Unspoken(22)

“That’s because he is an asshole,” Ellie replied.

“True.” Then I added tentatively, feeling Ellie out on the subject, “But Ryan seemed to be bothered by Clay’s comments.”

“I would never date a laxer!” Ellie cried. She sounded like I’d inflicted a mortal wound or insulted her mother.

“He seems different than the other guys,” I pointed out. I didn’t want my issues to be infringing on Ellie’s interests. She’d already taken on far too much of my drama as her own, and it wasn’t necessary.

She strongly believed in the “an enemy of yours is an enemy of mine” theory, which made her a great friend but also made me feel guilty. Ellie murmured something unintelligible into her scarf that I mentally translated into “don’t be an idiot,” so I just changed the subject. “Do you really think taking Rocks for Jocks is going to be better than biology?”

Ellie merely shrugged her shoulders, dipping her face deep inside the well of her jacket. “I think math should serve as a science requirement. I mean, it’s more important to know how derivatives function than it is to know what rocks come from what region.”

“You should know that I got the syllabus and there’s very little about natural disasters in biology,” I urged. I could kill two birds with one stone. Bo would be forced to partner with someone else, and I would get a best friend back. “Come back and we can be lab partners.”

Ellie peered at me from behind her scarf. “No, I’m stuck now. I went and changed my schedule at the admin office and the lady there gave me an angry glare like I was asking for a grade change or something.”

“Given that nearly everyone in the class gets a B or above, it kind of is,” I pointed out.

Ellie huffed. “I’m a math major. I deserve one cake class.”

“Maybe I should switch, then.” It didn’t matter to me what science class I took.

She didn’t reply immediately and when she did her voice showed strain. “Yeah, I don’t think you’d like it.”

Translated: there were too many jocks there, and I’d be miserable.

“Plus,” Ellie added, “even if you wanted to, I don’t think Dr. Highsmith would allow it. He told me he was only approving the transfer because he didn’t think it was healthy that we were joined at the hip.”

“Fucking Highsmith. Who does he think he is, our advisor?” I joked. It was weak, but I felt better for making the effort.

By the time we had arrived at the apartment, hunger was overriding anger. “Should we order a pizza?” I suggested.

Ellie hadn’t eaten much of anything either. She nodded her agreement, and I ordered while Ellie sank into our couch and flicked on the television. The entrance buzzer sounded thirty minutes later to announce the arrival of the pizza delivery person.

By the time I’d returned with the pizza, Ellie had pulled out napkins and forks and laid them on our coffee table. It was one of those oak things that had curved edges and was designed, I think, for families with small children. Ugly but functional, the table was safe for toddlers and drunken college students. Ellie and I’d spent more than one night passed out in our living room, and never once had we suffered a coffee table-induced injury.

“What was it that Clay said as you walked by him?” I asked her, remembering hearing an odd murmur behind me.

“He called me a carpet muncher,” Ellie said, pizza slice halfway to her mouth.

“He’s so original. Like eating pussy is some kind of insult,” I scoffed.

“It is for him. He’s probably the most selfish lover ever. Girls start thinking about being a lesbian because their sexual experience with him was so horrible, they can’t stomach the idea of being with another man.” Ellie waved her pizza at me, a pineapple cube flipping dangerously on the end.

I sat back. “It’s a good thing I turned him down, then, or I’d be after you hard.”

“You should seduce Bo and then when he’s in your thrall, point him toward the laxer house. By the look of him, he’d be able to take down at least five of them in the first go around. Yum.” Ellie licked her lips and I knew it wasn’t because the pizza tasted so good.

I avoided the Bo topic and told her instead, “I wish we were lesbians. We’d make a great couple.”

Ellie gave a genuine shout of laughter. “Would we take turns wearing the strap-on?”

“No, I’d be the top,” I insisted sternly. This only made her laugh harder.

When she finally stopped rolling on the ground, she sat up and wiped the tears from her face. She rearranged her expression into a faux serious look and leaned toward me. “You know what might suck as a lesbian?”