Page 59 of The Game Plan

I don’t think they’ll kick me out of the school. Not for one fight. I’ll take out student loans, find a part-time job, whatever it takes. My education is more important than a girl who wouldn’t even look at me a few weeks ago.

Right?

Chapter twenty-two

Sam

IshouldaskMilesto the sorority formal. I need to do it. He’s the only one I want to go with. He’s the only guy I want to be with.

So why is this so hard?

I just need to come right out and ask him.

There never seems to be a good time. I don’t want to ask him in front of all the guys. I don’t want to put him on the spot. And I can’t ask him while we’re studying. He’s right that studying at his place is rife with distractions. Mainly me. I can’t stop derailing the conversation.

The other guys troop in and out of the room on the way to the small galley kitchen, making popcorn (Amir) or tea (Wes) or a peanut butter sandwich (Tucker, Greg, Tucker, and Tucker again). If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were doing it on purpose, except I know Tucker is studying hardcore for his media ethics midterm, and Amir and Greg are just oblivious.

I want to suggest we take our studying upstairs, except we’ll get even less work done if we’re locked away in his room. I’d get him naked in less than sixty seconds. I’ll have to wait an hour until we’re done with statistics, the most boring and uninteresting subject on the planet, even when my tutor is a hot and intelligent man who knows what he’s talking about.

Miles is in the middle of explaining today’s lecture when the words burst out of me.

“There’s a formal coming up in two weeks,” I tell him.

He breaks off in the middle of his sentence about mean and mode. “Okay?”

“A sorority event. I want to—we should go. Together.”

“You want me to go with you to your sorority event?” His eyebrows knit together.

“Yes. It will be awful—bad alcohol, bad food, bad music. We’ll get dressed up and dance and—” I cut off. He doesn’t dance. I can still feel the sting of his rejection at that frat party. I thought us getting together would wipe away that hurt. It hasn’t. “It’ll be fun.”

He’s still frowning. “Is it, like, frat party dancing?”

“Yeah. Are you okay with that?”

“I don’t dance. I’m not—” He coughs. “My body doesn’t work that way.”

“I’m sure you’re a great dancer.”

His face is pink. “I’m really not.” He sighs. “I want to tell you to take someone else so you don’t have to go alone, but I don’t like the idea of you taking anyone else. I want to be there with you. For you. So, yes, if you want me to, I’ll go to the formal.”

“It’ll be awful, but we’ll be together, so it won’t be too bad,” I tell him. “You’ll like Kiersten and Haleigh. And you already know Tamar.”

His lips tighten into a firm line. “I do, yeah.”

He’s not a fan. Some days, I’m really not sure if I am, either. I thought we were best friends. Ride or die, there for each other through thick and thin. I never would have imagined her to make the kind of mean, fat-phobic comments she’s made. I thought she was more compassionate than that.

She’s working on it. She’s trying to be better. But I need her tobebetter, not just put on a show.

“It’s the weekend after next. Saturday night. You guys have a game at noon that day, I already checked, so the game will be over, and you can still visit with your parents before we need to meet.” I’ve thought this all out. There’s a way for him to have his cake and eat it, too. “The food there will probably be awful, so it’s good if you eat before the event. But there will be an open bar and—”

“I don’t drink,” he says.

Oh. I didn’t know that. I could have sworn I saw him with a beer in his hand last week at the frat party.

“I mean, I drink alcohol on occasion, I just don’t drink to get drunk,” he says haltingly. “It takes so much alcohol for me to feel even a slight buzz, it’s not worth it.”

“It only takes me, like, two or three drinks, and I’m flat out,” I admit. “I try not to have more than one or two. The formal will be a shitshow. Everyone will be super drunk and obnoxious.”

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