—Not gonna lie, he continued. I’m straight nervous ‘bout these classes. At Auburn you didn’t have to study for shit.
—You’ll be fine, I said. Players take French every summer. It’s the easiest language here.
That’s why the other players and I had enrolled. But Reshawn was taking French on Professor Grayson’s recommendation. It was a mark of Reshawn’s esteem for Grayson that he agreed to take the class despite knowing it was to be filled entirely with football players.
Though my drunkenness had brought me dangerously close, when I saw Thao at Jamie’s I’d managed to stop myself from asking for his phone number or where he was living that summer. I told myself to be grateful for at least that much self-control. King was a big place, three separate campuses, hundreds of buildings and thousands of rooms, and chances were that I wouldn’t run into him, that I would reach the far side of these seventy days without temptation.
But fate intervened the second week of classes—or, to be more precise, Jamie. She and Reshawn still talked on the phone, and she was concerned about what he would do for companionship now that she was gone. Reshawn’s friends had largely been hers, seniors who had graduated and left Blenheim, and she understood Reshawn was as isolated as he’d been at the start of freshman year. She had some younger friends, though, and in fact knew one who would be at King this summer. He had taken Professor Grayson’s folktales class with Jamie and Reshawn the previous fall, one of the boys who had come dancing with them at Stefan Knows last November, the smart, generous, half-Vietnamese kid who Reshawn seemed to get along with and who could maybe serve as a conduit to another non-football group at King.
Friday night, Reshawn knocked on my door while I was doing French homework in bed.
—Do you remember Thao? he asked.
The top layer of my skin simmered. I kept my eyes on my textbook.
—Maybe?
—You met him at Stefan Knows. The gay kid.
He seemed to land especially hard on the g in “gay,” but maybe I was overthinking it.
—Right, I said.
—He and his friends took over the place in Carsonville. He texted asking if we wanted to come to a party.
—Do you want to go? Reshawn sighed.
—Isn’t shit else to do around here.
The Carsonville house’s windows were dark, and rather than enter through the front door we took a path around the side, passing the ivy patch Reshawn had vomited on. We entered a spacious backyard where a fire blazed in a pit dug into the grass, with a ring of mismatched lawn chairs around it. I spotted Thao. He sat on his haunches next to a red cooler, removing beers from a cardboard case and burying them in fast-melting ice.
He noticed us and walked over, wiping his wet hands on his khaki shorts. He leaned in to hug Reshawn hello, but Reshawn preempted this by sticking out his hand for an awkward handshake. If that was awkward, though, I’m not sure what word to use for how I said:
—I’m Miles. I think we met last fall.
Thao didn’t miss a beat.
—I thought you looked familiar. I’m Thao.
We shook hands. His palm was cool from handling the beers.
Reshawn and I took two of the chairs and cracked open our Heinekens. We were introduced to six boys sitting around the fire, one of whom wore jean shorts that stopped high up his smooth, evidently shaved legs. Reshawn saw me see this boy and leaned over to whisper:
—We don’t have to stay long.
I gave him a what-are-you-gonna-do shrug. Thao finished unloading the beers into the cooler and took the chair on the other side of Reshawn.
—Jamie told me Professor Grayson’s thinking about adopting you, Reshawn.
—It’s just an independent study.
—Riiight. I wish I’d found a mentor when I was a freshman. Do you mind?
Thao took out a pack of Marlboros. Reshawn shook his head and Thao lit up, cranking his head back and blowing smoke. His Adam’s apple jutted wonderfully from his slender neck.
—Don’t tell Jamie, Thao said, waving his cigarette. Bad habit I picked up in Massachusetts.
—We don’t talk very often, Reshawn said.
—Oregon’s not so far from California, you know.
Reshawn stood to get himself another beer. Thao looked over at me.
—So what about—sorry, what’s your name again? —Miles. What about me?
—Oh, I don’t know. What are you going to declare?
Reshawn sat back down. I had started thinking I would study English too, but I didn’t want to say so in front of Reshawn. It might seem like I was imitating him.
—I’m not sure.
—Have you taken any dance classes? I smiled.
—No.
—Why’s that funny? I had two football players in my class last year. They enrolled because they thought it’d be easy, but they ended up loving it. They said dance helped improve their balance. Kerry, what were their names?
Kerry was the boy with shaved legs.
—James and Phaedrus.
Reshawn and I looked at each other. Phaedrus was Fade, but James was …
—Jimbo, I said. Thao laughed.
—Do all you people have nicknames? —Not me, I said.
—I’m Cousin Shawn.
I looked at Reshawn. I had no idea he knew what Jimbo and the others called him. Thao waited for an explanation, but instead Reshawn excused himself to go to the bathroom.
Once Reshawn disappeared inside, Thao took his chair. Thao’s right hand lay on his armrest, my left hand on mine, separated only by a few inches of warm night air.
—You’d think I invited him to an orgy, he whispered.
—He’s okay. He’s better than most players.
—Well, that’s a high bar.
There was asperity here; he was referring to Chase and what happened at Stefan Knows.
—So you’re in dance classes now? I said, trying to change the subject.
Thao flicked the butt of his cigarette into the fire and lit another. He didn’t ask if I minded, which I found encouraging.
—One class and one internship, he said. I’m working for
