Love and Other Theories by Alexis Bass Page A

television. I forgot how much I love it here, despite this being a frat house. It’s buried in the woods along the outskirts of town, like a hunting cabin, and inside there are dark green rugs and all the lampshades are red plaid. Even with beer cans hanging out next to the usual clutter of old dishes and magazines, and throw pillows on the floor next to stray socks, it’s still one of the coziest places I’ve ever been. The giant cedar table sitting crooked in the dining room always makes the house smell like the outdoors: rich andwarm. There’s a fire going in the wood-burning stove, too. I melt into the scene and wonder if maybe I really have missed Trip.
    Trip walks slowly down the hall, looking back a few times to see if I’m following him. I am, of course, even though it’s hard to rip myself away from the comfort of the living room. I flash back to last year: sitting on that plaid couch with Trip and Zane and Earl and Shelby, laughing at sitcoms, screaming at the television during football games, playing cards huddled around the coffee table; the nights when it was just Trip and me, making out, messing around, and listening above the crackling of the fire for signs that we were going to be interrupted.
    Trip’s room is comfortable too, even in its messy state. The plaid comforter hangs off the bed, because everything here is plaid and nothing stays where it’s supposed to. The top of his dresser is cluttered with change and magazines and receipts, and the drawers hang open with clothes flowing out. It smells like Trip does on the weekends, like pizza and beer.
    Trip smiles but stays quiet. The anticipation of waiting for him to speak becomes too much. I give him a light push on the chest.
    He leans in my direction. “To tell you the truth, talking is the last thing I feel like doing right now.” His eyes are soft and inviting. He’s doing this on purpose, and it is such a Trip Chapman thing to do that I can’t help butsmirk. Distracting me by being sexy, distracting himself with sex.
    I put my hands on my hips and the gesture disappoints him. He sits on his bed and slumps over. Naturally I join him, sitting next to him with my shoulder pressed up against his. His eyes stay glued to the floor.
    Trip takes a deep breath. “I’m on academic probation this semester. If I don’t get my grades up, I’m out.” He’s talking to the floor. “It’s not a big deal, but . . . let’s just say I’m already off to a lousy start.”
    “So what happened? You don’t like college?”
    “Oh, I like college.” He gives me a smile that says I can’t even imagine how much fun he’s been having. “It’s the classes that aren’t my favorite.”
    I pinch the skin in between my eyes, then stop immediately when I realize it’s the same thing my mom does when she’s annoyed and disappointed and deep in thought for an appropriate punishment. “I don’t . . . I don’t know that I can help you.”
    He rolls his eyes and smiles. “Look at you, Housing. You’re going to a good school next year. You obviously take this learning stuff seriously. You would never be stupid enough to fail.”
    I’m irritated right now, mainly because he referred to Barron as a “good” school. Barron is a great school. “Don’t say you’re stupid.”
    The way he’s smiling, though, I know he doesn’tactually think he’s stupid. Careless, maybe. “Old enough to know better, too young to care,” Earl used to say to Zane and Trip anytime they did something reckless. He said it a lot.
    “Study with me. Maybe even teach me how. You know, like, techniques or whatever. I could use some help writing essays, too.”
    “You know how to study.” My voice fades as I stare at his face. He’s wearing a sly smile. He’s waiting for it to hit me that he graduated high school not because he finished his homework and studied hard, but because he got girls to do his homework and study for him. By study , of course, I mean provide him with