Page 76 of Lovely War
Gallimore pops up from the floor, where he was halfheartedly touching his toes. He looks from side to side like an overexcited long-necked bird. “Hey, what three words do you think you could say to him that would wipe the smile off his face the fastest?”
A wave of muffled laughter ripples over the court.
“ ‘Season-ending surgery,’ ” one of the sophomores offers.
“Not if it was your surgery,” says Gallimore. “I bet he doesn’t even know your name.”
A chorus ofohsrings out. “How about this one?” Quincy says, snickering to himself. “ ‘Country club closed.’ ”
Gallimore grins. “Now where’ll he get his lobster rolls?”
“ ‘Notice of allegations,’ ” Lufton offers from the sidelines.
“I’d be shitting my pants too if the NCAA came knocking.”
Jess mimics the quavery voice of Ted’s assistant. “ ‘Lily Sachdev called.’ ”
Quincy claps three times, delighted. “We’ve got the Instagram crew joining in!”
“Please do not ever joke about Lily Sachdev,” Taylor says, shuddering.
“Who’s Lily Sachdev?” Andreatti asks.
“A journalist who writes about sleazeballs in sports,” Taylor says. “Team owners groping cheerleaders and stuff. And she did that one NFL concussion story, about the cover-up. If I ever see your name in a Lily Sachdev story, Andreatti, I will hunt you down.”
Andreatti looks terrified. Of Taylor, not of Lily Sachdev.
Then strong-and-silent Rosario clears his throat. Heads turn. “ ‘Taking a knee,’ ” he says solemnly, the first words I’ve ever heard him utter. I’m astonished. He talks like abaritone saxophone. He was born to narrate a hype video. Everyone knows, intuitively, not to make a big deal of his speaking, in case it discourages him from ever repeating the behavior.
Quincy nods coolly, like it’s normal for Rosario to participate. “That’s a good one, man.” Then people toss out their own answers all at once.
“ ‘Amtrak quiet car.’ ”
“ ‘Low ticket sales.’ ”
“ ‘Can’t talk, busy.’ ”
JGE shakes his head. “You guys need to think bigger.” He holds up his hand and lifts one finger with each word. “ ‘Protected. Concerted. Activity.’ ”
I snort, then quickly google the phrase, because I only have the faintest idea of what he’s talking about. Something smart. About…unionization?
Gallimore blinks. “I’ll be honest, I have no idea what the hell that means, but thanks for playing.”
Quincy turns to JGE for an explanation. “Protected concerted activity?” he repeats.
He says it loud enough that Ted stops talking to Thomas mid-sentence and gives them a deer-in-headlights look, and everyone dissolves into laughter again.
On Monday night,Ben roasts a chicken. It’s a ridiculous thing to do since we’re both exhausted, but he swears he’s dying for a home-cooked meal and wants to go all out. It’s been nearly a week of hotel food and takeout, and after we head to Atlanta tomorrow morning it’ll be more of the same.With the chicken he makes potatoes with rosemary and honey-glazed carrots, and while he cooks, I nurse a glass of wine. It’s all so domestic that if I’m not careful with the wine, I’m going to wake up tomorrow with a Dyson vacuum and a butter dish that saysbutteron the side in a whimsical font.
We sit at the table. It’s late March now, and the sun is just starting to sink below the horizon. The sky out the window is blazing like a bonfire with streaks of orange and yellow, and the light turns Ben’s skin golden. He’s wearing a worn-in gray T-shirt and his feet are bare. When he scratches the side of his neck below his ear, my eyes follow his fingertips. I know what the skin there feels like against my mouth. And if it’s not fresh enough in my memory, I’ll have the opportunity to re-educate myself later.
“You’re smiling,” he notes.
I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “Because this is delicious. I wouldn’t even have known where to start with a whole freaking chicken.”
“I can follow a recipe, that’s all.” His forehead wrinkles. “But I thought you were into cooking. The lasagna?”
When did he—oh, that night Cassie and I made it for theBeach Houseparty. I set down the napkin and cover his hand with mine. “Good news and bad news about that,” I say, squeezing. “Bad news first. Lasagna is the only good thing I make, so if you’re only hanging out with me for the food, you’re going to be extremely disappointed.”
