Page 9 of Untruly With You

“Come on in,” Sutton says, sounding as exhausted as I would expect this late in the semester. He’s lying across his bed in gray sweatpants and a white shirt, one arm behind his head, propping it up so he can read from his beat-up copy ofWhere the Red Fern Grows.

In that position, his shirt is lifted just enough for a strip of skin to show between it and his waistline. I move my eyes away and around the room, my face hot. Despite usspending so much time together this semester, there has always been a line of professionalism, a reminder that he was still my TA, and I was still his student. I’m taken aback seeing him in such a casual way now. It feels like I’m intruding.

I fumble with the garment bag and drop it across the foot of the bed. Sutton stands, rustling a hand through his curls. He started the semester with a clean-shaven face, but slowly, as he got busier and busier, that turned into a short-trimmed beard. His curls grew out too, almost kissing the neck of his shirt now.

“A graduation robe,” Sutton says after unzipping the bag open. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re walking in graduation with me. Tomorrow.” I lift my chin up, and Sutton grins, those dimples flashing.

“Maybe…”

“My parents demand it.” I wave an ushering hand at Sutton. “Go try it on.”

He does as I request, grabbing suit pants and a button-down on his way to the bathroom to change.

Not daring enough to sit on Sutton’s bed, I perch on the edge of his desk. As always, Sutton’s room is perfectly neat. His calendar on the wall is color coded, and his laundry basket is divided into three sections. Even his ever-growing collection of books is stacked neatly along his shelves. Everything in its place.

Almost as soon as I hear the bathroom door click closed, Sutton’s phone, laying on his desk, goes off. The name “Frankie” shines up at me from the screen.

“Hey, Sutton!” I yell, grabbing his phone. As I do so, though, my thumb grazes the green button on the screen, and the call connects.

A voice, higher than I expected, comes from the phone. “Sutton?”

He never mentioned a Frankie, and there’s nobody in our class by that name he could be tutoring.

“Hello?” the voice says again.

Without thinking, I hold the phone up to my ear. “Hi?”

“Oh, sorry,” Frankie, whoever she is, sounds surprised. “I was trying to call Sutton Davis.”

I should probably bring the phone to Sutton, but instead I say, “This is his phone.”

“Oh!Sure. Really? Right.” She tumbles over her words. “Will you just—just have him call me back? As soon as possible. It’s important.”

“Do you want me to go get Sutton now? He’s just in the other room.”

“No, no. Just ask him to call Frankie. Thanks.”

The line goes silent, and I lay the phone back down on the desk, feeling a bit nauseated. I’m still trying to remember if Sutton has ever brought up “Frankie” before, but my thoughts are interrupted by Sutton’s reentrance into the room in his full graduation attire. The robe accentuates his towering frame. Some of his dark curls peek out from the bottom of the cap, and even though he’s trying to stay cool, I can see a whisper of an excited expression.

I can't help but smile back at him as I marvel at how he looks so fully…Suttonin the getup. He stands tall, confidence radiating from him like a beacon. His face glows with an inner light that is all his own, and I feel like I'm seeing Sutton anew. He’s proud of himself—as he should be—and it’s quite the sight.

“One last thing,” I say, pulling a small black box from my tote.

Sutton takes it from me carefully, opening the top. A gold cord is wrapped up inside. I take it out, unfurling its length, and drape it around Sutton’s neck, letting it cascade down his front. “An honors cord for Mr. Summa Cum Laude. Technically,you should have worn this at your bachelor’s graduation, but it’s better late than never.”

Sutton’s smile grows when he looks at me again. “What do you think?”

I tuck my cropped hair back under my jaw. “I think you’re going to show me up tomorrow.”

“I doubt that very much,” he says, taking his cap and gown off. “Come on. Let’s head to your exam.”

I’m not worried about my Shakespeare final. It’s the last test of the semester, and thanks to the best tutor, I could still pass the class even if I fail this one. Still, Sutton—in true Sutton fashion—takes advantage of our commute by quizzing me from the study guide. I give my answers automatically, most of them deeply ingrained in my mind by now, but my thoughts are still circling around the phone call. As soon as we’re in front of the door to the lecture hall where we first met, I can’t hold my question in any longer.

“Who’s Frankie?”

Sutton takes a step back, his eyes widening slightly.

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