Page 21 of The Switched-Up Playbook
Damn, looks like I have to do my own laundry later. But tomorrow I will return prepared. The thought of Hart unknowingly washing my socks and jockstrap gives me a ridiculous amount of schadenfreude. No matter how annoying he is, this silver lining will carry me through this week.
“Didn’t you give up junk food?”
“Huh?” I mumble around a mouth full of fries. I at least try to eat healthy during the season, but despite the lack of movement, I lost a few pounds over the span of my recovery. My appetite came back once I was allowed to skate again, but I still have a few pounds to catch up on.
“Junk food. I thought you were cutting out fries and burgers?”
I blink at that. I would definitely never cut out fries and burgers from my diet and neither would Nate. There’s something immensely satisfying about the fatty juice running over my fingers as I take a big bite from my extra-large burger. The cheese has the perfect consistency—warm and soft but notmelted. I close my eyes when I swallow my first bite ofrealfood, a moan escaping me.
Somewhere across the room Hart snorts. “That answers that then.”
I still think about it when I sort through my damp practice gear an hour later. Despite choosing different colleges, Nate and I see each other every weekend due to the closeness of our schools. During the week, my brother calls me daily to tell me about his routines, to gossip about his classmates or try and convince me to go along with another of his outlandish plans. Obviously, we can’t fit everything into those moments, but there are things I simply assumed would never change: like the combination of his lock or his love for junk food.
No matter how stupid, I can’t help but feel betrayed by this day. Switching was supposed to be a dumb idea but still easy to execute. I’m my brother’s twin for fuck’s sake; sometimes it feels like I have known him longer than myself. Yet I find Hart throwing me weird glances at every turn I take.
“I hope the guys give you hell,” I murmur as I think of my brother at the Nook. It can’t be easy for a stage hog like Nate to decline party invites just so he can have a quiet TV night with the rest of my roomies.
I sigh when I finally untangle the cup from my jockstrap to throw it into the washing machine, then freeze. My heart skips the next beat and my eyes widen in absolute horror when I stare down at the protective equipment in my hand. When we decided to go through with this, I only grabbed a week’s worth of underwear, since all my other clothes needed to stay at the Nook. Nate even complained about having to dress like an “athletic caveman” now. Not one moment did I think twice about using the gear in his duffel bag, including the cup and jockstrap—or mouthguard.
Suddenly the fries climb up my throat again and I gag. There’s a difference between sharing everything with your twin and sharingeverything!
Just three more days until Saturday.
Nicko, October 19th
Tomorrow is Saturday.
This is my mantra as I follow Xander and two other Bats down the stairs of the eerily quiet dorm. It’s half past four in the fucking morning—the only time where you could probably hear a pin drop in these hallways, since the partygoers have finally climbed into bed while the early birds are still nestled in their warm blankets.
And then there’s us, sneaking out like burglars in joggers and running shoes.
I’m almost certain that I’ve been found out and this is the team’s punishment for me. No way in hell does Nate have a standing runner’s date at half-past four in the morning! Not my outgoing, party animal of a brother, who is the first to enter and the last to leave a dance floor!
Then again, this is not the only new thing I have learned about my twin over the past few days. Apparently, Nate has been living a completely different life here at St. Bernard’s, because the last time I checked, he detested morning sport just as much as I do.
There is already a small group of other SBU athletes waiting for us outside. They have formed a small circle, chatting softly among themselves while stretching on the damp pavement.
A gust of wind greets us as we step through the big doors, shocking me into an absolute standstill. The cool air sneaks under my shirt and grazes my bare arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. Fucking hell, this is madness!
“You okay?”
Hart throws me a wary look as I shiver pitifully from head to toe.
“Yes,” I bite out, but I actually mean no. Nothing is okay. It’s my fourth day in my brother’s life, and I’m officially at a new low.
I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep since I’m not used to sharing a room anymore. Every rustling of covers has me startling at night, not to mention the constant traffic in the hallways. I had all but forgotten how busy the dorms are. Add to that the hours of working through the syllabus of my own missed classes while at the same time desperately trying to pretend I have read Shakespear’s fever dreams, and I’m all but crawling after the guys as they start down one of the dark trails.
Hart falls into a slow jog next to me, and I bite my tongue to prevent any snark from slipping out. I would prefer to suffer on my own, but he already commented on me hiding in the library all day yesterday.
“Where’s your phone?” he asks me as he puts his earplugs in.
“Forgot it upstairs,” I answer through gritted teeth. I can feel my stomach cramping up, clearly confused and angry why I’m putting it through this ordeal before breakfast.
Hart doesn’t say anything in return. Instead, he hands me one of the black earplugs Nate got him for last year’s Christmas. I want to refuse on principle but still reach out after he leaves his hand hanging between us. I discreetly wipe it on my shirt—Idon’t want Hart’s earwax in my auditory canal—while he is busy selecting a playlist.
I’m not sure what I expected. Probably some good guy music that fits his poster boy nature. He seems like a radio type of person. Someone who would shrug and tell you they listen to everything, really, as long as the curse words get bleeped out.
I almost lose my footing when instead of Ed Sheeran’s soft voice there’s a hard guitar riff blasting out my eardrum. I spend the next hour getting screamed at in my left ear while stumbling over the abandoned SBU campus.
