New Story: The One-Two Screw Crew Does Christmas (Part 1)

Merry slightly belated Christmas to all of you that celebrated it. If you didn't, then I hope you had a nice break nevertheless. My apologies for the lateness—in keeping with how the whole year has gone by, Christmas here was a crazy affair that defied preparation.

In any event, in what has now become a bit of a tradition at Smutty Footnotes, I present your Christmas Special, a story exclusive to this blog, by way of thanking you for the support you have given me throughout the year. That support is highly appreciated, I want you to know that.

Here is Part One of The One-Two Screw Crew Does Christmas, a little ditty that looks at friends Elizabeth Bowden and Shelley Caskill from Book III of The Adjusters, and spells out something that was alluded to in #34. It's a bit more of a character piece than some of the stuff I've written lately, but it has been knocking at the back of my mind wanting to be written, and so here it is. Part Two should be up either tomorrow night or the following.

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The One-Two Screw Crew Does Christmas (Part 1)


(Morgantown, West Virginia. Five years ago.)

“Come on, man! Cheer up, for goodness’ sake! It’s your job to cheer the kids up, not the other way around.”

Harry Colburn slaps my shoulder and shakes his head. It’s the first one that gets my attention. He’s at least a head taller than I am, and given that I’m six foot two, it isn’t something I’ve quite gotten used to yet, and he’s strong. So his slap almost sends me flying into the window of the minivan, to everybody’s merriment.

Harry grins his goofiest grin, the one that to anyone not knowing him well screams out just how much of a large lummox whose only pleasures in life are primal he is, the one that he told me he’s been practicing since his senior year of high school, the one that distracts players and coaches from opposite teams into thinking that he’s indeed a large lummox instead of the sharpest and quickest thinking strategist that the Mountaineers have ever had playing point.

“I’m just getting into character,” I grumble, rubbing my shoulder. I’ve got a Grinch costume on, which I think is an inspired bit of casting.

“Couldn’t you just be the post-epiphany Grinch?”

“Hey, dark and gritty, right? Isn’t that what the kids are into these days?”

“Not today, Garcia. Today, we’re here to make sick children laugh and smile. So you’re going to be upbeat and entertaining or I’m going to introduce our young friends to the underappreciated comedic aspects of Punch and Judy.”

Yeah, Harry talks like that. When he’s not playing dumb, he’s always referring to bits of theatrical trivia. The cognitive dissonance for most people is impressive: he’s big, he’s black, he’s got a goofy grin. And he’s also the best Shakespearean actor the School of Theater and Dance at West Virginia University has ever had, and one of their best student. That he joined the university under a basketball scholarship and led the team to two winning seasons is just icing over a particularly moist and flavorful cake.

Me, I'm Brandon Garcia, and I'm struggling. Which has been really messing with my head for the last semester. I was star athlete at my high school down in Miami last year, and while not Valedictorian I had a shot at it. Moving to West Virginia—WVU being the one place that was willing to foot my education bill via a basketball scholarship just like Harry's—was a bit of a shock, not just culture-wise, but ego-wise. Here, I'm above average, but not much more than that, both academically and athletically. It's been a rough transition, one that seems to be common, but knowing that doesn't make it any easier.

Especially now that I've received results for some of my courses, and it's touchy. I've got a single final left, in two days, and if I don't pass it, my scholarship's in jeopardy. So that's been on my mind. And instead of studying my ass off, I've got to be here, on this stupid field trip.

I'm being unfair. It's not a stupid field trip. Every year, around Christmas time, the basketball team heads over to the Children's Hospital, and spends the day with the kids, in costume. Both kids and staff love it, and it's the highlight of the end of year festivities for most folks on the team as well. No matter how much you live to party and drink yourself silly, there's nothing that beats putting a smile on a kid's face. I get it. And was looking forward to it, too. Until I realized just how close to being kicked out I really am. My heart's not in it now. I'm worried. My future's about to go down the drain, and I feel there isn't anything I can do to help it.

When the minivan drops us off at the hospital, Harry takes charge. He's done this before, and the nurses in charge of the visit know him, and love him. Because to be honest, everyone loves Harry. He's dressed, unsurprisingly, as Santa Claus, and he pulls it off. I don't know what he's got underneath that suit of his, but he looks twice his usual size, which gives him an imposing bulk.

There is a bunch of people in the foyer waiting for us, in costume. Harry told me that the team invites friends and family to join them, as long as they have the right attitude, as he says. A few girlfriends usually round up the group, as well as what he calls groupies. The cheerleading squad has also been known to join up, although today it doesn't look like that’s the case.

I’m a bit taken aback by the kids being wheeled about the lobby of the hospital, some looking well, others looking sick. I've never really been around sick people, so I don't really know how to handle myself. I stick close to Harry, happy to let him call the plays the way he does on the court.

And that's the reason I’ve got a particularly nice view when a sexy elf skips her way towards Harry. I'm real glad I've got a ton of makeup on because I'm pretty sure I'm gawking like a high schooler.

The girl—a thin short-haired blonde with a killer body wrapped in a short bright green tunic, light green tights, and a pair of white boots—jumps in Harry's arms when she's within reach.

Harry was fully expecting the encounter, clearly, because he catches her and holds her up against him as she tries and fails to wrap her long legs around his artificially large stomach and plants a loud kiss on his lips.

“Harry the Mule,” she grins. Her smile is infectious. “Funny meeting you here.” She presses her lips against his once more, a slow kiss this time, deeper, the kind that closes off the couple from the rest of the world.

“Huh, Shel, you may want to let the poor guy breathe.” Another elf, dressed exactly like the first, approaches the embracing couple. This one, just as beautiful but with more generous curves, has curly red hair down to her shoulders.

“You should kiss him, Lizzie. It's really weird with that big white beard he's got on.” The blonde kisses Harry once more time before dropping down before the big guy.

Harry smiles at the redhead, and leans down to hug her. “Hey Lizzie! How's my girl doing? Thanks so much for coming.”

“Hey Harry! Good to see you! You look...” She looks him over, shaking her head, “twice as big as you usually do.”

“Oh fuck,” says the blonde, putting her hand on the redhead's shoulder. “If he's twice as big as usual, I definitely got to try me some of that.” Her expression makes it very clear what she means, and once again I'm glad for the makeup because I'm certain I'm blushing bright red.

I think Harry picks up on my discomfort, because he turns to me, and waves a hand towards the two girls. “Come on, Garcia, meet my two favorite girls on campus. Elizabeth,” he waves to the redhead, “and Shelley,” then to the blonde. “Ladies, Brandon Garcia, our newest small forward, fresh out of high school.”

Elizabeth smiles in my direction and nods. “Nice to meet you, Brandon.”

“Hi Brandon,” goes Shelley, and then looks back at Harry with a grin.

Elizabeth is looking at me with an odd expression on her face, her head tilted to the side. I pretty much know what she's going to say, even though I would not have expected her to be the one to say it. “Aren't you short for a small forward?”

Before I can respond, Harry laughs a great big Santa Claus laugh that has some people in the foyer jump and stare. “You should see the boy jump, Lizzie. It's out of this world. He's six inches shorter than Ferg, but I'm pretty sure he's got a foot on him in the air. Out of this world.”

Harry loves to sing my praises. One of the reasons that I can't help but like the guy. I mean, he's a genuine warm-hearted person. I'm going to miss him when they kick me out for screwing up Statistical Reasoning. Damn—I had managed to forget all about it for a few minutes.

“Come on gang,” says Harry, addressing everyone in costume. “Let's do our thing. There are kids up there waiting for some fun.” He bids everyone follow the nurse in charge, and they all follow.

I watch the two elves head up the hall, Shelley and Elizabeth, my eyes automatically caught by the girls’ asses swaying to and fro, perfectly emphasized by their short and tight tunics.

“They're cute, ain't they?” says Harry in his best lummox voice, and a glint in his eyes.

“Can't deny,” I reply. I step beside him as he walks off.

I’m trying to formulate my question in the right way. “Huh, Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“The Mule?”

He looks back at me and gives me his best grin, and I can almost believe he is indeed a simpleton, if not for the twinkle in his eyes. “Just a nickname, Garcia.” He practically winks. “Those two girls love me.”

I shake my head, and follow him up the stairs. If anyone can make me forget Statistical Reasoning, it's Harry. The cute blonde also has a leg up in that respect.


* * *


The kids are amazing. Our group has split up, going into different wards, and I've ended up in the cancer ward, of all places. And the kids just impress me. They're troopers, the lot of them, hooked up to the IV dispensers, some of them with post-chemo hair growth. We chat, we make faces, we do voices, and before too long, I'm laughing with them as we come up with odd games for the littler ones. They love us, and it's making me feel a lot better than I did before.

There's this little girl who's probably seen How the Grinch stole Christmas one times too many, and she insists I call her Cindy Lou Who. She's the cutest little thing I’ve ever seen, with a head full of blonde ringlets, and when she laughs she first looks like she's about to sneeze.

She's really taken by my Grinch costume, and she makes me do Grinch faces over and over again. And I get into it, and channel my inner Boris Karloff, and before too long we're singing the Grinch's song, which Cindy Lou says is her favorite song ever.

You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch.
You really are a heel.
You're as cuddly as a cactus,
You're as charming as an eel.
Mr. Grinch.
You're a bad banana
With a greasy black peel.

We both sing the last line in exaggerated fashion, and Cindy Lou starts giggling, and she half-laughs half-sings the rest of the song with me.

At the end of the song, I spy green from the corner of my eye—

You're a three decker saurkraut and toadstool sandwich
With arsenic sauce.

I turn my head and the girl that Harry called Elizabeth is leaning against the door frame with a smile on her face, watching me and Cindy Lou bringing the song to its end.

“That was beautiful,” she says, clapping softly and approaching the bed. My eyes dip down to her legs, looking delicious in her green tights, and I feel really weird about it because there's a kid in the room, and it's confusing. I think I mumble something, but thankfully Cindy Lou giggles again. “We're singing the Grinch.”

“I know,” says Elizabeth, sitting on the bed next to the little blonde girl, “and you did a fantastic job at that, sweetie.”

Cindy Lou is beaming, and Elizabeth looks at me and winks and I think my heart grows three sizes right there on the spot.

A nurse interrupts us before we can do anything else. “I'm sorry folks, but Amelie here is needed for an MRI.”

“Cindy Lou,” I say.

“Excuse me?”

“She's known as Cindy Lou now.”

The nurse looks at me and manages to keep a straight face. “Really? Cindy Lou? Cindy Lou Who?”

“Cindy Lou Who.”

Cindy Lou—Amelie—and Elizabeth look at each other and giggle. Elizabeth leans over and kisses Amelie on the forehead. “Merry Christmas, sweetie!”

“Merry Christmas, and Merry Christmas to you too, Grinch.”

I manage to grunt my best “Bah, humbug!” not caring about mixing my Christmas stories. Elizabeth and I wave to Amelie and leave the room.

“That was nice what you did,” says Elizabeth.

“What was?”

“Singing. I think it meant a lot to her.”

Again, I'm glad the makeup is keeping my blushing from being advertised all over the place. “Well... it was sorta the natural place to go.”

She grins. “Still, it was sweet. You have a nice touch with children.”

“Yes, well, that's one of the things you get for growing up with too many younger sisters.”

“Lucky you.”

“Sometimes. Other times, not so much. How about you?”

She shakes her head. “Only child.”

We’re interrupted by Elizabeth’s friend, Shelley, who comes skipping towards us and hugs Elizabeth.

“They are so cute! The whole bunch of them! They're the best kids ever. I want one.”

Elizabeth smiles. “May not be the best idea right now. It may get in the way of your degree.”

Shelley dismisses the notion with a wave of her head. “Nonsense.” She looks in my direction, and I can't help but notice once again that's she's just beautiful—which is surprising because I tend to like long flowing hair. But the short haircut fits the blonde perfectly, and gives her a slightly mischievous air. “Besides, they're so much fun to make.” She grins at me. “Right, jock boy?”

She gives Elizabeth a kiss, on the lips, and laughs to herself. “I should go ask the Mule if he’s is willing to make babies with me.” And just like that, she heads off in Harry's direction, her short tunic bouncing and giving me a tantalizing glimpse of her upper thighs, and desire flashes within me, that of bending the little bimbo blonde over and baring her ass and sliding my dick inside her. I shake my head. Where did that come from?

Elizabeth looks at me, and it's like she can read my mind. “Don’t mind Shel. She gets a bit overexcited at times. She's usually more...” She searches for the right word. “Subdued.”

“Really?” I make a dubious Grinch face.

Elizabeth laughs. “No, not really. But she's sweet.”

She's gorgeous, and a little cocktease is what I want to say, but I bite my lip. She's Elizabeth's friend, after all.

Again, the redhead reads my mind. “Yes, she can be a bit of a tease. But it's all for fun. She's not trying to be mean. And you should see the looks the teens on the ward give her. They all love her, and they all try to look up her skirt. And she lets them. Sometimes.”

“That's cruel.”

“Really? Why? They enjoy themselves, so does she. No one gets hurt.”

I frown. “You make it sound almost... noble.”

She grins. “I guess in a way, it is. Hey, it's the season. It's all about passing on the cheer.”

I don't respond to that. I spot Shelley, on the far side, of the room, chatting with a bald-headed boy in a bed, two IVs stuck in his arm, and she's sitting on his bed and the boy doesn't seem to know whether to stare at her face with her broad smile and sparkling eyes, or her legs that are but inches away from him. He's got a goofy grin on his face that rivals Harry's on his best days.

“Speaking of cheer,” continues Elizabeth, looking at me looking at Shelley, “you seem to be doing better.”

“What do you mean?”

“Downstairs. When you got here. You seemed pretty out of it. Worried. I'd almost say anguished.”

“Ouch,” I say, trying to sound more lighthearted than I really feel. She saw that through the makeup? “What are you, psych student?”

“Ah! Please no! No, I just... I know some about anguish.”

I'm curious, especially since she has a bit of a faraway look on her face as she stares out at nothing, but I'm not particularly keen on this conversation to start with. “So what's your major then?” I'm assuming she's a student at WVU.

“Design, actually.”

Interesting. “And where does that lead?”

She makes a face. “I don't really want to say. I'm just toying with the idea still, and it's a bit... hokey.“ I swear she looks embarrassed, and the blush on her face harmonizes with the red in her hair and the green of her tunic in a surprisingly nice way. “What about you?” she asks.

“Me? Math.”

I expect her to react the way most people do when they hear what I study, especially when they know I’m on the basketball team. Like athletes can't be math geeks. But no, she just takes it in like it's the most natural thing in the world. “Cool. Couldn't do that myself. Don't have the head for numbers.”

I don't bother correcting her that at that level math has little to do with numbers, although I get the distinct feeling she would actually understand were I to explain it to her. Which makes me wonder what she’s doing hanging out with the blonde who seems mostly interested in giving boys boners and fucking Harry. I shake my head. The dark cloud that I thought had lifted is back, with a vengeance. I grunt. “Yeah, well, I'm starting to wonder if I do have one myself.”

She looks at me, and leans back against the wall, facing me. Her arms are crossed in front of her, and they pushed her breasts upwards and create a nice cleavage perfectly framed by the collar of her green tunic. “There's that look again. Tough semester?”

“Yeah, something like that.” On the other side of the ward, Shelley is goofing with one of the players, and either accidentally or not her tunic rides up her thighs and an older sick boy sitting on a bed across from her is looking at her legs with eyes wide and I see, just like he does, that she’s wearing green thigh highs and not tights like I thought she was. I love thigh highs. And here’s a girl with a killer body sporting a nice pair underneath her tight dress. I look back at Elizabeth, wondering for a second whether she is also wearing the same.

“Let me guess: top of your class back in high school?” she asks.

“Pretty much. Second. But just because the top was a brown-noser extraordinaire.”

“So top of the class in high school, and probably star basketball player. And then you show up here, and you're run of the mill, just one guy amongst others, good, but not great.”

I look at her. Who is this girl? I'm not sure how to respond.

She does—she laughs. “Don't look at me like that. It's pretty common, believe me. Me, I was average all through high school. So the transition wasn't so bad. Just more of the same. I fade in the background here like I did in high school. But for some people, the step is harder.”

“I doubt you faded in the background anywhere you’ve ever been, including high school.”

“Awww... You're sweet, you know that, Brandon Garcia?”

Wait, how does she know my name?

She doesn’t add anything, merely leans against the wall looking angelic, innocent, almost pure. But the way she presses her breasts upwards, the way she's arranged herself to put her legs on display, the smile that's on her face and that I'm tempted to qualify of predatory, all of that suggests that I'm being played, and played well.

My dick responds for me, and throbs. I find myself wishing Shelley was here looking at me the way Elizabeth is, but I don't actually mind Elizabeth.

“I think what you need is some distraction,” she says, a smile still hovering on her lips.

I snort, and shake my head. “What I need is someone to teach me about fucking statistics.”

“You make it sound like two different things.”

Before I can ask her what the hell she means by that, she leans over to press her lips against my cheek in a soft kiss, and heads out to return entertaining the kids, making sure to give me a little wave on the way.


* * *


The next two hours pretty much fly by, as we keep making the rounds through the hospital, hanging out with the patients and even the parents, which I gotta admit are pretty good sports about the whole thing. I'm not sure how I'd react if some cheerful costumed clowns showed up while my kid was sick and I was half worried out of my mind. But they seemed to appreciate out company, and I don't think I've looped together so many balloons or attempted my hand at so many card tricks before. I sucked at them, but the kids didn’t seem to care.

Every once in a while, I'd catch a peek of Elizabeth and Shelley, and I'd watch Shelley's tight little body. I'm usually not attracted to bimbos—I like my girls smart and being able to hold a conversation—but I have to admit that the blonde one is rocking one sweet body, and ever since noticing that she's wearing thigh highs, I would drop my eyes to the hem of her tunic, sitting high on her thigh, and see that she would flash her stocking tops at every opportunity, giving a good show to the boys that she ran into. I idly wondered what sort of panties she was wearing. I imagined something racy, possibly with lace. I was hard despite the setting, and despite my impending scholarly doom.

It was difficult to not be fascinated by Shelley. She was a goof with the young kids and a flirt with the older ones, but when she was with Harry, she was practically a tramp. I felt a surge of jealousy towards the big guy for the way he had this perfect little blonde all over him whenever he was close to her. I watched him put a big hand on her ass and her responding by pressing back into it before snuggling up in his arms. I wondered how she would look with her legs spread wide while the tall point guard, double her size, plowed into her like there was no tomorrow.

Elizabeth was kind and warm and smiled a lot, to everyone, and she was sexy as hell with her red hair and her mischievous smile, but without the spark, the vivaciousness, the playful quality that infused Shelley’s every move. Elizabeth seemed as comfortable around Harry as Shelley was, touching him frequently, and he responded in kind, hugging her and laughing and generally acting like his most genial self. Harry's always been popular with the ladies, but these two girls circled around him like fireflies.

At the end of the visit, as we're all slowly gathering together after saying goodbye to the kids, I spy Elizabeth pulling Harry down to her and talking to him. After a while, she looks in my direction. Harry looks as well, and he nods his head sagely, and the two chat for a few minutes before Elizabeth reaches up and kisses him, a slow kiss on the lips that lingers. Harry reaches down and cups the redhead's ass, grinning. Amazingly, she does not push him away, and she grins right back.

As I’m told they do every year after the visit, the whole group heads to Maxwell's, where Harry has reserved pretty much the whole restaurant. It's a nice spot. I don't go there nearly enough, and while I should really be going back to my dorm to study for fucking Statistical Reasoning, I'm hungry, Maxwell's has the best Reubens in town, and if I'm honest with myself for long enough, I know that going back to my dorm really mean going back to play Minecraft because I can't make heads or tails of what I should be studying anyways. Denial is the last recourse of the desperate.

We take over much of the dining room, and whatever other patrons show up afterward get warned, because we're loud. Not obnoxious loud, but we're buzzed from the feel-good afternoon, and it's the end of the semester. I'm the only one, it seems, with a bugbear on my back. But I try to put on a brave face.

I'm sitting between two of my teammates, two freshmen like me, nice guys that I'm not particularly close to, but we share enough sports interest that we can shoot the breeze while eating and basically listening to Harry driving the whole show from his spot at the head of the table.

Elizabeth found a seat in front of me, and we chat a bit, the two of us, as well as my teammates, who seem intrigued with her. And not just because she’s cute, but she can also hold up a conversation with the best of them, even when she has no idea what we're talking about, as when we stray into the details of how the league classifies players and assesses their long-term potential. I've seen many girls, and probably just as many guys, blank out during such a conversation. She doesn't.

Her friend Shelley is sitting next to Harry, and the two are laughing it up like crazy. Again, jealousy rears its ugly head, which I don't really understand because expect for the fact that she has a body made for fantasy fodder, bimbo blonde is not really my type.

Elizabeth is already more my type, and I do enjoy talking to her, and she seems to enjoy talking to me, and midway through the evening, I get the feeling that she's flirting with me. I'm pretty rotten at noticing subtle flirting, usually, and I guess what's happening here is that she's anything but subtle. She's taken off her boots and by the time the waitress has passed by to grab our plates and drop off dessert menus, one of her feet is making its way up my leg and nuzzles up against my inner thigh. It's a classic move, almost cliché, and she knows it, because when I look up she's smiling the smile of the cat who's just caught the canary and is about to swallow it whole.

But still my eyes keep going back to Shelley, who's by this point, all over Harry. I don't see what her hands are doing, but they're underneath the table, and Harry's grinning all teeth blazing, and I can't help but imagine that she's rubbing her hands all over his admittedly large dick. I’ve seen him in the showers. The Mule indeed.

I shake my head to clear it. This is crazy. I'm about to get kicked out for stupidly failing a stupid course that not only I should be smart enough to pass, but one that I should have never taken in the first place. Who takes Statistical Reasoning freshman year? Big shot Brandon Garcia, of course—taking on way too much, and paying for it now.

“You're thinking again,” says Elizabeth from my left. She’s moved next to me without me noticing. Dessert has also arrived—I must have really been out of it the last few minutes.

I merely shrug. Elizabeth leans on me, and drops a fork into my carrot cake. I'm happy to share. I'm not hungry anymore anyways. “It's not just the course, is it?” There she goes again, reading my mind.

I shrug again. Part of me wants everyone to go away and leave me alone and let me wallow in my miserable life.

“It's Shelley,” continues Elizabeth, taking a bite of cake. There's a bit of icing clinging to her lower lip, teasing me. In a flash, I see Shelley licking of the icing off from her friend's face. What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm depressed and angry and horny, all at the same time.

“You like her, don't you?” continues Elizabeth. “I can't blame you, she's awfully fuckable in that little outfit.”

“She’s okay,” I say, lying, but also speaking the truth.

Elizabeth nods and smiles, and for a second I suspect she's inside my head again knowing exactly what I'm thinking.

At the head of the table, Shelley is nuzzling Harry, her face against his neck, probably kissing it. From her position, she looks like she's half in her chair and half on Harry's lap. It actually looks pretty hot, and Shelley herself looks like she's getting into it. Harry is smiling and laughing and once in a while his hand disappears under the table and Shelley closes her eyes and seems to moan.

I almost jump in surprise when I feel Elizabeth put her chin on my shoulder. She's warm, right there next to me. For a second, I'm wondering whether she'll run her hands down my lap like Shelley did before to Harry. I want her to—who wouldn’t?—but I also would like Shelley to be here right next to me dropping her hand to my dick and rubbing herself against me.

Everyone around is busy in conversation, some of them slow-dancing in the middle of the dining room after having convinced the manager to dim the lights and to put on some music. I don’t want to know how much money the basketball team put up to basically take over the restaurant like that. But the point is that no one is really paying any attention to Elizabeth and me, or to Shelley and Harry at the end of the table.

Shelley, at this point, is running kisses down Harry’s face, and she’s square on his lap now, and from the way she’s moving her ass, she must be grinding down pretty hard on Harry’s dick. Harry’s making a face that I don’t recall him ever making, midway between delighted and torn. He’s speaking to Shelley, but I can’t hear what he’s saying, and he seems to be trying to reason with her, and all she does is kiss his neck and run her hands over his chest and undulate her body in a way that suggests she must be a wonder in bed.

Elizabeth’s arm is wrapped around my shoulders, her hand is caressing me softly, her head is still leaning on me. She seems to be watching Shelley and Harry, but I’m pretty sure she’s watching me watching Shelley and Harry. I can’t help it. It’s hot to see those two together, and I wish I was the kind of guy that could get a cute little blonde girl squirming over my dick like Shelley seems to be on Harry’s, nothing in her pretty little head but the desire to be fucked and fucked well. And she’s probably not even worried about courses, either—probably majoring in psychology or something. All the hot girls major in psychology, it seems.

Elizabeth laughs softly and shakes her head—sending some of her hair tickling the side of my face—as she see watches Harry trying to reason with Shelley, who makes it clear that she’s not listening. I look at Elizabeth, a question on my face.

“It’s Shelley. She’s trying to get Harry to come back with us to our rooms for a little fun."

My ears pick up her use of the plural: with us, our rooms. "But?” I ask.

“But Harry can’t tonight. He’s rehearsing. Look at her though. She’s trying to convince him to skip the rehearsal. And her arguments can be pretty good, believe me. Shelley’s stubborn. But Harry more so. Especially when it comes to acting.”

“Yeah," I say. “He takes his acting seriously.”

“As he should. He’s very good. He was amazing in Coriolanus two months ago.”

“Maybe, but I admit that if I was glad when he was done with it. If I had to go on hearing him shout, ‘Go, get you home, you fragments!’ whenever he was unhappy with the team during practice, I’d have punched him.”

Elizabeth laughs, her laugh a clear sparkle in the dim light of the restaurant. She remains pressed against my shoulder, and I’m tempted to ask her if she wants to dance.

I hesitate too long, though, and before I can say anything, Shelley is coming to sit with us, slamming down on a chair with a pout on her face, while Harry stands up and tells everyone that he has to take off and to all be good. He thanks us all for our participation in the afternoon, and then leaves, his Santa Claus hat jingling as he walks away.

“Bastard,” Shelley grumbles.

Elizabeth, her head still on my shoulder, smiles gently and patiently to her friend. “Shel, I told you he couldn’t make it. He’s got rehearsal.”

Shelley makes a face. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You and him. Rehearsal this, theater that. Let me tell you, my pussy’s better than any theater.”

She looks at me, defiant, challenging me to say anything. “What’s wrong, jock boy? Too frank for your taste?”

I’m not sure what to say. Shelley looks angry. At me or at Harry is not clear. What did I do anyway?

“Don’t be too hard on Brandon here, Shel,” says Elizabeth. “He’s having a tough time.”

“What tough time? Did somebody stole his ball and he can’t play no more?”

“Come on Shel, don’t be mean.”

“I’m not being mean. I’m horny. I’m fucking horny and my favorite cock’s gone off to rehearse some stupid play.”

I feel the need to chime in and defend my friend. “It’s not just any stupid play. It’s Oedipus Rex, and it’s a classic.” Like she would know about that.

She snorts. “Like you would know about that, jock boy. Stick to reading your Sports Illustrated, or you’ll hurt yourself.” She stands up. “I’m going home.” Without waiting for a comment or a response, she swivels and heads to the exit. I follow her, caught between staring at her tight little ass wrapped in her green too-short tunic and swaying with her every booted step, and fuming at her.

I exchange a glance with Elizabeth, who herself seems caught between befuddlement and amusement. "Sports Illustrated?” I ask, indignant. “Who reads Sports Illustrated?”

Elizabeth bursts out laughing, and her laughter is infectious and soon I join her, and she’s hugging me as she laughs, and I have to admit it feels nice.

When we catch out breath, I ask her. "What’s wrong with her?”

“The thing with Shelley is that she doesn’t take rejection well. And she seemed to have had her eyes set on spending the night with Harry.”

“Are they... are they an item or something?” Harry has never said anything, but he likes to play his personal life close to the chest.

“Harry and Shel? No way. But we all hang out sometimes.” The way she says it suggests something more, and I can’t help but imagine those two girls—the long-hair redhead and the short-haired blonde—naked against my large teammate, and it’s a damn hot picture. I abort it before things get even more clear in my head. I don’t need to hate Harry, on top of everything else going down the drain.

Elizabeth sees all of this in my eyes, and I have once again the distinct impression that she knows exactly what I’m thinking. It’s unnerving, to say the least. When she continues, she looks almost apologetic. “I probably should go with her, make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.”

She lets me go, stands up. I think I feel disappointment.

“What about you?” she asks. “What are you going to do?”

“Me? I dunno... probably go home, study some stats...” The gloom is back, all at once, like somebody turned off the light. I’m going to go home, stare at my textbook and my notes with growing despair, and that will guarantee that whatever I’m reading and trying to figure out will look even more opaque than before, and then I’ll grow frustrated and then angry and then... and then nothing.

Elizabeth looks at me, her head cocked to the side. “You know what? If you go home, I’m picturing you doing absolutely everything but trying to study and not taking in a single bit of information. That’s pretty stupid. Come with me.” She extends a hand.

I stare at it, beckoning, inviting, soothing. “I don’t know. I really should...”

“Should, should, should. Just trust me. I have an idea. An idea where everyone comes out the winner.”

I look at her, uncertain.

She smiles her warmest gentlest smile, the one that I’m sure can melt just about anyone’s heart, and mine is no stronger than anyone’s.

I take her hand, and let her lead the way.