Page 13 of A Stealthy Situation

“Nah, just the usual.”

“I’ll hit up the guys at the stoner house. They always have good weed.”

“Cool.” It doesn’t make a difference to me. Most of my siblings are into hockey, and the two who aren’t, one is a math genius with a sensible streak, and the other is way too into her appearance to take anything recreationally. Drugs weren’t something on our radar growing up when it was practice, school, practice, homework, conditioning, conditioning, conditioning. When Em and I first got to Cali, we thought it would be cool to try it, but being under the influence and hiding a secret as big as ours doesn’t mix.

Even drinking, we have to be more careful than we would if we were at a party solo.

With any luck, I can use this party to pull Harrison, hook up early, then kick him out of my room before Em wants to go to bed.

“Let’s make it a free ladies’ night and ten a head for dudes,” Big Wally says.

I grunt. “You guys are so straight. Ever think about little ol’ me? Why don’t we ever have a free night for queer dudes?”

“Because then you’re the only one who would hook up,” Sandman points out.

“You’re a fucking idiot if you think I’m the only queer dude in this house.” I take a sip of Em’s water. “Statistically, there’s no way that’s possible.”

“I’m not saying I wouldn’t suck a dick,” Sandman continues, “only that I’d have to be really drunk and desperate.”

I pat him on the shoulder. “Real stand-up man, you are. Truly selfless.”

He smiles like I’ve complimented him.

The thing is, I love my frat brothers; they’re always here for a good time, and none of them have ever cared that I’m gay. Their number one question in life is “Is it fun?” and if the answer is yes, they’re game. But I’ve never gotten particularly close to any of them. That’s partially my fault for having my brother to confide in and not needing anyone else, and partially theirs. They say a lot of dumb shit.

“Okay, I want to make this party really good. I’ve got a guy coming, so let’s get it up on socials. Have O’Toole fill the place with beer. Ooh—who was that sophomore DJ we had last time? The girl with the cat ears—you know the one.”

“Yeah, she was great.”

Sandman snickers.

I sigh. “You hooked up with her, didn’t you?”

“Nope.” He points at Big Wally. “He tried. She shot him down. I like her.”

“Finally, a chick who has some sense. I don’t know how you two get laid so much.”

“They don’t call me Big Wally for nothing.”

“It’s literally your name, and you’re about ten feet,” I deadpan.

“Yeah, but … But … Wally. It’s innuendo. For my dick. Willy. You know.”

I love hearing him splutter through the explanation. “I’ve literally never heard anyone else say that but you.”

“I fucking hate you all.”

“It’s love like this that really makes me glad I moved in here.”

Sandman chuckles. “I remember you all but begging to become a DIK.”

“Begging to suck a dick, there’s a difference.”

“Pfft.” Sandman flips me off.

I wouldn’t say begging, but he’s right that I wanted in. Wanted to be a part of something outside of my siblings. Outside of hockey. I’ve only had one of my frat brothers ask if I’m related to Asher Dalton, and after telling him no, he dropped it. A Google search could possibly pull up some random local articles on the Dalton duo, but unless someone is interested enough to go looking, I’m safe here.

It’s one of the things I love about Franklin U. We’re a Division One hockey school, but people are way more interested in football and lacrosse. Here, I’m just a random face in a sea of thousands.

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