There are rules to having a study group.
Rule One: someone has to bring snacks. (That’s always Devon. Devon is the snack guy. It is his entire identity.)
Rule Two: no one is allowed to talk about the study material for the first twenty minutes. (This is Tyler’s rule. Tyler believes in “vibes-based learning.”)
Rule Three: Marcus has to stop apologizing for existing. (This is my rule. Marcus apologizes when he breathes too loudly. It had to be addressed.)
Rule Four: nobody gets distracted.
I broke Rule Four approximately eleven minutes in.
We were on my couch. All four of us — me, Tyler, Marcus, Devon — with our laptops open and our textbooks spread out and Devon’s contribution of Goldfish crackers sitting in the middle of the coffee table like a peace offering.
Tyler was “explaining” organic chemistry in the way that someone explains something they don’t understand to people who also don’t understand it — with confidence and hand gestures.
Marcus was nodding along with the expression of a man watching a magic trick he knows is fake but can’t figure out.
Devon was eating Goldfish and staring at his phone.
And I was watching Marcus.
Specifically, I was watching the way his brow furrowed when he was concentrating. The way he chewed on the end of his pen when he was stuck. The way his shirt had ridden up just a little bit when he leaned forward, exposing a strip of skin at his waist that I had, on multiple occasions, kissed.
Privately.
In this exact room.
On this exact couch.
While Tyler and Devon were in the bathroom and thought we were “just talking.”
“Are you even listening?” Tyler asked me.
I blinked. “Yep.”
“What did I just say?”
I had no idea.
“Something about… carbon?” I tried.
Tyler looked at me suspiciously. “I was talking about nitrogen.”
“Close enough.”
Marcus was looking at me now. He knew that look. He knew that look, because he had seen that look approximately forty-seven times in the past month, always right before I dragged him into his room and closed the door and made him forget what nitrogen was.
He shifted on the couch. Crossed his legs. Uncrossed them. Crossed them again.
“You good?” Devon asked, mouth full of Goldfish.
“Fine,” Marcus said, too fast.
“You’re doing the thing,” I said.
“What thing.”
“The thing where you sit like you’re hiding something.”
“I’m not hiding anything.”
“You’re hiding everything.”
Tyler looked between us. Devon looked between us. Marcus looked at me with eyes that were saying please stop talking and please don’t stop talking and please take me to my room right now all at once.
“You two are weird,” Tyler said.
“We’re not weird,” I said.
“You’re weird,” Devon agreed. “You’re like… weird-flirty. You’ve always been weird-flirty.”
“We’re not flirty.”
Marcus made a small noise in the back of his throat that sounded like someone trying to swallow a laugh and a scream at the same time.
Tyler narrowed his eyes. “Are you guys—”
“No,” I said.
“—dating?” Marcus said at the same time.
We both stopped. Looked at each other. Looked at Tyler and Devon.
Tyler’s eyes went wide.
Devon stopped chewing.
“Oh,” Tyler said.
“Oh,” Devon said.
“It’s not—” Marcus started.
“We’re not—” I started.
Tyler held up a hand. “Stop. Both of you. The fact that you both panicked at the same time tells me everything I need to know.”
“There’s nothing to know,” I said.
“There’s EVERYTHING to know,” Tyler said. “Are you two—like—are you—do you—”
“Do we what.”
“Do you HOOK UP.”
Marcus buried his face in his hands.
I looked at Tyler. I looked at Devon. I looked at Marcus, whose ears were glowing red through his fingers.
“Define ‘hook up,’” I said.
Tyler threw a Goldfish cracker at me. “YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.”
“Tyler,” Devon said quietly. “I don’t think they’re going to answer that.”
“I NEED TO KNOW.”
“Why?”
“BECAUSE I LIVE WITH ONE OF THEM AND THE OTHER ONE IS ALWAYS HERE AND I DESERVE CONTEXT FOR MY OWN LIFE.”
He had a point.
Here’s what I should have done: denied everything. Changed the subject. Moved on. Kept the mystery alive.
Here’s what I actually did:
I looked at Marcus. Marcus looked at me through his fingers. I gave him a look that said I can handle this. He gave me a look that said please don’t handle this.
I turned back to Tyler and Devon.
“Yes,” I said.
Tyler fell off the couch.
Not metaphorically. He literally slid off the couch and onto the floor and lay there for three seconds before pushing himself up on his elbows like he’d just been shot.
“WHAT.”
“Yes,” I repeated.
“HOW LONG.”
“A month.”
“A MONTH.” Tyler’s voice was at a frequency that I’m fairly sure dogs in the next building could hear. “YOU’VE BEEN HOOKING UP FOR A MONTH AND YOU DIDN’T TELL US.”
“You didn’t ask,” I said.
“WE DIDN’T KNOW TO ASK.”
“Well now you know.”
Devon, who had been silent this whole time, finally spoke. He was staring at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read.
“So,” Devon said slowly. “When we were all in the bathroom. And you two were ‘just talking.’”
“Yeah.”
“And when Marcus came out of your room that one time with his shirt inside out.”
“Yeah.”
“And when Tyler heard noises from Marcus’s room at 2 AM and Marcus said it was his chair squeaking.”
“His chair does squeak,” Marcus said weakly from behind his hands. “But also. Yeah.”
Devon nodded slowly. He ate another Goldfish. He processed.
“I’m not mad,” Devon said finally. “I’m just… I need to recontextualize the last month of my life.”
“Take your time,” I said.
Tyler was still on the floor. “I sleep next to a wall. A WALL. That wall has been hiding secrets from me.”
“The wall didn’t know either,” I said.
“THE WALL KNEW.”
“The wall is drywall, Tyler.”
“DRYWALL HAS EARS.”
Eventually — after Tyler had processed, after Devon had recontextualized, after Marcus had removed his hands from his face and accepted that his life was now public record — we went back to studying.
Sort of.
Tyler kept looking at Marcus like he was seeing him for the first time.
Devon kept looking at me like he was seeing me for the first time, which was… interesting. I filed that away for later.
And Marcus kept blushing every time anyone looked at him, which was adorable, and I kept reaching over and squeezing his knee under the table, which made him blush harder, which made Tyler groan and throw another Goldfish at us.
“Can you NOT be disgustingly in love in front of me,” Tyler said.
“We’re not in love,” Marcus said.
“We’re not?” I asked.
He looked at me. I looked at him.
“I mean—” he started.
“Later,” I said. “Study now. Flirt later.”
“There’s always later with you,” Tyler muttered.
“There’s always later,” I agreed.
Marcus smiled. Small. Private. Just for me.
And I smiled back. And under the table, his hand found my knee. And neither of us moved it.
Tyler saw. Tyler groaned. Devon saw. Devon smiled into his Goldfish.
And somewhere, in the walls of our dorm, the drywall knew.
Tyler saw. Tyler groaned. Devon saw. Devon smiled into his Goldfish.
And somewhere, in the walls of our dorm, the drywall knew.
Three days later, it’s 2 AM. Marcus is asleep beside me. My phone lights up.
Not the group chat. Not Marcus. Not Tyler.
Devon.
“hey.”
Just hey. At 2 AM. From Devon, who has never texted anyone at 2 AM in the two years I’ve known him. From Devon, whose longest text message to date was “my cat threw up on the rug sorry.”
I stare at the screen.
Marcus shifts in his sleep. His hand finds my waist automatically. Like his body learned the shape of me without asking permission.
I type: “hey.”
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
“can i come over.”
I look at Marcus. At his glasses on the nightstand. At the way his arm is draped over me like I’m something he’s afraid of losing.
I type: “Tyler’s room is empty tonight.”
Devon’s response takes a full minute. I watch the dots appear and disappear like a heartbeat.
“i know.”
I put the phone down. I don’t answer. Not yet.
But Devon knew Tyler’s room was empty. Which means Devon has been tracking Tyler’s schedule. Which means this isn’t the first time Devon has thought about coming over.
And I need to decide what I’m going to do about that.
Caption: “Tyler threw a Goldfish at me. That’s how I knew.”