Page 72 of On His Mind

They both stop.

Benson looks up. Stanley twists his head around on the carpet with his cheek mashed flat, and for a second, nobody moves. I stand there with my heart going.

Then Stanley says, “Get off me, you psychopath,” and Benson grinds his face into the rug, and the whole thing starts over.

Blue arrives quietly the next day. Rowan gets in a few hours later, and he’s complaining in the kitchen.

“You’re not even unpacked,” Benson argues.

Rowan scoffs. “There’s nothing in this fridge.”

Benson makes a high-pitched voice. “There’s stuff in the fridge.”

“There are condiments and a lemon.” He shakes his head.

Stanley slaps the table. “I’ll pay you, Laurens. Monthly. Cash. If you cook.”

“Me too,” Benson says.

Blue looks at me.

“I’m in,” I say.

The kitchen stops.

Stanley doesn’t say anything. He gets up out of his chair, comes around behind me, takes the back of my neck in one hand and squeezes. Then he turns and looks at Rowan and nods, slow, waiting.

“Fuck it,” Blue says. “Me too.”

Stanley grabs the back of Blue’s neck now, looking over at Benson who’s watching the whole thing.

Rowan looks at the four of us. “Fine.”

Stanley takes my cheeks in both hands and shakes them.

“You convinced him, Mon Petit Percy. And you, baby Blue. The freshmen are coming out of their shells!”

“We’re not freshmen anymore,” Blue says.

Stanley nods. “Yeah. So you two talk now, apparently. This year should be interesting.”

That night, he stands on the coffee table and shouts, “House meeting.”

“Get off the table,” Rowan says.

“This is a podium.” He has a cup of water in his hands. “Reeve, myself, and Laurens are juniors. That’s leadership. That’s a burden I carry gladly.” He points at me, then at Blue. “You two. No longer freshmen. Congratulations. Nobody’s picking up pucks for the seniors anymore—”

“We picked up pucks for you,” Blue says.

“—and I want that respected.”

“We had no choice.”

“Big Ten,” Stanley says, sailing straight over him. “Home opener is going to be a good one. We have a good line. Boston in October. Wisconsin in November.” He drinks his water. “There will be scouts at that Michigan game. Actual scouts. I intend to be perceived.”

“You intend to embarrass,” Rowan says.

“You could get looked at this year.” He says it lightly. “Reeve’s already in.”