Page 21 of Seeds of Friendship
“Since always. I just do it at 5 AM when there aren't crowds of sweaty idiots grunting at each other.”
And that's how all four of us end up at the campus gym on a Tuesday afternoon. Troy's an efficient spotter, knowing when to push and when to back off. Ethan's mostly doing bicep curls in front of the mirror, narrating his own workout like he's filming a documentary. Even Alfie's putting in solid work, quiet and methodical on the machines.
“So,” Troy says as I push through another rep, “the party's in four days.”
“Yeah.”
“You good?”
I rack the bar, sitting up. “I will be. Just need to make this party work, you know? Prove we're not losers. Have some fucking fun for once.”
“We will,” Troy says with a confidence I don't feel. “We've got Alfie as bait, remember?”
From across the gym, Alfie flips us off without looking over.
“See? He's already practicing his charm.”
I laugh, and for the first time since Dad's call, the weight on my chest eases slightly.
These three idiots might not be family, but right now, they're exactly what I need. People who don't know my history, don't expect anything from me except showing up and being myself—whoever the fuck that is.
“Come on,” Troy says. “One more set. Then Ethan's buying us food after.”
“I am?” Ethan calls out.
“You showed up drunk to the gym. It's punishment.”
“Pleasantly tipsy!”
And just like that, the sadness gets tucked away in its familiar corner. I focus on what's in front of me. These guys. This party. This chance to be someone other than the disappointing son who's relieved to be away from home.
9
Thursday night. Two days until the party. We're all sprawled in the living room, Troy obsessively checking his party supplies list, when we hear it—voices outside, too many to be random foot traffic.
“The fuck?” Ethan peers through the window. “Oh shit. We've got company.”
Connor Matthews is standing on our lawn with five other Alpha Pi brothers, all wearing their letters like armor. One of them is holding something—spray paint cans.
“Are they seriously—” Troy starts.
The hiss of aerosol answers his question. Through the window, we watch Connor spray “LOSERS” across our front steps.
“Motherfucker,” I say through my teeth, already heading for the door.
“Wait,” Alfie says, but there's something different in his voice. Not caution—calculation. “All of us. Together. It’s more intimidating.”
We exchange glances. Then we move as one unit.
I yank open the door. “The fuck do you think you're doing?”
Connor turns, that same smug smile from before. “Just leaving a little message. Truth in advertising, right?”
“Get off our property,” Troy says, stepping up beside me.
“Or what?” Connor's brother Roland is there too—older, bigger, with the kind of confidence that comes from four years of running this campus. “You'll call campus security? Tell them what? That some concerned citizens are exercising their free speech?”
“Free speech doesn't include vandalism, asshole,” Ethan spits out.
