What was going on? Where were they going? Caro hadn’t received any calls or texts about meeting up.
She hitched her backpack higher and set after them.
After a minute, it was easy to predict where they were going: Heather was beelining straight for Bishop Hall. Caro wondered if she was taking Frankie and Jack to their suite, where Caro couldn’t follow without being obvious. But to her relief, and surprise, Heather marched across the Bishop lobby, past the groups studying for finals, and straight into a meeting room in the administrative wing. It was one of those all-purpose rooms the college reserved for less popular student groups that didn’t warrant their own dedicated space: the student jugglers, improv actors, The Simpsons trivia group. Caro had been there once, just to try the Society of Christian Feminists, but she’d never gone back again.
With her breath held, she slipped inside after Heather, Jack, and Frankie. It was dark as she crept along the back wall, so she heard them before she saw them.
“You’re lucky we’re not having this conversation in the middle of football practice!” Heather said, her voice heated. “Or out in the lobby, where everyone can hear.”
Jack’s voice was soothing. “Calm down. Let’s talk this out.”
Caro crouched behind a nearby chair, peeking carefully around the side. In the middle of the room, there was an empty space with chairs encircling it, meaning improv had to have been here last. In that space stood Heather, arms crossed and jaw locked. It was a bulldog scowl Caro recognized—the one Heather wore when she wasn’t going to let go of an argument. Jack faced her, arms reaching out, but Heather leaned away. Frankie was slumped in one of the chairs, head in his hands.
“Talking sounds great,” Heather said viciously. “Talk about this, then.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a Ziploc, waving it at Jack. Caro had to squint to see, but through the plastic she could make out one of those cups doctors gave you at annual checkups. She was confused until Heather spoke again, voice rising. “Why did I find a urine test with Frankie’s name on it hidden away in your bathroom? And before you say it, Frankie, don’t even try to tell me you decided to walk all the way across campus to pee in a cup in Jack’s bathroom instead of your own, because I’m not an idiot.”
Jack’s eyes fell to the floor. Frankie didn’t move his head out of his hands.
“Why is Jack taking your drug test? I know for a fact you’ve been a puritan about not smoking pot for four years, because it’s been really annoying. What exactly are you doing that’s so bad you need Jack to cover for you?”
Jack looked at Frankie, so Caro did, too. All of Frankie’s muscles were tense, arms flexed tight as he bent over. He’d worn his dark hair buzzed ever since they were freshmen, but this year, he’d let it grow a little longer. Trying out new things, he’d said, and Caro remembered the absurd flicker of sadness she’d felt when he said it, the desire to tell him nothing needed to change.
Frankie finally lifted his head, meeting Jack’s gaze. Something passed wordlessly between them, leaving Frankie wincing. He took a deep breath. “I only use sometimes, before really big games. When I have to be better than everyone else. It’s not permanent, I swear. I’m going to stop after this season.”
Use what?
“Bullshit,” Heather spat.
“You have no idea how much pressure he’s under,” Jack insisted. “And other people do it. It’s practically an open secret in college ball. If he didn’t, he’d be at a disadvantage.”
“I can’t believe you.” Heather’s eyes widened at Jack. “Defending Frankie’s steroid use. Your parents would be so proud.”
Caro nearly lost her grip on the chair. Frankie couldn’t be using steroids. He was on posters around campus. He was so important he had lunch sometimes with the chancellor. There was a real chance he was going to make the NFL, especially if Duquette won a Bowl game. Caro owned his jersey and went to his practices religiously, just to cheer him on.
She felt a stabbing pain, deep in her heart. He’d been keeping a secret.
“That’s a low blow,” Jack said, anger creeping into his voice.
“It’s cheating, Jack. You used to be better than this. What’s happening to you? You’re like a different person this year.”
Was he? For all her careful attention, Caro hadn’t noticed anything different about Jack. She was seized again by the certainty that she was failing, that her friendships were going to dissolve, leaving her alone. The pain in her heart sharpened, and her palms started to sweat. Calm down. Don’t panic.