Harrison's Word

[JacobMillerStories]

Andrew |

Ah, college. The time when you leave your high school self behind and grow into who you really are. Learning about yourself, your career, your dreams. Other people. You get to get away from your parents, live on your own without their constant supervision.

This year is gonna be great.

That happy, optimistic bubble lasts for all of fifteen minutes. Specifically, the fifteen minutes it takes to get my parents to carry my stuff up to my room and head out, leaving me to be until my new roommate started sticking his key into the door.

I'm somewhat excited, but I did the roommate lottery for a reason: I don't care who my roommate is. So it’s when my back is turned and they walk in, I have no sense to panic about how shitty the next year is gonna be.

“Handy Andy?!”

I don’t know what’s worse. Hearing that nickname again or hearing what I think is Logan Miller’s voice saying it.

“Holy shit! No way. The boys are gonna lose their shit when I tell them about this.”

Reluctantly, I turn around. Yep, my worst nightmare is starting right now.

Logan Miller and I, like much of Maryland State University’s students, went to high school together. Notice how in my naming of things that make college exciting I didn’t say anything about going away from home? That’s because I didn’t. The perks of growing up in a college town.

Except now they’re drawbacks.

Logan sets the big box of shit in his hands haphazardly on the spare bed, then walks over to me. I brace for the worst and get… a hug? I mean, not a full embrace—but the dude-bro one, with Logan grabbing my hand and pulling me in to clap me on the back. More a chest bump than a hug, I guess.

“How ya’ been?” he asks, shifting his big frame back and forth. On me, I’d peg that as nervous energy, but on Logan, it’s definitely just regular energy. This guy’s one of those active people.

He’s tall, like a lot taller than my five feet and seven inches, with his dirty blonde modern mullet sitting on top of his head. It looks fresh, like he just got it cleaned up in anticipation of the new school year. His brown eyes look at me in a way that I can’t decipher. I’ve never seen them look at me with such a… lack of hostility. It only lessens his intimidation a small amount.

Logan’s got a massive frame, from all those years playing sports. And yes, sports plural. Guessing, I’d say he’s six-foot-four, six-foot-five. At that height, to have the meaty build he has, he’s probably north of 220 pounds. Maybe even 230. Logan’s always been… large. Playing football in the fall and lacrosse in the spring will do that to a person.

“Uh,” I answer, finding my voice for the first time since I heard his. “I’ve been…” I just shrug. Not because I don’t know, but because why the hell is he asking? The shock of the initial moment is wearing off and my deep-seated anger is boiling up.

See, Logan Miller and I went to high school together. If I haven’t made it obvious: we were not friends. Logan and his group of assholes made my life hell, every single day for four years straight.

I’m a scrawny dude, like playing video games, and don’t really have friends—just my online ones. I’m a textbook nerd. I’ve made my peace with that. Have for years now. Everyone that knows me knows it, and that’s never bothered me.

For some reason, it’s always bothered Logan and his friends. They’d never miss an opportunity to shove me in the hallways or steal my food at lunch or threaten me into doing their homework while they fucked around doing shit they weren’t supposed to. Never hesitated to call me…

“Faggy?” he offers, like we're joking.

That.

Before I know it, both his parents are filing into our—that realization hurts when it sinks in—dorm room. They greet me like they’ve never seen me before, even though I’ve known them for years, and make some small talk, small talk I’m not very receptive to. The two of them make quick work of all of Logan’s shit and then Mr. Miller ends up offering to help me unbox my bulky PC.

Confused, I take him up on it.

They leave and Logan’s quick to talk to me like he hasn’t been one-fourth of my biggest problem since I was fourteen, spouting nonsense about what he’s been up to, what life is like for him post high school graduation. I quickly learn that he’s not here on a sports scholarship like I had assumed. He’s not even playing a sport.

“Yeah, it just didn’t work out. But I’m not too pressed. My parents are paying for it all, but in-state tuition’s super cheap. What about you?”

Hesitant to explain, I do find myself opening up in a way that’s surprising to me. I’ve hated Logan as long as I’ve known him, yet there’s some small part of me reveling in the fact that I’m actually having a conversation with him now. One he actually looks to be engaged in. One where he isn’t throwing around insults or one we’re only having as I try to run away from him.

I tell him that I’m on an academic scholarship and he actually says he’s not surprised, that I was always super smart. And he says it genuinely. Somehow, I think Logan Miller has actually matured in the past three months.

Maybe this year won’t be as bad as I thought it was.

Logan and I chat for a couple more minutes, talking class stuff and dorm stuff. I tell him I’m undecided, though I’m leaning towards Comp-Sci. Logan says he’s in the same boat and he’s planning to use the first year to feel his way through his basic classes. We get to talking about our schedules and it turns out we actually have a class together.

Logan doesn’t have many rules to set for the dorm room. I’m somewhat the same, though when he asks about bringing people over—friends, he specifically mentions—I’m hesitant to act carefree about it. He mentions exchanging numbers and we do, to my lingering disbelief.

“Well,” Logan says, standing up from his newly made bed, “I’m gonna go meet the guys. See ya’ later, Handy.”

Logan leaves and the door shuts behind him, leaving me alone in our dorm with that nickname bouncing around my skull. All the anger that had slowly been dissipating returns with a vengeance.

I hate that fucking nickname. My name is Andrew.

Fuck, I don’t even remember when they really started calling me that—just that when they did, it never stopped. Handy Andy wasn’t just the way all of Logan’s posse addressed me when they weren’t using insults. It was the only name over half the school knew me by.

And it was all because of one night.

Before I can start to relive the memory, Logan’s voice hollering some ribbing greetings through the cracked window steals my focus. I step forward to look, finding him walking up to two guys I recognize but wish I couldn’t: Cole and Blake.

Cole Callahan looks the same as he did at graduation three months ago. Same lithe body from his lacrosse days, same tanned complexion, same fluffy brown hair that every girl seems to love. Logan dwarfs him in size, but doesn’t overshadow him; Cole’s never let him. Confidence and composure radiates from him in a way that’s always pissed me off. We’re roughly the same height, but everyone treats Cole like they’re looking up at him. Makes you feel smaller than him, even when you’re eye-to-eye.

Locker shoving and shouted insults were Logan’s specialty. Cole’s favorite way to harass me was to trip me up in the hallways, zooming through the sea of bodies to find me so he could sneak a foot in my path and make me fall. He’d also zip through the lunch line to steal my tray out of my hands—most times so he could throw the food at me. Cole had me scrubbing mac and cheese and ketchup off my clothes multiple times a week.

Then there’s Blake Anderson—blonde, stupid, Blake Anderson. Just an inch shorter than Logan, Blake was also on the football team, but I’m pretty sure he never played lacrosse. His blonde hair is blonde to the point that it looks dyed that way. Maybe it is. Never been close enough to inspect it. Like all of them, he’s muscly, though it’s more obvious through his clothes than it is for Cole.

Blue eyes, charming smile, and an empty head, Blake is the epitome of a follower. His height isn’t the only thing he’s second in—he’s second in about everything. He never acts first, only after someone paves the way for him. I’d say I don’t know why he’s like that, but I do know. He’s dumb. Like, real dumb. Not a thought behind his eyes in the last year kind of dumb. I don’t know how much more I can stress it—look, he’s stupid, okay? I think the only thing he knows how to do is catch a football and use his dick. Oh, and how to threaten physical violence on someone to get them to do his homework.

Well, I guess it’s gotten him this far.

All three of them turn towards the grass as the fourth member of their group approaches.

Harrison Pryce.

Okay, Logan used to shove me into lockers and call me slurs, Cole used to steal my lunch and sometimes throw it back at me, and Blake’s the one that always brought it closest to physical violence, even after I’d write his English papers. But Harrison is the one that has my fingernails digging into my palms, even now. Seeing his perfect brown hair, loosely curled in a way that gives it that natural texture, his tan skin and tight body straight out of some masculine fragrance commercial, all in combination with his signature smile has me ready to march down there and sock him right in the face.

Or, curl up into a ball and cry.

Unlike the other three, Harrison never did anything to me. Not directly, at least. When I got messy food thrown at me in the cafeteria or slammed into a locker in the hallways, Harrison was never the culprit. He never called me names, never made me do his homework. But in my book, what Harrison did was worse. So much worse.

Because all Harrison did was laugh.

He’d laugh when Logan would call me a faggot. He’d laugh when Cole would trip me on purpose. He’d laugh when I forked over English papers, terrified as Blake had me gripped by the shirt collar. Just laughed, never stopped it.

He could’ve. I know he could’ve. Harrison Pryce is truly their king. Everything those three do, they do for him. If Harrison wants to go to a party, they’re there. If Harrison wants to skip class, they cover for him. If Harrison wants to fuck one of their girlfriends, they fuck her first just to warm her up for him.

Harrison’s word is law to them.

Fuck, I knew he was coming here—his social media announcement that he had signed on to play lacrosse at Maryland State was a massive deal since MSU has been reigning champs for three years. It was the talk around school for months after. I think they even brought it up when he walked the stage at graduation.

I knew I was gonna be attending the same school as him when I applied, but… I figured it was a big campus. The odds of me seeing him around would be low. I didn’t think I’d be rooming with his best fucking friend.

I knew he’d be here, but I didn’t think I’d have to see him.

 

[JacobMillerStories]

Harrison |

“You’ll never guess who my roommate is,” Logan says to all of us.

“Who?” Blake asks, eyes alight with curiosity as to whatever the answer may be.

“Handy Andy.”

“You’re fucking kidding!” Cole practically shouts. We get a couple of looks from the other people in the restaurant.

“Swear to God,” Logan says, hand pressed to his heart.

Blake swats Logan on the arm. “Fuck, dude! How unlucky do you have to be to roll that shit. Odds gotta be, like,” he stops to think, “one to a hundred, at least.”

Cole scoffs at Blake’s shitty odds. “Try over a thousand, doofus.”

Despite his rudeness, Cole’s right. At orientation the other week, I think they said the incoming freshman class numbered a little less than 2000. For Logan’s random roommate to end up being the Andrew Harman we went to high school with? Damn.

“Naw,” Logan says to Blake, “I’m not thinking unlucky. I’m thinking an easy way to get homework done. We have Geology together. I’m not gonna have to do a single thing all semester.” Logan leans back in his seat, arms up behind his head with a proud grin on his face.

“Do you think he’ll do mine, too?” Blake asks excitedly, no doubt thinking about high school when Andy was the only reason Blake was passing classes.

Cole’s face flattens Blake’s way. “Do you have class with him?” he asks.

Blake thinks about it, then shakes his head.

“Then no.”

Blake looks disappointed.

“Oh, cheer up, Blakey,” I elbow him. He listens before I even give him a reason to do so, smiling proudly just because someone said so. I give him the reason anyway. “We’re in College. They have all kinds of tutoring should ya’ need it.”

“Yeah, Blake,” Cole chimes in again, “might wanna get those numbers on speed dial.”

Logan and Cole share a chuckle. Blake doesn’t seem to understand that he’s the reason why as he starts laughing along side them. Oh, Blake.

Eventually the guys start settling down. I sit up, trying to capitalize on the moment before we move on to something else. “Don’t you think you should give him a break, Lo? I mean, that was high school. This is college. They take academic integrity super serious.”

Logan immediately tries to protest, already set on having little Andy be his own personal GPA booster, but Cole cuts him off. “Harrison’s right, Logan. If the university finds out you're making Harman do your work, they’ll totally put you on probation. Might just outright expel you.”

Logan puffs out a disappointed breath. “Yeah, man, I know. Just pisses me off. Trapped in a closet-sized room with Handy fucking Andy and I can’t even benefit from it.”

“I’m sure there’s other ways you could benefit from it,” Blake says, already on the verge of cracking up. He makes a not-so-subtle jacking-off motion with his hand.

Cole busts out laughing but Logan isn’t having any of it. “Oh, fuck off with that faggot shit, man,” he says, trying to shake away his grin. “Besides, I plan on being perfectly fine in that department. I broke up with Alexis for a reason.”

“Oh, shit, I forgot about that,” Cole says. “Were we all doing that? Am I breaking up with Trudy?”

“You don’t need to. I’ve got Harrison here if I need to run a two-man. Trudy’s reliable. Keep her.”

“Why not me?” Blake asks, unable to hide his hurt at Logan excluding him. Even for a hypothetical two-man.

“Because your taste in girls is atrocious, Blakey,” Logan says. “My dick needs to be hard to fuck a girl. Not repulsed by the ugly mug you’re gunning to stick yours in.”

My body shifts uncomfortably. I hate it when they make fun of Blake, even if they try to make it amicable by using nicknames. He’s not the smartest, but that doesn’t mean he should be a punching bag. Blake’s always managed to keep his head above the water when it’s Cole throwing shade, throwing a line or two back—but it’s different with Logan for some reason.

Blake slinks down into his seat, clearly upset. Cole just rolls his eyes.

“Oh come on, Logan. Be honest.” I turn to Blake. “He needs me there for the exact reason he said: needs a way to get hard.” I waggle my eyebrows so Blake gets the hint and he starts laughing.

When I look back over, Logan’s face is bright red. “What is with you faggots today?”

Blake’s dumb guffaw in combination with Logan’s comment gets Cole laughing. Before long, Logan’s joining in and it’s like nothing even happened. The conversation devolves to our usual shit quick enough after that.

I participate in the conversation as much as I usually do, meaning not a lot. I’m more of a passive guy; I add my input when it’s needed. The guys know that. They never push unless it’s dire.

Staying quiet let’s me think. I like thinking, letting my mind wander and cover everything that’s happened. I feel like people don’t do that enough. I think that’s why I’m always the one fixing problems.

My mind goes to Andy and Logan—mainly Andy, though. He’s probably just as annoyed by the roomie situation as Logan, if not more. Logan just has to deal with, what? Andy’s comic books scattered across the room and his nerdy computer games? Andy’s the one that’s probably gonna be on edge around Logan 24/7. I’m sure he didn’t forget all the shit they did to him in high school.

Maybe I should try to talk to Andy. Reach out, let him know I can talk to Logan if there are any problems. Or maybe I should just talk to Logan preemptively. It wouldn’t be the first time. In high school, I was always the voice of reason when it came to Logan’s scheming, like I was earlier.

I’m pretty sure I’m the only reason Andy’s still alive at this point.

In the end, I’m not even the one that mentions Andy again. When we’re walking back to campus, ready to split up in the quad between all our dorms, Logan brings the topic back up.

“What are the odds I go up there and find a sock on the door and Handy Andy getting all handsy with himself?” he asks.

Cole chuckles. “Or worse, with another dude.”

“Oh, fuck,” Logan groans. “I didn’t even think about that. He’s gonna be trying to bring dudes back to our place. I definitely need to tell him off now.”

“Dude,” Blake says, smacking Logan on the arm. “It’s Handy Andy. You think that pussy’s gonna be getting any?”

I don’t particularly care for Blake’s choice of words, but he does have a point. “Yeah, man,” I chime in. “I really don’t think you’re gonna have to worry much about that.” Andy’s never been much of a player. The only time I’ve ever heard of him getting some action was that one time…

“For real,” Cole says. “Plus, even if he does manage to catch the eye of some other fag, you know he’d rather do it in a closet than his dorm.”

That gets Blake and Logan laughing. I find myself chuckling, too, as I think back to that night.

“Yeah, I’ll leave that alone,” Logan says. “But I’m thinking there’s a different way I‘m gonna get Harman to not be such a freak this year.

“What do you have cooking?” Cole asks.

“I’m thinking I go all meta on his ass. Hit him with a fake-out. Pretend to be all nice, lure him in, then hit him with a flashback to when we found him in that closet.”

“Yooo,” Blake says, slapping Logan on the arm in support. “Sounds sick. Mess with his head and shit, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Logan’s grin is wide. Just a little evil. “I already started it. Played nice when I was with him earlier. I bet I could get him real comfortable and then just rip the rug right out from under him.”

Cole nods along, looking as excited as Blake about this plan, and that confirms that I’m the only one thinking about the bigger thing: why?

Logan doesn’t linger around, telling everyone he has some shit to do early in the morning. Blake and Cole are quick to split off, dapping Logan and me up before they head back to their dorm room. It’s when Logan does the same to me, intending to head into his building and let me go to the athletic dorms, that I say something.

“I think you should lay off Andy.”

“What? Why?”

I shrug. “That shit was so high school, man.”

Logan doesn’t seem happy with that. In fact, he looks angry. “Dude, don’t give me that! This is your fault.”

What? “How is this my fault?”

He points a finger at me. “You’re the reason I had to end up doing a last-minute random roommate. You’re the reason I’m gonna be sharing a space with Handy Andy for a year.”

“I didn’t know I had to be in the athletics dorm until they told me!” Logan and I were gonna end up being roommates, like Blake and Cole, but apparently the university likes to keep all the student-athletes in one place. Since I’m on the lacrosse team, that means I couldn’t room with Logan and they didn’t tell me that until halfway through the summer.

“Listen, man,” I start, “Andy’s just a dude trying to make it through college. Same as us.” That seems to get through to Logan. My words always do. “Cut him some slack. Don’t jump the gun on this.” I’d rather Logan just put the gun down, but we’re about four years too late for that.

“Yeah, okay man,” he concedes. “But if he starts up with his gay shit…” He trails off, shaking his head as if he’s already frustrated.

“Just wait, then; don’t start something before you need to.”

Logan thinks about it, then nods. Reluctantly. “I’ll try.”

We don’t say much more before we split up for the night, going our separate ways. That boy is gonna need some of Blake’s dumb luck.

Not Logan.

Andy.

 

[JacobMillerStories]

Andrew |

Okay, so maybe I was right to be optimistic about college. Even with Logan Miller as my roommate, the last two weeks have been good. Actually, they’ve been great.

I’ve got into the groove of my class schedule—none of which are very challenging, by the way. My hardest class by far is Accelerated Pre-Calc, but it’s shaping up to be nothing I can’t handle. The professor has the class laid out pretty well, and if I ever fall behind there are lots of tutoring options I’d be comfortable taking advantage of.

In the Geology class Logan and I have together we’re lab partners. We got to pick and he was the one that ended up offering. We did our first lab assignment and got a 94 on it. I had to do a good amount of the work, but that was only because Logan was getting things wrong—but he was trying. He’s really has gotten his act together. Even takes notes.

Prior to this, I don’t think I’d ever seen him use a pencil to actually write.

Lab isn’t the only time we work well together either. Since we’re both currently undecided, a lot of our class blocks line up. We have roughly the same schedule, just different classes. Most mornings, we eat breakfast at the dining hall together and it’s completely civil.

Maybe it’s just cause there are no lockers for him to shove me at.

Coming back from my Pre-Calc class, I have nothing else going on today so I decided to come back to the dorm. I have Ethical Philosophy—don’t ask, it was the only option available—at 8:00 a.m. and I’m pretty tired. My plan is to take a power nap, then maybe head to the library. Or play some games. Haven’t done that in a while.

When I get on our floor, I find our door is cracked. That’s not unusual. It gets pretty hot in there and Logan has been leaving it open, like a lot of other people on our floor. I don’t find anything unnerving about it.

That is, until I step inside.

It’s not just Logan at his desk. Cole and Blake are there, spread out over the room. Blake is sitting on my bed.

“Oh, hey man,” Blake says, staying put.

Cole swats his big leg. “Get off his bed, dumbass.”

“Oh, sorry.” Blake does as he’s told, crowding onto Logan’s Bed with Cole.

“Uh, hey… guys,” I manage, though I don’t move from my place in the doorway.

Logan swivels in his desk chair to face me. “Hey, Harman. Sorry,” he gestures to the boys on his bed, “they needed to let their dorm air out.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” Cole says before smacking Blake on the back of the head. “Dumbass, here thought his can of deodorant was empty and stabbed it with a pair of scissors to check. It wasn’t. Now our entire room smells like Blake’s nasty ass axe.”

Blake just shrugs, like the dumbass he is.

Apparently this is my life now.

I step further into the room, dropping my backpack at my desk and hopping up into my bed, laying down. All of my actions hesitant, laced with an air of caution that seems misplaced. Nothing smells fishy. Actually, the only thing I smell is the lingering scent of axe. Probably what seeped off of Blake when he was up here.

Not that big a deal, I guess. Could be worse.

Harrison could be here.

The guys go back to what they were talking about before I was here, not even seeming to care that their favorite bullying target is less than five feet away. Former bullying target, it seems, though I still feel my heart beating a little faster than what I would consider my resting. Fast enough that I don’t see myself being able to fall asleep, but not too fast that I can’t at least relax.

“Is he asleep?” I hear Logan ask.

There’s a pause and some slight shifting around. “I think so.” That’s Cole. “Poke him.”

“What?” Blake. “I don’t wanna poke him.”

“Just do it. Real quick.”

Blake groans softly, before getting off the bed. It takes a second, and then I feel a finger touch my leg.

I don’t move.

Logan gives an approving grunt and then there’s silence for a minute. I do my best to try and stay still, even though I was just doing that. My slightly elevated heart rate abandons the slightly title, ranking up to just plain-old elevated and making it much more a challenge than it should be.

There’s some soft shifting as Blake presumably climbs back on the bed. “So, how’s that special project coming along,” he asks, a cocky tone clear as day outlining his words.

There’s another swatting sound and a faint ow before Logan answers, voice hushed, but not over-exaggerated. “It’s not. Harrison told me to wait it out. Until I need to do it.”

My stomach churns with nerves. Logan has a special project? That I can’t be awake to hear about? And Harrison is involved?

God, it has to be something horrible. We’re in college now. Surely they’re gonna up the ante, go for something worse than names and mild embarrassment. I had always just come shy of being beaten up a couple of times. Are they finally gonna push past that threshold?

Okay, calm down Andrew. You’re being ridiculous.

Yeah, I’m being stupid. Logan hasn’t showed any signs of his old behavior. We have Geology together. He knows first hand just how annoying it would be if he had to swap lab partners or something.

“Well,” Cole starts, “do you think you’re gonna need to?”

“Yeah, what’s it like living with Handy Andy?”

I have to stifle an annoyed groan at Blake bringing up that nickname. It’s not surprising; Logan never calls me Andrew. Either Handy Andy or my last name, Harman. Still frustrating, though. I haven’t worked up the courage to tell him to stop.

“It’s not that bad,” Logan says. “A lot better than I thought it’d be. Kid keeps to himself, quiet. Honestly? I thought he would be the type of person to never leave the room, but I think I’m here more than he is.”

Kid? I’m eighteen. Shit, my birthday is before Logan’s. I’m older than him!

“Oh, I bet I know why,” Cole says, his grin evident in his inflection. “He’s probably found a nice closet elsewhere on campus.”

Blake laughs until Cole smacks him, reminding him to keep quiet. Logan doesn’t, though. For a second, I think he might defend me. I have no proof. There’s just this vibe in the air. The way they’re all quiet now.

I hear the intake of Logan’s breath before he speaks, but then a phone buzzes. There’s some light shuffling, before Logan says something. “Harrison just texted. Wants to know if we wanna meet him at the dining hall?”

Both Blake and Cole say they do—of course they do—and there’s some shuffling as they get up. I hear Logan’s keys jingle as he grabs them, the shuffle out, and then the door clicking shut.

I finally let my body move, legs kicking. Can’t tell if it’s overwhelming relief at holding still for so long or nervous energy fighting outwards at what I almost just heard. Damn. Harrison’s not even here and he ruined that for me.

But what about Logan’s special project? That’s clearly about me, right? I mean, with the way they talked about it, it sounds like Logan’s waiting for me to do something. Is it like a trap? Or some sort of situation I have to put myself in?

God! Why can’t they just leave me alone? I’ve never done anything to them. I just want to have a good first year of college. Why are they hellbent on keeping me from that?

My spiraling brain asks about a dozen more questions, all with more worry than the last. So much so, in fact, that I don’t even realize I’m falling asleep until it just happens.

…

The sound of the door opening stirs me, but not enough to fully open my eyes and become a functioning human being. I don’t even stretch. It’s too dark and I’m too comfortable. Wait, dark? How long was I out?

Logan steps inside, tossing his keys on his desk. He flicks on his little desk light and a faint yellow glow permeates throughout the room. I watch through hooded eyes as he shuffles around the room, picking at things on the floor and on his desk, before he turns the light back out.

Then, like every night, Logan strips down to his underwear to go to sleep. He always takes his shirt off first, then his shorts. Like every night, I find it… hard to look away.

As much as an asshole as Logan has proved himself to be, as horrible as he was to me in high school, I’m still forced to admit just how good looking he is. I mean, the lifestyle of football and lacrosse did right by him.

In the darkness of our dorm room, his pale skin highlights his bulky body. Chest, abs, arms, legs… If I had to use one word to describe them all? Full. He’s always been bigger, but the lack of a sport this fall to keep him active hasn’t seemed to affect him much. If anything, he’s lost the slightest amount of definition. But it works for him. It really works.

He clambers around in his white Calvin Kleins, moseying towards the bed. As big as he is, Logan has a big ass to match. Round and perky, and all muscle as it stretches his underwear tight. He could probably benefit going up a size. But then I’d lose my nightly view of his cheeks straining against the almost transparent material.

I turn on my side to get comfortable, keeping Logan’s body in view of my lazy gaze. When I shift, he turns around to stare at me. I meet his eyes, but mine are still almost shut. He probably can’t tell that I’m awake. Not in the dark, at least.

The darkness doesn’t convince him to look away. No, Logan inspects me, like I had just done to him. Obviously of a different nature, but an inspection all the same.

Getting a front view of him gives me enough reason to drop my gaze from his face and to his crotch, where the front of his underwear is equally as tight as the back. What I would give to see what’s underneath. Fuck. I’d love to just—

“Faggot,” Logan dismissively mutters under his breath, turning around and climbing into bed. Hearing the word, watching him direct it at me in a moment like this one… It puts a sour taste in my mouth.

He’s right, of course. I am gay. And, to be fair, I was just ogling him in the dark. Still hurts to be called that. And it’s not like this was the first time, either. The way I see it: if Logan’s gonna call me a fag, then I might as well get the full benefits of being one.

And that includes staring at Logan’s almost-naked body every night.

 

[JacobMillerStories]

Andrew |

The next few weeks signal my first full month at Maryland State. Halfway through September, midterms are just around the corner—as ridiculous as it may seem. A good amount of my professor’s have been warning to not let it sneak up on us. Just like my Geology professor just did.

“For your midterm assessment,” he says, “you’ll have two options: a 50-question, multiple choice exam or a lab assignment. The exam will be held at the testing center and the lab will be held here, in class.”

Some girl from the front row raises her hand. “Will we be able to complete the lab assignment with our partners?”

“Yes. If your partner also chooses to do the lab assignment. If not, you’ll be doing so on your own. It might be best to talk to your lab partner before you decide. When you’ve done so, please email me so I know who to expect and where. You have until the end of September to tell me, before I default you to the exam.”

“Psst,” Logan says from my right, waiting to speak until he has my attention. “Are you down to do the lab assignment? I really don’t feel like taking an exam.”

I hadn’t given it much thought. I’m a good test taker, but one less exam to study for sounds promising. Especially with Pre-Calc taking up so much of my study time. “Uh, probably.”

“Cool. Do you want me to email him or should I?”

“I can do it.”

“Okay, sick.”

Geology class wraps up pretty quickly and Logan and I find ourselves both heading back to the dorm. We aren’t maintaining a conversation, just walking the same path next to each other. I pull up my phone to start that email while it’s still on my mind.

“Yo!” Logan shouts, raising his hand to get someone’s attention. When I look up, I find Harrison waving back. And heading this way.

Oh, fuck. I’ve managed to avoid him completely so far. I see Blake or Cole every now and then; they pop-in to the dorm to hang out with Logan or crowd our table at breakfast. They’re Logan’s friends, not mine, but we’ve all managed a good amount of civility. Them having to do most of the work.

Harrison on the other hand?

Whenever they mention Harrison joining them, I make myself scarce. If we’re excluding sleep, I’ve probably spent more time in the library than the dorm room, all because I can’t stand the thought of looking up and having to see Harrison. Or hear his laugh.

My warming-up—if that’s what you can call it—to Logan, and even Blake and Cole, is one thing. I will not be letting Harrison be a part of that. No matter how inconvenient it is for me.

That’s why when Logan stops walking, I keep moving. “I’ll see ya back at the dorm,” I mutter to him, before Harrison can say anything at all to me.

 

[JacobMillerStories]

Harrison |

“Damn, what was that about?” I ask Logan, nodding my head to where Andy all but bolted toward his dorm.

“Dunno,” he answers. “Maybe he hates you. Or maybe he’s so turned on by your devilishly handsome face that he knows he needs to run before he creams his pants.” Logan makes a swooning noise as he brings his hands up, jokingly trying to caress my face.

For a guy so quick to call out what he finds gay, he never hesitates to make the jokes.

I knock his hands away. “Fuck off.” My gaze is still on Andy’s scrawny frame as he swipes his key card to unlock the door, only turning away when he steps inside and out of my sight.

Logan might actually have been right with that first guess. I think Andy might actually hate me.

He’s never around when I find the guys at the dining room or go to hangout at Logan’s dorm. Blake always tells me I just missed him, that he had something to do. It’s awfully convenient. Every time they say he’s there too and I’m headed over, someone says Andy had to run to the library or go to the grocery store. He always has something else. It’s not like I want to see him—it’s just weird.

What did I do to him? It’s not like I was the one that messed with him in high school. I left that all to Logan, Cole, and Blake. I was never a perpetrator. If anything, he could only be mad about that one night, which just happened to be me. It could have been anyone.

Logan smacks me on the chest, stealing me from my thoughts. “How’s conditioning going with the team?” he asks. “You started last week, right?”

“Yeah, just weightlifting.” MSU’s Lacrosse season doesn’t start til late February, early-March. We won’t even start practices til after New Years. “Dude, some of the guys on the team are massive. Like, your peak bulk but with all the definition. It’s crazy.”

“I know, man. I see some of them around on campus and I just—”

He cuts himself off, shaking his head and letting out a frustrated sigh. I think Logan’s a bit more upset about not playing a sport in college. He had told me he wanted to play, but he wasn’t ever able to get recruited. For lacrosse, it wasn’t much of a surprise; Logan was always better at football. But making nothing cut him a bit deeper than I think he let on.

At a party late in our senior year, he drunkenly let it slip that he wasn’t even sure if college was gonna work out. His parents had to pull some financial strings to get him here. And even then, I’m pretty sure money’s tight for him. He was talking about maybe getting a job in spring.

He likes blowing off some steam by talking shit, most recently on the lacrosse guys. They’re my teammates, but I let it slide. It’s obvious Logan needs it.

“Do you think any of them are using?” Logan asks. It catches me by surprise, but honestly?

“Wouldn’t put it past some of ‘em. I don’t know all of the guys very well, but some of them look a little swollen.” I’m not just feeding into it, some of those guys do look like their muscle is gonna pop out of their skin. It’s weird; lacrosse isn’t even a sport where muscle mass is celebrated. Honestly, most of the time it’s a hindrance.

I should know. I’ve been playing for five years. Weightlifting consistently for that long, too. I’m nowhere near the size of these guys and from what I’ve learned, some of them didn’t start playing lacrosse til halfway through high school. They have no reason to be the size they are.

Logan huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, well if you find out they are, let me know. It’ll make me feel a little better.”

“I will,” I chuckle.

We talk a little bit more and Logan’s foul mood doesn’t ease up, even after shitting on the football guys too. He mentions something about hitting up the dining hall, but I think that’s grating on him on top of everything else.

“How about we hit up a place off campus? Switch it up a bit.” Before he can pass it up—because I know he’s going to—I suggest something we can split, that I’ll pay for: pizza. “Honestly, dude, I’m sick of the dining hall food already. I want something warm, just don’t want to go on my own.”

He nods, like he’s thinking it over, though I know I’ve given him enough to agree. “Okay, yeah, sure.”

“Sick.” I clap him on the shoulder. “Let me go drop off my stuff and I’ll meet you at the quad in ten?”

He nods and we part ways.

 

[JacobMillerStories]

Andrew |

My study guide is pissing me off.

The exam for my Ethical Philosophy class is next week and I’ve been trying to study, but these questions on the study guide are so stupid. How am I supposed to solve the trolley problem when it’s been stumping people for a millennia?

I’ve making good progress studying for my other couple of exams. But my philosophy one is based largely on texts from Aristotle, that old Greek scholar. It’s annoying. I don’t understand how anyone praised anything this guy did.

He doesn’t seem that smart to me.

The next question pisses me off even more than the trolley problem one, so I decide to pack my stuff up and head out, prioritizing my mental health. I’ll be okay, I’m sure.

As I’m stuffing my laptop into my backpack, my phone buzzes on the library table. I pick it up to find an email from my Geology professor. It’s the finalized list of who’s taking the exam and who’s doing the lab. I don’t plan on checking, but something in me does convince me to scan the list.

...Only to find mine and Logan’s names on the exam column.

Wait, what?! I sent that email telling him that we’d be doing that lab. I sent it that day. There has to be some mistake. Maybe he just missed it and I need to…

Oh, no.

I forgot to send the email. I was typing it, had it ready to send but then… Harrison showed up. And I bolted.

Oh, fuck. Logan’s gonna kill me.

Maybe I can tell him that it was an accident. Maybe he’ll believe me. It’s not a lie, it was an accident. He’s been a nice guy these last two months. Maybe he’ll understand.

Despite the churning in my gut, I head out of the library and start the trek to our dorm. Logan might not even be there. He could be out. He might not even have seen the email yet. Would it be better or worse if I broke the news? Would it be better if he finds out while he’s out and about and gets the time to cool down?

Oh, God. This is gonna ruin everything. I know Logan’s been choosing the high road when it comes to me. I heard as much that day they thought I was asleep. This could be the thing that makes him return to his old habits.

“Look out!” Someone shouts. I lift my head up just in time to see a football coming straight at me, fast. A big shirtless doofus coming even faster.

Blake narrowly misses me as I scurry out of the way. He catches the ball, then tries too hard to slow his momentum, letting his feet trip himself up and falling over into grass, getting dirt all over his chest and arms. The entire time he’s laughing.

Yeah, absolute doofus.

When he sees me, he’s still smiling. He looks about to say something, but someone else—the person who yelled—beats him to it.

“Sorry, Andy,” Harrison says, coming up to pat me on the shoulder like we’re pals. His hand takes up almost that entire portion of my body as his rough fingers dig into my skin. Are his hands really just naturally strong or did he do that on purpose?

It’s Harrison, so probably on purpose.

I shrug out of his grip and his hand falls, his face dropping with it too, thought it’s easy to miss. He redirects his hand to help hoist Blake’s big ass up.

“It’s been a while for him,” Blake says to me, talking about Harrison. “He’s a little rusty.”

Harrison smiles, pearly white and perfect teeth popping up in between his lips. His charming smile pairs well with his green eyes and the slight flush on his cheeks from the activity. Harrison would be attractive, absolutely to die for, if I didn’t hate his guts.

Logan I can get over. Same with Blake and Cole. They’re all good-looking guys. Enough for me to not immediately snuff out just how attractive they are. Harrison, on the other hand, doesn’t have it so easy in my book. Not that I think he’d care.

“Why are you guys throwing that thing in the middle of the quad?” I gesture around to the dozens of people walking to and from classes. “You could have hit someone.” They almost did. Me!

“I’m not that rusty,” Harrison says, completely brushing over my complaining. “Just wanted to challenge you. Nice catch by the way.” He shoulder checks Blake and Blake beams with the praise.

Harrison then turns to me, focusing those green eyes on me in a way that pisses me off. “And if you hadn’t noticed, Andy, people were walking around the section of grass me and Blake were using. You were the one walked in the middle of it.”

“Yeah, stupid,” Blake chimes in, shoving me in a way that might have been playful if it were anyone else.

My anger just manages to overload my brain, keeping me from spouting out any clever comeback. I just shake my head and grit my teeth, angling a glare that I hope is intimidating at Harrison.

He isn’t phased. “Next time,” he leans in, “maybe watch where you’re going.”

I don’t respond. I just turn and walk away. Blake’s obnoxious laughing makes me step faster, anger and frustration purely fueling my movements.

I’m too focused on listing everything I would do to Harrison if I had the means in my head that I don’t realize I’m walking into a potential bloodbath until I open the door to the dorm and find Logan at his desk, reading something on his computer.

He doesn’t turn to acknowledge me, just keeps his face towards the screen as he speaks. “Harman.” His tone is tense, dangerous. “Why does it say we’re taking the exam in this email?”

Shit.

“Uh, I… um…” My stuttering forces him to look, leveling his ice cold stare at me. Somehow, it serves as motivation for my mouth to start spitting out something that makes sense. “I forgot to send the email,” I manage, albeit reluctantly, as if I don’t tell him why, he won’t be as mad.

“You what?!” Logan stands up and marches toward me, towering over me as he corners me up against the door.

“I just forgot, I was doing it after class when we walked back to the dorm and then we bumped into Harrison and I just got distracted!”

Logan grabs my shirt collar, and flashbacks to Blake’s near-violent antics flood my mind. The full body fear, the nerves that weaken my legs and knees, the embarrassment of being lifted to my toes that reddens my face.

“How did you get distracted?” I open my mouth to speak but Logan clearly meant that as a rhetorical question. “Don’t tell me it was Harrison,” he sneers, letting my shirt go and shoving me backwards. “Don’t tell me it was because of fucking Harrison.”

With his tone, it feels like he’s just as angry with Harrison as I am. But I know better. I know that rage in his voice has my name all over it. “You know, I was content with ignoring your shit and letting your faggot self be,” he says. “But knowing that you just fucked me over because you were too busy drooling over Harrison?”

“No, that wasn’t what happened—!”

“Don’t bother fucking lying. It’s too late for that shit.” Logan steps back, but it doesn’t help air return to my lungs. He’s still too scary, towering over me, those muscles I look at in the dark primed to pummel me should he want to. Me helpless to do anything about it. “You better pray I get a good grade on that exam.”

“I’ll help you study!” I offer, not even bothering to cringe at how quickly I caved.

“You bet your faggot ass you will. Because if you don’t, I’m gonna make your life hell.”

The again is left unsaid, but it’s there in his glare. I can see it clear as day.

Logan’s hand reaches for me and I brace to be grabbed, thrown, anything, but it doesn’t happen. Well, not as badly as I was expecting it to. Logan shoves me out of the way of the door, then barrels through it, stomping down the hallway until he’s far enough away that I can’t hear it anymore.

Shit.

…

The next four days, I spend all my energy into helping Logan study for our Geology exam. He’s not grateful for it at all, pissed off to the point that I don’t think he retains any information. He’s too busy fueling the fire that is his anger towards me.

Despite knowing that he’s acting immature, that anyone else in his situation would have moved-on to prioritize prepping for the exam, I’m still terrified of the results. If Logan doesn’t get the grade he wants, my college life is gonna be very nostalgic. And no doubt he’ll sick the other guys on me.

Fortunately, my terror serves as a decent motivator to stay at the library long after my classes and I end up using the free time to study for my other exams. They all go easy, managing low As and Bs in everything.

The only thing I have left now is the Geology Exam. I’m walking to the testing center now. With Logan.

The days of civil small talk between us are over. I have a feeling that even if he does pass this exam, we won’t be returning to the composed way we acted before. The thing that catapults me back to high school has already passed and I have no way of stopping it.

And it’s my fault.

When we near the building, I hasten my steps to hold the door open for him, like it’ll actually help. Logan stops before he enters, glaring at me, big arms folded across his big chest. “You better hope I ace this shit, Harman.”

I wait til he’s out of earshot to mutter my response. “Trust me, I do.”

 

[JacobMillerStories]

Harrison |

Logan filled us in on all the shit with his Geology Exam and Andy’s “major faggot fuck up” as he puts it. He’s planning to tell us the results of his exam as soon as they’re in, so we—mainly Cole and Blake—can help. My role is the same: make sure they don’t actually go too far since Logan’s given the two of them very specific instructions to act like they did in high school, except ten times worse.

Upping the ante, since we’re in college now.

Blake has been brainstorming ways to catch Andy off-guard during his walks to his classes, ready to shake him down just for old time’s sake. He about jumps for joy when all our phones buzz as Logan sends a text to our group chat.

“72,” the message says. Then, a second later: “Handy’s dead.”

…

The dining hall is bustling on this fine Tuesday morning. Waffles are being served as a post-midterms treat, toppings and drizzles galore for the exhausted college students eagerly eating them.

Of course, that’s not why Cole made sure I was here this morning.

Andy walks in, looking tired and disheveled in that nerdy way he always seems to be, then makes a b-line for the food line. He makes it all the way through the line, a waffle covered in syrup and whipped cream on his tray before his eyes meet with mine. I watch as they flick left and right, to where Logan and Blake sit. When he realizes we’re all watching him, his face pales.

He’d be able to avoid tripping over Cole’s foot if he hadn’t been staring us down, all but challenging us for something to happen. He should’ve known from the setting alone who the real threat was.

Since we’re in college now, laughs don’t erupt at Andy falls face first into his food, whipped cream and syrup quickly ruining the navy blue superhero shirt he had on. Some of it even ends up in his curly brown hair, sticking the strands together until they’re nothing more than messy white clumps.

Kids at different tables point and whisper, though all the attention in the room is primed his way. Some of the whispers are musings of concern, some are people wondering if they should get up and help. No one moves, though. Everyone just stares. Blake’s guffaw cuts through the silence, almost paving the way for a few other scattered sounds of amusement.

Including my own.

He looks a mess as he attempts to gather himself, red face sticking out through the white cream all over it. Cole rubs it in by muttering loud, convincing apologies, doing his best to make it look like he’s helping Andy after accidentally tripping him. Only the three of us know he’s really just making it worse, sticking napkins to him in a naive attempt to help clean him up.

Andy doesn’t even bother with him or the napkins. He wipes his face with his hands as best he can, then wipes the excess on his jeans. Cole’s still there, uselessly offering fake apologies and sticking cheap napkins and tissue to the parts of Andy most affected by the sticky syrup he must have doused his waffle in.

At this point, there’s a couple of the dining hall staff coming over to check on Andy. People are still laughing throughout their tables. I actually spot a couple of phones aimed his way, no doubt taking photos and videos to upload to social media later, to tweet about this super embarrassing thing that happened at their school today. Andy spots them, too; I can see it in the way his gaze pans around.

He brushes Cole’s “help” off, leaving his tray and doing his best to make a casual exit, despite the mess he’s covered in. The phones don’t stop tracking him and I swear his face gets redder and redder, to the point I think he must have had some red fruit on his waffle that I missed before he fell, now smeared all over his cheeks.

When Andy’s gone, I look over to Logan. He looks pleased. But not satisfied.

…

A week later I’m in the library. So are Blake, Cole, and Logan. I’ll admit, this is my first time seeing the inside of the building. I get why Andy likes coming in here; it’s a very studious environment.

Probably won’t be for much longer.

Logan put in some research for this one, enough to help Blake out with his part of the deal. Apparently everyday after his Pre-Calc class, Andy comes to study on the 6th floor of the library. He’s usually here for an hour or two, three or four in light of recent events. He sits at the same table, the one nearest to the window.

Separate from Logan’s research, I’ve learned that Andy likes people watching. I’ve noticed it about him in our recent stakeouts. Maybe that’s just a recent development; the people watching I’ve spotted him doing might really just be nervous scouting.

He usually stops looking around when he finds me.

I’ll give it to Andy, though. He’s gotten pretty smart. After the second day of having his breakfast ruined, Andy stopped going to the dining hall. He was quick to head to the local grocery store and get some stuff he could keep in the room. Pretty sure he eats lunch and dinner elsewhere, too—but I’m never around for those thanks to lacrosse lifting.

And this spot in the library is pretty nice given the circumstances. The 6th floor vantage point gives him a good view of who’s coming into the library’s main entrance. The table he sits at is out in the open, in range of a couple of the cameras the library has installed and visible to a bunch of other students.

It should be a safe spot for him, a moment of peace in the middle of his newly hectic college life. Luckily, Logan developed a plan for that.

The elevator dings and out of it steps scrawny little Andy. He’s got his usual attire on: a t-shirt that swallows him with some anime show I’ve never heard of on the front, blue jeans, and his stuffed backpack. He steps out of the elevator and that same lazily curled brown hair he definitely doesn’t know how to style—considering it’s been the exact same since middle school—bounces with him.

Like Andy’s probably been doing in every room he’s walked into this week, he does a quick scan. Like I know he’s been doing all week, he spots me first.

He isn’t able to step back into the elevator and head elsewhere because, as planned, Blake steps around the corner and slings a hefty arm over Andy’s shoulder, spouting amicable nonsense that anyone nearby wouldn’t think twice about. The only thing other people seem to notice is how Blake isn’t using a library-appropriate level of volume. People shush him and he does quiet down, but that’s not an issue. What’s said isn’t important for this.

Blake starts walking, dragging Andy alongside him with an arm that’s too stiff if you’re paying attention. Andy tries to drag his feet, but there’s no way he’s gonna be able to resist the seventy-five pounds of muscle Blake has on him. He gets steered towards the tall bookcases, all the way towards the back.

We lose sight of him for a second as Blake moves him into and down the last row—where the cameras all miss. Then, Andy comes flying out from the end of the row visible from our table. He slams his back up against the wall and Blake is on him before he can recover.

Andy braces for a hit but doesn’t get one. Instead, Blake’s hands grab the straps of his backpack, hoisting him straight up into the air so that for the first time in Andy’s life, he’s looking down at Blake. I don’t think he feels less intimidated, though; with the way his legs are dangling and all.

Blake leans in close and despite the altercation being visible to us from our table, we still can’t hear what Blake is threateningly whispering. It should be something along his rehearsed lines. Fuck, I practically know them with how many times Logan had to go over them with him.

After a second, Andy nods feverishly. Blake drops him, Andy stuttering at the sudden impact before he quickly slinks off his backpack. Blake snags it off the ground, then starts over towards us, his signature goofy smile on his face at a job well done.

Andy watches, desperately trying to swallow the lump in his throat that’s visible from here. He doesn’t start our way, though. His feet are locked in place, unable to move from fear of what Blake might come back over and do should he decide to act up.

Blake drops Andy’s backpack on the table and Logan’s quick to go through it, pulling out the laptop we find there. Blake tells Logan the password he made Andy fork over and Logan pulls up the university’s online portal.

In high school, Blake always had Andy doing his homework: writing English papers, doing history reports, completing math work sheets. Well, with all the academic integrity shit in place, Logan didn’t want to risk it. So instead of having Andy do their assignments for their classes, Logan decided it’d be better to do Andy’s assignments for him.

It takes him all of five seconds to find Andy’s upcoming assignments and open the first one. Pre-Calc. Yikes. Looks confusing. Not to Logan. He’s flying through the answers like the genius he is, writing down numbers when I’m pretty sure the answers should be some combination of letters.

He’s on to the next few classes in a flash, Philosophy, Geology, English, all of it. Every assignment Andy had due in the next week, Logan just did the favor of submitting it for him. Andy’s gonna find himself with a lot of free time. I wonder if he’ll still be hanging out at the library?

Midway through the very academic argumentative essay Cole is helping Logan write, I glance up to where Andy still hasn’t moved. He’s glaring at us, face red and contorted with anger. I can’t help how my lips curl up in his direction, before I nod him over.

“Okay,” Logan says, leaning back in his chair. “Done.”

“Wow,” Cole says when Andy’s in ear shot. “You’re so smart, dude. That was a week’s worth of homework and you did it in ten minutes.” Andy’s face drops as he hears and Blake can barely stifle his dumb laugh.

Andy walks up the table and snatches the laptop to look. He’s scours the screen, no doubt flipping through every recent assignment Logan just submitted for him.

“Yeah, I know,” Logan says back to Cole, though his eyes stay locked in a heated stare at Andy’s panic. “It was all that studying Handy Andy here helped me with. I just feel so smart and thought the least I could do was help him out.”

Andy looks back up, face flushed, almost looking like he’s on the verge of tears. Logan sits forward with his evilest expression plastered to his face. “Hey, Harman. Freed up the next week for you. Now you won’t need to be at the library so much, right?”

Andy doesn’t answer, choosing to stare down Logan in a bold move, fueled by frustration. Logan raises his eyebrows, clearly amused by Andy’s little act of defiance. “Right?” he asks again.

Andy strains before Blake stands up, towering over him. The motion is enough to make Andy slowly nod.

Logan smiles. “See ya’ after class tomorrow.”

With that, we’re all standing from the table and heading towards the elevator. When it dings and the doors slide open, we file in and I turn around to find that Andy hasn’t moved. He’s still standing, glaring.

I flash him a smile before the doors close. I don’t get to see his reaction to it.

 

[JacobMillerStories]

Andrew |

I’ve been dreading going upstairs for five minutes. But I know that if I don’t, Logan will probably just make whatever he plans on doing ten times worse.

Every day after classes, I walk into the dorm and find Logan. Just Logan. He turns toward me in his chair and just stares. Doesn’t say anything. I’m on edge the entire time, every movement he makes, every breath he takes, has my fight or flight primed and ready.

I think that’s the point. He wants me stressed out until he finally enacts whatever plan that evil head of his concocted. There’s no way in hell psyching me out is the big punishment. That’s not enough for Logan.

Well, maybe it’ll be today. And I can just get it fucking over with.

Swiping my key card to get in, I head for the elevator. I’m so fucking tired of it, that the pit in my stomach doesn’t feel out of place. It growing as the elevator rises doesn’t phase me. Even seeing the door cracked, like it has been everyday for the past week, does nothing to halt my feet from walking me right in to my potential demise.

It’s Harrison’s voice that stops me.

Initially, realization hits. That if Harrison is here, then today must actually be the day. But then Harrison’s words register. I creep closer towards the door, hoping not to make any sound as I listen in on their conversation.

“Guess what I found out about those big lifters?”

“What?” Logan asks.

There’s a bit of silence. Harrison doesn’t answer. It seems like he wants Logan to pick up on it.

“You’re fucking kidding. They’re using?”

“Yup.”

“I knew it. No way those guys are that big naturally. All of ‘em?”

“Nah, only a couple.”

I hear Logan shift around, probably in his chair. Is Harrison talking about the lacrosse team? They use drugs? The gears in my head start working before I can even determine on what. My phone seems to just work on its own in my hand, starting an audio recording.

“It’s only that small group of seniors,” Harrison continues. “One of my junior buddies said they’ve been doing it since they started here and that coach turns a blind eye to it cause they’ve been dominating these past few years.”

“What kinds of shit? Just performance enhancers, or what else are they taking?” Logan asks. I can hear in his tone a hint of excitement, like this news is important to him.

“Definitely steroids. I think they’re taking test, too. And they inject that into their asses, dude. Saw ‘em do it for the first time last week. Shit’s crazy.”

“Damn, dude. That’s some serious shit if the coach knows and he’s not reporting it. Could lose his job.”

“I know. That’s why no one says anything. The whole team practically knows. My buddy said every year is just a ticking time bomb until the new freshman find out and they have to work to keep it on lock.”

“Well, what are you gonna do?” Logan asks.

“What the hell do you think? I’m gonna keep my mouth shut and pretend I don’t know. Not my problem.”

Logan huffs out what I think is a laugh, then the conversation dies out. I stop the recording on my phone, praying the audio quality was good enough.

The lacrosse team—the championship winning lacrosse team—is using drugs? I don’t know a lot about many sports, but I’m pretty sure that’s universally against any collegiate sports association’s rules. They could be expelled. The coach could lose his job. The whole program could get shut down.

That’s a whole can of worms and Harrison’s spouting it around like the dumbass he is.

Fuck. I can use this. The recording. Leverage for them to leave me alone! Maybe even... more than that. If I send this to some official as proof, the lacrosse team will get shut down for sure. They’ll have to do an entire investigation which means Harrison’s freshman year will be ruined, maybe even his entire athletic career since he knows and isn’t saying anything.

But… That would hurt a lot more people than just Harrison. The entire team, all the other freshman and every player that isn’t using. It’ll hurt the whole school’s pride to find out their celebrated lacrosse team are a bunch of cheaters.

Do I want that?

I don’t get to decide because someone stands up in the room and it scares me, enough to make me jump, creaking the floor in the hallway. Logan pokes his head out of the door a second later, leveling his glare at me. He stops, looks me up and down, then walks back into the room.

If I don’t enter now, I have no doubt Blake will come out and drag me in. Stepping in, I find it to be just Harrison and Logan. No Blake or Cole. Is that good or bad?

Harrison sizes me up, giving me that grin he’s been flashing my way all week. He’s sitting on my bed and the way he’s lax and comfortable tells me he has no plan on moving.

“Get off my bed,” I manage, though it comes out a little weak. Even my vocal cords hate talking to Harrison.

He grins even wider. “Nah, I’m good. Your beds comfy. Feels real nice after my sweaty workout.” He lays down, spreading out all over my sheets, no doubt wiping his nasty ass sweat off.

Logan chuckles, but otherwise remains quiet like he has been all week. Fuck this. I’m not gonna let them phase me.

I move to my dresser, digging out some clothes. I’m gonna go take a shower. It was a hot day, and I worked up a bit of a sweat walking around on campus. Maybe if I take my time they’ll get bored and give up.

Logan smiles regardless as I set my bag down and grab my shower stuff. I’m out the door in less than a minute, making sure to grab my phone so they can’t do anything with it.

I get towards the bathrooms and see that they aren’t following me. They didn’t really do anything, but I’m still pissed off. Harrison’s just being a dick as usual and Logan’s trying to scare me.

Just can’t let it bother me, I guess.

Since it’s the middle of the day, the showers are empty which is nice. I don’t have to deal with anyone else blasting music or just being loud. Freshmen in college have weird shower habits. Half of these kids still perform their professional concerts every time they turn the water on. Don’t they know that’s an at-home kind of activity?

Letting the water warm, I hang up my clothes on the hook of my stall and get my towel there, too. It’s inconvenient but I don’t like changing in the room if Logan’s there. Just feels weird. I don’t trust him to not be fucking rude.

I get under the spray and let my mind wander back to the important question at hand. Do I really want to ruin the entire lacrosse team’s athletic career just for revenge on Harrison? Personally, I think it’d be a no-brainer if the other three were all on the team, but they aren’t. It’s just Harrison.

And we’ve already addressed that while my hatred for Harrison burns just a bright as it does for the other three, he’s never had a direct part in making life hell. Even this past week, he’s only ever there to laugh at me, to be entertained by Cole tripping me in the food line and Blake shoving me around on campus.

Even today, I think he was just there to watch me squirm in Logan’s silence. He’s never had an important role, always a passive one. One of an audience member, and if I tried to take personal-level revenge on everyone that’s ever laughed at me, I wouldn’t have time for anything else.

Yeah, I guess I won’t do anything with that recording. It’d just be stupid. I’ll delete it after my shower.

The bathroom door flies open. I ignore it; this isn’t the first time I’ve had to shower with company. It’s when a hand rips open the shower curtain that I panic.

I’m quick to yank it back before I even glower at Harrison, standing there and smiling at me. He doesn’t let me tug it all the way shut, instead keeping a portion of it open to make sure I see him.

“What the fuck do you want, Harrison?”

“Just want to bother you,” he says, eyes flicking south for just a moment. “Every one else has been having so much… fun with you all week. To say I’m jealous would be an understatement.” He leans up against the wall, cocking his head as keeps watching me.

His tongue darts out of his mouth, licking his bottom lip in a soft way. His eyes lower again and it takes me a second to process what they’re looking at. Me.

Is he…? Is Harrison…?

“Oh, come on,” he says. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. The smiles, the looks? I’ve noticed.” He leans in, almost sticking his head into the shower. “You watching me.” He lets his gaze drop, sensually slow this time.

“Me watching you,” he whispers, before bringing those green eyes up to lock with mine.

He smiles and… fuck.

Okay. I have one, small, teeny tiny confession to make. The reason Harrison pisses me off so much, the reason I get so upset about those guys calling me a faggot and him laughing at the insult. Well… You can do the math on that right?

God, I can’t be the only one to have had a crush on him. He was the hot, jocky, golden-boy. Like, the most popular kid in school. He’s a fucking adonis. Everyone knows that.

I’ve always hated how much it gets me riled up.

It has to be some sick, twisted thing in my mind to have developed such a nasty crush on the one guy that’s always laughed at me. Some subconscious thing for humiliation, I’m sure. It doesn’t help that the one time I tried to move past it, the one time I tried to infatuate over someone else, Harrison was the one that ruined it.

Caught me in that closet, getting a hand job from a guy I wasn’t really even that into. His hand was on me, but I was pretending it was someone else’s. Then that person busted in.

And now he’s here. In front of me. Flirting with me. Telling me everything I’ve wanted to hear since middle school.

“Do you think I can join you in there? I’m still sweaty, remember?” He winks at me.

I’m speechless.

“No one’s around. They won’t hear us, if that’s what you’re worried about.” His hands reach for the neck of his shirt, ready to lift it up and— Ohmyfuckinggod they do.

Now it’s my turn for my eyes to drop. Fuck.

Despite having seen him shirtless multiple times via his numerous thirst traps on social media, I’m still taken aback. Harrison has more abs than I have valid reasons to hate him and that’s just one part of him. His entire torso is rigid and tight with different muscles, muscles I’m not even sure I knew existed.

Realistically, he’s not as big as Logan or Blake, but those two have always been almost too big in my opinion. Harrison has the body of some male model, someone that’s in perfect shape for the sport he currently plays, but definitely has some lingering bulk from his time on the football team.

I find myself unnaturally jealous of every girl he’s ever hooked up with. Wait. Girls. Harrison’s into girls.

The thought snaps some sense into me. Logan’s plan. Harrison’s involvement. This is it. This is them messing with me. Harrison’s gonna pretend to come on to me, then back out when I’m about to embarrass myself.

Blake or Cole or someone are probably in here with a camera just waiting for me to say or do something incredibly fucking stupid. I stick my head forward to look around and, to his credit, Harrison doesn’t flinch. He does see me eyeing stuff suspiciously.

The next thing I know, Harrison’s sturdy fingers are on my jaw, turning my attention back to him. “I told you,” he whispers, to the point that I can feel his breath on my lips, “we’re alone in here.”

“Yeah fucking right,” I spit, shaking his hands from me.

He isn’t phased. In fact, he looks more intrigued. Challenged, almost.

“Look,” he starts, a certain seriousness to his tone, “I’m sorry about them. Really, I am. In high school, I should have stopped it. I could have and I know that. It’s just, I was nervous that if I did then they would— they’d find out I—

Even knowing this is a trap, hearing him say what I think he’s going to has my heart ready to explode.

“That I liked you,” he finally says, dropping his eyes to my lips. He smiles when he sees them shaking. “I promise. Logan thinks I’m in here stealing your clothes, but I’ve never been a part of their shit before. Why would I start now?”

He- he brings up a valid point. Being shirtless, standing two feet in front of my naked body, the only thing separating us being the thin shower curtain, seems a major step up from being a spectator.

“I’ve been trying to get you alone, to talk to you. To tell you. But every time I find you, you run away from me. Are you gonna run away from me now, Andy?”

“My… name isn’t Andy,” I choke out, since it’s the only thing I’m able to manage.

“Can it be?” He brings both hands up, cautiously moving to frame my face. My body won’t let me stop him. “Just for me?”

When I’m unable to say no, his smile spreads. That one I told myself I hated even though it really just turned me on and I was too embarrassed to admit it. “So, what do ya’ say? There enough room for me to wash off in there with you?”

I’m still not convinced. But fourteen-year-old me is rooting for it. So are the fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen-year-old me. What’s the worst that could happen? They’ve been embarrassing me all week. Am I really gonna pass up even the slightest chance to have Harrison in any way?

The fear I’ve been perpetually living in doesn’t let me just fall into it like all those former versions of me are begging for. “Prove it,” I tell him.

He grins, amused. “Prove it? How?”

My eyes drop to his lips, then back up. It’s fleeting. A part of me hopes he missed it, but I’d be stupid to think he didn’t.

And he definitely didn’t. Because the act makes him waver. Makes the mask slip just a little bit, enough for me to catch. There it is. There’s my confirmation that this isn’t real.

So it’s a complete surprise when Harrison’s eyes close and his lips find mine.

Oh God, this is really happening. Harrison is really kissing me in this shower. Harrison Pryce is kissing me. The last thing I see before my eyes shut is his perfect face up against mine.

And the first thing I see when I open them again is where Harrison was standing. Then I see the bathroom door shutting. Then I see my clothes and my towel, gone.

What the fuck?

 

[JacobMillerStories]

Harrison |

Why did I do that? Why did I do that? Fuck! Why did I do that?

The plan was for me to distract him long enough for the guys to finish what they needed to do. All I had to was keep him in there. I didn’t even have to go in.

So why did I go in there, flirt with him while he was naked, take off my own shirt, and then kiss him?!

Walking back into the dorm room after slipping my shirt back on, I find Logan, Cole, and Blake feverishly trying to cover Andy’s side of the dorm with all the gay porn magazines they just bought. There are pictures of dicks and oiled up men all over that side of the wall and more scattered across his bed, waiting to be hung up.

“Dude!” Logan says. “That was only five minutes, we’re not done yet.”

I hold up the ball of clothes I took in my panic. “He won’t be back here anytime soon.” Unless he works up the courage.

Logan grins, part surprise, part amazement. “Damn, dude. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

There’s a double meaning in that, I’m sure.

“Well, now that you’re up to the challenge, help us rip the good pictures out.” He slaps a magazine to my chest and I drop Andy’s clothes to pick it up. I barely get to open it before my phone buzzes.

It’s a text from an unsaved number, an audio file with a message attached that reads “might want to bring me my clothes back.” Andy.

I turn my volume up just enough so I can hear it before I bring it to my ear to listen. The first bit is some shuffling around but then that ends and I’m able to make out voices talking.

“All of ‘em?” That’s Logan’s voice.

“Nah, only a couple.” And that’s… mine?

It takes a second, just a second for me to place the conversation me and Logan are having. Then my heart drops.

Andy was listening when I told Logan about the team. And he recorded it.

Fuck.

I don’t bother sending him a text back, instead choosing to turn on my heel and march back over to the showers.

“What the fuck Andy?” I shout when I’m in there.

He sticks his wet head out from behind the curtain, wet curls stuck to his forehead. “You don’t get to fucking say that right now.”

The curtain rips easily out of his grip as I tug it to the side, finding his phone in his hand. “Delete that shit right now.” There’s all kind of urgency to my voice, though I’m cautious about my volume, even with the door shut. “Do you know what that could do if it gets out?”

He smirks. “I know exactly what it could do. I was planning on deleting it, but I have new plans after that stunt you just pulled.”

My mind is running a thousand miles a minute, already trouble shooting different ways to get out of this. Andy’s a reasonable guy, right? He’ll know that this affects more than just me. He’ll come to the right decision, I just have to make sure he gets there.

“I’m gonna send this recording to the Dean and every sports channel I can find,” he threatens.

“Okay, okay. I’ll go get your clothes.”

“It’s not about the clothes, Harrison.” I don’t like the way he says my name, saying it with enough hatred to make it sound like it’s the bane of his existence.

Like I am.

“Then what’s it about?”

“What’s it about?” he echoes. “You really don’t know what else it could be about?”

Fuck. He’s pinning all of Logan’s shit on me. “Okay, I’ll tell Logan and the guys to knock it off.”

“Yeah, you fucking will. That and a lot more.”

He looks mad. Too mad. I have a feeling that no matter what I do, this isn’t going to go in my favor.

But his hand is right there. His phone…

In one sudden motion, I’ve tapped the bottom of his phone out of his hands, sending it flying up into the air. I’m lunging for it before he even knows it. It’s when I fiddle with the black device, trying to figure out where the video is saved that scrawny little Andy tackles me.

To the floor.

His hands are prying the phone from mine as I recover from the tackle, but he isn’t able to take it from me fully without me fighting back. Before I know it, Andy and I are rolling around on the slick bathroom tile, trying our best to wrestle the phone out of the other’s grip.

As small as he is compared to me, Andy puts up one hell of a fight. To the point that I’m a little winded as I lay on my back, though I think a good amount of that is due to the hit that knocked me on my ass. Some of my teammates could learn a thing or two from that.

Andy’s straddling my lap, both his hands on the phone now, using his legs and the rest of his body to keep my much stronger free arm away. It’s when we shift together that I feel something firm press into my stomach.

“Are you... hard right now?” I grunt out.

“Are you?”

Wait, am I?

That thought loosens my grip and Andy pries the phone from my hands. I try to reach for him but he’s too slippery to get a hold on and he weasels away, sliding on the bathroom tile as he gets some space between us.

It’s there that I get my first clear look at him. Chest rising and falling as he sucks in air after that strenuous activity. And, yeah. He is hard.

And little Andy isn’t so… little.

I’d be more focused on judging him if I wasn’t too freaked out about how my compression shorts feel a little too tight.

Andy holds a hand up to me, stalling my movements as I step forward. He brings the phone back. “Everything on my phone backs up to the cloud,” he warns. “Even if you delete it from here, I’ll still have it.”

Shit.

“And if you don’t want me to ruin your entire athletic career before it even starts, as well as every lacrosse player on that team, you will listen to me—and you will listen very clearly. Is that understood?”

Fuck!

“Yes.”

“Go back to the dorm and get me my clothes.” If his threats didn’t make it obvious, his tone does, doubling down on the serious nature behind everything happening right now. So I do the only thing I can think to solve this.

I listen.

 

[JacobMillerStories]

Andrew |

I’m skeptical of Harrison as he walks past me to get to the bathroom door. Thankfully, he doesn’t make another stupid attempt to grab the phone from me. My heart rate doesn’t stabilize until the bathroom door is shut behind him. And then, my mind chooses to focus on the absolute least important thing that just happened.

Was he walking a little funny? Did I hurt him knocking him to the ground like that? Or…? Was he…?

Shit—that’s a thought for later. It doesn’t matter right now.

What does matter is that I have a way to get Logan and those guys off my back. Probably for good. I just need to do this right. I’m not actually gonna send that audio to anyone. But Harrison doesn’t need to know that.

Okay, so first order of business: make Harrison tell Logan to call off his stupid shit. That’s insurance. A positive move for a neutral end result. Free from Logan’s shit, life should hopefully go back to normal for me.

Second order of business: revenge. Another positive move, for a positive end result. If I hold all the cards, why settle for back to normal? No. I should be shooting for the stars. This recording, this position I have Harrison in is a gold mine. I need to get every last piece of value out of it.

Where does that start?

Harrison walks back in, holding everything he took from me. He doesn’t move to hand it to me, instead placing it on one of the sinks. He’s still eyeing my phone, but as stupid as Harrison is, he should know that my phone isn’t the solution.

Just in case, I make sure it’s locked before I set it down to pick up clothes, specifically my underwear. Did I really just wrestle and threaten Harrison while naked?

Once I’m dressed, I make sure to grab my phone again. Harrison is still watching me. Good.

“Is Logan still in the room?”

He’s reluctant to answer, but eventually he does. “Yes, and Cole and Blake.”

Shit, okay. For this to work, I think I need to just focus on Harrison. To control those three, I have to go through him.

“Go back to the room and tell them to leave.” I need to make these circumstances with just him and he needs to relay it to them.

“Where are they supposed to go?”

“I don’t care. Figure something out. Just get them out of there and then come back and get me.” I drop my voice, for no other reason than hopefully adding to Harrison’s worry. I need him panicked, not thinking clearly.

He nods and goes to do it. It only takes about five or so minutes before he comes back. I use the time to brainstorm and find some college sports news networks. Specifically ones that focus on lacrosse.

When he walks back in, he tells me they’re gone. I don’t respond, just walking out and hoping he’s smart enough to follow. He is.

Back in the room, I do a double take. “Seriously?” The room is covered in gay porn, but only my half. God, it’s not even good stuff. Cheesy shit from magazines. I didn’t even know they still made these.

I ignore it, instead choosing to turn and face Harrison. He looks nervous. He should be. I’m angry, from reserves that date back half a decade. The tables have finally turned and it’s been a long time coming.

“You’re gonna make Logan call off his shit.”

“How am I supposed to—”

“I don’t care how you do it.” His mouth opens to argue, but seeing my expression must actually scare him a bit. “Harrison, just know: whatever shit Logan or Cole or Blake pull, from here on out, it is on your head.

“Cole trips me in the dining hall? I send an email. Blake shakes me down in the library? I send an email. Logan calls me a faggot? I send an email. Anyone calls me Handy Andy or any variation of that fucking name?”

“You send an email,” he finishes for me, tone as dead as his face.

“You aren’t as dumb as I thought you were.” Harrison shifts at the insult. A small part of me revels in making him uncomfortable.

“So that’s it?” he asks. “I get them to stop, and you delete that recording? We’re even?” I can see that, despite his lingering nervousness, there’s excitement in his expression. This little nightmare hasn’t even started for him and he thinks it’s almost over.

I can’t help but laugh.

My amusement catches him off guard. “Yes,” I say. “That would make us even, Harrison. But it’s about five years too late for even. Until I feel like it, that audio file is gonna stay in my hands. If you want to me to permanently delete it, to put all of this behind us, you’re gonna have to put in some extra effort.”

“I’ll do anything, Andy. Anything. Just don’t send that to anyone.”

“Anything?” I ask.

“Yes. You have my word.”

Truth be told, I haven’t exactly gotten that far in figuring where to go from this part. My first thought was to do what they did to me, but I don’t think I’d get anything from calling Logan names, or trying to physically threaten Blake. Even tripping Cole up wouldn’t make me smile that much.

God, if I had it my way, I really would just erase it all. Scratch the night at the party from everyone’s memory—but I can’t do that. I can’t undo the thing that started this all, the thing that got them calling me Handy Andy in the first place.

I… I wish they knew how shitty it all felt. How horrible it was to have the lowest point of my life thrown back into my face multiple times a day, by so many people. Handy Andy haunted me through all four years. And even that wasn’t enough!

I want them to feel that pain. To flinch at the briefest mention of a memory. But how?

It’s not until my gaze roams and I’m treated to the sight of Logan’s last bullshit attempt at harassing me that I get an idea.

“You remember how Handy Andy started, don’t you?” I ask. He seems confused by the change in topic, but he nods. “Good. Tell me.”

Harrison swallows the lump in his throat before he speaks. “I found you in that closet.”

“Doing what?”

He shifts, again uncomfortable. How does my bad memory bother him?

“You were with a guy. He had his hands in your pants. I told Logan. And he came up with the name. Spread it around.”

“And before the next weekend, everyone in school was calling me Handy Andy. Up until graduation.”

“Yeah.”

I scoff. “Well, since that seems to be my legacy in your guys’ eyes, I better live up to it. Right?”

He seems confused. I guess that’s fair. Should probably just say it outright.

“I want a hand job.”

Harrison looks at me like it’s the most random thing I could have said. He’s quick to shake it off, though. “Okay. I’m sure there are gay guys on campus we could talk into—”

“No,” I cut him off. “From Cole. From Blake. From Logan.” I make sure to lock eyes with him for this next part. “And from you.”

“Andy, what? I’m not gonna jack you off! None of us are.”

“Than I guess you aren’t gonna be enrolled in school here much longer.” He opens his mouth, but I beat him to it. “You’d do anything, remember? Gave me your word.”

“Andy,” he says my name like he’s pleading, “I’m not gay.”

“You don’t have to get your dick hard to jerk me off, Harrison.” I chuckle to myself. “Besides, with what happened in the bathroom, I’m not too inclined to believe you.”

His face pales as he seems to wrestle with my words. Honestly? With that kiss in the bathroom, I think he’s wrestling more with himself than anything I’ve said.

He locks eyes with me, before continuing on, conveniently leaving out his acceptance. “There’s no way in hell the guys are gonna do that.”

“The way I see it, that’s not my problem. You want to stay in school, you get them to buck up.”

“Fuck,” Harrison mutters under his breath.

“You have until tonight to get them to agree. Or else you wake up tomorrow and say goodbye to MSU’s lacrosse program.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.” Harrison turns to leave, likely to wherever he sent Logan and them to.

“Before you go,” I say, stopping him in his tracks. “Take the porn off my walls. Maybe read some of it. Pretty sure there are some tips about giving your first handy. It was right next to the article about picking out the right dildo.”

Harrison groans before he gets to work. I lay down on Logan’s bed to watch him, debating if I should make him take off his shirt again.

 

[JacobMillerStories]

Harrison |

“Andy knows.”

“About what?” Logan asks, immediately reading my concern and meeting me there.

“Yeah, about what?” Cole asks.

I ignore him, instead focusing on Logan. “He was outside the room when I told you about it.”

“About what?” It’s Blake trying this time.

“About the team,” I tell Logan.

It takes him a second, but he gets there. Not wanting to announce it to Blake and Cole—even though we’re currently in their room—he narrows his eyebrows at me before mimicking a bicep curl.

I nod.

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Cole and Blake stare blankly as I let Logan sit with this. I can count on one finger the amount of options he’s considering right now, so I’m prepared to stop him when he starts towards the door. “Let’s go beat his ass and make sure he doesn’t say anything,” he says.

Blake and Cole are already standing, ready to mobilize just at Logan’s word.

My hand grabs his shoulder, pushing him back towards the room. “Can’t.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“Can someone tell us what’s going?” Cole asks. Blake echoes the sentiment with a stressed look, though I know he doesn’t get the seriousness Cole has picked up on.

“I will,” I look to my left to say, “but first, can you guys give us the room. I need to talk to Logan.”

Blake scoffs, throwing his hands up. “First we have to leave Logan’s, now this?”

Logan throws a hand up silencing him. Andy seems to be under the impression that I’m in charge of everyone, but I only have influence over Logan. He’s the one that Cole and Blake follow. I have to play my cards right for them to follow along, which means convincing Logan first.

And alone.

Logan nods for them to head out. Cole moves first, without complaint. Blake sighs, hanging his arms and trying his best to convey his annoyance with us.

When the door’s shut, all it takes is the raise of Logan’s eyebrows for me to spill. I start by explaining what all Andy has and why we can’t just beat him up and delete it ourselves. Then I play him the recording.

“So he’s gonna send that out?” Logan asks, breaking our post-listening silence. Concern is written all over his expression, though I know it’s not for himself.

“He said he wouldn’t. With some conditions.”

“What conditions?”

“Well, the first is that we all leave him alone. All the shit you guys started up again? If it doesn’t stop, he sends it.”

Logan scoffs, but I could tell he was expecting that. “What else?”

This is the one where I think it best to give him as much background as possible. Context, for why Andy is asking for what he’s asking for. Of course, I leave the part where I kissed him in the showers out.

If only I could leave it out of my memory.

“He wants us to what?” Logan shouts, standing up and looking ready to punch a whole in the concrete wall.

“I know.”

“That fucking faggot wants us to—“

“Dude!” I cut him off, dropping my voice to a stressed whisper. “Keep it down!”

He’s reluctant but he knows I’m right. He moves back over to me, sitting down at the desk chair in front of me. He scans my eyes, trying to assess what to do next, looking for what I want. He doesn’t like what he finds there.

“Harrison… you can’t be seriously asking us to do that.”

“I don’t have a choice. You think I’d be bringing this up if I did? Andy could ruin the team for the entire year, at least. He could ruin the entire MSU lacrosse program. Hell, he could get me expelled!”

Now I’m the one pacing, thinking, revisiting every idea I’ve already thought of and coming up blank.

“If we don’t do this…?” I start, bringing my gaze back to Logan. “I’m screwed.” My voice cracks and I can tell it gets through to him. Just how serious I am about this. “I wouldn’t be asking if I had any other choice.”

He drops his newly darkened gaze to the floor.

“But Logan.” I move, dropping to a crouch in front of him so he looks at me. “If we do this, then Andy deletes that recording. Permanently. Meaning he has nothing on us other than his word.” I raise my eyebrows expectantly, hoping he picks up on what I’m implying.

It’s Logan; of course he does. “Then we get him back.”

“Exactly.”

Logan’s expression stays almost blank, but I can see the subtlest twitches of emotion, his brain working. If there’s one thing Logan enjoys, it’s scheming. And these… unfortunate circumstances present Logan with the opportunity to pull off the greatest stunt he’s ever pulled. A fully justified one, one I won’t spend any amount of energy trying to lessen. Because after this?

Andy’s earned exactly what’s coming for him.

Even at that promise, Logan still isn’t too pleased. I don’t blame him.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Shit. Okay.”

I clap him on the shoulder. “Thank you, Lo. Now we just need them on board.” I nod my head toward the door Blake and Cole are waiting behind, no doubt already pissed off. I’m sure this will be easy.

...

With Logan’s help, it doesn’t take as long I thought. They are still aren’t happy about it, but they’re gonna have to join the club.

On my walk back to the dorm—just shy of midnight, by the way—I text Andy to let him know and ask when all of this is gonna go down. He sends one back a couple seconds later.

“I’ll be in touch.”

 

[laptoper]

This is epically twisted. Love seeing a bully get his comeupance. I`m sure you won`t disappoint.
Looking forward to reading more.

 

[Scousered]

You’re an amazing writer bro, NEEED more stories from you