The Underdogs: The Complete Series

by Stewart , Kate

  “So far he’s quiet and pays his rent on time,” I say, tossing a look at Troy, who drops the side of his mouth in a frown. “I don’t give a shit what he does in that room.”

  “I told you I’d get you next week,” Troy mumbles clicking his fob to unlock his truck before tossing his backpack onto the seat behind him. “I did spot a blonde creeping out of his room last Saturday.”

  Once inside Troy’s king cab, we collectively stare up at the dark window in curious silence.

  Troy’s the first to break it. “It is kind of creepy how he’s always sleeping.”

  Kevin spouts off pensively from behind us. “Maybe he’s got necrophilia.”

  Troy and I burst out laughing.

  “What?” Kevin leans in from the back seat, his mammoth hands gripping our headrests. “That shit is real. I know someone who has it.”

  “He wouldn’t be able to play if he had narcolepsy, dumbass,” Troy corrects for the both of us. “Necrophilia means sleeps with the dead.”

  “Wouldn’t that just mean he’s dead too?”

  “No dude, as in has sex with dead people,” Troy states with an exaggerated sigh. “Seriously, Kev, how did you get into this school?”

  “Eat shit, Jenner. I just mispronounced it, that’s all.”

  “Do yourself a favor and read a book, read several,” Troy advises, starting the truck. “Or Google. Just as educational, less time-consuming.”

  I groan, in protest. “Yes, because the internet is nothing if not factual.”

  “Still more of an education for him,” Troy mutters, hitching a thumb behind him. That’s the thing about Troy, he’s not a typical jock, he doesn’t really fit the stereotype like the company he keeps. He’s a decent guy. We get along. We talk about more than sports and women. On most levels, he can get deep. He has the looks, the king cab, and he’s built like an ax-wielding Viking ancestor. I have a little respect for him, and most days I don’t mind being the guy on the right.

  Everyone has a Troy, very few are lucky enough to be Troy. But Troy himself will tell you he doesn’t have it so great. With his status comes a shitload of pressure. I might admire the amount of attention he gets, but I don’t necessarily want it for myself. I’ve seen what that pressure does to him from time to time, and it’s not pretty. At times, he drinks too much and spends the rest of it playing catch up on his studies. He’s not a frat guy either, and he does the work along with the play. But as I study him when he pulls away from the curb, I can’t help but wonder how good it must feel to be king.

  Theo

  Four hours later…

  She’d screeched…in the way of a monkey. Not exactly the throaty and appreciative moan I was hoping for. That’s my first thought when I come to. The room is spinning, and I can’t find my boxers in the dim light. Another pound on the door has me scrambling for clues as to how I got here.

  How many shots had I done?

  Shots and keg-stands, my brain answers as I wipe the sweat from my forehead.

  Bile burns my throat as the aftermath hits me. My chest is shredded, and I can feel the evidence when I pull down my sweater.

  What in the hell happened?

  Grimacing, I stand and stretch. Either I blacked out and got into my first fight, or I just lost my virginity in the way of American Pie band geek sex. The pile of hair and limbs on the bed snoring below me confirms it was something close to the latter. I feel like I’ve just been on a safari that went horribly wrong.

  “Think, Theo,” I mumble as I foot on my jeans and stumble, hitting the bed. Terrified, my head snaps up and I monitor the sleeping hair to see if I’ve disturbed it.

  I’m not well-versed in sex, but I’m pretty sure I could press charges for what went down. Every muscle in my body is screaming, along with my pounding head. I’m still drunk, but unbearably too sober to face what happened. I’m pretty sure I still have splinters under my fingernails from the door frame I clung to before she pulled me inside. I’m going to fucking kill Troy. Tonight. While he sleeps.

  I didn’t have to participate, and I’m certain, in a way, I didn’t. Too terrified to see what slumbers in the small bed with TGU logos embossed all over the comforter, I pull on my chucks. If I had sex, there has to be a condom.

  “Evidence. Where’s the evidence?”

  I search high and low for used latex, not for proof it happened, but for proof we were safe and don’t see one.

  “Come on, Theo, think.” I rip at my hair as I use my phone flashlight to navigate my way around. I’m clueless as to whose room I’m searching. The pounding at the door stops as the bass coming from below clues me in.

  “Party, you’re at a party.”

  I’m in desperate need of a shower, and a possible lobotomy. I wince at the images that break into my psyche like horror film flashbacks every few seconds.

  The flash of teeth.

  The ripping of skin.

  The snarling.

  The screams…all mine.

  Nothing about this experience is meant to be remembered. I’m sure of it. Procreating with a rabid armadillo was not on my agenda tonight. Maybe I should be thankful I can’t recall much. “Condom. Find the condom,” I mutter, lifting strewn clothes from the floor. “Please God, let there be a condom.”

  “We used a condom,” I hear uttered in annoyance from the bed. “You tossed it into the toilet and flushed it.”

  Wracking my brain, I nod in agreement. It’s the one memory that comes in clear.

  Thank you, God.

  Cool, fear-induced sweat slides down my back. “Okay, you uh, want something to drink?”

  “No, I want you to stop talking to yourself, it’s freaking me out.”

  I stand there staring at her form on the mattress, unsure of how to proceed. I can’t, for the life of me, remember her name. It goes against everything ingrained in me. I’m not this guy. What in the hell was I thinking?

  “Should we exchange numbers?”

  “No, we shouldn’t.”

  She doesn’t have to tell me twice. Still, I feel like I have some male obligation to assure her, of what? I’m not sure. I stand there, gaping at her with a hooked mouth as she lifts the comforter over her head and groans. I’m seconds away from curling into a fetal position.

  “Have a good night.” I shut the door with a quiet click behind me and fly down the stairs like my ass is on fire in search of my traitorous roommate. I’ve just screwed up in a major way by treating my virginity like it was a nuisance. Nothing about what happened will be savored for a later date.

  “There he is,” Troy salutes me with a Solo cup as I make it to the back porch.

  Charging toward him, his eyes widen with his smile when he sees my agitation.

  “What the hell, man?!”

  Troy chuckles. “She’s a tiger, right?”

  “I don’t have any skin left…anywhere!” I feel like I’m bleeding in places one should never bleed. Acid creeps up my throat.

  Troy regards me with a shit-eating grin. “It’s time to celebrate.” His eyes light as he barks out orders to the two guys standing next to him manning the keg. “Houseman’s next.”

  “No,” I begin to back away, palms up in front of me just as I’m seized. Troy is too far gone to see how pissed off I really am. Then again, what kind of guy willingly subjects himself to the Tasmanian devil to lose his virginity? Me, I’m that guy, and I’m partially to blame for a percentage of it. Desperation is a disease. Lesson learned.

  Theodore Houseman’s Colossal College Mistake #1–losing my virginity to a heat-seeking demon.

  After a torturous minute upside down while consuming vast amounts of Keystone Light—the last resort keg when the good shit goes dry—I stumble into the yard freshly buzzed. Seeking quiet refuge, I find a soft patch of lawn to land on in front of a dividing hedge. Surveying my person for damage, I’m just about to lay back in the grass when a voice sounds on the other side of the bush.

  “No, you don’t get it. I just don’t want
this anymore, with you. How many ways do I have to say it?” Silence. “I’m sorry, really, I’m… Oh, well, now you’re just being a DICK!” Her next words come out like an alarm. “DICK! DICK! DICK! DICK!”

  Laughter threatens to burst from me, and I cover my mouth to stifle it, but there’s no point because she, whoever she is, is on a tirade.

  “Oh, well, that’s rich. You really going to go there?”

  More silence.

  “Okay, that’s one word. Here’s another, clitoris, learn how to find it and then worship it, because it may save you some relationship miles.” I can hear the aggravation on the other side of the line. She’s close, maybe three feet away and has no idea I’m sitting here, but I’m way too entertained to speak up.

  “Because I’m bored. And I don’t like your friends. They all stare at me. And who in the hell asks a woman for a rain check to play Fortnite? I will not play second-fiddle to a video game.”

  My lips turn up due to the twang in her accent as she rants about his treatment of her. She feels overlooked and undervalued. It’s the same shit I’ve heard day in and day out since my sisters started dating. Their collective complaints were the first to give me the heads-up on how to treat my ex, Nora. As much good as that did me. The stranger’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

  “How dare you! Fine. Nope. Nope. Eat shit, Patrick, you’re disgusting. I knew better. Yeah, well, I loved you too until about five minutes ago. Bye.”

  The sound of a phone hitting the fence a few yards away jars me out of my thoughts. “Two months!” She says, pacing the yard. “Lort, I just lost two months to a guy I had to lend gas money to! Damnit,” erupts out of her right before vomit hits my shoe.

  “This night just keeps getting better and better,” I laugh at the shadowy figure of the girl who just shit on her boyfriend, only to turn and spew on my favorite chucks.

  “Er mah globd!” She manages through the acid barreling out of her mouth.

  “Don’t speak, this can only get worse,” I order, before standing and sliding my shoe against the grass while I pull her hair back. She jumps at my touch but relaxes when she senses I’m not a threat. The smell of sickly-sweet regurgitated fruit permeates the air making my nostrils flare. It’s all I can do to keep from gagging with her.

  “Awesome,” I mutter as she wretches an ungodly amount of liquid from her body. “If this were a sport, you would take gold.”

  Her back jumps as if she’s trying to laugh. When her tank is finally empty, she wipes her mouth and turns to me, keeping her head down to spare me her breath. “What were you doing eavesdropping?”

  “Eavesdropping? Are you kidding? The neighbors two streets over heard that.”

  “Did I get anything on you?”

  “Just my shoe, I think. I’ll survive. Hold on a second, I felt a hose somewhere near where I was sitting.” I let go of her hair and step back. “And since I have absolutely no desire to go back into that house and you’re sure to be thirsty after depleting the liquid in your body, I say we multi-task.”

  “K,” she says, her hair shielding the majority of her face. It’s not like I can see her anyway, it’s so pitch-black in this part of the yard we can barely make out each other’s silhouettes.

  I search through the prickly bushes and twist the knob earning myself a few pricks along the way. “Why in the hell would anyone plant prickly bushes around a hose?”

  “Can’t find the spicket?”

  I chuckle. “You mean spigot? Who says spicket anyway?”

  “Me, because that’s what it is.”

  Turning the knob, I let the water run briefly over my shoe before offering her the hose. She takes it and eagerly drinks.

  “Take it easy, we don’t want a repeat of your impression of a fountain.”

  “Har, har. To hell with this night,” she says between long gulps. “How long were you sitting there listening to me?”

  “Uhhhhh,” I run a hand through my hair. “Like right before DICK, DICK, DICK?”

  “You should’ve said something.”

  “And interrupted that rant? No, thanks. I prefer to keep my limbs. Besides, I was here first before you came walking up with your drama.”

  She ignores that statement. “Well, he is a dick.”

  “I believe you.” Head still spinning, I reclaim my seat a safe distance from the newly-drunken bush.

  “Why?” She asks, turning off the faucet and jumps back when the bush bites her hand. “Ouch.”

  “Told you.”

  “You’re right, it’s masochistic. Why even plant these things? They’re ugly anyway.”

  “Agreed.”

  She dusts her palms off and takes a seat next to me. “Why do you believe me? That he’s a dick. How do you know I’m not the dick?”

  “Just being agreeable. I’m treading lightly. I’ve seen your bad side, it’s not pretty. Sisters, three of them,” I grumble. “All older.”

  “Shit,” she laughs. “Yeah, you are well-trained. Well, I have a feeling neither of us is living our best life tonight, so do you mind if I sit with you a minute?”

  “Not at all.” I scoot over, giving her room on the safe side.

  “Who are you hiding from?”

  “Can’t really say.”

  She slinks down next to me with a sigh. She smells clean, aside from the acid lingering in the air, like mint and citrus. “You don’t know who you’re hiding from?”

  “No. Really I don’t. Girl, brown hair, blue eyes. The details are still fuzzy. I smiled at her, she smiled back, another shot, the next thing I know…” I look back at the house, “never mind, it’s nothing.”

  “Doesn’t sound like nothing,” she says, her finger pressing into my neck before I find motor skills enough to jerk away.

  “Ouch, what are you doing?”

  “As dark as it is out here, I swear that I can see she leeched your neck.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “No, and it’s not the size of a quarter either, that’s an appetizer plate hickey.”

  “Jesus.” I bury my head in my hands. “I never thought I would say this again, but I need a drink.”

  “Didn’t go well?” She asks with an uplift to her voice I’m all too familiar with. She’s teasing me.

  “Look, I don’t mind you sitting on my patch of grass, but this is no joking matter. I seriously screwed up. There is no do-over.”

  Instantly, I regret my words through the awkward silence that follows.

  “Because you have a girlfriend?”

  “What?” I realize then why she got quiet. “No, I wasn’t cheating. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Oh, well, sorry,” she says on a sigh. “Your drama, my distraction. I’m trying not to freak out I just broke up with my boyfriend.”

  “I’m trying not to freak out that I just lost my virginity and may need a rabies shot.”

  What in the hell, Theo?

  “You serious?”

  “As a velociraptor attack,” I say, wishing a meteor would be decent enough to strike me dead.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “Obviously you do, or you wouldn’t have told me.”

  “Slip of the tongue.”

  “That’s not what slipped.”

  “This isn’t funny.”

  “You’re leaving yourself wide open, partner.”

  She’s inching closer, and I’m too embarrassed to study her. The mid-September night air is welcome, cooling my burning skin. I’m enjoying the temporary snap of fall before Texas weather rears its ugly head and goes back to only one of two seasons—summer or winter.

  “So, it was really your first time?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can I ask why you waited?”

  “Long story.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. And I don’t know your name, and I can’t really see much of your face. I’m pretty sure that raspberry Bacardi I guzzled has made it impossible to identify you in a
lineup, so this is as safe a confession as you’re going to get.”

  Finally, I glance her way. She’s right, it’s too dark, even close up to get a clear view, the bushes block out all of the light of the back porch. She’s wearing dark cowboy boots and a dress, that much I can make out, but the rest is pretty much a mystery. Though I admit, her scratchy voice is appealing. Blowing out a breath, I decide why the hell not? I could use some perspective, even if it’s from a drunken stranger.

  “It was my first time because my ex-girlfriend made me wait three and a half years, only to give her virginity to some random.”

  “You should have quit her year two. She was never going to give it to you.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “You’re still hung up on her?”

  “No, I’ve just been busy. I’m in a band, it takes up a lot of my time.” It’s mostly true. The rest of that truth is that it’s not exactly easy for a guy like me to get the girl because of the Troy’s of this world. He seems to be the standard. Even when presented with the opportunity, it never feels right, and I’ve been hesitant to pull the trigger. I’ve been holding out for something other than a drunken hookup, until tonight.

  “Would I have heard of your band?”

  “Maybe. We sell out every Saturday.”

  “Hmm, maybe I should get a better look at you, just in case I’m getting confessions from someone famous.”

  “Nope, not in the rules.”

  “We have rules?”

  “Yes. This is confession. No faces, dates, or names.”

  “Okay, so,” she says, plucking at some grass, “you dedicated yourself to a heartless bitch who never delivered?”

  “Basically, yeah. But that’s not the worst part.”

  “No?”

  “I really loved her. I know it’s stupid to think you’ll stay with your first love, but I really thought she was worth it.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, learn and grow.”

  “Yeah, but it still sucks.”

  “I don’t disagree,” I rub at the place on my neck, uncomfortable with what she can painstakingly see in the pitch dark that I can’t. “Let’s turn the mic around, what happened with the dick?”