Page 42 of Gamechanger

"Finn? Everything okay?"

I took a deep breath. "It's about Moose. I'm worried about him, Quinn."

There was a rustling sound, like Quinn was sitting up in bed. "What's going on?"

I spilled everything—Moose's exhaustion, his forced smiles, how he seemed to be pushing himself too hard. "Has he always been like this?"

Quinn sighed, a static-y rush of air. "Look, there's something you need to understand about him. Remember how he told you he was a chubby kid? Well, it goes deeper than that."

"What do you mean?" I asked, my grip tightening on the phone.

"Okay, so, freshman year of college," Quinn began. "Moose and I were roommates, right? And man, I've never seen anyone work as hard as he did. He'd be up at dawn, hitting the gym before classes. Then he'd study until midnight, sometimes later."

"That doesn't sound so bad," I said, thinking about my own grueling schedule.

"No, you don't get it," Quinn insisted. "He wasn't just working hard. He was... punishing himself, almost. Like he was trying to prove he deserved to be there."

My stomach clenched. "Go on."

"There was this one time," Quinn continued, his voice softer now. "We had this big bio exam coming up. Moose had been studying for weeks, barely sleeping. The night before the test, I woke up at like 3 a.m., and he's still at his desk, muttering formulas under his breath."

I closed my eyes, picturing the scene.

"I told him to get some sleep, that he knew the material. And you know what he said? He looked at me with these... these desperate eyes and said, 'I can't. If I fail this, everyone will see I don't belong here. That I'm just a fat kid who got lucky.'"

"Oh man," I breathed.

"Yeah," Quinn agreed. "And the thing is, he aced that exam. Top of the class. But it didn't matter. It was never enough for him."

I swallowed hard. "Was it always about his weight?"

"Not always explicitly," Quinn said. "But it was always there, you know? Like this shadow hanging over him. I remember another time. There was this party sophomore year. Some girl—I think her name was Tiffany—she was flirting with Moose all night. He was so confused, kept looking around like he thought she was talking to someone else."

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, I couldn't help but smile a little. That sounded like Moose.

"When she finally asked him out, you know what he did? He laughed. Thought she was joking. It took me and two other guys to convince him she was serious."

My heart ached. How could Moose not see how amazing he was?

"And now, with this marketing gig..." Quinn trailed off.

"What about it?" I prompted.

"I wonder if being in the public eye is wearing on him," Quinn said slowly. "He's always been more comfortable behind the scenes. Remember how nervous he was before his first press conference?"

I did remember. He had been a wreck, convinced he was going to make a fool of himself. But once he got up there, he was brilliant, charming the reporters with his quick wit and genuine passion.

"Finn," Quinn's voice pulled me back to the present. "Moose doesn't always see himself clearly. In his mind, he's still that chubby kid no one really liked. No matter how much evidence there is to the contrary."

"But that's not true at all," I protested, my voice cracking. "Everyone loves Moose."

"I know," Quinn said softly. "But he doesn't always see it. Just... be patient with him, okay? And maybe... maybe talk to him about seeing someone. A therapist, I mean. It helped me a lot after my injury."

As I hung up, my mind was reeling. The Moose that Quinn described was so at odds with the confident, charismatic man I knew. And yet, it explained so much.

The sliding door opened behind me, and Mom stepped out, two steaming mugs in hand. "Thought you could use this," she said, handing me a coffee.

I took it gratefully, the warmth seeping into my cold hands. "Thanks, Mom."

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