Selena Kitt - Baumgartner Generations - Henry

Henry stood in the doorway, frozen, staring at the two of them with an expression he was sure gave his feelings away. He was too surprised not to reveal himself. He felt as if the entire foundation of the world he walked around on had just crumbled away in an instant and he was falling toward the fiery hell of its center.

“Dude!” Dean turned his head toward Henry, smiling, not getting up, not pushing Libby off. In fact, he pulled her in closer with one arm, wedging her more firmly in his lap, and she was struggling at his fierce attention. “Libs, you know Henry.”

“Hi, Henry.” That was all she said, but he thought he saw a moment of surprise cross her features.

“Hi.” He managed that much.

Dean frowned. “You okay? You don’t look so good.”

Was he really so obtuse? Or was he just playing head games?

Henry shut the door and tried not to stumble as he made his way over to his bed. He wanted to crawl under it. Or at the very least, throw himself down on it. Maybe punch the pillow. Or the wall. Until his hands bled. That would be good. Instead, he just sat facing the two of them, wondering just how much worse his life could really get.

“Yeah, well, coach gave me some bad news.” Henry tried not to look at Libby’s face. Anywhere but there. He didn’t want to see whatever feeling was in her eyes-especially if there was no emotion there at all. “He’s not playing me until my grades come up.”

“Fucker.” Dean rolled his eyes. Libby had managed to slide off his lap, but Dean still had his arm around her. Henry tried to ignore his friend’s hand, the one that wasn’t wrapped around Libby’s hip. That one was resting on her jean-clad thigh, massaging gently. That’s the hand he wanted to tear off. “Want me to have my dad call him?”

Henry actually considered it. Could he really do something, or have something done? Dean’s family carried a lot of clout at the university. His dad was on the Board of Regents. Maybe…

“Nah.” Henry stiffened, deciding that if Dean’s influence came with the kind of attitude he was now seeing in his roommate, he didn’t want to take anything from him. Henry kicked off his shoes and leaned back on his bed, hands behind his head, to stare up at the ceiling. “It’s just my English class. I’ll pull my grade up.”

“He’s got Franklin,” Dean explained to Libby.

“Ohhhh, not the dragon-lady.” The soft sound of her voice made Henry’s whole body respond. He’d been thinking about nothing but her since they’d met-her voice, her touch, her smile. Now to have her here in his dorm room, just a few feet away and untouchable, was the worst torture he could imagine. “I hear she eats freshmen for breakfast.”

“I transferred out first week.” Dean snorted and shook his head. “See if you can get into Parker’s class with me. She’s a pushover. Total cake-walk.”

“Too late. Tried that.” Henry sighed. “They won’t let me transfer this late.”

“Franklin’s tough, but she’s fair,” Libby countered. “And you know what? We have a great tutoring program. You can sign up at the library.”

He didn’t turn toward her, but he mumbled a, “Maybe,” in her general direction.

“Well, dude, I’m sorry.” Dean stood, stretching, and headed to their bathroom. “It sucks you aren’t gonna get any ice time just because Franklin’s a bitch.”

“She’s a pain in my ass,” Henry muttered. Just thinking about his English teacher made him borderline homicidal.

Libby giggled and Henry rolled onto his side to gaze at her, realizing Dean had just left him and Libby alone, even if just for a moment. She was cross-legged on Dean’s bed, leaning her elbows on her knees and studying at him, her hair falling over her arms and thighs like a river of lava.

“So do you do tutoring?” Henry asked, hopeful. That would be a great excuse to see her, he thought, watching as she stood, wandering around the room.

“Professor Franklin runs the Literacy Tutor Foundation. I volunteered through them last year.” Libby was exploring the surface of Dean’s desk. “Oh my god, are these real?” She held up a pair of handcuffs.

“Ask Dean.” Henry snorted. “He’s got a whole story about a cop and a prostitute he could tell you.”

“Nice.” She rolled her eyes, dropping them on the desk as if they were on fire. “Anyway, yeah, I could tutor you. If you want.”

He considered her offer. He really, really considered it.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had a tutor. His particular handicap had forced him to become very resourceful over the years. He couldn’t count the number of tests he’d cheated on, the girls and friends who had written the essays and papers he’d turned in, and the tutors he had manipulated into doing most of his work. But for some reason, he didn’t want to lie to Libby.

Of course, he didn’t want her to know the truth, either. That would be awful.

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll manage.” He always had. By high school, it was really athletics-hockey specifically-that had saved him. He’d found something he was incredibly good at, something that wasn’t just valuable to him, but something other people valued, too. His high school hockey coach had taken him under his wing, making exceptions for him and talking to all of his teachers. He went from skating by, barely passing, to getting A’s and playing great hockey. He’d even gotten a scholarship to U of M-something he was now in danger of losing.

“Well, the offer’s open.” Libby sat on the bed again as Dean came back into the room, still zipping up his jeans.

“I gotta get going,” Dean informed them, grabbing his jacket and regarding Henry. “You’ll keep Libby company during the game?”

Henry stood, walking toward the door and opening it. “Can I talk to you? In the hallway?”

Dean followed him.

Henry shut the door. His hands were shaking. “What the fuck is going on?”

“You mean Libby?” Dean took a step back when he saw Henry’s face. “Hey! Hey! It’s not serious or anything. I asked her if she wanted to go to the game and she said yes. I was as surprised as you! Besides, I thought it would give you time to get to know her, since I’ll be playing football the whole while.”

Henry frowned, hesitated. His hand was already clenched into a tight fist, cocked and ready to go. But part of him wanted to believe. Was Dean really just trying to help him? “It looked pretty serious to me.”

Dean grinned sheepishly. “Well, I wasn’t gonna turn the girl down. Would you?”

“So what is this now, a competition?”

“May the best man win?” Dean took another step back, holding up his hands and laughing. “Dude, I don’t wanna fight. We both got an equal shot. If she likes you, she’ll end up with you. If she likes me, well…” He shrugged, still smiling.

What else could he do? “Fine.”

“Still friends?”

Henry ignored Dean’s outstretched hand. How in the hell was he supposed to compete with Dean Mosher? The dorm they lived in was named after his great-great-something or other, for god’s sake! The guy had everything and he walked around like he knew it.

“Hey, will you bring Libby back here after the game? I’ve got to head over to the frat house for some setup afterward. Next week’s Greek Week, buddy!” Dean waggled his eyebrows, grinning with perfectly straight teeth, and Henry relented.

“Okay, but if the sock’s on the door, you’re sleeping on Bel’s floor-and I saw him eating baked beans at lunch today.” Henry gave him the finger as Dean laughed and walked away.

“I hate football.” Libby was shivering, even in her oversized matching gold and blue scarf and knit hat and mittens, all with the U of M logo on them. She seemed so small sitting next to him.