Winger

but he’s so my dad, and he looks like a scrawny lawyer from Boston,” I said. “Anyway, they have this song he always sings, ‘How Many Friends.’ Ever hear it?”

“No.”

“I have an iPod. Want to listen to it?”

“You have an iPod?” Joey said. He looked intrigued, but at the same time he kind of knew I was playing a joke on him.

“Yep.”

“Okay.”

I put my hand inside my loincloth. Man! It felt like a frozen leg of lamb going down there against my skin. I dug around, then pulled my hand up and held my closed fist out for Joey.

“Here,” I said.

He held out his hand and I put (of course) nothing in it. Then I said, “Here, you need the earbuds,” and I proceeded to put nothing into each one of his ears with the tips of my freezing thumbs.

“Is it loud enough?” I said.

“Um. No?”

“Retard. You didn’t even touch play. Don’t you even know how to use a fucking iPod?”

And, yes, I apologize. I really did say that. Joey looked kind of shocked, too, but I knew he needed a little magic.

Joey pressed his index finger down into his empty palm. I windmilled my arm like I was Pete Townshend slashing a guitar. And, yeah, I’m a rugby player. We sing and we’re not uptight about it. So I jumped up in the air and gave my best howling impersonation of my scrawny-Boston-lawyer dad imitating Roger Daltrey.

Joey squinted a cautious look at me and shrugged.

And I sang, “ ‘How many friends have I really got? That love me, that want me, that’ll take me as I am?’ ”

I heard someone, out in the dark, scream, “Shut the fuck up, Ryan Dean!”

“Okay, that’s it. I’m not singing anymore,” I said. “Now give me back my iPod before we get in trouble.”

Joey smiled and shook his head.

I said, “Dude. High five.”

We slapped hands. Truly our all-time gay-straight high five record setter.

“Oh. One more thing.” I said, “Chest bumps.”

Then we jumped up and bumped chests, and I started laughing so hard.

“Joey, that was the gayest thing I ever did. Well, except for the time I wrote a poem to Seanie.”

That made Joey laugh.

Just a little, though.

“Damn,” I said. “I’m freezing my nuts off. I better go get JP before they shut it down.”

“I’ll see you later,” Joey said. We shook hands, and Joey put his hand on my shoulder. “Thanks, Ryan Dean.”

“I mean this in such a completely and totally non-gay way, Joey, but I love you,” I said.

“Shut the fuck up, Ryan Dean.”

I laughed.

Joey went off to O-Hall, and I ran on frozen bare legs for the boys’ dorm, where I used to live.

Chapter Ninety

IT WAS WEIRD BEING BACK in the boys’ dorm after so long.

It all looked so nice and normal, like a resort hotel compared with the linoleum-cement-rough-wood-lack-of- heating of O-Hall. But it was kind of the same way I felt that night when I sat down with the freshmen having dinner—I could make a case that I belonged here, but I knew I really didn’t.

Not much of an overlap anymore, I guess.

Seanie and JP’s room was on the second floor. There was an elevator, too. Weird.

I knocked.

“JP?”

I knocked again.

I heard his voice through the door. “Come in.”

I opened the door.

He knew it was me. I guess he recognized my voice. He didn’t even move his eyes when I came in.

JP was lying down on the couch, watching television. That’s how these dorm rooms were: Everyone had his own—private—bedroom, and two or three of them would connect to a common living room and a bathroom, so it was a lot more private and a lot more like living at home than the prisonlike atmosphere of O-Hall’s barracks.

He was alone, but he had taken the time to put a costume on, which meant he was at least thinking about going out.

Typical JP: His face was blacked, which was a good cover for the massive purple bruise around his eye, and he was dressed in combat fatigues with a camouflaged bucket hat that shaded his eyes.

“Hey.” I sat down on a red chair across from him. “They let O-Hall go to the dance.”

“You look like a gay caveman,” JP said.

“Well, that wasn’t quite the effect I was going for.”

“Dude. You have Pokemon underwear on.”

Damn that crossing-the-legs requirement!

“Cool, huh?”

JP inhaled and raised his eyebrows, a silent “whatever.”

“JP, I’m going to say it one more time, and then I’m going to shut up,” I said.

“Or you could shut up now,” he said.

I swallowed. “No. I’m sorry for being such a dick. I’m sorry I started those fights with you. You should have kicked my ass, and I can’t blame you if you’re still planning on doing it. But I came to take you to the dance.”

“You really are a gay caveman.”

I laughed.

“We’re having a lot of fun there.”

“Even Seanie and Isabel?”

“Well, okay. I’ll be honest. Not them. They’re total losers. But everyone else is.”

He sort of smiled.

“So, put your shoes on.” I stood up and held my hand out to him. He grabbed it, and I pulled him up so he was sitting with his feet on the floor.

“Sorry,” I said again.

“Okay,” he said. He put his feet into his army boots and began lacing them up. “I’m sorry too, Ryan Dean. I really was going for her, you know? I never thought she’d be interested in you.”

Maybe I was still a little sensitive about the whole JP thing, but hearing him say that really did sting a little.

“Why’d you think that?”

JP shrugged. “ ’Cause you’re just a kid.”

“Screw that, JP.”

I know. I’m such a loser, but I was so sick of that crap, I almost felt myself getting ready to fight him again.

“Hey. You won. It doesn’t matter,” JP said. “Does it?”

He tied his bootlaces and stood.

I took a deep breath and tried to make myself believe that it didn’t really matter.

“I guess not. Come on. Let’s go. There’s still an hour until ten. Maybe you can at least get Isabel to dance with you.”