Centineo in To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before . Or Channing Tatum in The Lost City . Actually, Channing Tatum in any movie, really.

Movies are one thing, but real life is completely different. I wouldn’t have two words to say to a jock. We’d have zero in common.’

Dawn perks up like a pointer dog scenting prey. Wait. Does this have to do with that guy you had a crush on in high school? The football player?

Damn. Now I regret all those nights we stayed up late in first year, confessing our secrets in the dark. If only I’d known then that Dawn has near-perfect recall.

I try desperately to change the subject. You still haven’t told me about your process for the mural.

For one moment, I think it’s going to work. There’s nothing artists like more than discussing their process.

Dawn narrows her eyes at me. Nice try. I’m right, aren’t I? Just because people at your high school were ignorant doesn’t mean that all athletes are going to be like that.

It’s not like I was rejected by some jock and that scarred me for life, I scoff. I had a fleeting crush on someone who wasn’t interested. Period.

In fact, it was my best friend at the time who clued me in to the truth.

There was a certain kind of girl who dated star athletes, and she was never going to be a studious little Asian girl with glasses and attitude.

And once I examined the girls who dated the football players at our school, I realized my friend was right—their girlfriends were glossy, pretty, and usually blonde.

So, I kept my crush on a certain friendly linebacker to myself.

Andy, you have a lot of preconceptions about people. You really need to get over them, because they’re going to hold you back. Not all athletes are alike, just like not all artists are alike, Dawn argues.

While I won’t admit it, Dawn has a point. We’ve all matured a lot since high school. But it’s all hypothetical—when do I ever interact with athletes now? Once I’ve tracked down Jack’s missing wardrobe, I’ll probably never see him again.

We’ve reached Humphrey Hall now, and I invite her up.

Ugh, I’d love to, but I have an art history reading to do. Message me and we can meet for lunch this week. And admire the mural. Before leaving, she adds, Get Jack’s jeans back, and then get them off him again.

On the way to my room, I notice that Jenny’s door is ajar. I knock and poke my head in. She’s touching up her nails, each one decorated with a complex 3D flower. I could never type with nails like that.

Oh, hey, Andy. Sorry about last night, she says.

No big deal, I lie, since I must ask her for a favour. Again, I wonder why I’m doing all this for someone who needs to learn to clean up his own messes. Attractive guys take everyone’s goodwill for granted. Is Toby gone?

Yeah, he’s in his room sleeping it off.

I step closer and lower my voice. So, this naked guy came to my room last night. Jack?

She nods, completely unembarrassed. I have to admire the Real Freshmen of Monarch College—nothing seems to daunt them. He’s a cutie, right?

Oh, can’t say I noticed, being half-asleep and all. Anyway, he’s still afraid of running into your boyfriend, so he asked if I could locate his phone and clothes?

She motions vaguely with the nail polish brush. Yeah, sure. They’re all under my bed. I can’t get them or I’ll ruin my mani.

Sighing, I get down on my knees and curse Big Ass Boy yet again.

Jenny’s under-bed treasure trove includes many pairs of her shoes, a textbook, and a bundle, which turns out to be Jack’s missing items. At least, I assume they’re his.

Given Jenny’s casual attitude, I wouldn’t be surprised to find the wardrobes of multiple men down here.

I pull his stuff from under the bed. His silky boxer briefs are on top and I blush. Clearly I’m the only one of the three of us with an embarrassment gene.

Thanks so much, Andy. I was wondering how to get rid of all that crap. Jenny gives me the regal nod of a queen acknowledging a serf. Which is exactly how I’m starting to feel.

Maybe I need to assert myself more, so I don’t get involved in these situations again. So, this middle-of-the-night stuff with Toby won’t be a regular thing, right?

She shrugs. I hope not. But boys can be so stupid, you know?

That’s something we can agree on.