The Art of Being a F*ck Up

18. Good Ol' Days

It's been a long day, and now that it's almost over I've lost all the steam that had carried me through and I'm right back to being stuck in this half-life. Lilah had been incredible in setting up the test and going with me—and she was even more so after it was finished—but I can't stand to be around her right now. She'll only try to make everything better and I don't think I could handle it, not when it would feel too much like pity. I'm not exactly sad about it, mostly I think I just feel tired. It's rough having to come back to this after things were going so much better, which is probably why I reached out to the one person I thought might be able to cheer me up against my better judgment.

"That guy's looking at me weird, I think he thinks I'm your boyfriend." Devin shoots a not-so subtle look over his shoulder as he slides onto the stool beside mine. Lilah hadn't been too thrilled to leave me in what she undoubtedly considered a vulnerable state, but she respected my space. That, and she and Jason had dinner plans or something. Regardless, she couldn't have guessed I'd make the terrible decision to call my dimwitted and somewhat oblivious best friend, otherwise she surely would've saved me from myself. And him. "What's up? Are you day drinking? Bro."

"What's that stupid thing people always say? It's five o'clock somewhere?" I wave over the bartender. Another thing Lilah wouldn't have guessed was my intention to gun it straight for the bar when she dropped me off. Where else was I going to go, though? I can't go home, not yet, I can't bear the thought of facing Jonah. This seems to be the lesser of the evils. "Tell me what you want, Dev, I'm buying."

"That's it? That's all I get? Dude, I practically had to wrestle my mom to get out of the house. The break's been hell, by the way, thanks for asking, asshole." He says, refusing to join me for a drink. Instead he scrutinizes me relentlessly. "You were pretty vague on the phone, but still I hopped in the car and came right over, the least you can do is tell me what I'm doing here. You had that test today, right?"

"Can we please talk about anything else?" I don't blame him for being curious, but I could've called Maddy if all I needed was a shoulder to cry on. The beer pong king of Theta is the last guy I thought would make a big deal out of it, but when I turn to look at him finally I can tell he doesn't want to let it go.

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize this was another pity party. Warn me next time so I can screen your calls."

"I thought we could hang out, but you can leave if you're just going to be a dick."

"Hang out? Here? I don't think so, let's go." Devin jumps up and tosses a crumpled bill onto the counter. When I fail to immediately respond he practically drags me from the stool and stuffs me into his car. Any objections I make are cut short, and he refuses to even answer my questions as he drives us back to the frat house—now all but abandoned. It isn't until we're standing in the backyard, eerily quiet while he holds a football in his hand, that I'm allowed to speak.

"Tell me again why we're doing this?" It's a trivial notion, like we're kids again, like there aren't a million other more important things to do.

"You want to hang? Let's hang, but I'm done listening to you piss and moan—the Brent I knew was a goddamn animal, show me that guy."

"Devin, you know I can't play. My knee," the hideous brace feels more restrictive than ever. What I wouldn't give to feel that leather in my hands again, but my injury, today of all days, remains a reminder of all the ways I'm lesser than now.

"It's been months, you've been walking and getting around just fine. Come on, I'll even take it easy on you." He doesn't bother waiting for a response before he grins stupidly and lobs the ball my way. With reflexes I had thought dulled, I reach out to catch it firmly. My fingers spread across the football, tracing the laces and the thousand lines that travel across its skin. The air is cool, the sun is just starting to set, and once again I'm back on the field. I see the play, I know just what to do, and without realizing it my feet begin to move instinctively.