Bridgeport Academy 2

2

"Hey pussy," Dave shouted as he flung open the door to the second-floor Richards dorm room he shared with Aubrey, his Jordans soaked and squeaking noisily against the previously clean floor. "Aw," he cooed when he saw the drawn curtains and Aubrey curled up beneath his extremely prissy, peach-colored throw. "Is Sleeping Beauty still sleeping?"

Asshole, Aubrey cursed into his pillow. Maybe a person with a normal degree of self-awareness could walk into a room, notice the closed curtains, the body under the covers and think, Maybe I won't stomp around like a moron. Apparently that was too much to ask of Dave.

"Fuck off, East," Aubrey growled as he raised his head from his pillow high enough to give Dave a withering glare. The problem with Dave—or one problem with Dave—was that he was too self-absorbed to give a shit whether or not his roommate was sleeping or studying or wallowing in self-pity. Dave came in only one volume: loud.

"Don't you have practice, bruh?" Dave flicked on the light switch, and the darkened lair was flooded with fluorescent light. Aubrey pulled the blanket up over his face.

Practice. Yeah, he had practice. And since he was junior captain of the squash team, he should probably get off his ass and show up. But the thought of smacking a stupid rubber ball around a fifteen-by-fifteen room with another sweaty guy—well, he just wasn't up for it today. Aubrey had uncharacteristically skipped his last class of the day. The gray rainy day depressed him and made him want nothing more than to curl up in his cozy bed, take a long nap, and maybe never wake up.

That was a little morbid, yeah. But he hadn't been feeling himself since the weekend before last, when Robyn had completely humiliated him by ordering him to watch some gay porno in front of everyone at the Ritz party. Sure, he'd been acting a little overprotective, but Robyn was making a total ass of herself, jumping up on the desk and drunkenly tearing off her clothes to try and keep up with Jasmine. It always made Aubrey sick to think about how little self-respect Robyn had and how highly she admired the quite possibly sociopathic Jasmine. He couldn't help it—it killed him to see her acting like a mindless clone. He had asked her to come back to his room to talk in private. Or maybe do a little more than just talk. But Robyn had mocked him, screaming at him to leave her alone.

Well, if that's the way she wanted it, fine. He was tired of obsessing over Robyn. Besides, she was clearly not over Chris. He could tell the sole reason she'd gotten up on that dresser to do her little striptease was she'd caught Chris admiring Jasmine body and it killed her. He found both Jasmine and Chris loathsome—and of course, Robyn idolized both of them. He wasn't about to wait around for her to realize what soulless slimebags they were and come running back to him.

If only he had something better to do...

Aubrey tossed off his ultra-soft blanket and set his bare feet on the cold wooden floor. He was already dressed for practice in his navy blue Adidas track pants with the white stripes down the sides. "Don't get your panties in a bunch, Dave. I was just taking a quick catnap."