The Cheat Sheet

by Sarah Adams

But because I’m the best friend a person could ever ask for—which I will remind Nathan of as soon as I make it inside his apartment—I

the familiar clean and crisp scent of him knocks into me like a bus. I know this smell so well I think I could follow it like a bloodhound if he ever goes missing.

I slam the front door shut with enough gusto to warn Nathan that I’m on the premises. ATTENTION ALL SEXY QUARTERBACKS! COVER YOUR GOODS! A GREEDY-EYED WOMAN IS IN THE HOUSE!

No one appreciates the morning quite like Nathan. Well, except for me—I love it too. But we’re sort of weirdos.

I didn’t really have friends. But then he happened. I wanted to increase my endurance, so I started running our school’s track before school, and the only day I could make this happen schedule-wise was on Tuesdays. I showed up one morning and was shocked to see another student already running. Not just any student, but the captain of the football team.

Jocks were supposed to be rude. Chauvinistic. Full of themselves. Not Nathan. He saw me in my scuffed-up sneakers, curly hair piled on my head in the grossest bun anyone has ever seen, and he stopped running. He came over and introduced himself with his huge trademark smile and asked if I wanted to run with him. We talked the entire time, instant best friends with so much in common, despite our different upbringings.

We were on our final lap of that very first run together when his hand caught mine. He tugged me to a stop then bent down in front of me and tied my shoe.

He could have just told me it was untied, but no—Nathan’s not like that. It doesn’t matter who you are or how famous he is; if your shoe is untied, he’s going to tie it for you.

And then…just before he put his helmet on and entered the game for what would go down in history as his career-making start, Nathan looked up in the stands for me. (He didn’t have a private box at that point.) I stood up, we made eye contact, and Nathan looked like he was going to hurl. I did the one thing I knew would help him relax: contorted my face like a ding-dong and stuck my tongue out the side of my mouth. His face exploded in a smile, and then he led the team to play the best game of their season.

I am Nathan’s best friend. I’m the one who’s been through it all with him, and he’s been through it all with me: high school gangly phase (me, not him), college football signing day, the car accident that changed my entire future, every stomach bug of the past six years, the day I took ownership of the dance studio, and when the confetti was falling on him after his team won the Super Bowl. But MOST importantly, I’m the only person in the entire world who knows how he got the two-inch scar right below his navel. I’ll give you a hint: it’s embarrassing and has to do with an at-home waxing kit. I’ll give you another hint: I dared him to do it.

Nathan’s voice rumbles from the room behind me. “Mmmm, do I smell coffee and donuts? That must mean Bree Cheese is here.” I flash Kelsey a not-so-subtle grin. A winner’s grin.

It’s time you”—Don’t say it, Kelsey!—“choose. It’s either me or her.” She blinks several times, and I turn around to give Kelsey some privacy in this moment of loss. Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to mourn the insignificant, minuscule relationship that was Nathan and Kelsey.

Would I love to marry him and have his giant muscular babies? Yes. In a heartbeat. But it’s not in the cards for us, and I’ll be damned if I ruin our friendship

When Nathan finally comes back into the kitchen, I train my face into a heartfelt frown, proving Lily wrong. “I’m sorry, friend.” “No, you’re not,” he says with a chuckle as he leans his bare hip against the counter.

I playfully shove his arm. “What! If that’s the case, maybe I should take away your key to my apartment. Implement some boundaries there.” He takes the last bite of his donut, grin still in place. “Good luck. I’m never giving it back.” His arm brushes against mine as he passes by me,

To my left is a floor-to-ceiling three-million-dollar view of the ocean, but to my right is the view I would give my soul to see every day for the rest of my life. Obviously, Bree doesn’t know I feel this way about her.

the jagged scar that changed the course of her entire life.

in case you are wondering, am an overeager puppy, begging for Bree to play with me—to always play with me.

The only consolation for continuously losing this argument is the fact that her skin is pressed against my mouth right now. I’ll stay silent forever if she will promise to never move.

We can also safely say that if Bree ever finds out I’ve been paying a few hundred dollars toward her rent each month, I will be relieved of my favorite dangly parts.

I just wanted to be with her. Football didn’t matter as much to me as she did.

and that SMELL! What even is that?” She grimaces, knowing exactly what I’m talking about. “Someone suspects it’s a raccoon that got in between the walls and died, but we can’t be certain. Or…” Her eyes dart. “…itmightbeadeadhuman.” She mumbles that last part, and I consider holding her hostage and forcing her to live in my clean, mold-free apartment against her will.

She’s a needle, and I’m a full balloon.

Some might be tempted to think my full-time job is pro athlete. Wrong. It’s forcing myself to behave inside this grey area with Bree where I’m wild about her on the inside and nothing but a platonic guy-friend on the outside. It’s a cruel form of torture.

“Number eight. You know, because you’re number eight on the team.” I’ll set it next to my number eight playing card, number eight shot glass, and number eight birthday candle.

Bree says all of this looking completely nonchalant, while I have to remind myself to keep breathing—slowly, in and out, like a normal human and not like I’m short-circuiting on the inside. Because this—right now—is the very first time we’ve both been single at the same time in the last six years. Somehow our relationships have staggered themselves out into an almost humorous cycle. And now…we’re both single. At the same time.

With a sigh, I look down at my newest Breenket. “Well, magic eight ball, what do you think? Should I tell my best friend I love her?” I turn the ball over, and the message reads: Reply hazy, try again.

LOVE!!!

We tend to call and leave meaningless voicemails for no reason. Like cell phone pen pals. “Hey, is it true that some caterpillars are poisonous? Somehow one made its way into my truck and then disappeared when I looked away. Now I’m wondering if I should buy a new vehicle and just give him this one? What do you think?”

Hahahh. Big macho man scared of a butterfly

I’m the one to get to the phone first. I pick it up and make a break for my bedroom. Nathan is right on my heels and trying to catch my arms, but I zigzag and evade his grip. Quick, someone put me in the NFL.

“What? Do you want to apologize now that you got caught? Now that you’re in trouble?” “No.” “No?!” Somehow that answer is even more infuriating. “I can’t apologize because I’m not sorry that I did it.” He’s so calm and collected.