Page 5 of The Bro Date (Best Bros Forever #2)
CHAPTER FOUR
SHANE
I find Toby in the cafeteria the following morning, sitting at a small table next to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Sunlight pours in, casting a golden glow over him and illuminating his shiny curls.
Our early classes align most days, so we meet up for breakfast. I’d much rather cook, but there just isn’t enough time. Besides, I paid for a meal plan, so I’m going to use it.
“Morning. Can I sit here?” I ask with a small, teasing smile, nodding to his backpack in one chair, sweatshirt in the next, and his violin case in the third.
I stand in front of him, holding my tray while I patiently wait for an answer, like we’re back in grade school, and it’s the first day of class.
“Hey,” Toby responds before a big yawn. “Yeah, ’course.” He grabs the hoodie and tosses it on top of his backpack, leaving the chair next to him vacant.
An overwhelming sense of déjà vu hits me, and I quickly take a seat, being transported back to the very first day we met in the fifth-grade cafeteria.
“Hi. Can I sit with you?”
I set my square pizza back on the tray and stare at the boy standing next to my table. He’s so much smaller than me and everyone else, with curly brown hair and strange gold eyes.
I shrug, scooping up a bite of the disgusting, watery corn and reluctantly chewing it because I know I need to eat, and I’ll regret it later if I don’t.
I can’t sleep when I’m hungry.
“My name is Tobias. What’s yours?” he asks, placing a purple lunch box on the table and sitting in front of me with a curious stare.
“Shane,” I rasp, continuing to shovel food into my mouth, knowing the bell will ring sooner than we think, and I definitely want to get to the cupcake sitting on the corner of my tray.
It’s not standard for free lunch, but Ms. Patricia, the lunch lady, always sneaks me one.
“Can we be friends, Shane?” Tobias asks, smiling at me like he hopes I’ll say yes, even though we just met.
His question catches me off guard, but I shrug again. No one’s ever asked to be my friend before.
“Okay! If we’re friends now, then you can call me Toby.”
“Toby,” I repeat, testing the name out.
His smile widens further, causing dimples to pop out in his rosy cheeks. I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone so excited before. I glance down at the butterfly on his shirt, realizing he’s got to be a lot younger than the rest of us. Especially me, now that I’m a year older than everyone.
I adjust my stupid sling, grimacing when my shoulder throbs. I fell off my bike last weekend, and the doctor said I’m lucky I didn’t break my arm. Mom wasn’t happy because my urgent care visit cleared out her savings.
“Can I sign it?” Toby suddenly asks, and I stare at him a moment, creasing my brows and sipping my chocolate milk.
Huh?
Oh, he means like a cast.
“No one signs slings,” I tell him matter-of-factly, watching his face fall and instantly regretting it.
“But you can,” I blurt, nearly stuttering over my words because I’m not used to having a friend. I reach into my backpack and pull out a black Sharpie.
“Hey, Shane. Who’s the new kid?” Adam sneers, interrupting us and eyeing Toby like he wants to start a fight.
Over my dead body.
The thought hits me out of nowhere, but it’s strong.
“Toby,” I answer, squinting my eyes at Adam and daring him to say something else.
“Why’s he got a butterfly on his shirt and a purple lunch box?”
I stand from the lunch table, clenching my good fist, ready to knock him out if he says one more stupid thing. “So?” I ask. “What’s it to you?”
“Isn’t that for girls?” Adam asks with an ugly smile I want to punch off his face.
Toby stands up next, his face turning bright pink under the scrutiny, but he speaks his truth without faltering. “Purple’s my favorite color, and butterflies are my favorite insect.”
Adam sputters, not coming up with a sufficient response to those simple facts. “Weirdos,” he mumbles before slinking back to his table full of cool kids.
I don’t care, though. I’d much rather be a weirdo than a bully.
“So, what should I draw?” Toby asks with an innocent smile and sparkly gold eyes, completely unfazed by Adam’s words.
“A butterfly,” I tell him with a grin that feels foreign, handing him the Sharpie.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, startling me out of the daydream. I check my messages, seeing a text from my boss asking me to cover a shift tonight and being a dick all in the same sentence.
I can’t deal with him right now.
Putting my phone away, I focus on Toby and the short amount of time we have together. “How’s the knee?” Toby got dealt a shitty hand last night, and he didn’t deserve any of it.
“Honestly? Hurts like a bitch and kept me up half the night, overthinking my entire existence,” he admits with a self-deprecating chuckle. “I’ll be okay, though,” he adds, flicking his amber eyes to me for a quick second. “Thanks for taking care of me, by the way.”
“You could have woken me up,” I offer, the words flowing freely. The mere thought of him in pain and losing sleep doesn’t sit well with me.
When Toby doesn’t immediately respond, I set my fork down and glance up, taking a closer look at my best friend. Faint shadows cling to his under eyes, and his curls are more disheveled than usual, like he has too much on his mind.
I hate it.
“Talk to me,” I plead, desperate to know every single thing that’s keeping him awake at night and whether I can help.
He’s been acting strange ever since he got back from Florida.
“Please.”
Toby’s anxious gaze darts around the cafeteria. “Not here. Not before class.”
My brows crease, but I’ll listen to him anytime, anyplace. “When?”
“Can you meet me at our spot at nine tonight?”
There’s a lake on the edge of campus that has a nice walking trail and a beautiful sunset view. We found it freshman year when we were exploring, and Toby has since used it as a sort of meditation spot where he’s free to play violin to his heart’s content.
“I’ll be there.”
“I gotta go,” Toby suddenly announces, standing from the table in a rush.
“I need to get to the practice room early. Luke is gunning for first chair, and I can’t let that happen.
” Toby slings his backpack over his shoulder, grabbing his violin case with one hand and the tray with his other, limping to the trash cans.
I clench my jaw, gripping the chair to keep myself from chasing after him and demanding answers right now.
How am I supposed to make it through an entire day of classes and a shift at the café without knowing what’s wrong?