the deal with your brother and pools?” I ask, interrupting Ben and Jane’s chatter.
“Oh, Troy can’t handle pools. Not since the accident.”
“What accident?”
Jane’s expression clouds. Her mouth tenses, giving me a clue that it’s not a subject she likes to talk about.
“It’s okay. You don’t need to tell me.”
“It’s fine. Our family doesn’t really speak much about it, so it’s weird to do so. But I guess since you’re Troy’s roommate, you should know. It would help you understand my brother.”
I’m sensing it’s something that irrevocably changed Troy. My heart clenches a little in expectation. Despite my animosity toward him, I’m already suffering in sympathy without even knowing what his trauma is.
“What happened?” Ben asks.
“Our younger brother drowned in a pool when he was three. Troy was eight when it happened.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
“Yeah, it was rough. I don’t remember much about it. I was only four then, but Troy took it really hard. He doesn’t do pools now.”
As angry as I am with Troy, I can’t help the guilt that sneaks into my heart. The sentiment is strange and not exactly logical. There’s no correlation to Troy’s prank and his early childhood ordeal.
“Well, I’m afraid of heights,” Ben shares. “Probably because I fell from the neighbor’s tree house when I was younger.”
“Oh, I was the same way until Troy took me bungee jumping. You should try it.”
Ben scrunches his eyebrows together. “Eh, I don’t know.”
“I’m sure if you ask Troy, he’ll take you too.”
I’m ready to put the kibosh on that idea, but Ben is quicker in replying, “I don’t think so. He’s mean.”
Mental facepalm. Ben can be so blunt sometimes.
Jane furrows her eyebrows together. “Troy is mean? That’s news to me. He can be a pain in the butt, especially when he enters protective mode, but I’ve never seen him act mean on purpose.”
Ben opens his mouth to offer a retort, but I cut in before he says too much. “I never got a chance to ask the last time we hung out. Do you already know where you’re going next year?”
“Ugh, don’t even get me started on that. I want to stay here and go to Rushmore, but my father is pushing Stanford.”
“Stanford is a great school,” Ben pipes up.
“I know, but that’s not my dream, you know?”
I turn my gaze to the house once more. Jane and Ben continue the conversation, but my thoughts are not in the here and now. They’re with Troy.
Was he telling the truth when he said he didn’t prank me? My head is telling me he’s full of shit. Who else would have done it? But my heart is torn.
Shit. I’m a mess. That’s a plot twist I didn’t see coming.
20
TROY
I left the party as soon as I realized I couldn’t hang out with Charlie and pretend I wasn’t furious with her for accusing me of something I didn’t do. That prank had Andreas’s hands all over it, and he had plenty of time to plant a fake bath bomb when he came over on game night. He didn’t pick up the phone when I called earlier, but as I drive without direction back from the party, I try the jerkface again.
“Troy? What’s up?” he shouts over the phone. There’s a lot of noise in the background. Considering the time, he’s most likely in the locker room, getting ready for the game.
“Did you put a fake bath bomb in Charlie’s stuff?” I ask.
“Oh yeah.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Why? Did Charlie take a bath?”
“Yes, asshole. And now she thinks I’m responsible for it.”
He laughs, making me grind my teeth. “Please tell me you snapped some pictures for me. I’d love to see the look on her face.”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t call to congratulate you. I told you I was done fighting with her. Why the fuck did you have to take matters into your own hands?”
“Ah, quit the whining, man. It was just a harmless prank. Get over it.”
“I’ll get over it when you stop being a fucking meddler.”
“Yeah, yeah. You sound like a whipped pussy. Just fuck the girl already and move on. This beta shit you have going on doesn’t suit you. I want my friend back.”
Coach Clarkson’s booming voice echoes in the background. It’s time for the pregame talk.
“I have to go,” Andreas tells me. “I’ll call you later.”
He ends the call, which means I have to swallow all my angry retorts as if they were a bitter pill.