Chapter 54 Maybe
“I am.” Maggie began playing with a strand of her ponytail— twirling it around her finger— eyes never leaving his.
Andrew’s heart lurched. “Can I have any of your socials?”
“Unfortunately I don’t use any socials actively at the moment.” She leaned forward slightly. “But you can have my number though.”
“Number is better.” The words tumbled out faster than he meant. He pulled his phone from his pocket— hand trembling just enough to be noticeable if she looked closely— and slid it across the table.
Maggie took it, typed quickly— fingers sure— then handed it back. “Done.”
Andrew glanced at the screen— 'Maggie' followed by ten digits— then looked up again. “Alright. Don’t let me waste too much of your time. Let me leave you to what you were doing.”
He rose, extended his right hand across the table. “I’m Andrew. Once again.”
Maggie took it— warm, firm grip. “I’m Maggie.”
Andrew smiled— wide, victorious. “I’ll text you. Take care of yourself.”
“You too.”
He turned and walked back toward Josh— steps lighter, shoulders squared, grin spreading until it hurt his cheeks.
Josh watched him approach— eyebrows climbing higher with every stride. “Well?”
Andrew reached him, took his bag back. “Let’s go.”
Josh fell into step beside him as they pushed through the doors into the crisp afternoon air. “Did you get it?”
Andrew pulled his phone out, tilted the screen so Josh could see the new contact. “I got it.”
Josh let out a low whistle. “Bro…”
Andrew’s grin widened further. “Told you.”
They kept walking— bags swinging, shoulders bumping— campus paths stretching ahead under the slanting four-o’clock sun.
Behind them, inside the restaurant, Maggie lifted her milkshake again, took a slow sip through the straw, and smiled— small, private— down at her phone.
The screen stayed dark.
But not for long.
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Outside Andrew’s grin was still wide enough to split his face, phone clutched in one hand like a trophy, hamburger bag swinging wildly from the other. Josh matched his stride for two steps before he spun on his heel, facing Andrew with both arms flung wide.
“Yo. Let's bet.”
Andrew slowed, eyebrows climbing. “Bet what?”
Josh’s eyes glinted— pure mischief. “Race to the dorm. Loser does house chores for three straight days. Trash, dishes, vacuum, laundry, all of it. Winner gets to sit on the couch and watch the loser suffer.”
Andrew barked a laugh. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.” Josh jerked his chin toward the distant brick residence hall on the far side of campus— about a twelve‑minute walk at a normal pace, eight if they sprinted. “Here are the rules: you take the route you always claim is faster, and I’ll take the regular one.”
Andrew glanced down at his hamburger grease-spotted paper bag, then back at Josh. The high from getting Maggie’s number still buzzed under his skin like caffeine. He felt invincible.
“You’re on.”
Josh’s grin turned feral. “Left route’s mine. You take the right— through the quad, past the fountain, cut behind the science building. First one through our door wins.”
Andrew bounced once on his toes, already feeling the adrenaline spike. “Ready when you are.”
Josh raised his free hand. “Three… two… one— go!”
They exploded forward like sprinters off blocks.
Andrew veered right, long legs eating pavement. The quad stretched ahead— wide lawn dotted with students sprawled on blankets, frisbees sailing overhead. He dodged a guy on a skateboard, leaped a low chain barrier, hamburger bag clutched high against his chest like a football. The paper crinkled dangerously with every stride; he could feel the warmth of the patty seeping through, the ketchup threatening to soak the bottom.
Behind him— though he didn’t dare look— Josh had taken the left path, the one that wound along the tree-lined sidewalk past the student union. Andrew could imagine him: shorter strides but quicker feet, weaving through clusters of people, probably trash-talking under his breath the whole way.
Andrew cut behind the science building— narrow alley between brick walls, dumpsters on one side, overflowing bike racks on the other. A girl carrying a stack of textbooks yelped as he barreled past; he threw a quick “Sorry!” over his shoulder without breaking stride. His lungs burned. The bag bounced against his ribs— once, twice— he tightened his grip, praying the staples held.
He rounded the final corner. The residence hall loomed ahead— four stories of red brick, windows glowing yellow against the early-evening dusk. Their room was third floor, corner unit. Stairs or elevator? Stairs. Faster.
He took the concrete steps three at a time, sneakers slapping, breath ragged. Down the hallway— keys already in hand— he slammed into the door, twisted the knob, burst inside.
Josh was already there.
Leaning against the mini-fridge, chest heaving, hamburger bag held triumphantly aloft like a championship belt. Sweat glistened on his forehead; his grin was enormous.
Andrew skidded to a stop. “No fucking way.”
Josh wheezed a laugh. “Two minutes ahead, bro. You’re my house maid now. Three days. Trash. Dishes. Vacuum. Laundry. All of it.”
Andrew bent over, hands on knees, panting hard enough that his vision pulsed. “You… cheated. You had to.”
“Didn’t.” Josh pushed off the fridge, still breathing heavy but triumphant. “Took the shortcut behind the union. You got stuck dodging frisbees in the quad like a noob, didn't you?”
Andrew straightened slowly, shaking his head. “I’m calling bullshit.”
“Call whatever you want.” Josh opened his bag, pulled out the Bacon Swiss, took a huge bite, and talked around it. “You’re washing my socks tomorrow. And the dishes from last week. And taking the trash out every night. I like the sound of that.”
Andrew dropped onto his bed, bag still clutched to his chest. He stared at the ceiling for a second— then laughed. A real, deep, rolling laugh that shook his shoulders and made his eyes water.
Josh paused mid-chew. “You good?”
Andrew sat up, wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Yeah. I’m good.” He pulled his phone out, thumbed open the new contact— Maggie’s name glowing there like a beacon. “I’m real good.”
Josh followed his gaze. Understanding dawned. “Oh I see.”
“Three days of chores?” Andrew shrugged, smile turning soft and private. “It's nothing.”
Josh snorted, took another bite of burger. “You’re hopeless.”
“Maybe.” Andrew opened his own bag, pulled out the Double Cheeseburger— still warm, ketchup already seeping through the bun. He took a slow, satisfied bite, savoring the salt and fat and victory.