What do I want to do? What makes me feel . . . excited?

I grab a notebook from my bag and sit back down and make a list, like he suggested.

Number one is easy. I definitely want to do something where I can continue to learn new things. But beyond that . . . I bite my lip and doodle in the margins. I like math. I write it down. Science. History. Literature. Writing. Oh, dear this is getting too long. And how can I possibly put them in any kind of sequential order?

I’m still sitting there, thinking, when Annabel comes into the living room from somewhere down the hall.

“Oh. Hey, Reese.”

She’s wearing a T-shirt and boxers covered in . . . is that Mr. Bojangles?

“Hey, Annabel.”

“Whatcha doing?” She sits next to me and picks up my coffee from the windowsill, helping herself to a long swallow.

“I was enjoying some coffee.”

“It’s good.” She lifts it in cheers before taking another drink. “What’s the list about?”

I hold the notebook to my chest. “I’ll tell you if you explain to me why you’re wearing Jude’s boxers.”

She puts the mug down and spreads her hands. “There’s no story here. I just needed something to sleep in, you know.”

Jude appears in the doorway. “Did you want some coffee?” he asks her.

“I had some.”

He’s smiling, and she’s staring back at him but I can’t see her expression since she’s turned away.

No one speaks for a few long seconds and then Annabel stands abruptly. “I gotta get going.” She takes off back down the hall.

Jude shrugs and heads back to the kitchen, yelling, “Mornin’, Reese,” over his shoulder.

Huh.

Within minutes, Annabel is back, fully dressed, purse in hand.

“We still hanging out later?” I call when she races past the open doorway.

“Um.” She appears back in the doorway, her eyes darting toward the kitchen, where Jude is whistling along to the sounds of coffee brewing. “Yeah, sure.”

“Wanna go to supper at Granny’s?”

“Sounds good.”

“Gotta be there right at five. Meet back here at four thirty?”

Jude’s whistling gets a little louder.

“That’s fine. Good. Great. See you.” Then she disappears so fast, I think an Annabel-shaped outline forms midair.

Well, isn’t that interesting.

11

Barbecue may not be the road to world peace, but it’s a start.

—Anthony Bourdain

Fitz

“How was the meet?” Jude asks as soon as I walk into the kitchen.

I glance over at the dining table, where all my housemates are sitting. “Fine.” I head to the sink, filling up a cup and chugging it down.

I placed third in the 2400 and we got second in the relay, but I spent the rest of the time trying to avoid Abby, who did worse than ever, coming in last or close to it for every event.

That’s what happens when you party too hard and can’t put in your best effort. Or any effort at all, really.