Rhys
BY—Zoo [bee / wī / zoo] n—A dating pool disguised as a university, where young Latter-day Saints come to meet their soulmates eternal companions
The Village at South Campus is a multiblock megacomplex three blocks from BYU. With underground parking, fiber-optic Internet, and a heated pool, it’s everything a guy could want. Too bad I live in the 110-year-old house across the street. No cable, no pool, no nothing. But it’s cheap, and that’s what matters.
My backpack hits the pressboard desk with a hollow thud, and the severely used books I purchased from the bookstore spill onto the dirt-stained carpet of my shared bedroom floor. I tried to find all ten textbooks online, but due to delayed delivery times—not to mention ridiculous shipping costs—the bookstore ended up being a bargain.
I scoop the books off the floor and set them on the shelf above my desk. The front door squeaks on its hinges, and a second later, Superman, aka Supe, my roommate, appears at our bedroom door.
“Yo-yo!” he says.
“Hey, man.”
We meet in the middle of the room, clasp hands, and pat each other’s back.
“It’s been forever.” Supe sets his bags on the bed across from mine and starts unpacking, or rather, flinging his clothes into the bottom of his half of the closet.
“How was your summer?” I ask.
“Amazing! Finally hiked Kilimanjaro. How was yours?”
I worked long hours hauling boxes for Smith’s, took summer classes, and drove Mom to and from more doctor appointments than I’d like to count. “Same ol’, same ol’.”
His lips purse as if to say, “That stinks,” then he continues unpacking.
“You signed up for classes yet?” I ask, changing the subject.
He grins. “Yep. Prayed about my schedule, and I’m pretty sure this is the year.”
The year he meets Mrs. Supe. I laugh, and he gives me a dirty look—not that dirty though; mostly he looks constipated—and I laugh again.
“You should try it some time,” he says.
“Praying?”
He rolls his eyes. “Dating.” I hear the implied duh even though he doesn’t verbalize it.
“Not going to happen.” Not after Beth. Not after Kayla. Not after Lisa. And not after the brutal reminder they each gave me that no one at BYU will ever date a nonmember like me.
As if he didn’t hear me, Supe steps onto his bed and flings open the threadbare curtain. “Do you see that, Rhys?”
I glance at the massive brick structure across the street. “The Village?”
He frowns. “No. Not the Village.” Supe makes a show of squinting into the distance. “B.Y. Zoo, brother. Provo is the marriage capital of the world. The only reason people come here is to date and get married.”
Pretty sure people come here to get an education from a well-respected private university also, but again, it’s something I don’t say out loud. He wouldn’t listen anyway.
“It’s been two and a half years since you transferred here and almost as many since you’ve been out with a girl. Don’t you want to try the dating scene again?”
I snort. “We both know the dating scene doesn’t want me, man.”
Supe jumps down and sits on the edge of his bed. “I’m not suggesting you get married or anything. I’m just sayin’ if you went on a date once in a while, you might not hate it here so much.”
I pretend to chew over his suggestion. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Supe’s a good guy. My lack of membership in his church doesn’t bother him. As long as we avoid the subject of religion, we get along. Honestly, he’s become one of my best friends over the last two years.
“So, Helaman on the wall or the ceiling?” Supe unfurls a life-sized poster of the Book of Mormon warrior and holds it up for me to see.
“Ceiling. Definitely.” I can’t wait to see him attempt to secure it upside down.
“My thoughts exactly.” He grabs a box of pushpins out of his open bag. “Oh, hey, do you want to go with me to FHE tonight?” Supe asks. “It’s just across the street at the Village.”
Girls wearing too much makeup. Guys wearing too much cologne. All of them there for the same purpose: to find a soulmate. Scratch that—eternal companion. No way. “Nah. I’ve got to take care of some stuff. You?”
“Yeah, but I think I’m going to try to sell my parking spot in the driveway before I head over.”
He always has some plan up his sleeve. Supe struggles to pin the poster to the ceiling. I watch him for a second and then climb onto the bed and help him hold it up. “So what’s your plan this year?” I ask.
He pushes a pin into the corner of the poster. “Glad you asked. It all starts tonight. I’m going to get some phone numbers and line up a few dates right away. You know, start the year off right.”
“Numbers. Right.” Sounds similar to last year’s plan. Hopefully, his plot to get numbers doesn’t involve a nursery rhyme this time.
“Shoot! I need to charge my cell. I forgot to plug it in last night.” Poster forgotten, he jumps off the bed, scrambles to plug the charger into the wall, and connects his phone. “Phew.” He wipes an imaginary bead of sweat from his forehead and climbs back onto the bed. “Close one.”
We finish tacking up the poster.
“I met a girl,” I say when we’re finished. Why I feel the need to share this, I’m not sure.
“Oh yeah? Where?”
“Book of Mormon class. We’re assigned study partners.”
Supe laughs. “Well, that’s . . . ironic.”
I frown, and Supe laughs harder. “Oh, come on. Two nonmembers meeting in a Book of Mormon class. You don’t see the humor in that?”
That would be funny. Awesome, actually, but . . . “She’s a member.”
Supe crosses his arms over his chest. “That does present a problem. Lucky for you, I’ve got two friends who would love to help you.”
“Are both of their names Elder?”
“It’s possible.”
This is about as deep as our conversations on religion get anymore. Offhanded comments and lighthearted jokes. When I was new to Provo three years ago, Supe was the typical RM. He gave me a Book of Mormon. I read it. He invited me to church. I went. But when he asked me to take the missionary lessons, I made it clear my curiosity had more to do with wanting to blend in than a desire to investigate Mormon doctrine, and he backed off.
“Do you think I need to tell her I’m not LDS?” I can’t help feeling bad for not having said anything today.
“Mmm.” Supe bobbles his head side to side. “Are you planning to date her?”
I’d be lying if I say I’m not attracted to her, but for obvious reasons, I’m not entertaining the idea. “Nah. It would never work.”
“Then as long as you do your homework, I think you’re fine.”
“Cool. That’s what I thought.” No big deal. I open my Book of Mormon and begin the first reading assignment.
* * *
My phone vibrates with a text in my back pocket, startling me awake. I must’ve fallen asleep studying after Supe went outside to sell his parking spot.
Mom: I know we already have dinner plans on Thursday, but would you mind picking up a few things for me tonight?
Cranberry Juice
Tofu
Vitamin D
Gingko
Ginseng
Mom’s list of odd items comes in one text at a time, each filling me with more dread than the last. Her multiple sclerosis must be relapsing again. I curse as I slam my book shut and grab my keys. I’m about to walk out of the room when a buzzing sound stops me. I turn and see Supe’s phone vibrating on his desk.
The last thing I want to do tonight is go to this party, even if it’s only for a few minutes to drop off Supe’s phone, but knowing how his plan relies on it, I can’t leave it here either, no matter how much I wish I could.
Thing is, when I first transferred from UCAL to BYU at the beginning of my sophomore year, I had no clue about the unwritten dating code: members date members. Period. Problem is, for better but mostly for worse, I stand out here, and that attracts girls. Girls I can’t have. It’s not that I’m anything special. Anywhere else, I’m about as average as a person can get. Here though, I’m someone with a story, a question mark everyone wants answered. I look different. I act different. I am different.
It’s easiest to avoid attachments and keep my nose down. Not hard to do when school, work, and my other responsibilities require most of my time. Stepping foot into that party is the opposite of sticking to myself.
As I lock the front door, my phone vibrates with a call. Cami. “What’s up, little sister?”
“Trust me. You don’t want to know.”
Cami’s always had a flare for the dramatic. Living in New York suits her perfectly.
“Wardrobe malfunction?” I ask.
“Don’t tease me. How’s purgatory—I mean, Provo?”
I look both ways and cross the street to the Village, catching the eye of a cute girl in a Beemer. “Purgatory pretty much sums it up.” A sea of temptation with a big, fat, do-not-touch sign cemented into the sand.
“You’ve got to get out of there, Rhys.”
“You know I can’t.” If I could move now, I would, but that isn’t a possibility. Mom needs me.
A beat of silence passes. “How’s . . . everything?” Cami asks quietly. We both know she’s asking about Mom, although her guilt over not being in Provo to help and my insistence on her not feeling guilt for following her dreams to New York prevents us from discussing the situation much.
“Everything’s great.” I wind my way through the Village, trying to find the party.
“You still haven’t cashed the check I sent.”
“I don’t need your money, Cam.”
“I know you don’t, but I want to help with Mom—”
“I have it under control. You don’t have to worry. I’ve gotta go though. My roommate left his phone, and I’ve got to deliver it to him at a party.”
“Party?” Her voice perks up. “That sounds promising.”
“Two words: Honor. Code. They serve bottled water and root beer.”
“You are at college, right? I mean, you’re not secretly in jail or anything, are you?”
I laugh out loud. “Not in jail. No.” Though sometimes it feels like it. Two more semesters and my time here is served.
“Explain to me again why you’re at that Mormon college and not the normal university down the street?”
“Because BYU is cheaper than state schools. And its prestigious private-school name will land me higher-paying jobs after graduation.” Plus, BYU has a football team worth rooting for, and I might as well enjoy something while I’m trapped in Utah.
Cami snorts. “Remember that when they try to convert you again.”
I’ll admit at first I was curious about the Mormon religion. It was interesting, and I’ll give Mormons credit for enthusiasm, but forever families? Not my reality. I don’t fit the Mormon mold, and I never will.
“Well, have fun at your party.” Cami sighs when I don’t respond. “And don’t forget to text me an update once in a while.”
“Will do,” I say, although we both know I’ll forget.