The Grown Ups by Robin Antalek Page B

as he rolled off the bed and went to the doorway. “I have to study. I’m making coffee; if you want some it’ll be here.” He nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen before he disappeared.
    Sam met Michael’s roommates and had a cup of coffee even though he hated it, and then hung out on the couch staring at the wall of albums while Michael studied in his room. After a while he picked up a paperback from a pile next to the couch and leafed through the curled, damp pages. He was surprised that he became as absorbed as he did in the story of the Russian officerand his family. He was startled out of the book when Michael reappeared wearing a coat.
    â€œHey—I’m going out and I might not be back tonight. Why don’t you go sleep in my bed?” He nodded at the book in Sam’s hands. “You a Tolstoy fan?”
    Sam nodded even though he had no idea what Michael was asking. Where was Michael going all night? What happened to studying?
    â€œOh, and I called Dad and told him you got here safely. So don’t worry about that.”
    Sam nodded again and felt stupid that he hadn’t thought about calling. Would he ever think about the right things? He pictured their father in his chair by the television, chopsticks poised over a carton of black bean chicken. No triumph tonight, that was for sure.
    Michael went back toward the bedrooms. Sam heard a door slam and realized that Michael must have left from his room. When Sam got down there Michael’s bike was gone, but he had tossed a sheet over his mattress and straightened the pillows. Sam almost felt as if he cared.
    Sam was awake when Michael came back. It was too hot in the room to sleep and he had stripped down to his boxers. He was weighing how much he wanted a glass of cold water against his feeling too lazy to get up and get it when the back door opened and a bike tire appeared, followed by his brother.
    â€œYou’re missing something,” Sam said as Michael leaned the tire against the wall without explanation and shrugged out of his jacket. Without acknowledging Sam he plopped down on the edge of the mattress and dropped his head into his hands. “You okay?” Sam asked.
    â€œFucking exhausted, my eyes are on fire.”
    â€œToo bad, I’d rather be exhausted from fucking.” Sam chuckled at his lame attempt at a joke.
    Michael lifted his head and twisted around to look at him. “Are you a moron?”
    â€œIt was a pun. A play on words. You know, wouldn’t most people want to be exhausted from fucking? Not just fucking exhausted?”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” Michael ran his hands through his hair and slowly stood up. From the look on his face Sam could tell Michael was not even going to comment on what he’d said.
    Maybe Sam was a moron. He’d had sex with Bella Spade after the winter dance when she told him his eyes looked blue when he wore that navy sweater. It had been the first time for him, but he wasn’t so sure about Bella. If he was to believe Johnny Ross, Johnny had had sex with her in the deserted pool house at the club in ninth grade and again the summer after tenth grade. He thought that piece of information wouldn’t bother him, but it did.
    Before Bella, Sam had considered himself only a semi-virgin because of Suzie Epstein. They might not have had sex, but they had done everything but. As it was, that night with Bella they did it twice and he could have gone again and again if they’d had more condoms. Sam would have liked to experience exhaustion from fucking, but he wasn’t about to tell Michael any of this.
    â€œJesus Christ, Sam.” Michael was staring at Sam strangely. “I have class at nine. I’m going to take a shower. Your tour is at noon and meets on the steps of the library near the admissions building. If you want food you can take whatever you want from the middle shelf in the refrigerator, that’s