Auggie ran into Orlando, literally, on his second day in the Sigma Sigma house. Auggie was naked except for a towel around his waist, and he was rushing because he’d overslept and they were having a house meeting in half an hour. He yanked open his door, charged into the hallway, and crashed straight into his roommate from freshman year. They both went down in a tumble.
“Oh my God,” Orlando said, “I’m so sorry—Augs?”
Auggie grabbed the towel, which had ripped free in the fall, and covered himself awkwardly as he stood. Orlando picked himself up too. He’d been carrying a box, and now it lay on its side, spilling sneakers and tie-dyed jockstraps across the carpet squares. Auggie forced his eyes up, away from the jocks, to meet Orlando’s eyes.
His former roommate hadn’t changed much: the same thick eyebrows, the same heavy scruff, the same strong jaw. He looked both thinner than Auggie remembered and like he’d packed on even more muscle. It seemed impossible but made sense in a way—Orlando was a star on Wroxall’s wrestling team, and he’d doubtless worked hard over the last six months to recover from the terrible stab wound he’d taken in the winter. He was staring at Auggie, and Auggie had to fight the urge to cover his bare chest.
“Hey Augs,” Orlando said. “Umm. Hi. Hello.”
“No. Absolutely not. Whatever this is, go away.”
“This is crazy, right?”
“Yep. Crazy. Totally batshit. Bye, Orlando.”
Then the door next to Auggie’s opened, and Ethan Kovara, a junior and one of the few other Cali boys in the frat, poked his head out. “Hey, Auggie. You met my new roommate? Orlando, this is Auggie. Auggie, Orlando.”
Orlando smiled uncertainly. “How have you been?”
“You guys know each other?” Ethan asked.
“Could you give us a minute?” Orlando said.
“Yeah, man. Oh, dude, raunchy,” he said, laughing as he looked at the jocks, and then he shut the door.
Orlando stooped down, gathering up the jocks and sneakers. Auggie grimaced and struggled with a growl and then squatted—which was weird as hell in a towel—and helped. It had been his fault, after all.
“I, uh,” Orlando said, “didn’t know you were going to live here. You said you thought you were going to get a place with Tyler and Chris.”
“That didn’t work out.”
“I wasn’t trying to, you know . . .”
“Stalk me?”
A huge grin broke out on Orlando’s face. “Something like that.”
For some reason, Auggie found himself smiling too. “God, I’m an asshole. I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect—I mean, it’s good to see you, but things just ended kind of weird.”
“Yeah, I didn’t like how they ended. I’m really sorry, Augs. About all of it. I—I’m on a new med, and I’m seeing a therapist, so, you know, you don’t have to worry.”
“I wasn’t worried.” Orlando’s smile got a little bigger, and Auggie heard himself adding, “I could have handled things better too.”
“Nah, man. It was all me. Sorry again.”
They were still hunkered down, and Auggie was still in a towel, and Orlando’s dark eyes were staying painfully fixed on Auggie’s face like he was fighting the desire to look.
“Are you ok? I mean, the recovery and stuff.”
As they both stood, Orlando tugged up his tee to expose dense muscle covered by dark hair. Low on his stomach, a shiny scar ran for four inches; it still looked inflamed
“Shit,” Auggie said.
“I might be out this season. The doctors really don’t want me wrestling; they already think I might have to have another surgery, and they’re worried I’ll do more damage.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s ok. If I creep you out again, just don’t punch me in the stomach.”
“Orlando, you didn’t creep me out. It just . . . it just didn’t work.”
“Yeah,” Orlando said, “well, you’re a nice guy for saying that.”
Down the hall, somebody was blasting Korn, and two guys stumbled out into the hall headbanging and screaming.
Over the blare of music, Auggie said, “I guess we’re neighbors.”
“I’m not going to bother you, Augs.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Orlando’s dark eyes fell, and he fiddled with the flaps of the cardboard box. “Ok, well, I gotta finish bringing up my stuff.”
“By yourself?”
“Yeah, I mean, sophomore year. Last year, my parents, my brothers and sisters, they all pitched in. This year, I guess I’m an adult and I’m supposed to handle things myself. You know how it is.”
“Yeah,” Auggie said, but he was thinking of Fer driving halfway across the country with him. “Let me put on some clothes and I’ll help you.”
“No way.”
“Yeah, it’ll just take me a minute.”
“Augs, that’s weird. You don’t have to be nice to your psycho ex-roommate.”
“I’m not being nice. I mean, I guess I am. But you’re not psycho. And you’re not just my ex-roommate. I thought we were friends.”
Orlando played with the cardboard flaps. When he looked up, his eyes were dark and heavy. “God, you want me so bad, don’t you?”
Auggie stared at him.
A tiny grin played at the corner of Orlando’s mouth.
“You are such a dick,” Auggie said.
Orlando burst out laughing.
“Let me change. Oh, hold on. Do you want to do something fun? Like a move-in video? We could do like . . . well, let’s see if Ethan wants to be in it. We could have him move your stuff every time we bring up more boxes. Or something like that.”
“And I have to pretend to be mad,” Orlando said.
“You’re shit at being mad. Maybe you should just pretend to be dumb.”
“Hey!”
Auggie grinned.
“Go change,” Orlando said, “before I forget how generous I’m being by providing you with free content.”
Over his shoulder, Auggie flipped him the bird as he went back into his room. He changed and went next door. As soon as Ethan heard their plan, he wanted in on it. He was good looking, too, which helped—dark brown skin, huge eyes, a nervous smile that Auggie’s audience would eat up. Not as good looking as Orlando, and that was a good thing too. You had to balance that kind of thing, or it started looking like a Gap commercial.
They were on their third trip up, both of them with arms full of boxes, when a familiar voice called out, “Little bro, you’re missing the house meeting.”
Dylan was leaning against one wall, blond curls spilling over his forehead, an unreadable smirk on his mouth as he watched Auggie. He was in a blue paisley tank top that showed blond stubble on his chest. He had massive legs.
“Hey,” Auggie said, smiling—too big of a smile, he realized. Then he stumbled, and he would have fallen except Dylan caught his arm and steadied the tower of boxes. Dylan’s grip was solid. He still had that smirk that Auggie couldn’t decipher.
“Careful,” Dylan said.
Sweat beaded on Auggie’s nape.
“Augs,” Orlando said from the stairs.
“Yeah,” Auggie said. “Coming.”
“You’re a fucking killer,” Dylan said, squeezing Auggie’s bicep. “Please God tell me you’re trying out for lacrosse.”
“Augs,” Orlando said again.
“Don’t fuck my life,” Dylan said with a grin. “Come to tryouts.”
“Yeah,” Auggie said, holding back an answering smile. “Maybe.”
“Who’s that douche?” Orlando said when they were passing the second-floor landing.
“He’s actually pretty cool. His name’s Dylan.”
Orlando shook his head.
“What?”
“I just forgot that sometimes you’re kind of dumb.”