“Twenty-one.”
Interesting. He’s two years younger than I am, and somehow he moves through the world like he's been in it longer. “You carry yourself older,” I say. “I guess it’s the three schools you’ve been to.”
“I was sure you were a student.” He slides a puck back and forth with the toe of his blade. “Girl in the bleachers with a book and a mug of something. Honestly, I figured you for a freshman or at best a TA.”
“I graduated two years ago. I've had this job since I was twenty-one.” I make myself say the rest, because he should have it straight. “I'm not a student, Caleb. I'm staff. And in your case, I’m a very important staff member.”
Something rearranges itself behind his eyes. I'd give a week of quiet mornings to read it.
“So…you're a grown professional who runs the office that decides whether I get to keep playing.”
“Now you're catching up,” I quip.
I pick up the clipboard I'm not actually using, because I need my hands to have a task. “I'm older than you. I outrank you. And I’m the single person in this building you cannot afford to be charming to. Three reasons this conversation is already over.”
“You said three reasons like you've got them numbered.”
I go still. He's right, and we both know he's right, and the genuinely alarming part is that I do have them numbered.
“It's a facility walk-through,” I remind him. “Not a conversation.”
He nods slowly, taking it in, not pushing, and somehow the not pushing makes me want to tell him more, which is exactly why I don’t.
He reaches down behind the bench instead, comes up with a beat-up thermos, and sets it on the boards near the rail.
“Coffee?”
“You drink coffee?”
“Why is that a question? I know you do. Where’s your mug?”
I suck my teeth. He really does notice everything, and it’s incredibly annoying.
“I don’t drink after people.”
“It’s a clean cup. I poured it before I knew you were coming.” He nudges it an inch toward me. “Dark roast, black. Figured you for somebody who likes things plain…and strong.”
“I take it with sugar. A lot of sugar.”
“Huh.” He looks at me like I’ve surprised him, like that’s a fun new fact. “Wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“People rarely guess anything right about me.”
“The fun is in the guessing.” He’s smiling now.
“Well, there won’t be much more of this guessing game thing you like to do. This is a one-time coincidence.”
“Sure it is, Dixon.”
That’s when I see his hand.
He’s got something pinched between two fingers, bending it back and forth against the top of the boards while he talks. Easy. Like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.
A paper clip. Bent out of shape and back. The exact thing I do under tables where nobody can see.
“What’s that?” I ask.
He looks down like he forgot it was there. “This?”
