Page 20 of Stalked By the Linebacker

“Stand up.”

“Fine.” I did, and then she told me to turn, and when I did, I had no idea why she was laughing like she was.

“What?”

“When did that happen?” she asked, the excitement pouring out of her.

“When did what happen?”

“Babe, don’t you know what you’re wearing?”

“A school football shirt,” I said, a little exasperated.

“No wonder he called,” she said almost to herself, and I frowned.

“What? No wonder who called?”

“Okay, Libby, talk to me. What is going on?” she pushed, and I felt like a trembling fish out of water.

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, but I could tell she didn’t believe me.

“It’s me! Come on. If you can’t talk to me, who can you talk to?”

“Your brother started working at the diner,” I blurted and watched her slowly process what I was saying.

“What?” Her eyes looked like they were about to pop out of their sockets with shock. It was obvious she had no idea he had picked up a part-time gig or that she knew we had sorta been hanging out.

“He stopped by at the end of the semester. I figured it was because of your or your mom bugging him to keep tabs on me.”

“Mom,” she corrected, confirming my suspicion. I sighed, and she put her hands up. “I told her not to, but you know she loves you.”

“Well... maybe it’s because of her he’s working there?”

“I doubt it, babe. She has no clue about this. So, wait, wait, wait! You’re telling me he stopped by at the end of the semester.”

“Yes.”

“And then started working there? You two have just been working together so far this summer?” I shrugged.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” I groaned. “He’s always around when I’m on campus. Even when I went to do my laundry and the machines were down. He had me go to his building and do it there. Though, he probably suggested it because ethe machines are free to use in his building.”

“No, they’re not.” She giggled, and then her head tilted as her eyes shined. “So, you did laundry there and?”

“And he insisted on having lunch while my stuff washed.”

“He did?”

“Yes.” I sat back down on my bed.

“How many times?” she asked, and I winced.

“The last three times I’ve had to do laundry.”

“So, the last three weeks? Oh my god!” She laughed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know? I just?—"

“You like him.” Her voice was gentle. I nodded. There was no way I could lie about that. Not to my best friend or myself.

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