Bridgeport Academy 2

34

Aubrey grabbed a freshly laundered tee from his top dresser drawer and paused before pulling it on to examine his biceps in Dave's cloudy full-length mirror. He'd been doing more lifting at the gym ever since Rakim had joined the squash team and he'd found himself having to work a little harder in practice, move a little faster, react a little quicker. He wasn't about to let a freshman take his spot as the star player on the team. For the past two weeks, he'd headed to Lasell after practice and put in an hour or so with the free weights. It was boring as hell, and his muscles ached the next day, but he was pretty sure he was starting to see results.

And he was pretty sure Jhene had noticed, too. Jhene, the funky St. Lucius girl who'd showed up at the party in Waverly trying to track down Quincy and had ended up spending all her time with Aubrey. Jhene, with her pleather jacket and Doc Martens, who Aubrey could absolutely not stop thinking about. At one point on the Saturday night when they were making out in the dark tunnels beneath campus, she had squeezed his bicep and whispered in his ear, her breath warm on his face, "Nice." Aubrey had assumed she'd been talking about his muscles, anyway, and not his cologne, although he might have been mistaken. Jhene was one of those girls who seemed insanely unpredictable—even by girl standards.

Which was part of the reason she was so much fun to think about. She wasn't like all the uptight Bridgeport girls he was used to. He had no idea what she'd be doing right now—was she still in class? Maybe she was back in her dorm room, dancing around in her underwear. He'd been pleasantly distracted with thoughts of her ever since she had slipped onto her sea green Vespa and he'd watched her taillights disappear into the darkness as she floored it back to St. Lucius. When he got back to his room, Aubrey had been thankful to find that Dave was still out—he'd probably coerced some poor Waverly girl to let him sleep in her bed because he "needed to be held." Aubrey had been able to fall asleep thinking about the smell of Jhene's perfume—something natural and citrusy—instead of the overwhelming scent of Dave's ego.

He'd waited a few days to call her because he knew all too well how easily girls were turned off by the too-eager vibe. But now the waiting was over. He slipped his Bluetooth wireless in his ear and did one last bicep curl in the mirror for luck, but before he could dial Jhene's number the door flew open and Dave stormed in, panting.

Aubrey quickly stepped away from the mirror, waiting for the inevitable "What were you doing? Making out with yourself?" or "It's not going to get any bigger if you just stare at it in the mirror." But Dave was too distracted to give more than a nod in his direction. He collapsed to his knees next to his own unmade bed, dragging out random shoes and pieces of rancid laundry and tossing them onto the middle of the floor. Aubrey eyed the pile he was creating disdainfully. "Finally find a peephole into the girls' showers? Need your camera?" 

"I know it's under here somewhere," Dave muttered as he shoved his head and shoulders under the bed and thrashed around for a minute before extracting himself. He halfheartedly tugged at a Louis Vuitton duffel wedged under the bed before immediately giving up. He hopped to his feet, sneezing loudly, his waves covered in dust bunnies, and strode over to Aubrey's bookshelf. He tapped his fingers impatiently against his stomach as his eyes scanned each shelf.

"What are you doing?" Aubrey sighed heavily and turned away. He grabbed his deodorant from his dresser and swiped at his armpits.

"What do you need so many fucking books for?" Dave sneezed again. Great. Spread germs all over. "Aha!" Dave snatched a black leather-bound book from the third shelf down and Aubrey caught a glimpse of gold writing: The Bridgeport Handbook.

"Looking for new ways to get expelled?" Aubrey asked, taking a seat on his navy Nautica comforter.

Dave flopped backward onto his bed and flipped distractedly through the pages of the handbook. "Nah. Hey, you hear about your buddy Breezy yet?" Despite being focused on whatever the secret task was at hand, Dave clearly couldn't resist spreading a little gossip.

Aubrey repressed a groan at the sound of Chris's nickname. "What now?" 

"Nothing, apparently." Dave squinted thoughtfully at one of the pages before flicking to another, his right index finger running along the paragraphs, searching for something. "Just heard that Kae gave him the boot. Robyn too. Tired of his shit. Moving on, et cetera, et cetera." 

"No shit." That was pretty good news. Even if Aubrey was pretty much over Robyn by now, he still didn't want to see her with slimebag Chris  And Kae was waaaaay too good for him too. Finally that jackass was getting what he deserved. Maybe there had been some kind of cosmic alignment, the forces of good in the world coming together to keep Chris from getting away with jerking around two of the prettiest girls on campus. About fucking time. "That true?" 

Dave shrugged, still not willing to tear his eyes from the handbook. "That's what my spies tell me." 

Aubrey pulled his Bluetooth from his ear and tossed it onto his bed. He'd call Jhene later, from somewhere private and Dave-free.

"I knew it!" Dave yelled suddenly, holding up the handbook in triumph. Before Aubrey could even ask what he knew, he was running out of the room, waving the book over his head and looking more gleeful than if he had found a peephole into the girls' showers.

Sometimes, especially with Dave, it was better not to ask.