Page 26 of I Blame the Dimples
“Technically, I only spent half the time watching and the other half reading.” I cross my arms in disbelief.
“You read the psych textbook for an hour?” The blush from earlier returns to her cheeks.
“Well, no. I was brushing up on my… pop culture.” I bite my lip to keep from smiling. “I don’t recall a lot of pop culture on the assignment sheet.”
“Well, you obviously didn’t read it thoroughly.”
“Obviously.” Our glares turn into an unspoken staring contest and soon we’re both widening our eyes to unnatural degrees to keep from blinking. The burning sensation kicks in and I will myself not to break.
Those gorgeous grey eyes are going down.
Thankfully, Trip cracks before I have to cheat – hey, failure is not an option – and after wiping victorious tears from my eyes, we get down and dirty with psychology.
“Okay, so what topic did you decide on?” Her silence does nothing for my confidence. Sighing, I ask a more appropriate question: “Have you chosen a topic yet?” At the shake of her head, I pull out my own outline to give her some encouragement.
Trip gasps in outrage and points at my detailed essay plan, “You weren’t allowed to start until Sunday!”
“I’m not allowed to startwritinguntil Sunday. You never said anything about planning. And FYI, planning is what most students doafterthey choose a topic.” I throw her a wink and get a wrinkled brow in return.
Man, I love it when she scowls at me.
“I think the conclusion can wait until tomorrow.” I offer the suggestion helpfully, but the look thrown my way makes me think it didn’t come across so well.
“Right. I can finish this conclusion tomorrow, so you can win by defaultandget to finish your paper early? Nope. Don’t think so.” I bark out a laugh at Trip’s unexpected competitiveness.
I knew she was stubborn, pack mules often are, but the competitive streak comes as a surprise. Her attitude towards our bet is one you would expect from a varsity player, that ride or die mentality high-level athletes are ingrained with, yet Trip doesn’t give off the jock vibe. Hell, I shouldn’t be surprised, every vibe Trip gives off is her own.
She’s like my very own Rubik’s cube, no matter how many times I twist the squares around they never seem to line up. And yet, every time I find a new colour all I want to do is keep twisting until I find more.
“Alright, Einstein. No need to get your panties in a twist. You’ve got one page to go. Keep that pretty little head of yours in the game.” Without breaking momentum with her furious typing, Trip throws a retort my way.
“I’m pretty sure Einstein didn’t have a little head. And I’ve never understood that saying.” It takes a second for me to clue in.
“Keep your head in the game? Honey, that is the most iconic line of Zac Efron’s career.” She pauses her typing to glance over.
“I don’t remember him saying that in Baywatch.” My gasp fills the room.
“You did not just say that.” Her gaze turns sheepish as it meets mine. “I’m… sorry?”
I get up from the couch and start pacing the four feet of my living room.
“Are you telling me that you have never seen the Disney TV pilot turned accidental hit movie turned unforgettable trilogy that set the basis for ourentiregeneration? Does the name Troy Bolton not mean anythingto you?” Trip squeezes her eyes shut in concentration.
“It sounds sort of familiar… I’m sorry. I got nothing.” And here I thought her procrastination was bad. This is anabomination.
Nope, she probably wouldn’t get that reference either.
“This has to be reconciled. Immediately. When you come over Sunday to supervise my last-minute scrambling skills, we are going to watch High School Musical. All three of them.” She tilts her head at me, visibly confused.
“Why would anyone make a musical out of high school?” I hold my hand out in front of me, valiantly trying to protect my heart from more abuse.
“Trip. You’re killing me. Finish up that conclusion so I can revive myself.” I dramatically collapse on the ground just as the door to my dorm swings open.
“Aw, man not again. Wes, what did we say about dying on the living room floor?” Nico smirks down at me from the doorway.
“Couldn’t help it. Trip over there doesn’t know who Troy Bolton is.” Eyes widening in horror, Nico sways unsteadily into the room and proceeds to collapse in a heap on top of me. If there’s one thing I can count on my best friend for, its joining in on my theatrics.
Giggling, Trip pretends to dial her phone. “9-1-1 operator? Yes, it’s Lou Mackenzie. I was wondering if I could get some help down at the lacrosse quarters… cause? It appears to be a shock overdose.”