Page 22 of Daydream

She goes quiet for a moment. “If that’s okay…” I grab her some sweatpants and a T-shirt from my clean laundry basket and pass them through the gap in the door. “Thank you.”

When she finally reappears, fiddling with the band of my sweatpants, she looks much better than she did when she woke up. “Let me help,” I say, waving her over to where I’m sitting on the bed. Putting my feet on the floor, I move her between my legs, taking the sweatpants string and attempting to unknot it. She’s patting the ends of her hair with a microfiber towel, and the whole scene feels unusually domestic. “You smell really good.”

She chuckles. “Thanks. You’re incredibly prepared. I’ve only ever slept over at Will’s house, and even he didn’t have toiletries for when I visited.”

“Bad hockey player. Bad boyfriend. Figures,” I say, finally getting the last knot. I pull it tight so the waistband clings to her hips and tie a bow to keep it in place.

“He wasn’t a bad boyfriend, he was just—”

“I have no interest in hearing you list the redeeming qualities of your mediocre ex.” She snorts, a sound I’ve grown fond of. “I thought you hadn’t made that sound before. You’re well practiced at it.”

I shuffle back on the bed, resting against the headboard on the opposite side from where she slept last night. I pat the area beside me, indicating for her to sit down, which she does. “It isn’t a noise normally in my repertoire. I’m just not used to hearing people talk about Will with such… dislike. I think the only exception is my brother, Grayson. But I don’t think he really likes anyone.”

“Get used to it. Everyone on the team thinks he’s a dick.”

She looks to me at her left, lips curved slightly. “Noted.” Her eyes flick down between us. “Oh my God, you’re reading it?”

“Yeah. I’m just reading the bits you highlighted in blue. It’s really helping keep my attention. I liked the part where you drew the hockey stick, although maybe you should leave the drawing to me.” Her small smile has developed into a full grin. She’s beaming at me and I don’t know why. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m just so happy it’s helping you.” She tucks her knees to her chest and rests her head against them. “I wasn’t sure if it would work, but it’s one of the things we’ve done over the years to help with Gigi’s concentration. We found that when the irrelevant bits were stripped away she was able to process the important ones a lot better. She prefers using audio now, but I thought this might help you. Gigi is my fifteen-year-old stepsister, by the way.”

“I remember. And got it,” I say, taking the book back and running my fingers across the colored tabs poking out the side. She left a Post-it note on the first page with a key to her tabs: yellow for his struggles and mistakes; pink for his victories; orange for things he’d do differently if he had time again; and green for advice he’d give to players of the future.

“Not everything in the book was about hockey, not unexpected given it was an autobiography. He talked a lot about his family and things he’s done since he retired that I guess wouldn’t interest you.”

“I wish all the stuff I don’t want to read was filtered like this. Maybe then I’d be able to pass Thornton’s class this semester.”

“Oh, I love Professor Thornton! I was supposed to be taking How History Shaped Art with him, but Will asked me to change my class schedule to free up my Fridays for hockey and I couldn’t get Thornton’s class to fit.” I’m so confused and I guess it shows on my face, because she adds, “I’ve done at least one with him since freshman year.”

“I don’t know what’s wilder to me. You being asked to change your education forhockey,or the fact that you like Professor Thornton. Or that if you hadn’t changed your schedule we’d have met a month earlier because that’s the one I’m in.”

“I like the idea that we might have still become friends in another reality,” she says quietly. “I can see why you’re struggling with him if you’re not a fan of reading widely. His classes are super intense on the front, but honestly he’s a teddy bear. He acts mean, but once you know how to write the way he likes, and which academic sources he favors, he’s easy. I’m going to take Sex and Sensuality in the Eighteenth Century with him in spring. How have your essays gone so far?”

“I’ve only submitted one. He said it lacked proper research and attention to detail.”

She frowns, and two faint lines appear between her eyebrows. “That’s harsh for your first essay. Did you talk to him about it?”

“Yes. I didn’t have much of a defense. I wrote about the wrong revolution.”

She lets her knees drop into a cross-legged position, and her fingers play with the bottom of my sweatpants that are too long for her legs. It’s weird seeing a woman wearing my clothes, but in a comfortable kind of way. “You just need to know what to look for with Thornton. When’s your next assignment due?”

Tuesday. “Two days.”

“How many words do you have so far?”

“Fourteen. My name and the title.”

She buries her head in her hands and laughs before looking at me again. “You don’t make it easy for yourself, do you?”

“I’m only like this for this class, I swear. I’m anxious I’ll get it wrong, so I don’t know where to start.”

“Let me help you. You’re struggling with the research material, right? I can just highlight the relevant parts and you can reference them.”

“Won’t that be really boring for you?” I ask. I know I want to take her up on her offer immediately. I’m so lost with this work and I’m not being dramatic when I say I don’t know where to start. I was planning to let the panic fuel me tomorrow after I get home from the gym. “And do you even have the time to help me?”

Halle shrugs. “I don’t mind. I don’t have anything else to do today. I was just going to work on my novel, but that isn’t urgent.”

“How is your novel going? Have you found your style yet?” I feel bad for not asking her that yesterday. That’s something I should have remembered.

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