Free The Best of Enemies by Jen Lancaster

lover, not a fighter.” He clicks the remote. “Hey, be sure to keep it down.
Ninja Turtles
is coming on.”
    “What are you kids doing?” Teddy asks, returning his attention to us.
    “We’re trying to figure out where to live on campus. We have to fill out our housing forms and send them in together so we can be roommates,” I explain. “And now Sars says she doesn’t want to live in a coed dorm, so that seriously narrows our options.”
    “I thought you got into Stanford, Sars,” Teddy says. “Whitney’s good, but it’s no Stanford.”
    “I can’t go to college without Jack!” she replies.
    John-John, self-appointed God’s Gift to Evanston, comes sauntering into the kitchen, wearing track pants and Adidas soccer sandals with socks and a perfectly gelled coif. I just want to run my hands through his dumb, stiff, prissy hair and make it messy. I swear he thinks he’s Morrissey. I share a bathroom with him and when he’s home in the summer, his toiletries fill up the entire counter. “Those two looking for a dorm? They should live in the Virgin Vault.”
    We consider John-John our most expendable brother, in case anyone asks.
    “Wait, where?” Bobby asks, interest momentarily diverted from his beloved break-dancing reptiles. I’m not sure he watches anything that isn’t animated.
    John replies with his ever-present smugness. “That’s what everyone calls Haverford Hall. It’s by the Bio building. Killer campus location, but no male visitation, except for fathers on move-in day. That’d probably work best for you, squirt. May as well pack your Melissa Etheridge albums now and greet your lady-lovin’ destiny. I see a lot of plaid shirts and big watches in your future.”
    That’s so unfair. Just because I’ve never had a boyfriend doesn’t mean I want to play for the other team. I
like
boys. A lot. I’m just not sure how to let them know I want to do more than arm wrestle with them. (Should I let them win once in a while?)
    And if I look just like Teddy, how come guys don’t throw themselves at me like the girls have been doing at him since he was twelve?
    Ted doesn’t mind the attention, though. He’s a total playboy. Last summer, he had three dates in one day. He went to lunch with the first girl, hit the beach with another, and took a third to a party. I figured his plan would devolve into a Peter Brady level of sitcom hilarity but he juggled them just fine.
    He’s probably a better brother than he is a boyfriend.
    Bobby takes the juice carton Ted whipped at him a few minutes ago and hurls it at John-John before any of the rest of us can dog-pile on him for being his usual unpleasant self. Pulpy liquid splashes his sweatshirt and he dampens a dish towel to absorb the stain before it sets, grumbling to himself about how he never gets the respect he so richly deserves. I’m not kidding—this kind of stuff happens a hundred times a day here. Dad says this is why we can’t have nice things.
    Righteously indignant, John tells us, “Whatever, losers, I’m going over to Donnie’s house to play Nintendo,” instead of good-bye as he heads out the back door. In ten minutes, he’ll have forgotten this incident.
    Unless he was a girl, in which case I imagine he’d take the slight to the grave.
    Ted says, “Live in Wadsworth Hall. Square footage is on the small side but if you’re lucky, you’ll get a fourth floor assignment. A couple of them have fireplaces, but all the rooms have leaded glass, wide molding, and box beam ceilings.”
    “They have what?” I ask. Sometimes he forgets he’s not speaking to other architecture students.
    “That means those rooms retain the original Craftsman style of when first built. Aesthetics aside, Wadsworth’s centrally located. You won’t care in August, but wait till you pass under the breezeway of the Engineering building in January and the wind hits you. Coldest spot in central Illinois, guaranteed. You’ll thank me for shaving any distance