Page 28 of Caden & Theo
But tonight, finally, he calls.
I’m stretched out on my bed with a paperback balanced on my chest, eyes skimming the same paragraph for the third time without taking it in. I keep pretending the words are enoughto distract me, to make me forget how empty the room feels without him here. But they blur together, restless as I am.
Then the Nokia buzzes against the cover, startling me.
Caden.
I snatch it up like it might disappear and hit the green button so fast I nearly drop it. “Hey.”
His voice comes through a little staticky but warm and familiar. “Took you long enough.”
I grin. “I answered on the first ring, don’t even start.”
“I know. I’m just talking crap.”
My smile softens. “Hi.”
He sighs. “God, I miss you.”
I close my eyes, pressing the phone tighter to my ear. “Same.”
There’s a quiet beat between us. The kind that says everything we’re not saying. Then he says, “So, I made it through week one of classes.”
I sit up a little. “And?”
“And… it’s wild, Theo. Like, the campus is huge, my dorm smells like Axe and microwaved noodles, and I have a professor who legit swears in class.”
“That’s your dream professor.”
“Right? She saidbullshittoday and no one even blinked. I nearly applauded.”
I laugh. “Please don’t get kicked out of class for clapping.”
“No promises.”
He tells me about his classes—Introduction to Business, a required history class about Southern politics (“Why do they hate us so much?”), and a writing seminar that’s already making him rethink using contractions. Then there’s basketball. That one makes his voice shift slightly—lower, a little heavier.
“Training’s brutal,” he says. “It’s not even official season yet, and I’m already sore in muscles I didn’t know I had.”
“You’re gonna kill it,” I say, trying to sound more sure than I feel.
“I don’t know. Everyone’s good. Like,reallygood. I’m just hoping to make it past tryouts.”
“You have a scholarship, Cam. You’re already in.”
“Yeah, but that just means they expect more.”
He doesn’t say it, but I know what he means. A Black freshman from a public high school in South Carolina—people expect him to prove he belongs every second of every day.
“You will,” I say again, because I need him to believe it.
He doesn’t answer right away. Then, quietly, he murmurs, “Thanks.”
There’s shuffling on his end, probably him lying back in bed. “I’m going to a party tonight,” he says after a moment.
My stomach twists. “Oh?”
“It’s just a team thing. Nothing crazy. But yeah. First party.”
