Page 8 of Movers and Fakers

My father likes to say that a man makes his own luck. And it seems, based on the scheme I’ve concocted, he might be right.

Chapter five

Signed, Sealed, Delivered

Aurora Driscoll

By the time I get home from rehearsals, it’s almost ten at night. I trudge into the living room, surprised to see Saylor awake. She’s cocooned in blankets on the couch, a spoon tucked into a jar of crunchy peanut butter. Her eyes are trained on the TV, which is playing what looks to be a documentary about sharks. A great white breaches through the waves while a man drones on about how much power it takes to propel their giant bodies.

“What are you doing up so late?” I ask, startling her.

She turns her head toward me, and in the light of the TV, I notice something off about her. Her hair is in a messy bun when it’s usually in a sleek style, and I could be seeing things, but I think her eyes are puffy. I glance around for my other roommates, but if they knew something was wrong, they’d be here. Last I heard, they were both out with their boyfriends tonight.

“It’s Friday,” she mumbles. “I can stay up late on Fridays.”

I raise a brow. “You’re an adult, you can stay up late every day of the week if you want. But you rarely do.”

She huffs and digs her spoon into the peanut butter.

“I’ve decided to be more adventurous. Live life on the edge.”

“Peanut butter and shark documentaries. What a daredevil you’ve become,” I reply wryly, then pull out my phone to check our shared calendar. Maybe she had a test today that went poorly.

What I see in the color-coded app is much worse than a bad test, though.

“You had a date,” I voice.

She scowls down at the peanut butter jar, poking her spoon around without taking a bite.

“I was supposed to have a date, yes. But I went to the quad and waited for thirty minutes, only for the guy not to show. Do you know how many flashcards I could study in thirty minutes?” she exclaims. I shake my head. “A lot. I carved out so much time to see the movie he suggested, only for him to not show and block me on Love Birds.”

I sigh. Talking about guys and dating is not my thing. Emotions in general are not something I delve into very often, but Saylor is my friend, and I care about her. So as much as I’d like to shower and crawl into bed, I go and sit by her on the couch instead.

“That sucks,” I offer, because I don’t know what else to say. “He’s an idiot.”

“He’s pre-med and graduated top of his high school class,” she mumbles around a spoonful of peanut butter.

“I stand by my statement.”

Her laugh makes my lips tug up in a small smile.

“Why is this so hard? I mean, I didn’t expect to find my husband on the first date, but I also didn’t think I’d go through this many duds.”

During our first semester, Saylor informed all of us roommates that she plans on finding her husband before college is over. She thinks that her likelihood of finding one after college—during med school and residency—is slim. I’m pretty sure she has a graph somewhere about it. And over the summer, she decided it was time to put action to her plan, so she got an account on Love Birds and has been going out on dates whenever she can fit them into her insanely busy schedule.

“Don’t ask me. The only guys I talk to are my dad and brother.”

“And Hayes Rosewood,” Saylor says with a grin. “Did you talk to him today? When’s your first tutoring session?” She says tutoring session the same way someone would say secret rendezvous.

“We exchanged information, and he sent me a contract,” I reply. Then, because I know she’ll enjoy it, I add, “He put his number in my phone under Prince Charming.”

Saylor throws her head back laughing. “He did not.”

“He did. And he won’t stop making royalty jokes; it’s obnoxious. But money is money. So I’m going to sign the contract and take it. I read it earlier in between class and rehearsal. It said he’s going to give me $20,000 up front, the rest after he passes.”

Saylor’s eyes bug out of her head.

“That’s insane. Wouldn’t that cover everything you need already?”