.”
“He can be a little overly self-assured,” I comment.
“Cocky, Trey. He’s cocky.”
“All right, yes. He is. So did you keep his number?”
“I figured I might need it for the paper, so yeah.”
“I’m your editor. That should be enough. I mean, I would think…” Let it go, Trey.
“Probably so. I should maybe, I don’t know. Delete it?”
“If you think you need it…” I say, shrugging as I look up at her building. As much as I don’t want her to keep Asher’s number, I have no right to tell her to get rid of it. “Let me guess. You’re on the third floor.”
She shakes her head, grinning. “No. I’m on a co-ed floor. The ninth, to be exact.”
“As long as it’s not the sixth.”
“It’s not the party floor.”
“Good, because I need you to be focused on your writing.”
“Yes, boss,” she tells me.
“If you have any questions about this weekend’s assignment, just call or text. I’ll be around.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, Trey.”
“Anytime, laureate. Aslon wants your poetry, so… just stick to the assignment; but be you, Coley.”
She nods her head. “You asked for it.”
chapter seven
After finally getting into my studying routine, coach told me in practice today that my backstroke is sloppy. I have to add ten hours of practice this week, which seems next-to-impossible for me, but that’s not something I could tell him. I’ll just have to take it out of my gym time and sleep time.
I finish a light dinner of chicken and squash, then check my email to see if Coley’s assignment is finished. The notification is in my inbox. At least I have something to look forward to when I get back. Editing her work invigorates me. Playing with her poetry is a challenge, and I like it. Hopefully she’ll want to work with me, even though it’ll be a little later than normal.
- - Hi, boss.
Her instant message pops up in the corner of my screen.
- Hey to you. I see your article’s in the folder.
- - Do you have time to work on it?
- I will later. I have to go up to Baker to log some water time.
- - You’re going swimming?
- I am.
- - I need to do that.
I tap my red pen on my desk a few times, probably not long enough to properly think through this idea.
- Come with me.
- - Can I? Even if I’m not on the team?
- Sure. I’ll be there.
- - You don’t mind?
- What? Having someone who actually can critique my supposed-sloppy backstroke? Not one bit.
- - Are you leaving now?
- I can wait.
- - I can be ready by the time you get here.
- Then I’ll be there in ten minutes.
I call down to the concierge and ask them to have my car ready, then gather up a few towels, my goggles and my stopwatch. Before I leave, I drop my things by the door and go back to the bathroom to brush my teeth and gargle with some mouthwash.
Fresh breath shouldn’t matter to me right now, but it does.
I’m going to pick up Coley, my stomach is in a knot all of a sudden, and yes, fresh breath matters to me. I don’t care what that implies; I’m just going to shove that to the back of my mind while I go work out with my friend who happens to need the practice just as much as I do.
As soon as I get in my car, I go through my music and try to figure out what I want to listen to–what I want her to know that I listen to. I settle on my playlist of The Aurange Peace, skipping the first song that comes on because it tends to take me to a darker place than I want to go. Their music is pretty melancholy, but their sound has depth that few artists can capture these days. I also like that I discover something new with their lyrics just about every time I listen to their songs.
I’ve seen them live four times and was lucky enough to meet them the last time, thanks to Jon’s brother, Will. In addition to him being a science god, he’s also just as talented musically, and he plays with Damon Littlefield, one of the most talented, acclaimed and popular artists to come out of Queens in this century. When I
“He can be a little overly self-assured,” I comment.
“Cocky, Trey. He’s cocky.”
“All right, yes. He is. So did you keep his number?”
“I figured I might need it for the paper, so yeah.”
“I’m your editor. That should be enough. I mean, I would think…” Let it go, Trey.
“Probably so. I should maybe, I don’t know. Delete it?”
“If you think you need it…” I say, shrugging as I look up at her building. As much as I don’t want her to keep Asher’s number, I have no right to tell her to get rid of it. “Let me guess. You’re on the third floor.”
She shakes her head, grinning. “No. I’m on a co-ed floor. The ninth, to be exact.”
“As long as it’s not the sixth.”
“It’s not the party floor.”
“Good, because I need you to be focused on your writing.”
“Yes, boss,” she tells me.
“If you have any questions about this weekend’s assignment, just call or text. I’ll be around.”
“Sounds good. Thanks, Trey.”
“Anytime, laureate. Aslon wants your poetry, so… just stick to the assignment; but be you, Coley.”
She nods her head. “You asked for it.”
chapter seven
After finally getting into my studying routine, coach told me in practice today that my backstroke is sloppy. I have to add ten hours of practice this week, which seems next-to-impossible for me, but that’s not something I could tell him. I’ll just have to take it out of my gym time and sleep time.
I finish a light dinner of chicken and squash, then check my email to see if Coley’s assignment is finished. The notification is in my inbox. At least I have something to look forward to when I get back. Editing her work invigorates me. Playing with her poetry is a challenge, and I like it. Hopefully she’ll want to work with me, even though it’ll be a little later than normal.
- - Hi, boss.
Her instant message pops up in the corner of my screen.
- Hey to you. I see your article’s in the folder.
- - Do you have time to work on it?
- I will later. I have to go up to Baker to log some water time.
- - You’re going swimming?
- I am.
- - I need to do that.
I tap my red pen on my desk a few times, probably not long enough to properly think through this idea.
- Come with me.
- - Can I? Even if I’m not on the team?
- Sure. I’ll be there.
- - You don’t mind?
- What? Having someone who actually can critique my supposed-sloppy backstroke? Not one bit.
- - Are you leaving now?
- I can wait.
- - I can be ready by the time you get here.
- Then I’ll be there in ten minutes.
I call down to the concierge and ask them to have my car ready, then gather up a few towels, my goggles and my stopwatch. Before I leave, I drop my things by the door and go back to the bathroom to brush my teeth and gargle with some mouthwash.
Fresh breath shouldn’t matter to me right now, but it does.
I’m going to pick up Coley, my stomach is in a knot all of a sudden, and yes, fresh breath matters to me. I don’t care what that implies; I’m just going to shove that to the back of my mind while I go work out with my friend who happens to need the practice just as much as I do.
As soon as I get in my car, I go through my music and try to figure out what I want to listen to–what I want her to know that I listen to. I settle on my playlist of The Aurange Peace, skipping the first song that comes on because it tends to take me to a darker place than I want to go. Their music is pretty melancholy, but their sound has depth that few artists can capture these days. I also like that I discover something new with their lyrics just about every time I listen to their songs.
I’ve seen them live four times and was lucky enough to meet them the last time, thanks to Jon’s brother, Will. In addition to him being a science god, he’s also just as talented musically, and he plays with Damon Littlefield, one of the most talented, acclaimed and popular artists to come out of Queens in this century. When I
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