Page 52 of Call the Shots
When I used to invite girls over, I had this paranoia I couldn’t shake, like I was waiting for them to whip out a camera. It felt weird to ask somebody to power off their phone, and even then, how much faith could I put in that?
June was different.
If we had sex, I knew she’d rather jump into a jet engine than admit it to anyone. Pictures and videos would embarrass her, she’d never show someone.
The realization sank in.
June hated me but I was pretty sure she was the only one I could trust.
CHAPTER 20
JUNE
NO LOVEY-DOVEY STUFF
I managedto subdue my family’s questions about being tied to the hockey team. There was an easy way to spin it. It would lookgreatfor my dad’s campaign if his daughter was so involved with helping the university’s losers. Even then, I could tell my mother wasn’t convinced, but this was for my house, right?
Wrong.
My world was only held up with glue sticks and crossed fingers. Halfway through my political science homework, I got the call from Cleo. She spoke in soft, quiet sentences. “So, I went to student affairs and…Xavier put a new motion in order.”
I stared at my planner. “This doesn’t sound good.”
“He claims you’re having mental difficulties and you’re unfit for student housing.”
“Unfit?” I repeated, my voice hollow.
“You’re already locked into RV for the summer, so you’re fine with that, trust me, He can’t kick you out on my watch, but when fall begins…”
“I won’t get my house back, will I?”
Cleo was silent. “No, I don’t think you will.”
My hopes had been diminishing, but this was the end. Goodbye, house. Goodbye, parties. Goodbye, special garden thatI loved more than some of my relatives. Shock didn’t settle in, just a grim acceptance.
My house was gone. This wasn’t mourning, it was visiting the grave.
“Do you want to go out for drinks tonight?” she asked gently.
“No, I—I…” I took a deep breath. “Thank you, Cleo. I know you did everything you could.”
With a final goodbye, I floated to the kitchen, pulling out one of my shakes when Bear left his bedroom.
“June.”
“Satan,” I replied.
“I want to talk about something.”
“That must be hard for you, putting that much thought into an activity.”
“Ha.” He grabbed the shake from me when I struggled with the plastic and easily opened it. “You want to sit down?”
“Nope.” I said, taking a sip, mentally out of it and not invested in the conversation. “Tell me the bad news.”
“We should have sex.”
I choked on my shake. “What?”
