Page 135 of The Play

“If by liked, you mean loathed, then you’re right.”

“I see. Now he doesn’t just hate you—heloathesyou. Someone’s been drinking the drama juice.”

“And someone’s refusing to face the truth,” Hunter grumbles. “Your father didnotlike me.”

I want to argue again, but it’s getting harder to find a solid defense for my father’s behavior.

I refuse to say it aloud, because I don’t want to injure Hunter’s pride any further, but brunch was…awful.

It didnotgo well.

I really wish Mom had been there to create a parental balance, but she’s still in Florida, and it was me and Hunter versus my fatherfrom the get-go. After a whopping two questions about Hunter’s background, Dad determined he was dealing with a spoiled rich boy from Greenwich, Connecticut. Which is absolutely not the case—Hunter is the most down-to-earth person I know, and his work ethic is stellar.

But my father is incredibly biased and impossible to please. He grew up poor and sacrificed so much to get to where he is now, so needless to say, anyone born with a silver spoon in their mouth already has one strike in my father’s eyes.

And he wasn’t even impressed by Hunter’s athletic achievements. I thought for sure that would win him over. I not-so-subtly brought up how much work is required in order to excel in a sport, but I think by that point Dad was justtryingto be difficult because he waved my comment off. Which is bullshit. He’s a big football fan, and I’ve heard him say numerous times that football players possess an incredible work ethic.

Clearly, Dad is still on Team Nico. But I’m hoping he switches his loyalties, because I’m Team Hunter all the way.

“He’ll warm up to you,” I say, giving Hunter’s hand a squeeze.

He slants his head. “Will he? Because that implies I’ll be seeing him often.”

I hesitate. We haven’t formally declared ourselves as “dating,” so I’m not entirely sure if he’ll see my dad again. Also, until we define our relationship, I’m trying to avoid PDA, so I drop Hunter’s hand as we reach the building, because Pax and TJ are waiting on the steps.

“Ah! New boots!” Pax shouts when he spots me. His envious gaze devours my footwear, which is indeed new—black leather boots with brown fur, to match the hood of my parka. “Ilove!” he announces.

“Thanks! I’d like to say I feel the same way about your hair, but…what the hell is going on there?”

Hunter snorts. “For real, Jax. I’m not into it.”

I roll my eyes. He’s well aware what Pax’s real name is, but nowit’s just a running joke, and Pax plays along because he thinks Hunter is hot.

“When did you get that done?” I ask.

“And why?” TJ says, looking like he’s trying not to laugh.

Sighing dramatically, Pax smooths a hand over the green streaks in his black hair. “This past weekend. And why? Because my little sister is in cosmetology school and her exams are coming up, so she was practicing her dye skills on me.”

“I’m not going to lie,” I inform him. “It looks terrible.”

“Gee, thanks, bestie.” He winks. “The guy I hooked up with last night didn’t seem to mind.”

“Nice.” Hunter holds his palm up for a high five.

Jax—dammit, nowI’mdoing it.Paxreturns the high five, and then the four of us escape the January chill and enter the building. I notice TJ slide a curious look between me and Hunter, but he doesn’t say anything.

We take our usual seats in the middle of the row, only this time Hunter usurps Pax’s place beside me. Once again TJ’s gaze takes note.

Anticipation ripples inside me when Professor Andrews arrives with her two TAs in tow.Yes!Either my eyes are projecting what they want to see, or the teaching assistants are carrying our graded assignments.

“Morning, ladies and gents. So… The previous times I taught this course, I used to return these at the end of the final lecture, with the simple goal of torturing everyone. I’m not certain what that reveals about my own psychological makeup—” Andrews grins at the class. “With that said, I’m in the mood to be nice today.”

She’s behaving atypically goofy, but perhaps that’s because this is our last day. The TAs who ran our tutorials approach each aisle and begin calling out names. One by one, students get up to accept their assignments.

Although everyone worked together on the projects, each paper was handed in and graded separately. I practically dive out of my seat when my name is called. The moment the envelope that contains mysubmission is in my hand, I waste no time slicing it open. Beside me, Hunter does the same with his.

A cover page is stapled to the front of my submission, and I almost shriek out loud when I see my grade.

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