“I’M GOING TO GO TAKE A SHIT,” Brody announced the next morning as Pup packed his things in his duffel bag.
Pup ignored him, continuing to fold his clothes in silence. It was late when he’d finally returned to his room, taking great care to make as much noise as possible when he stuck the key card in the reader. When he’d walked in, Brody and Maya had both scrambled themselves into poses of staged innocence. But Maya’s shirt was on backward, Brody’s neck was streaked with lipstick, the sheets of his bed were in complete disarray, and the iPad lay forgotten on the floor. When Maya had hurried out of the room, Pup noticed that her fly was unzipped.
Brody went into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. He emerged twenty minutes later, walked across the room, and stood directly in front of the ESPN program that Pup was trying to watch on the hotel TV.
“Hey,” Brody said. “I just remembered. You forgot to get me my mini muffins last night.”
“Are you serious?”
“Okay, okay!” Brody laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “Chill. I’ll go get them myself.”
A few minutes later he returned from the vending machines with his muffins and a bottle of Gatorade. Pup had finished packing and was sitting on his bed, flicking through his phone.
“Hey, man,” Brody said, ripping open the package. “You’re not gonna say anything, right?”
“About what?” Pup didn’t look up.
“About me and Maya hanging out last night.”
“Oh. Is that what you were doing?”
“Yeah. Obviously. We watched a movie. Is that a crime?”
“What movie?”
“You know what movie. You were there when we started it. Titanic. A nineties classic.”
“What happens at the end?”
Brody glared at him. “The boat sinks.”
“Nice try.” Pup put his phone down. “The boat sinks in the middle. At the end, Rose drops the necklace off the side of the research vessel. Then she dies and sees Leonardo DiCaprio waiting for her on the stairs up to heaven.”
Brody looked at him.
“What is wrong with you, man?”
“I have five sisters and seven nieces. And you’re an asshole.”
Brody laughed. “You know what? Go ahead and tell Izzy if you want. It’s not like she’s going to believe you.”
“I’ve been friends with her since practically the beginning of high school. You’ve been with her for eight months.”
“Not that you’re counting or anything.” Brody smirked. He was wearing one of those shirts with faded patches and holes along the hem to make it look vintage, when really his mom had probably purchased it for him at an expensive department store. “You think she doesn’t know that you’re completely obsessed with her?”
“I’m not obsessed with anyone.”
“Yes you are. You’re obsessed with my girlfriend, and everyone knows it, including her. It’s so sad. We laugh about it all the time. It’s, like, a running joke between us. That time she had to kiss you during Spin the Bottle? She was disgusted. As soon as you left the house she ran upstairs and disinfected her mouth with, like, half of a bottle of Listerine. It was one of those big bottles, too. From Costco.”
“You’re lying,” Pup said. “Izzy wouldn’t do that. Nobody would do that. If you tried to gargle that much Listerine, it would burn your mouth. And besides, she hates the taste of mint. Can’t even stand to chew gum. Which you should know, since you’re so in love with her.”
“You think you know her better than I do? Fine. Test it out. Go ahead and tell her I hooked up with Maya. She’ll think you’re just making it up. She’ll think it’s just some pathetic attempt at getting her for yourself.”
“So you admit it!” Pup leaped off the bed. “You did cheat on her!”
“So what if I did? I dare you to rat me out! See what happens! She’ll laugh in your face!”
Pup’s reaction was automatic. He reached out and backhanded the Gatorade from Brody’s grip. It flew through the air, spraying an arc of orange liquid all over the cream-colored bedspread.
“You asshole!” Brody yelled. “That shit was a dollar fifty!”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah!”
“Well, watch this!” Pup ripped the bag of mini muffins from Brody’s other hand and, in a swift, masterful move he’d learned from Luke, held the bag up in the air and shook its contents—five remaining muffins—into his open mouth.
“You asshole!”
“Mm,” Pup managed, chewing the enormous mass of preservative-chocked pastry and spraying wet crumbs all over Brody’s face. “Delicious!”
Brody lunged, but Pup ducked. A floor lamp crashed to the carpet.
“Boys!” Mr. Hughes was pounding on the door. “What the hell is going on in there? Open up!”
“And now you got us in trouble with Mr. Hughes!”
“No, you got us in trouble, you dick!”
“BOYS!”
Pup opened the door, a wad of muffin going to cud in the side of his mouth.
Mr. Hughes stood in the doorway taking in Pup, Brody, and the orange stain dripping from the bedspread and seeping into the white carpet. “You better hope that’s Scotchgarded,” he growled. “Now get your crap together and meet me in the lobby. They don’t pay me enough for this, I swear!”
Once he’d slammed the door and his footsteps faded in the hallway, Pup turned around slowly to face Brody again.
“You better tell her,” he said, swallowing what remained of the muffin cud. “Or I will.”