Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“You okay?” he says warily.
“How did you know?” I ask suddenly.
He rolls his eyes. “I told you, I didn’t know.”
“Not about that. That’s not what I mean. How did you figure out that you, uh…” I can’t finish the sentence. “Never mind.” I take one step toward the door.
“Oh,” he says slowly, my meaning dawning in his voice. “That I like guys?”
I stop and turn around. “Yeah. That.”
“I started young, honestly. Noticing guys was a hobby of mine from ninth grade on. And one of the guys in my little circle at school turned out to be gay. And he noticed that I had a thing for the cross country team.” His chuckle is strained. “So he made a point to invite me to stay at his house whenever his parents were out for the night. He wasn’t really my type, but we were each other’s handy training ground.”
“And that was, like, okay with you?” I hear myself ask.
“Yeah.” He toys with the edges of his phone. “See, I never felt like I fit in anywhere, ever. Not at home. Not at school. So I didn’t let my sexuality freak me out. What’s one more thing?”
“One more thing,” I repeat slowly.
“Go to bed, Hayworth,” he says, pointing at the door. “I think you need it.”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice thick. It’s probably the best advice I’ve been given in a long time. “What a fucking awful day.”
He makes a face. “We shall never speak of this again.”
“Right. Night.”
Then I get the hell out of there. I stumble into my own room and shut the door. My phone is on the bed, so I pick it up. And by sheer force of habit I touch the lock screen to see if there are any notifications from the Kink app.
There aren’t, of course.
It occurs to me that I should delete the app.
But I don’t. Not yet.
The next day I sleep past noon, only rolling out of bed when my need for painkillers becomes stronger than my need to disappear under the comforter.
Everything feels bleak. Usually on Sunday I’d meet Annika for brunch, or my dad if he’s in town. But today I don’t have plans, so I order a pizza from the only place that delivers. It’s not even good pizza.
And then I run into Bailey when I’m collecting it from the pizza delivery guy. He’s just back from the grocery store, apparently. I head upstairs, thinking to avoid him in the kitchen. But, damn it, he follows me up two flights of stairs, carrying his grocery bag with him.
“Why don’t you keep that in the kitchen?” I mutter, which really translates to, why do I have to see you when I’m still embarrassed?
“Because people take my food,” he grumbles, giving his door a nudge with his hip. “Duh.” It closes with a loud click.
That’s when I remember what Bailey—SinnerThree—once wrote about money. That it was a constant worry for him. That he didn’t always have enough money for groceries at the end of the month.
I attack my average-tasting pizza, feeling surly and hemmed in.
And what’s that old saying? There’s no rest for the stupid. Okay, that’s not exactly it. But when I check my email, I learn that I have not one but two frat meetings today. There’s a chapter meeting. And before that, a huddle with—wait for it—the officer candidates for the election.
So a few hours later I find myself face to face for the second time today with the one man I most want to avoid. Reed, our sitting president, has gathered Bailey, me, and the guys who are running unopposed for treasurer and for secretary.
“Okay, boys,” Reed says after he closes the dining room door. “In a half hour the chapter decides who will be the cat-herder in chief. But before the vote happens, I just wanted to go over a few details. Because it sometimes feels like brothers sign up for these things out of optimism or loyalty or whatever, without knowing that there’s work involved.”
I bristle, feeling like this comment is directed at me. But I’m not at all confused about this. I already know that the presidency will make my senior year harder than ever.
“Here are job descriptions for all of you,” Reed says. “You’ll recognize the first part from the fraternity handbook. But below that I’ve added some notes about the practical considerations.”
“Thank you, Reed,” Bailey says quietly. “This is pretty great.”
“Thanks, man,” echo the others.
When Reed hands me his notes, I skim the lengthy paragraphs and try not to sigh. The details run to five pages.
“The president’s description was the hardest to describe,” he says. “I’ve used the word ‘peacekeeper’ a lot. The cats don’t always listen. The buck has to stop with you, though. The bylaws are very clear about this. So if, say, your best friend has some stupid ideas about the initiation rituals, you have to shut that down.” He gives me a pointed look.