9. Freddie

FREDDIE

THEN – SOPHOMORE YEAR – JANUARY

“ O ne soy milk cappuccino, two brown sugars, and an Americano please,” I order for both of us, leaning against the counter. Lexie isn’t here yet, but I know her order by heart. It’s become a habit, these Tuesday and Thursday meetups.

Christmas break came and went like a blur. I barely went home at all, using the extra gym shifts as an excuse. Not that it was a total lie—I did pick up every hour they’d give me. But the truth is, I couldn’t handle more than a few days in that house.

The silence was worse than any screaming match—Dad drugged up and sleeping, Mom’s fake cheerful voice, Megan tiptoeing around like the floor might shatter. Even the damn Christmas tree looked depressed.

So, I did what I do best: I ran. Back to campus, back to mindless gym routines, back to anything that wasn’t watching my family crumble while I stood there like a useless kid.

I scan the café, landing on our usual spot. It’s weird how this became a thing—me actually looking forward to study sessions. The guys give me endless shit about it, especially since Lexie and Tara started coming to our “family dinners.”

I’ve had girl friends before. Despite what Ethan thinks, I don’t need to sleep with everyone in a skirt. But Lexie? She’s different. She’s become my favorite person to mess with, to argue with, to just... be around.

These days, I catch myself making up the lamest excuses just to see her. Hey, want to debate climate change? Hey, did you see this stupid meme about recycling? Hey, can I call you? I just finished Emily in Paris and we need to talk about it.

My phone buzzes. Brianna.

Hey Fred, dance at 5, then I’m free.

I stare at the message, feeling nothing but tired. She’s hot, sure. Great body, always down for a good time. But lately? The whole routine feels hollow.

Oh yeah? What did you have in mind?

Maybe she’ll surprise me. Maybe we’ll actually talk about something real. But who am I kidding? It’ll be the same script we always follow—drinks, sex, no emotional morning after.

Ethan jokes that I could convince a nun to sleep with me, but lately? I’m over it. The endless parade of meaningless hookups, the fake morning-after conversations, the names I can barely remember.

Bri mentioned she might be up for something more regular, still without strings attached. But do I want that with her? I know she’s into Alfie anyway, and it’s not like either of us has been faithful to each other while we’ve been sleeping together.

Your place or mine? 7pm.

For fuck’s sake. Not even a pretense of conversation anymore. Just a booty call masquerading as a question. Most guys would be doing backflips for this setup—regular, no-strings sex with a hot girl who doesn’t want to talk about feelings. So why do I feel like I’m showing up for a dentist appointment?

I type back something noncommittal. The truth is, I can’t deal with relationship shit right now. Not with Dad’s medical bills piling up and Megan’s college dreams hanging by a thread. I’ve seen what happens when you let someone in—watched my parents’ perfect love story turn into a medical drama nobody wanted to watch. No thanks.

The café door opens and—holy shit.

Lexie walks in and something’s different. She’s drowning in that UMS hoodie again—the one that seems to be her second skin. The embroidered mountains on the front catch the light as she moves, making them shimmer like real snow-capped peaks. I’d never admit it, but seeing her in that giant navy hoodie, with the sleeves pulled over her hands and the hem hitting mid-thigh, did things to me no piece of university merchandise should be capable of.

Same hoodie, same messy bun, but... those jeans are definitely new. They’re hugging curves I’ve been trying really fucking hard not to notice. It’s not working.

“Oh my god, Freddie, you will never freakin’ believe what just happened!”

I force my eyes up to her face, ignoring the way my stomach flips when she says my name. “Oh my god, Lexie, what?! Let me guess—Tara wore black?”

She whacks my arm with her tiny hands. “You. Are. A. Dick.”

“Proud of it,” I grin. She hits me again, but it’s not hard enough to hurt even a little.

“Ow! Okay, okay. I’m sorry. What’s the earth-shattering event you speak of?”

“Eric asked me out!” she squeals.

Great. Eric the Wonderful. Eric the know-it-all douche. Fucking Eric with his perfectly ironed shirts and his “well actually” bullshit in every class.

I paste on a smile. “That’s great.”

“Freddie,” she warns, seeing through my act.

“It’s great, really. I’m happy for you, Lex. You should have fun, date around. Get the full college experience,” I say, meaning it more than I expected. Lexie deserves to be happy. Even if it’s with King Douchebag of Know-It-All Mountain.

Her cheeks turn pink as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Thanks! I mean, we can’t go out for a couple weeks because he’s got this math competition, but?—”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

The guy has a shot with Lexie—Lexie—and he’s putting her off for a math competition?

Oh, come on.

I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. Not my business. Not my problem. Not my?—

Tara bursts in, her pink furry backpack a dead giveaway from the other side of the room.

She rushes over to us, pulling up a chair. Great, and there goes any chance of actual studying. Don’t get me wrong—I love Tara. She’s got that same super perky energy as Troy, all sunshine and rainbows. But holy fuck, the girl could talk a statue to death, and it’s difficult to get anything productive done when she’s around.

“I got your message,” she sing-songs.

Lexie and Tara do that weird telepathic girl thing, grinning at each other like they’ve got a secret language. And maybe they do. Lexie’s different with Tara—looser, lighter. She told me once that Tara was her first real friend since elementary school.

“So does this mean you’re going to be ticking off number one?” Tara whispers, and my ears perk up.

“What’s number one?” I ask, suddenly way more interested in their girl talk than I should be.

Lexie shoots Tara a death glare.

“Nothing,” she says, but I’m not buying that shit for a second.

I turn to Tara—the weak link in this operation. “Come on, Tara. What’s number one?”

“Nothing,” she repeats, but she’s about as convincing as a kid with chocolate all over their face denying they ate the cookies.

Time to play dirty. I snatch Lexie’s pen—one of those fancy-ass ones with flowers and gold shit all over it.

“Tell me, or I’ll break the pen,” I’m bluffing, obviously. I’d never actually break her pen. But they don’t need to know that.

Tara gasps like I’ve just threatened to kick a puppy, and Lexie looks ready to murder me.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she hisses.

I put on a show of applying pressure to the pen. It’s working—I can see Lexie’s eye twitching. Bingo.

“Tara!” she snaps. “This is your fault.”

Tara grimaces. “I know, I’m sorry, Lex.” She checks her phone and remembers she’s got places to be. “Shit, I gotta go to class,” she says, patting Lexie on the thigh and giving me a half-assed wave before bolting.

“Coward,” Lexie mutters.

I raise an eyebrow, still holding her precious pen hostage. “Spill it, Lex.”

She looks like she’s in physical pain, but finally caves. “Fine! Fine! I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell anyone else and that we’ll never speak of this again.”

“Deal.” I nod.

“And that you’ll return my pen, unharmed.”

“Deal, now talk.”

She snatches her pen back and I wait for her to continue.

She groans, looking anywhere but at me. “Remember the first night we met, when I told you I had a college bucket list?”

“Yeah.” Like I could forget anything about that night.

“Tara thinks... with Eric... I might tick off number one.”

Jesus, it’s like trying to put together a puzzle. “Lex, I haven’t got a fucking clue what?—”

“I want to lose my virginity!” she blurts out.

Oh. Oh . Well, fuck.

My brain short-circuits. Lexie’s a virgin? I mean, it makes sense, but... fuck.

“Say something, Freddie,” she pleads.

“Oh. Uh. That’s cool?” I manage, immediately knowing it’s the wrong thing to say.

“Nooo, it is most certainly not cool,” she whines, dropping her head into her hands. “That’s why it’s number one. I just want to do...” She lowers her voice to a whisper, “it... so I can stop obsessing about doing it.”

Jesus Christ. The way she can’t even say “do it” without whispering is all the proof I need that she’s never been laid.

“Lex, it’s not a big deal. Half the people who claim they’ve had sex are probably lying anyway.” I try for casual, like we’re discussing the weather and not her virginity. Like the thought of her with Eric isn’t making me want to put my fist through a wall.

She nods quickly. “Yeah, I know, and I’ve done other stuff. But maybe after a few dates with Eric, I can finally tick it off.”

My stomach lurches. Eric. Fucking Eric. The guy who rescheduled a date to study math wants to be Alex’s first?

“I don’t need rose petals and candlelight,” she continues, playing with that damn pen. “I just want it to mean something, you know? I want to actually care about the person. Trust them.” She looks up at me through her lashes. “Eric seems clean and kind and... suitable.”

Suitable . Only Alex would treat losing her virginity like a job interview.

I think about my first time—fourteen, behind a log with Rachel Benson, awkward and rushed and far from romantic. Alex deserves better than that.

“Look,” I say carefully. “Your first time should be with someone you trust. And if that’s...” I swallow hard, “...Eric, then great.”

Her smile is small but genuine. “Thanks, Freddie.”

“For what?”

“For not making fun of me.”

“Hey, I save my dickishness for important things, Lex. Like being a giant nerd and making pre-lecture notes,” I tease, pointing at her binder.

I collapse onto my bed, feeling like I’ve been hit by a fucking train. Between classes, study sessions with Alex, and trying to keep up with Troy’s insane workout routine, I’m wiped. Not to mention my part-time job at the gym, where they’re giving me jack shit for hours lately. Clients have dried up, and I’m not getting many hours on reception.

I don’t even have the energy to respond to Brianna’s last text. She even promised to do that thing I love. Yeah. Something’s seriously off if I’m not biting on that one.

My phone buzzes, and I groan, bracing myself for Ethan with another “emergency” that’s just him fretting over which shirt shows off his abs more. But when I glance at the screen, it’s not Ethan—it’s a reminder to call home. Damn. Has it really been a week already?

I hit FaceTime before I can overthink it, pasting on my best “golden boy” smile. Mom’s face fills the screen, and I feel a pang in my chest seeing her. Even through the grainy quality, the exhaustion etched into her features is obvious. Her smile beams at me, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Freddie! What a lovely surprise.” Her voice is warm, as if she can pretend everything’s fine for a few minutes.

“Hey, Mom. Just checking in. How’s life in the thrilling metropolis of Goldsbend?” I lean back, half-listening as she launches into a rundown of Mrs. Henderson’s latest feud with the homeowners’ association. My eyes keep drifting back to the new lines around her eyes and the tension pulling at her mouth.

“Mom,” I interrupt, probably too sharply. “Are you okay? You look... tired.”

For a split second, the cheerful facade drops, revealing a glimpse of worry that made my stomach twist into knots. But she brushes it away with practiced ease.

“Oh, I’m fine, honey. Just busy with work and your father. You know how it is.” She gives me a small, tight smile.

I swallow against the tightness creeping up my throat. “How’s Dad? Any... any better?”

“He’s... managing,” she replies, the words slow and carefully chosen. “The new medication seems to be helping, a little.”

“Can I talk to him?” I ask, holding onto the hope that I might hear his voice for a minute, just long enough to convince myself he’s still there.

She hesitates. “He’s resting now,” she says, the words rushed like she’s afraid to say more. “You know how he gets in the evenings. But I’ll tell him you called.”

I nod, feeling the familiar heaviness settle in. We talk a little longer—small talk, mostly. She tells me about the weather, asks about my classes, and mentions cousin Sarah’s new disaster of a boyfriend. It’s all surface-level, but underneath it, I can feel her worry like static between us.

As we’re about to end the call, Mom pauses. “Freddie, honey... you’re doing well in school, right? You’re keeping your grades up?”

The tension in her voice is almost palpable, and I know it’s more than just grades she’s worried about. “Yeah, Mom. I’m doing fine.” More than fine, thanks to Lexie, but I don’t want to sound cocky. Not now.

She visibly relaxes, her shoulders dropping as she lets out a breath. “Good. That’s good. We’re so proud of you, you know. You’re going to do great things.”

I give her one last smile, as genuine as I can manage, and we say our goodbyes. But after the screen goes dark, I’m left staring at the ceiling, feeling like the biggest piece of crap. Here I am, living it up at college while she’s running herself into the ground taking care of Dad and probably losing sleep over how they’re going to afford his meds. Megan’s practically killing herself to get a soccer scholarship, and if she doesn’t land it, she’s talking about deferring a year to stay in Goldsbend. And I know she’d do it. She hates it there, but she’d stay if it meant helping out.

Mom’s tired eyes, Dad’s mounting medical bills, Meg’s college dreams—it all comes down to me. I have to make this work. Have to get a good job, be the son they need me to be.

With a groan, I haul myself up and grab my textbook. No more distractions. No more daydreaming or doing anything else that isn’t directly related to securing a kick-ass job after graduation and looking after my family. Time to man the fuck up.