After changing into shorts and a white sweatshirt, I walk downstairs to the living room, where I am confronted with a scene that looks like something out of The Hangover.
Gregory is lying on the couch, with an ice pack on his forehead. Apolo is sitting on the floor with his back against the bottom of the couch and a bucket next to him, looking pale. Marco sits on the couch with an ice pack on his . . .
Marco is the first to notice me.
“Don’t even say it.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“What the fuck?”
“I’m dying.” Gregory grunts. My eyes are still on Marco.
“What happened to you?”
Marco rolls his eyes.
“What part of ‘don’t even say it’ didn’t you understand? Just forget it.”
“It’s hard to forget that when you’re holding an ice pack over your penis.”
Apolo snorts. “Why are you so raw, Ares?”
I sit at the end of the couch, at Gregory’s feet, and look at Marco again.
“Did you break it?”
Marco gives me a murderous look.
“No, just . . . I think I have friction burns.”
I let out a laugh.
“Shit, bro, and I thought I had a wild night.”
Gregory laughs with me.
“Me, too, but no, it seems that Marco was fucked like an old TV.”
Gregory and I jump in at the same time: “With no control.”
Marco presses his lips together.
“Ha-ha, so funny.”
Apolo chuckles.
“That was a good one.”
Apolo and I go home and walk straight into the kitchen, still weak and dizzy. We need fluids, food, and a good shower. Apolo collapses at the kitchen table, his cheek resting there. I just grab two energy drinks from the fridge and set them on the table, sitting on the other side. I know Apolo did his thing last night, and I’m curious. He notices me staring at him.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I said nothing.”
“You’re thinking about it.”
I take a sip of my drink.
“You’re imagining things.”
Claudia comes into the kitchen and offers to make us some soup. Apolo says he’s tired and goes to his room, but I take her up on it. It’s my turn to rest my face on the table, while I wait for Claudia to get everything ready. Before I know it, I’m asleep. A kick to my knee wakes me up, and I blink and move quickly, causing a stabbing pain to cross my neck. When I raise my head, I can feel the marks of the wooden table edges on my cheek. I straighten in my chair, and my eyes meet a cold stare.
Artemis is sitting across from me, with a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. He’s dressed in his black workout sweatshirt, and his hair is slightly damp with sweat. I still don’t understand how he can get up on a Sunday to work out. But, well, there are a lot of things I don’t understand about my big brother. He crosses his arms over his chest.
“Rough night?”
“You have no idea,” I say.
Claudia sees me and moves around the stove. “Oh, you woke up; the soup is ready.”
“Thank you,” I say in a relieved tone. “You’re saving a life.”
She smiles at me.
“Don’t get used to it.” She pours the soup, and the simple smell emanating from it makes me feel better. Artemis takes a sip of his coffee, and I’m about to take a spoonful of soup when he speaks.
“Don’t let Apolo drink too much. It’s a bad habit to learn so young.”
“I know, it was a one-day thing.” I raise my spoon, but Artemis speaks again. “Your high school counselor told me that you haven’t applied for business school yet.” I put the spoon on the side of the plate.
“We’re not even halfway through the school year.”
“Better sooner than later. Do you have one in mind?” he asks. I clench my jaw. “It should be easy for you to get into Princeton. Dad and I both graduated there, and you’d be a legacy to get in.”
Oh, the Ivy League, the most prestigious, exclusive, and well-known universities in the United States. The selection process is even more rigorous than for other universities. Not only do you have to have excellent grades, but also a lot of money, and then there are the well-known “legacy” admissions: if your parents or close family graduated from one of these universities, you’re practically in.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m interested in applying to Ivy League schools, but not for the career my brother has in mind. Claudia gives me a sympathetic look and continues cooking. Is my discomfort with this subject so obvious? Artemis doesn’t seem to want to shut up.