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Not a Morning Person
“Hey, Parker,” Baxter said woozily, bruises under his eyes, “about Friday...” He leaned weakly against the locker. “Did we...?”
“Huh?” I asked in confusion, zipping my Calculus book into my backpack.
The hulking linebacker actually blushed. “I can't remember much. That usually happens when a) I've had a concussion, or b) I've been drinking. Did we have too many shots, and then, y'know...?” He blushed.
“No,” I said firmly. “Definitely not, Baxter.”
“Oh, ok. Phew,” he said. “Hey, it was fun and all- at least, I think it was- but I don't think we're built for one another, if yah know what I mean. You're too intense for me.”
I smiled. “You're right, Baxter. Friends?” I asked, extending my hand.
“Right,” he said, slapping it. My pa
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