Chapter 5

"I don't know how to tell you this, so I'm just going to say it," Clay says quietly, as we make our way across campus to the indoor pool for water polo practice. It's earlier than I'd like to be up on a Saturday morning. Zombies are mowing the grass and taking out trash, helping the ghosts get the school ready for the day. "I'm pretty sure your nokk is looking to change roommates."

I flinch, although it's slow, since I'm still waking up. I huddle deeper into my oversize hoodie. "How do you know that?"

When I returned from the cafeteria yesterday, Steve was already asleep, only a bit of his dark hair showing at the top of his bedding, so I went to Clay's room to watch movies. We watched a recent release—his choice, I kept my word—and Dead Poets Society . Then, this morning, Steve got up early to shower, and I realized I was late for practice. I quickly stripped down, shoved on my Speedo, put my pajama pants back on along with the hoodie, and headed out before he was done. Leaving without saying goodbye felt wrong, but I had to hurry to meet Clay.

"I saw him at the housing office last night," he says. "They got me a replacement key."

"You actually had lost your key already, Cannon?" Before he can answer, I continue. "Never mind. He doesn't want to stay with me?" The idea makes my heart sink, and I stumble in my flip-flops. I'd thought I was having better luck here than in Arizona, but maybe not. And I don't understand this pull I feel toward Steve.

Last night, I really needed to jack off, but with him there, I didn't do anything. I'll have to take a long shower after practice.

Clay shakes his head sadly. "Sorry, dude."

"I'll talk with him when I see him next," I say. "Maybe there's some misunderstanding. I thought I made him laugh yesterday."

I thought there was some connection between us. Like he could be a friend.

"Maybe so." Clay doesn't sound convinced.

We get to the locker room and stow our clothes, keys, and phones in our lockers before taking our towels to the pool and dumping them on the bleachers. Then we jump into the salt water, joining everyone already there swimming conditioning laps. The moment I get in the pool, I relax. There's just something about being surrounded by water that makes me feel better. Energized.

But as I start swimming, I'm thinking about what Clay said. My roommate doesn't want to live with me. He's already trying to get away.

Because he can't stand me.

Except … he was nice to me. So what's the deal?

My body goes rigid, and I jab angrily at the water, my form all wonky. That's the thing about being underwater: It's just you and your thoughts. Nowhere to hide from them. Only a black line on the bottom of the pool to follow. It's like when there's no music on in a car. Too much emptiness.

I need to get my head straight. I owe it to the team to give it my best at each practice, so I do my best to shove Steve's dark eyes and mysterious nature to the side, instead focusing on getting faster and stronger.

When I come up for air and stop at the end of the lane, Coach is crouching down to talk with Clay and me.

"You were late, Fernandez," Coach says. "You too, Cannon. That means ten extra laps at the end of practice."

"Yes, Coach," we both mutter.

Then we start drills. I'm grateful for the distraction.

There are a number of other humans on the team: Ashton, Bailey, Diego, Ren, and Carlos. Only Ashton is from Pennsylvania. The rest are like me, recruited from around the country specifically to come to Creelin for polo. Then there are the monsters. Besides Clay, there's Phil, the Sasquatch with incorrect information, Nick, who's a Loch Ness Monster shifter, some mermen and dragon shifters, and a gnome. Fifteen of us total.

The program here has traditionally been good. Opening it up to humans means all eyes will be on us, so the school worked hard to attract the best available players. Some people think humans are at a disadvantage playing against monsters, but I think that's narrow-minded. I'm enthusiastic about the upcoming season. We got this.

I'd better be optimistic. We have a lot to prove. If we don't show that humans and monsters can compete together at this level, it will set back human-monster relationships.

So, no pressure. In fact, Creelin's whole experiment is putting the school under a microscope. At least, that's what the harpy said when she gave me the tour.

The team does drills, and then we run plays and practice taking shots on goal until the two-hour session is over. Everyone else goes inside to change, and Clay and I do our extra laps after agreeing to meet the team for breakfast when we finish.

By the time we head back to the dorms, the sun has risen all the way. My body's feeling strong, and my brain's clear. That's better. In my room, though, there's no sign of my roommate. His bed is stripped.

I'd lived here by myself for a few weeks, and I'd gotten used to having the space—an empty bed, a bookshelf waiting for books, a desk with nothing on it. Being alone meant I had freedom to stroke one out in peace.

Now, there's a pillow and a crumpled duvet on his bed—I'm not sure where his fitted sheet is, but maybe it was gross from travel—combat boots on the floor, and the bottle of vodka on the shelf. I spy the jar from the spider sitting on the windowsill. Where did he put the slide with my blood?

I text Steve a glass, drop of blood, shocked face, wave, and pool.

He leaves me on read.

I frown at my phone. Then I catch the time. Shoot, gotta go. I race into the shower to wash off the salt water from the pool—I prefer my own toiletries but don't like dragging them down to practice every time—and book it down to the cafeteria to have breakfast with the team.

Steve isn't in the cafeteria. Not that I look.

After I choose scare-rambled eggs, bacon, toast, and orange juice, I sit down across from Phil and shake my fork at him. "Dude, Brainz Liquor totally checks IDs."

Phil cocks his head and sips his coffee. "No way."

"Way."

"They didn't check mine," he says defensively.

I roll my eyes. "That's probably because"—I gesture at him—"they thought you were older than you are."

Phil's twenty, but with his Sasquatch hair and height, he could pass for whatever age. He waxes his whole body for polo, but his hair grows back so fast, I don't see why he bothers. We've had to help him every week, but ripping off the hair is just an exercise in pain, as far as I can tell. I wish he'd let himself be, as is.

"Sorry, man," Phil says, and his regret looks genuine. At least from what I can see of his face.

"It's okay," I mutter.

"Did it work, though? Could you get the vodka?" Phil bites into his bacon.

"Clay got it for me. He's older than he looks."

Clay elbows me in the ribs—like being stabbed with an icicle, I swear—and I stick my tongue out at him. "Don't make fun of nontraditional students," Clay says.

"I wouldn't dream of it," I say, smiling at him.

"At least you could buy it in the end," Phil says. "Did your roommate like it?"

My face falls. "Yes? I don't know. I thought so. Maybe? He seems distant. And I haven't been able to talk with him much. I just want to have a good year. I want him to, you know, like me. Be a friend."

"Keep trying," Clay murmurs. "But if it's not meant to be, don't force it."

I blink at him. I told him what happened to me before. He knows how much it matters to me to have a good experience at school.

But he may be right. I can't force someone to like me.

"So," Phil says. "Who's going to the bonfire?"

Everyone raises their hands.

"Get your roommate to go!" Nick says. He's got a Scottish accent, though he says he's been in the US since he was "a wee one." He's our backup goalie.

"That's a good idea," I say. "I'll ask him. Although I'm worried he'll say no. He's said no to almost everything I've suggested so far."

"I'll come with and reinforce the invitation," Clay says. "Besides, I want to formally meet a nokk."

"Fine," I huff, and take a bite of my toast. I text Steve a flame emoji, followed by a celebration horn, a mug of beer, music notes, and a thumbs-up.

He leaves me on read.

"Is anyone going to the orientation by Dean Yaga today?" I ask.

They all shake their heads. "It's just for humans," Clay tells me.

"Ah. I'm not sure I need it, since I've been here a little while."

"You might as well go," Clay says.

Before we head to the dorms, I pull Clay into Mummy Mocha so I can buy Steve a coffee and a fruit cup. I have the impression that Steve doesn't take great care of himself. And he seemed so … lonely.

When Clay and I step into my dorm room, Steve's sitting at his desk doing something on his laptop. Like before, he startles when I walk in, but this time he seems to brace himself, holding on to the seat of the chair.

Also like before, my heartbeat thunders, and my skin prickles with awareness.

Clay steps forward and holds out his hand. "Hi, I'm Clay Cannon. You're the nokk?"

Steve rises and shakes his hand, then returns to his seat. "Yes. You may call me Steve. It is nice to meet you, Clay."

Clay winks and gives Steve his charming smile, looking him up and down in his usual flirty way. A flash of protectiveness goes through me. I don't want Clay being his player self with my new roommate. I elbow Clay—which is like poking a glacier—and he looks at me, frowning.

"He's not interested," I mutter, although I don't know that for sure. I clear my throat and turn to Steve, setting down the coffee and food by him on the desk. "Brought you breakfast."

Steve's eyebrows rise, and he blinks a few times. "Thank you." He sniffs the coffee, then takes a sip and looks more content.

"Hey, you made your bed! Something spill on the sheets?"

"Um, yes. Or … they needed to be cleaned."

"Cool. Wanna go to a bonfire party at the river tonight?" I ask, smiling. I don't know why Steve makes me smile. He just does. There's something about him that I want to … protect. Guard. Take care of. He seems so lonely, and I want him to be happy. "I hear it's tradition, and the dean looks the other way."

"No, I do not care to go," Steve says. His Norwegian accent is so cute. Even when he's glum, his voice still comes out all musical, the syllables moving up and down in inflection like a cosine wave.

"Do you have something else going on?" I ask.

"No."

"You just want to be alone?"

He hesitates. And that's when I know I've got him. I'd leave him alone—reluctantly—if I thought he actually wanted to be alone. But he doesn't.

"Come on," I coax. "You don't have to stay if you don't like it. But I think you want to come."

He shrugs. "I guess. I do not know …"

"Don't know what?"

"How to be with a large group of people. I can be … awkward."

"Me, too," I say cheerfully, and put my hands on his narrow shoulders. Steve shivers, and I feel something pulse between us. Weird. Pleasant, though. I let him go after giving him a squeeze. "Come be awkward with me and Clay."

"Speak for yourself, Fernandez," Clay says, crossing his arms.

"Come on, old man. You can show us how it's done."

Clay rolls his eyes. Steve is watching us like we're playing tennis. "Old man?" he asks.

"I was twenty when the Halloween Wave hit," Clay explains. "And it took me a while to get back to school. I needed to get used to being a vampire, first. Then I got a job, but I didn't like it, so I decided I needed better education. It's not like I won't have time. Unless someone shoves a stake into my heart, I'm pretty much immortal. Now I want to learn as much as possible."

"That's remarkably wise," I say.

"Don't act so shocked," Clay says. "Just because I sound like I don't have that much going on doesn't mean I don't want that to change."

I take a minute to puzzle out all those negatives before saying, "Sorry. I wasn't trying to insult you. You're brilliant. I'd just been wondering."

"It's a touchy subject. All these young kids at school, and here I am feeling old. But I don't look it."

"You don't really act it, either, if I'm honest."

Clay glares. "Do me a favor. Don't be honest."

"Ha ha. Okay. Fine," I say. "Steve and I will lie to you."

Steve furrows his greenish-black brows. "I do not lie."

"I'm kidding." I grin. "Well, kidding about you and me lying. Not kidding about wanting you to come to the bonfire." A pang hits my heart, and I give him my biggest puppy dog eyes. "So, now that we've settled Clay's old-age, or maybe age-old, issues, will you come with us tonight?"

Steve nods, and I feel like I won something major. Yuss .

After chatting a bit more, Clay and I take off—him to his room and me to the human orientation. I can't wait to get through that and hang with Steve tonight. I want to get to know him better.