Page 67 of The Play

Fuck. I should try to clear the air. I look toward the side table where I left my phone. But no. Texting is garbage. A text conversation about this would feel too impersonal.

“You know what.” I hop off the couch. “I have to go.”

Summer glances over. “Are you sure? We could start a new game.”

“Nah, I think the zombies can have this one. I’ll be back later.”

“Where are you going?” Brenna asks.

“To see a friend.”

“Ha!” Mocking laughter rings out. “I knew the celibacy wouldn’t last.”

“Not for sex,” I clarify. “It’s the girl I’m working on that project with. We got into an argument the other day, and I want to smooth things over.”

“You know you can just text her,” Summer says helpfully.

“You know you can mind your own business.”

“All right then.”

I haven’t been drinking, so I make the ten-minute drive to campus and turn onto Greek Row. I can’t find a spot in front of the Theta house, but there’s a stretch of empty curb a few houses away. I park the Rover and that’s when I hear the yells.

Oh shit.

I quickly jog down the lane, skidding to a stop cartoon-character style when I spot Nico on the lawn of the Theta house, shouting up at the second-floor window.

“Come on, Demi! Please!”

The man sounds utterly destroyed. I’d probably feel genuine sympathy for him if not for the fact that I know precisely what’s going on. He cheated on Demi at the party. There’s no other reason why he’d be outside Demi’s house, begging her to let him in.

“Please,mami, I love you! I fucked up, okay!”

I lurk near the hedges that separate the sorority house from its neighbor.

“Go away!” comes a high-pitched voice.

It’s not Demi. I peer up and see two girls at the window, their figures backlit by Demi’s bedroom lights.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you. Go away,” one of them yells.

“We’ll call the police if you don’t,” the other one warns. “You’re disrupting the peace. People are trying to sleep.”

“It’s nine o’clock on a Friday and this is Greek Row!” Nico growls. “Nobody is fucking sleeping, Josie! Just tell her to come down.”

“She doesn’t want to see you, you cheating prick.”

Yup. I called this one.

“Demi,” he wails. His voice actually cracks, and this time Idofeel for the guy.

I know narcissists—I lived with one my whole life—and they don’t usually experience remorse. If they do show any regret, it’s probably an act. Yes, Nico could be putting on that act, but my gut says he isn’t. He seems genuinely heartbroken.

He made his bed, a voice in my head points out.

“Demi! I’m going to stand out here all night until you let me in!Please. We’ve been together forever! You owe me a conversation. You owe me a chance to explain—”

A shriek of epic proportions slices through the night air. It’s shrill enough to give Rupi Miller a run for her money.

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