Chapter 7

Tuesday morning, I get up early for practice, and Steve is sleeping in his bed. Something eases in my chest. He's here, and he's safe. He doesn't look well-rested, though. His eyes look more sunken than I remember, like he might be sick.

I want to leave him something to help him feel better, but I don't know what he needs. Something about Steve pulls me to him, though. I'm not sure whether it's how he seems to quietly observe everything, his cute little mannerisms—like how he doesn't use contractions—or how he dresses like he's an emo guy from the early 2000s.

I just want to get to know him. Is that too much to ask?

I quickly throw on my bathing suit, hoodie, and lounge pants and book it to the pool complex, where Coach beats our asses. But I suppose that's the right thing for him to do if we're going to win a championship this year, which is always my goal. This team's motivated to prove that monsters and humans can succeed together, so we're all putting in extra effort.

I spend the entire practice wondering how my roommate's doing, and the moment we're done, I head back to the dorm, still in my Speedo with my towel wrapped around my waist.

My haste pays off, because I catch Steve in our room.

Happiness bubbles up inside me when I see his cute face, that dark hair, those webbed fingers. There's just something about him that I can't seem to get enough of.

"Hi!" I chirp, rubbing his shoulder so he wakes up, water falling in my face from my wet hair. "How have you been doing? Are you ready for the second day of school? Do you know where today's classes are?"

Steve blinks at me, his dark eyes looking almost like they have a film over them. The outline of his body seems more staticky than it was when I first met him. His eyes take in my bare torso—covered in stretch marks from when I weighed double what I do now—and he swallows hard. I take a step back and give him space to sit up. He does so, but he keeps his duvet around him.

He's wearing a dark gray T-shirt that's many sizes too big for him, and I can see the waistband of his gray plaid pajama pants. He yawns and says, "I am fine."

Alarm bells ring in my head. Something is wrong, and I want to save him … but I don't know what to do, since I don't know what I'd be saving him from. Himself?

I stare at him. "Are you sure? I haven't seen you around. It must be a big adjustment—"

"I am fine, Brandon." His hands grip his mattress like he's afraid he'll float away. Is something wrong? Do I smell bad? I don't smell like chlorine, because there isn't any in our pool. Does he not like my stretch marks? They're part of me—part of my history.

I put my hands on my hips. "Want me to grab you some coffee like yesterday?"

He shakes his head, pressing his lips together.

I sit down on my bed, across from him. I want to ask if I did something wrong, but I can take a hint. He doesn't want to talk to me. In fact, it seems like he can barely look at me.

That hurts.

I run my hand over my face and grab my clothes so I can shower. I smile as brightly as I can. "If you need something, just let me know."

"Thank you," he says quietly.

When I'm done with my shower, though, Steve hasn't moved. How many times can I ask him if he's okay?

One more. "I can bring you back some breakfast."

"I am fine," he repeats.

Maybe he's just not a morning person. I check my phone. "Sorry, I gotta get some food before class. Catch you later?"

He nods.

I race down to the first floor of the library and into Mummy Mocha, where I buy myself breakfast and Steve a coffee and a fruit cup from the same redheaded kid who served me before, who I learn is named Tanner. Steve's in the shower when I drop off the drink and food. I can't hang around to see if he's looking better, since I have to run to get to class on time.

Business class in a monster university features rows of students with laptops, some playing on their phones. There's a whiteboard at the front of the room and a screen that projects the professor's computer screen. In other words, it's a normal classroom.

Except the person next to me has oozing skin. There's a group of incubi in the front row that most people steer clear of because they don't want to have someone feed off their sexual energy, even inadvertently. And there's Seth, from Mummy Mocha, chatting with two other guys.

Like everywhere I go at Creelin, I feel as if everyone's eyes are on me. I never got this much attention back home. I scan myself to see if I wore something weird, but no, my shorts zipper is up, and my shirt doesn't have any stains on it.

The professor—who I think is a ghost—passes out a syllabus and starts talking about what we're going to cover this term, and it feels like every other class I've attended my whole life. With each new class I attend, I relax a little more.

I go back to the dorm room after Integrated Business Management, but Steve isn't there. I text him a bed, waving hand, book, laptop, and merman.

He leaves me on read.

I hang out as long as I can before Intro to Monsterkind—a mandatory class for humans—but I don't see him, and I end up having to run all over campus the rest of the day.

Then he sends me a waving hand emoji. He responded!

I peek at the text every chance I get, my heart feeling lighter.

I'm about to go to dinner, and my phone rings just as Steve walks in. I look at the name displayed on the screen and answer the call with a smile.

"Baby girl!" I coo. The corners of Steve's mouth turn down. He goes over to his desk and opens his laptop.

"Hi, Bran!" Hearing my younger sister's voice brings a lump to my throat.

"I miss you. How are you?" My voice warms.

"I'm okay." A pause. "I wish you weren't so far away. Are you going to be able to visit at all this year?"

"I'll come home for winter break. Can you wait that long to see me?"

Viviana sighs the kind of weighted, exasperated sigh that only a teenager can muster. "I guess."

I wave at Steve, mouthing "Dinner?"

He shakes his head.

I shut the door behind me and return to my call, walking down the hallway. "You can do it. Are the kids at school treating you okay?"

Another sigh. "I guess."

A flare of protectiveness surges through me. "Do I need to fly back and have a friendly discussion with any of them?"

"No. Romeo moved away."

"That's a relief." He was a jerk. "So you think school is going to be good this year?"

"Yes. I just miss you."

"I miss you, too, baby girl. How's Mom and Dad? And Ofelia and Ruben?" Our older sister and brother.

"Mom and Dad are here. Wanna talk to them?"

"I do, but I want to talk to you first."

"Okay. Ofelia and Ruben are at work."

We chat for a while, and she gets me caught up on all the high school and family gossip. Then I talk with my parents for a few minutes before joining the team at dinner. I eat fast so I can try to get back to my room and chat with Steve. When I return, though, he's not there. I stay up as late as I can, but he doesn't come in until I'm almost asleep.

The following morning, we have a break from polo practice, but I'm still up before Steve. I go and get coffee and breakfast and return before he leaves the room.

Steve's been looking paler and paler, to the point where his skin has a gray tinge. Of course, given that he's a shifter, I'm not sure of his natural color. But it's clear he's not doing well. He's got dark circles under his eyes, and his hair has gone really lank.

"Do you need to call your parents?" I ask, passing him the coffee, which he accepts and sips. His face relaxes a bit at the taste, which makes me happy, but I'm still worried about him. "Are you missing them?"

He snorts. "No. I am not missing my family."

The way he says it is so final. I suppose not every family is as close as mine is.

"Is there something I can do?" I ask. "Have you been eating enough? Do you need me to bring you something?"

"I am fine."

He doesn't look fine. He looks like he's about to collapse. I don't know what to do. "Should I take you to the health center? Do you need to see a nurse?"

"No. I am fine," he grits out.

A helpless sort of anger flashes through me. I stand up and put my hands on my head. "If you say you're fine one more time, we may have to have words. C'mon, man. You know something's wrong. What is it?"

Steve clams up. I suppose demanding that he talk to me wasn't the right move, but I don't know what is.

"I gotta get to class," I mutter. "But you can tell me what the problem is. I promise I won't judge you. I just want to help. I like you."

He looks at his feet.

Finally, when it's clear he isn't going to give me anything to work with, I sling my backpack over my shoulder and take off.

But I vow to start a one-man mission to cheer Steve up.

"I'm worried about my roommate," I tell Clay, when he catches up to me for lunch after my monster history class. I text Steve a purple monster, sunglasses, waving hand, lobster, and steak.

He leaves me on read.

"Oh? Why?" Clay has a bag of blood on his cafeteria tray, and he comes over to join me in the human food line. I knew I'd miss the southwestern dishes I'm used to—my mom's green chili stew being my favorite. But at least there are the familiar monster-ella sticks and French frights. The vending machines sell Ghosta-cola. Today, though, I just grab a turkey sandwich, an apple, and chips. Clay and I go to the nearest clerk, who is a zombie. I hand him my ID, and he swipes it to pay for the food.

"Steve seems … moody. Morose. Melancholy," I mutter to Clay.

"Maybe he's missing home. We all get a little homesick." He digs in his pocket for his ID and sighs. I roll my eyes and let the zombie scan my card again.

"It seems like he's not eating much. He just drinks coffee if I bring it."

"Hmm," Clay says. I spot Phil, Bailey, Ashton, and Nick at a table, and we head over.

"Can we join you?" I ask.

They nod and make way. My phone pings with a text, and as soon as I put my tray down, I look and see a message from Steve. It's the heart with a bandage on it. That makes something inside me ache.

"What's up?" Phil asks, noticing my expression.

"My roommate's bummed out."

"You're living with the nokk?" Nick asks.

I take a bite of my sandwich. "Yeah."

"He could be despondent because he hasn't immersed himself in fresh water," Nick says. "I can tell when I go too long without the right kind of water, and usually the fix is just to jump in a lake."

Phil nods. "Nick is correct. nokks are nature spirits. They can get depressed when they aren't in a natural environment. I know a couple of nymphs, and they have the same issue. Has he gone to the river yet?"

"I have no idea," I say.

"Maybe that's the problem. If he's away from his home water source and busy with classes, he's probably off schedule and needs to recharge to restore his health and get his full powers. Or at least to improve his mood. Get your nokk in the water," Phil advises. "See if that cheers him up."

"Will do," I say. "I never knew any of this stuff, and it's interesting. Maybe I should major in monster kinesiology instead of business."

"Maybe," Nick says. "That sounds cool."

"What's up with everyone else?" I bite into my apple.

"I've got a date tomorrow," Clay says.

I look at him in surprise. "You do? Who with?"

"This guy from my Victorian literature class. Wanna come?"

I scoff. "I'm not coming on your date."

"I don't know that it's really a date," Clay admits. "I told him that a bunch of us were hanging out, and I asked if he wanted to join us."

"That sounds about right. You were too nervous to ask him out for real?" Phil says.

Clay shrugs. "I like the guy."

I grin. Even after just a few weeks, I can tell that Clay can be a player, but he can also get shy if he really likes the person.

I can't wait to find Steve and see if I can make him feel better, so when the rest of them start discussing favorite snack foods, and Clay goes off on a tangent about the taste differences between synthetic and real blood, I beg off.

When I step into our room, I'm pleasantly surprised to catch my roommate sitting on his bed … but he looks terrible. His dark hair hangs in hanks over his face, and his eyes have even more of a film over them. His cheeks are sunken, and his entire body seems like he's barely hanging on.

I wince. This is absolutely unacceptable. I march up to him with a big, determined smile. "How are you doing?"

He shrugs, and something about that shrug is so lost that I can't stand it.

"That's it," I say. Bending over, I slip my arms under his legs and back and hoist him up like a bride. While he's not light, he's not heavy, either. I can carry him to the river, no problem. I work out.

"What are you doing?" Steve yelps. I like his weight in my arms. I like how he smells—like clean water. I like how cool his skin is and how soft his hair is against my neck. My pulse zips along faster.

He's too weak to even hold on to me properly. It makes my heart hurt.

It also makes me want to scold him, and I do. "I'm taking you to the river. Since you obviously haven't gone on your own. You know that proper self-care is important? You can't just go about barely eating or drinking, and, if you're a nokk, not getting in the amount of dunking you need."

"What are you, my doctor?" Steve mutters.

"No," I say gently. "Just a friend."

I mean that. I want to be his friend. I like him. There's something about him that makes me want to be near him all the time.

I carry him down the stairs and outside. We get some looks. But it's an indication of how bad Steve feels that he doesn't protest any more or try to get me to put him down.

Turns out it's a long damn way to the river when you're carrying someone else, and I'm sweating by the time I can see the water, but he needs this. Some of the returning guys on the water polo team have shown me the areas that are less crowded, and I head for one.

Finally, panting, I arrive at a quiet part of the riverbank. I shuck off my shoes, throw my wallet, phone, and keys on the ground, and wade into the water with Steve still in my arms.

He yelps again when the water first hits him, and then it's like he's gotten an infusion of pure joy.

Yes ! A deep relief comes over me, and I suddenly want to cry. Everything inside me goes light and giddy, and I'm sure that's nothing compared to what Steve's feeling.

His whole body relaxes, and he closes his eyes. His face fills out—it had been so gaunt, almost skeletal, now that I think about it. But now his skin isn't gray. It's still pale, but that's the look I think he chose.

Steve splashes, then does this merman-like dive. Before I know it, he pops up way upstream. Fastest swimming I've ever seen.

He's clearly not human, not governed by the laws of physics. He cuts through the water like he is water.

He surfaces, then dips down again.

My despondent roommate's suddenly joyful, and it makes me laugh. He whisks by, and I splash him. It's ineffective, since he's already wet, but it's fun. Then I take off swimming. My clothes weigh me down, but I'm only wearing a tank and shorts, so it's not too bad.

I chase after Steve in the river, laughing, and he pretends to let me catch him. We both know that's not possible, since he's so fast, but it's still fun.

"So, what have we learned?" I shout.

"That you are a very slow swimmer?" Steve replies.

"Rude. No, we've learned that we don't let you go more than a day without being in the water. I think you should go every day. It's nuts. I go swimming more than you do." I blink as an idea occurs to me. "OMG, that's it!"

"I'm sorry?"

"You should join water polo! You'd get course credit for athletics, and you could help your mental and physical well-being. Win-win. It's a saltwater pool, so no chlorine. That might make it close enough to river or ocean water to meet your needs. Plus you'd get to spend more time with me," I tease.

"That's true," he says quietly. Like that's actually something he'd want. I know I can be annoying and pushy, but it's nice to think that he's not utterly repulsed by me. "I am not into sport," Steve says.

"But you're a good swimmer."

"This is also true. I do not know how to play water polo, though."

"They can teach you. At least try out. I think you're a shoo-in. You'll pick up the rules fast, and we need help if we're going to beat Shuford this year. The game is fun—it's like a combination of basketball, a swim meet, and hockey, only you can't really move, and the water actively works against you."

"I will not have that problem, I do not think," he says. He swims so that he is right next to me, water dripping down his now-radiant face. "Brandon, thank you for taking care of me. I am sorry I did not … I did not pay enough attention to what I needed, so it got bad. You saved me."

I wave a hand. "Anyone would do the same thing."

"No, most people would not walk the kilometer or more you did to bring me to the river. Most people would not keep after me to do better. I am most grateful to you."

His lips part as if he is going to say something else, and his solid, dark eyes hold mine. He's not blinking, and neither am I. I want to move closer to him, to touch him. It feels like he's casting some sort of spell on me, and I think I like it. I fixate on his lips. I'm hyperaware of every part of my body, and … to be frank … my dick is chubbing up, even in the cool water, which is a little confusing. But Steve's beautiful—

There is a rustling in the leaves on the riverbank, and we both turn our heads.

Clay is standing at the water's edge, his blue-black hair shining in the sun. "Watch out for the kraken," he calls.

"What?" I shriek, and lurch for the bank, the spell broken.

Clay and Steve start laughing. Steve's laugh is like a singing brook. Clay sounds evil—an evil surfer from California.

"There's no kraken, is there?" I mutter.

"They exist, but they aren't in a river in Pennsylvania." Clay pauses. "Well, I don't know about that, actually. A few are enrolled as students."

"Come on in, you jerk," I say, splashing him.

It's a hot day. Not one to stay away from water, either, Clay rips off his shirt and shorts, then hops off a rock into a deep area wearing only his boxer briefs. We splash each other, and I've never seen Steve so animated. He needs this. I'm going to have to remember to give it to him.

"Are you going to join polo?" I ask him, when we're all waterlogged.

"Yes, okay, I will try out," he says. "You talked me into it."

"That's great," Clay says. "Coach'll be all over that. We need all the good swimmers we can get."

"Their need is apparent, if they have accepted Brandon," Steve says with a smile.

I splash him.

Steve's laughing and chatting, and it seems the most natural thing in the world. Now that I've seen him this way, I hope he can be this free more often.