The Pretty Boy and the Football Player

Cameroon -

I walked into the library half hoping Evans wouldn’t show up.

But there he was, of course, sitting there, looking annoyingly... put-together. Poised, even. His hair was combed just so, his clothes wrinkle-free, and he sat up straight like he was getting ready to charm his way through a Senate hearing or something. Meanwhile, I’d shown up with half my uniform still on, mud on my sneakers, and maybe a faint smell of sweat. Classic "casual" entrance, right?

“Ah, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” Evans said, glancing at his watch, then at me with a raised eyebrow. “You’re late.”

I rolled my eyes and threw my bag down on the table. “Yeah, yeah, my bad. Had football practice.” I plopped down across from him, stretching my legs out like I was about to take a nap right there on the library carpet.

Evans gave me this look—half amused, half like he was about to write me up for tardiness. “Maybe leave a little earlier next time?” he said, and I swear there was a hint of a smirk there.

“Or maybe you could’ve started without me,” I shot back, leaning back in my chair. But of course, Evans was the type who wouldn’t dare begin until all “required parties” were present. He had a process, see, and skipping it was about as sinful as lying under oath.

“So…” He flipped open his notebook, and I half expected a whole schedule, colour-coded and laminated, to pop out. “Let’s review the topic. Have you looked at it yet?”

“Oh yeah,” I lied, nodding sagely. “Totally. It’s about, uh…” I trailed off, trying to recall even one word from the prompt I’d skimmed during practice. “The, uh, purpose of life? Or… the meaning of ethics?”

Evans sighed, and I had to admit, the sigh was impressive. It managed to convey pure disappointment, mixed with pity.

“Cameroon, it’s the Problem of Free Will.”

“Yeah! Exactly what I was going to say,” I replied, trying to recover. “Freedom and... will. Couldn’t be more relevant to us as college students, right?” I gave him a grin.

“Sure, it’s so relevant to us,” Evans replied, rolling his eyes.

“So let’s hear it. Since you’re obviously prepared, tell me your thoughts on determinism versus indeterminism.”

I blinked. “Determinism versus… indeterminism?”

He nodded, waiting, eyes sparkling with amusement that was getting harder and harder to ignore. “You know. The idea that everything in life is predetermined versus the idea that we have free will and make choices independently. Which do you believe in?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to stall. “Uh, well... okay. Here’s a thought. Determinism, right? So, that’s basically like, you know, destiny and all that?”

Evans nodded, humouring me. “Go on.”

“Right, right. So maybe, if determinism is real, it’s like, I was destined to be late today, you know? And therefore, not my fault at all.”

I leant back, proud of my logic. But Evans just shook his head, an exasperated grin spreading across his face. “Cameroon, that is, without a doubt, the most self-serving interpretation of determinism I’ve ever heard.”

“Thank you; I try my best.”

He rolled his eyes again, but in a way that almost looked affectionate, if I didn’t know any better. “Fine, we’ll just start from scratch, then.”

With a resigned sigh, he opened up his notebook, jotting down notes as he muttered things like “starting point for next time” and “cover basic definitions.” Meanwhile, I sat there, glancing around the library and tapping my pen on the table.

“Are you paying attention at all?” he asked, catching me mid-fidget. '

“Hey, I’m here to, uh, keep the vibe light, you know?” I grinned, and for a second, I thought I caught a glimpse of him trying not to laugh.

“Well, your ‘moral support’ could maybe use a little more… actual support,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Right in the middle of Evans’s explanation on "determinism,”, my phone buzzed. I glanced down, and there it was—my sister's name lighting up the screen. Sarah. Big sister, soon-to-be bride. Missing her call? Not an option, especially now that her wedding was just weeks away.

“Sorry, I’ve got to take this,” I said, grabbing my phone. I half-expected Evans to shoot me one of his disapproving glares, but he just sighed and waved his hand, as if resigning himself to whatever “trivial call” was so important that it had to interrupt our “study session.” (Never mind that I’d been doing at least as much talking as he had.)

I tapped accept, and Sarah’s voice came through immediately. “Cam! Are you busy?”

“Always for you,” I replied, leaning back in my chair with a grin. Evans glanced up, rolling his eyes, but I caught a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Sweet talker,” she replied. “Anyway, I was calling to check in—because if you don't show up, I won't get married."

“Hey, I told you—I wouldn’t miss your wedding even if the universe itself tried to stop me,” I said, which I thought was a pretty solid promise.

“Yeah, well, the universe might not need to; your time management skills could do that all on their own.”

“Ouch. That’s cold, Sarah.”

She laughed, and I could feel my own smile widen just hearing her voice.

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything,” I said, trying to sound more serious. “Even if it’s basically guaranteed that you’re going to make me dance in front of everyone like an idiot.”

“You know it.” She laughed again. “Love you, Dex. Really glad you’ll be there.”

“I love you too, Sarah. Go easy on your little brother, okay?”

She snorted. “Not likely. Bye, football hero.”

I ended the call, already feeling lighter, but also half-preparing myself for the inevitable eyeroll from Evans. I glanced over, scratching the back of my neck. “Sorry about that. It was my sister.”

I expected a “Couldn’t that have waited?” or a “Should we try to focus now?” But when I looked over at him, I was met with a surprise: he was smiling. But not his usual smirk—more of a wistful smile, like he’d drifted off somewhere else.

“Are you close with your sister?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.