Normally, a bro would never talk with his mouth full in front of a chick, but I had to make sure the guys knew my priorities for the day. Before, like, Austin could sketch up some five-hour plan to haze a varsity freshman with condoms and glitter glue that I wouldn’t be able to turn down.

Not that that’s ever happened. Because hazing could get us kicked off soccer. This is purely a hypothetical, very specific prank that has definitely never been pulled off by me, Austin, or Carter. Perhaps by three guys who looked like us. They must have been handsome bastards.

“Nick Maguire? Doing extra studying?” said Carter.

“Yeah. I need at least a four on the AP test for Clarkebridge so—”

“Same,” Carter said.

“When’s your tryout?” Austin asked.

“End of October,” said Carter.

I groaned. Clarkebridge was the one college that Carter and I were both applying to. He wanted to do pre-med and I wanted to do something with exercise—still had a little bit of time to figure out what, exactly. We were both trying out for its soccer team.

A fun hobby of ours was to try to not think about whether Clarkebridge had room for both of us, because statistically, it didn’t.

“Want to take some cupcakes for studying? I think my mom left a couple,” asked Carter. It was a well-known fact that Carter was the best of us. Sometimes how big of a bro he was still caught my cold, sarcastic heart off guard.

The answer to whether I should take mouthwatering, somehow still low-calorie cupcakes, was always yes. Of course, calorie counts didn’t matter to us bros, unless a bro was on the wrestling team and had a weigh-in to obsess over. No, the low-calorie mattered because it enabled a bro to be a flirtatious hero when he delivered a chick (or another bro, if he swung that way—a bro supports all bros) with a much-needed, flawless dessert. Naturally, the cupcakes were vegan, organic, and gluten-free.

Just kidding, cupcakes can fit two of those categories. Please not all three. Brownies? Sure. Actual cake? Maybe. Cupcakes are where we draw the line.

“Okay.” Austin’s phone vibrated on the table. “I made us plans. We’re ballin’ at noon.” He addressed me specifically. “Which means you boys have fifteen minutes before we have to leave.”

I eyed the stack of pancakes still left on my plate. “Is that like a hard fifteen or . . .”

“We can’t let those sixth graders get the courts first.” Austin grabbed one of my bacon slices, crunching loudly. “And Joshy can’t get there till 12:15. It’s on us, gentlemen.”

“Daley’s joining?” Carter did nothing to hide his dismay.

Eliza stood and gathered the empty dishes, starting to carry them into their kitchen. My mouth went dry.

“Yeah, two-on-two,” said Austin. “Try not to fight over being on my team.”

“That’s cute.” Carter rose, stretching to remind us that not only was he an inch taller than Austin and me, but he was about fifteen pounds of solid muscle heavier. As bros with extremely fragile egos, that gesture was 100 percent like throwing down the gauntlet.