Walking Disaster

less than clear.
    I brushed my teeth and got dressed, and then found Shepley in the kitchen.
    He sat on a stool in front of the breakfast bar, slurping milk from his spoon. He wore a hoodie and the pink boxers America had bought him because she thought they were “sexy.”
    I pulled a glass from the dishwasher and filled it with OJ. “Looks like you two worked it out.”
    Shepley smiled, looking nearly drunk with contentment. “We did. Have I ever told you what America is like in bed right after we argue?”
    I made a face. “No, and please don’t.”
    “Fighting with her like that is scary as hell, but tempting if we make up like that every time.” When I didn’t answer, Shepley continued. “I’m going to marry that
woman.”
    “Yeah. Well, when you’re done being a pansy ass, we need to be on our way.”
    “Shut your face, Travis. Don’t think I’m oblivious to what’s going on with you.”
    I crossed my arms. “And what’s going on with me?”
    “You’re in love with Abby.”
    “
Pft
. You were obviously making shit up in your head to keep your mind off America.”
    “You’re denying it?” Shepley’s eyes didn’t flinch, and I tried to look everywhere but into them.
    After a full minute, I shifted nervously but remained silent.
    “Who’s being a pansy ass, now?”
    “Fuck you.”
    “Admit it.”
    “No.”
    “No, you’re not denying that you’re in love with Abby, or no you won’t admit it? Because either way, asshole, you’re in love with her.”
    “. . . So?”
    “I KNEW IT!” Shepley said, kicking the stool back, making it skid to where the wood floor met the rug in the living room.
    “I . . . just . . . shut up, Shep,” I said. My lips formed a hard line.
    Shepley pointed at me while walking to his room. “You just admitted to it. Travis Maddox in love. Now I’ve heard everything.”
    “Just put your panties on, and let’s go!”
    Shepley chuckled to himself in his bedroom, and I stared at the floor. Saying it out loud—to someone else—made it real, and I wasn’t sure what to do with it.
    Less than five minutes later, I was fiddling with the radio in the Charger while Shepley was pulling out of the parking lot of our apartment complex.
    Shepley seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood as we weaved through traffic and slowed down just enough to keep from tossing pedestrians over the hood. He finally found a suitable parking
space, and we headed to English Comp II—the one class we shared.
    The top row had been me and Shepley’s new seating arrangement for several weeks in an attempt to break free of the flock of baggable females that usually crowded my desk.
    Dr. Park breezed into the classroom, dumping off a tote bag, a briefcase, and a cup of coffee onto her desk. “Christ! It’s cold!” she said, pulling her coat tighter around her
tiny frame. “Is everyone here?” Hands shot up, and she nodded, not really paying attention. “Great. Good news. Pop quiz!”
    Everyone groaned, and she smiled. “You’ll still love me. Paper and pen, people, I don’t have all day.”
    The room filled with the same sound as everyone reached for their supplies. I scribbled my name at the top of my paper and smiled at Shepley’s panicked whispers.
    “Why? Pop quiz in Comp Two? Fucking ridiculous,” he hissed.
    The quiz was fairly harmless, and her lecture ended with another paper being due by the end of the week. In the last minutes of class, a guy in the row directly ahead of me craned his neck back.
I recognized him from class. His name was Levi, but I only knew that because I’d heard Dr. Park call on him several times. His greasy dark hair was always slicked back, away from his
pockmarked face. Levi was never in the cafeteria, or in any fraternity. He wasn’t on the football team, either, and never at any parties. Not any that I frequented, anyway.
    I looked down at him, and then turned my attention back to Dr. Park, who was sharing a story about the latest visit from her favorite gay friend.
    My eyes drifted down again. He was still staring.
    “Need something?” I asked.
    “I just heard about Brazil’s party this weekend. Well played.”
    “Huh?”
    The girl to his right, Elizabeth, turned too, her light brown hair bouncing. Elizabeth was the girlfriend of one of my frat brothers. Her eyes lit up. “Yeah. Sorry I missed that
show.”
    Shepley leaned forward. “What? Me and Mare’s fight?”
    The guy chuckled. “No. Abby’s party.”
    “The