Page 21 of The Riley Effect

I’m pouring creamer into a much-needed cup of coffee when Lola walks into the kitchen.

“Headed to the shelter?” I ask, even though her volunteer shirt hints exactly where she is headed. Lola starts every Sundayat the shelter, no matter how bad her hangover is.

“Yeah…” she pauses, giving me a once over before taking her travel mug out of the cabinet and pouring herself a cup from the pot I brewed. “You want to come?”

“Yes!” I answer a little too quickly. I’ll do anything to not have to sort through my feelings from last night. I was going to clean the house, but going to spend time with my favorite pups sounds so much better.

On the way to the shelter, I dominate the conversation, avoiding anything about Jalen or our date. I bring up the schoolwork Lola and I have due this week and share how the first week of practices went. Whenever Lola tries to bring Jalen’s name into the conversation, I whisk us away into a world where Jalen does not exist.

I set my phone on the counter and grab the container of dog food from the closet to prepare breakfast before taking the dogs on their morning walk. My phone buzzes as I set the food down for Riley, trying to ignore the urge to check it. If it’s Jalen, my entire plan of coming here to not think about him lasted about… twenty minutes.

When it buzzes for the third time in thirty seconds, I turn to grab it, nervous that it is my sister.

Before I can get to my phone, Lola walks in front of the desk with a chihuahua in one hand and uses the other to pick up my buzzing phone. She looks at the screen and then in my direction. I normally don’t care if my roommates look at my messages. I have nothing to hide. Now, having something I want to keep to myself, at least until I figure out what is going on with me and Jalen, I’m regretting all the times I had my friends read messages to me when I left my phone in the kitchen and was too lazy to get off the couch to read them myself.

“We haven’t talked about last night yet. How was it?” she asks, her eyes still glued to my phone.

“It was better than I expected it to be. Jalen is pretty easy to talk to.”

“Have you heard from him yet?” she asks, but she already knows the answer.

If there is one thing I am worse at than lying, it’s talking about my feelings. So, the rest of this conversation should be a breeze.

“N-no.” I stutter. Before Lola can call me out on my bullshit. “Actually, I have. He texted me about an hour after I got home last night, letting me know he was home.”

“And…”

“And he told me he had a lot of fun.” I take a deep breath, bracing myself for Lola to ask me if there is a second date, the one I already agreed to, but I decide to rip off that band-aid myself. “And yes, there is a second date.”

“Really?” she asks, confused. Probably because I’ve never been on a date since we became friends, let alone a second one.

“Yeah, and you want to know what’s worse.” I take a deep breath. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“That’s not a bad thing, Vee. A second date doesn’t mean anything serious is going to happen.”

What if I don’t mind if things become serious?

13

Jalen

It’s Wednesday, which means it’s a two-for-one pitcher night at our favorite dive bar on Main Street. It also means it has been four days since my date with Ivy.

My roommates have been up my ass all week with questions about our date. Not knowing what Ivy has told Indy, I haven’t gone into much detail. Still, I wanted to tell them I’m hopeful for another date, especially with the night ending in a kiss like Saturday nights. I could have done without the audience though.

When I came downstairs for breakfast on Sunday - Byron was making breakfast sandwiches, and the New Yorker in me could not have been happier- Indy had already given the boysa play-by-play of the kiss she saw on her front porch. It would have been fine if it stayed between me and my housemates, but Byron was talking to my parents on Monday and decided to tell them about my date. This has led to one too many questions from my Mom. I plan to kill Byron because now my mom keeps asking me when she will get to meet my girlfriend.

Ivy isn’t my girlfriend, but she is beautiful, smart, athletic, and mysterious. She isn’t at all the parties, and I think it would be good for me to have someone in my life I could spend a quiet weekend with just as friends. Most importantly, she has her own goals and aspirations. When I came to Westvale, I knew being on the hockey team would mean I’d have girls fawning all over me. I quickly learned those weren’t the girls you take home to a judgemental Italian mother. So, I decided the casual hookup route was what college would be for me, which has worked out well.

Ivy and I have texted a little since Saturday, but I’m slowly realizing the little downtime I have is a luxury compared to Ivy’s schedule. I consider myself lucky to get four responses over the course of a day. I hadn’t overthought the texts until Aaron asked if I was sure she wasn’t trying to politely ignore me.

“She’s at practice,” Marcus says when he notices me looking at my phone for the umpteenth time. I haven’t heard anything from Ivy since we got out of practice at noon. I know she had to take Riley to a playoff field hockey game this morning, so maybe she’s just been busy. Or lost her phone.

As I put my phone in my pocket, Aaron and Byron come back with our drinks, and a small group of girls that follows behind them join us in our booth.

If this happened two weeks ago, the pit in my stomach would be nonexistent. Evelyn, one of my hookups from last semester, snuggles in close to me and places her hand on my knee. I look around the table, pleading for help. My asshole friendsdo nothing to help me instead, they all have this sick look of amusement on their faces due to my discomfort.

My chest tightens, and paranoia creeps in.

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