Page 22

The Next Roger Clemens

Charlie

Getting ready for the Kappa Sig party means tearing through my closet for a shirt that doesn’t smell like mothballs.

My phone buzzes on the bed. It’s Roy, FaceTiming me.

I pick up without hesitation, and Roy’s face fills the screen, all serious, as if he’s about to deliver bad news, though I know he’s not. It’s how he always looks.

His black hair is buzzed shorter than it was this morning, but his five o’clock shadow is as present as ever.

“I listened to your game on the radio,” he says. “Sounds like it went well.”

I scoff. “Well? Try fucking awesome! After all that worrying this morning, it turns out I’m the next Roger Clemens.”

He nods slowly, expecting nothing less from me. “Good to see you’re feeling better.”

“Thanks.” I flop onto the bed, holding the phone above me. “How’s life at the hardware wonderland?”

“Hell, as usual,” he says with no emotion whatsoever because that’s Roy for you. “Chet’s been doing better, so that’s a plus.”

Ah, Chet. The bane of Roy’s existence at the hardware store. He’s a sophomore at Bomont High, along with our cousin, Liam. They’re both sixteen but couldn’t be more different.

Chet’s a stocky dude. He’s got this military-style buzz cut that makes him look like a thumb with eyebrows. And let’s just say he’s not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. The guy plays football, though, which is cool, I guess.

Liam, on the other hand, is on the swim team. He’s lean and brainy, the complete opposite of Chet. And for some reason, the universe decided to do an experiment and see what would happen if you took these two guys and made them best friends.

I don’t get it, to be honest. I mean, what do they even talk about? I imagine Chet probably goes on about the latest play he fumbled while Liam tries to explain the intricacies of a butterfly stroke technique. It’s a mystery to me.

But hey, who am I to judge? If it works for them, more power to them. I’m just glad Chet’s not causing too much trouble at the store. The last thing Roy needs is the kid knocking over more displays and mixing up the screwdrivers and wrenches again.

“At least that’s one less headache for you to deal with,” I say, trying to see the glass half-full for Roy’s sake.

He nods, but there’s something else going on behind those dark eyes of his. I just don’t know what.

“Is Mabel still calling out?”

He nods again. “Every other day. I’m considering hiring another cashier, so I don’t have to do it myself.”

Mabel is an elderly woman who’s been working at the store since the Reagan administration. She’s sweet, but I think the idea of working a nine-to-five isn’t as appealing to her as it once was. Can’t say I blame her. If I were her age and still had to go to work, I’d cry myself to death.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over the fact you work in retail when you hate people,” I tell Roy.

He shrugs. “Someone’s got to pay your tuition if baseball doesn’t pan out.”

“Ouch!” I clutch my heart.

We both break out into laughter because we know he’s only half-joking. This whole college thing is kind of a big deal for us McManuses. McManusi? I’m the first one in the family to attend.

“How’s Daniel?” Roy asks, shocking me.

“Uh, good!” I blink rapidly as my brain tries to figure out why Roy is suddenly taking an interest in my best friend. “Busy. You know him.”

“Tell him hi for me.”

My eyebrows disappear into my hairline. “Seriously?”

Roy scowls through the screen. I bite my tongue to keep from telling him that his face will get stuck that way. If I said that, he’d no doubt reach through the phone and rip my balls off. “Yes, seriously. He’s your friend, isn’t he?”

“He is. I just…”

“Just what?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” It’s better not to rock the boat. “He’s at a family event, so I’m going to the Kappa Sig party alone.”

“A party?” He raises an eyebrow as he takes in my outfit from what little he can see on his phone screen. “You don’t look like you’re about to go to a party.”

I glance at my T-shirt and jeans. “Casual is in, okay? So is the ‘just rolled out of bed’ look.”

“That explains a lot,” he says flatly. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“So, everything then?” I quip, grinning impishly.

In high school and even into his early twenties, Roy was the king of getting wasted and raising hell.

I remember countless nights lying awake in my bed, waiting to hear the telltale creak of the front door opening as he snuck back into the house, drunk or high off his ass.

Sometimes he’d even have a friend in tow—always a guy, never a girl, now that I think about it.

They’d stumble and shush each other before collapsing into a heap of drunken giggles on his bedroom floor.

I think that’s part of why I’ve embraced the party scene so much since starting college. Some subconscious desire to be like my big brother, the ultimate rebel without a cause. To chase that same thrill and freedom he always found at the bottom of a bottle or in the smoke swirling from a joint.

To feel alive and invincible, if only for a night.

And I did—with Daniel and Harrison, and that was a whole different kind of high. Raw and electrifying and terrifying in its newness. Something I never expected but couldn’t seem to quit, even if I wanted to.

“Charlie?” Roy’s voice pulls me out of my reverie.

“Yeah?”

His expression softens a touch. “I’m proud of you, kid. You know that, right?”

My eyes instantly fill with tears. “I know. Thanks, Roy.”

He hangs up on me, and I stare at the ceiling, thinking about how weirdly different things are here compared to back home.

There aren’t any Chets or Mabels or Roys at Ashford U—just people like me going through the motions.

Waiting for that one thing that’ll make them understand why they’re here on this earth, living the life they lead.

Realizing what time it is, I shake off my deep musings, grab some cologne, and spray myself until I’m pretty sure I’ve killed every mothball in the tristate area. Then I head to Kappa Sig where I plan to dance until my legs fall off or until Javi sings Queen again—whichever comes first.

By the time I arrive at Kappa Sig, the party is in full swing.

The bass from the sound system thumps through my chest, making my heart beat in time with the music.

A dense fog of sweat and cheap beer hangs in the air, and bodies are packed so tightly together that moving from one room to the next proves difficult.

I find my teammates huddled around the dining room table, engaged in a twisted game of strip beer pong against a group of Kappa Sig members .

“Charlie!” Javi shouts, his words slightly slurred. He’s wearing nothing but his boxers and a single sock. “Get over here and help us beat these losers!”

I sidle up to the table and take in the scene before me. Two of the frat guys are in their jockstraps, three have their pants on but no shirts, and one has his shirt on but no pants. Bad day for him to go commando.

As for my teammates, they’re at least faring better than Javi. Only one is completely nude.

“Why aren’t you playing against the sorority girls?” I ask, nodding at a group of women cheering from the sidelines. “A missed opportunity, no?”

“We’re trying to impress them with our mad skills,” Javi explains, lining up his next shot. “Show them what real men are made of.”

“I don’t know,” I say, noticing that their eyes are glued to the guys’ taut muscles and glistening, sweaty skin. “I think they just want to see you naked.”

The game progresses, the stakes growing higher, and the clothes coming off faster.

I find myself getting caught up in the excitement, my gaze lingering on the hard planes and smooth curves of the men around me.

I tell myself I’m merely admiring, comparing myself to those around me.

But deep down, I know it’s a crock of shit.

Javi sinks the winning shot, sending the frat guys scrambling for their clothes amid a chorus of groans and cheers. As my friends celebrate their victory, I peel myself away and find the makeshift bar located in what used to be the kitchen.

A guy from the lacrosse team playing bartender flings bottles around with all the finesse of a drunken Cirque du Soleil performer.

“Charlie McManus!” someone shouts over the music. I turn to see a girl from my English class waving frantically in my direction. “Congrats on the win! ”

“Thanks!” I yell back, reaching for my newly made drink. She blows me a kiss before disappearing.

I take a long sip, relishing the burn as it travels down my throat and into my stomach. Suddenly, a large hand slaps me on the back, causing me to nearly spill what’s left of my drink.

“There’s the man of the hour!” Turning to my left, I’m met with the grinning mug of Joe Bryce. “Come do a keg stand with me!” he shouts in my face. My eyes roll back at the pungent smell of alcohol that coats his breath.

He gestures out the kitchen window, where a crowd has gathered on the deck to watch people take turns hoisting each other up into the air. Usually, I’d be all over it, but tonight, I kind of want to wallow in self-pity.

I want Daniel here. I want Harrison here too. We all had something going on that night we tagged Harrison’s parents’ place. But then Daniel and I got busy with baseball, and we didn’t have Harrison’s phone number to keep in touch.

I tried to find him on social media, but he’s either one of those people who despises social media, or he blocked me before I even thought to look him up. I really hope it’s the first one.

“Maybe later,” I tell Joe.

He frowns but shrugs it off quickly enough. “Suit yourself.” He staggers into the backyard, high-fiving people as he goes.

I drain the rest of my drink in one gulp and toss the empty cup into the trash. Walking into the living room, I realize that someone has cleared out the furniture to make room for a dance floor. The lamps are gone, too, replaced by strobe lights and a disco ball.