Page 70 of Faux Real
“Sleep outside? Like an animal?” he murmurs.
“Well, you’re a cat, remember? Cats sleep outside.” I take off my hoodie and toss it on his face. “Here, now you have a pillow.”
“Mmm,” Oliver hums, balling the hoodie up and propping it under his head. “Smells nice.”
“Go to sleep, Ollie,” I say, restarting his happy music playlist.
“Okay,” he concedes. “Just for like five minutes though. Only five minutes.”
“Sure,” I say, tapping his foot with mine. What a mess. “Do you want some water or anything?”
Oliver doesn’t respond, his chest rising and falling. I smile, peering down at him.
God, he’s ridiculous.
“Boo!” Max exclaims, sneaking up behind me. “Finally found you!”
“Shit!” I whimper, my heart hammering in my chest. “Why do youdothat?” I look around the library. “And keep your voice down.”
“Sorry,” she whispers, rolling her eyes as she plops down in the chair beside me. “Whatcha doing?”
“Well, Iwasdoing math homework but I’m sensing that’s over,” I say, closing my textbook. “What’s up, Max?”
“Nothing really,” she hums, fiddling with one of my highlighters. “Just wanted to say hi. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”
“We’re roommates, Max,” I say, checking the time. “I see you every day.”
“I know but I miss like hanging out with you, you’re always so fucking busy.”
A wave of guilt washes over me. “I’m sorry, Max,” I say. “I’ll have more free time after Homecoming. That’s taken more effort to plan than I originally thought.”
“What about the game?” Max asks, pulling out her phone and replying to a text. “Fel and Leon want to pre-drink. You’re coming right?”
I grimace. “Yeah, I don’t really care for football so I’m good.”
“Kenny, come on!” Max whines. “Everyone’s going! It’ll be fun! Where’s your team spirit? You used to love going to games. Go Huskies Go! Go Huskies Go!”
“I never loved football, Max, I loved—” I grunt, rubbing my eyes. “I just don’t want to go, okay? I have better things to do than sit in the cold watching boys tackle each other for three hours.”
“Dude, just come,” Max begs, clasping her hands. “We don’t even have to watch the game; we can just hang and drink. Fel and Leon miss you a butt ton. Please?”
“No, Max, I don’t—”
“Ladies,” Oliver coos, appearing out of nowhere and hopping on the table.
“Oliver, excellent,” Max states, crossing her arms. “Can you please tell yourgirlfriendto stop being a little recluse and come to the game on Friday?”
“No can do,” Oliver says, clicking his tongue. “I find spectator sports to be utterly barbaric. Unfit for civilized persons. If I were President, I would ban them altogether.” He waves his finger in the air. “Say no to sports!”
“You’ve got my vote,” I chuckle. “Ollie for President.”
“Dude, shut up,” Max scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Kenny told me you’re in a fuckingrockband. Doesn’t get morebarbaricthan that.”
“AndI’m also a hypocrite,” he says in a light tone, winking at Max. “Perfect presidential material, don’t you think?”
“All you need is a couple of sexual harassment accusations and you’re golden,” I say, grinning up at him.
“You both fucking suck,” Max says, tossing us a scowl. “Fine, don’t come but I expect you to get shit-faced at Homecoming, okay?”
