“What a nerd,” one of the guys from St Vincent’s mutters. My grip on my glass tightens.
“Fuck off,” says Sam, and the guy scowls. “Never have I ever got drunk and vomited on my parents’ lawn.” Sam deflects the conversation. “He’s just jealous,” he whispers to me as Ben drinks.
That guy’s comment cuts more than it should. The game continues, and I zone out a bit before Ben grins and asks another question.
“It might be a shot in the dark, but what about this: never have I ever slept with an Olympian.”
I feel everyone look towards us. Initially I think they’re just teasing me, before I see the look in Claire’s eyes. A look of shock. I turn to Sam, and my smile fades as he takes a sip of his beer. My wine suddenly feels sour in my stomach. He’s looking at me, and I quickly paste a smile onto my face, though I know he feels my body stiffen where I sit against his legs.
“What the hell, man?” says Josh, as I turn back to face the group. “Who did you sleep with? And why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not a big deal,” he mumbles. “The Olympic Village is crazy. It was just one of the other swimmers who was also sixteen, all totally legal. Can we not talk about it?”
“I knew it,” Ben crows. “I had heard rumours about the Olympic Village. You’re such a dark horse, Fletcher; I knew something would’ve happened.”
Claire shoots me a concerned look. It’s hard to analyse my feelings in this environment. Am I upset because he didn’t tell me? We’ve always told each other everything. Or is it that I thought our friendship might evolve into something more?
I knew all those glances over the years were in my head. Stupid over-analysing brain.
Sam nudges me with his leg and leans forwards. “Are you alright?” he whispers in my ear.
Ugh. Now I regret sitting so close to him. We always sit like this, but suddenly I’m imagining him doing the same thing with someone else. I thought this easy familiarity was something just the two of us had. But obviously I was wrong.
“Yep.” I nod. “Sorry, the wine's going to my head a bit.”
“Do you want me to get you some water?” he asks. “The beer’s going to my head too. I don’t know why I just admitted to that.”
“I’m fine,” I say weakly. Our faces are now too close for my comfort. “Sounds like a pretty wild week for you after I left Paris then. I hadn’t realised you were partying before you went away with your parents.”
I really hope the words don’t sound bitter. I don’t mean them to.Or do I?I don’t know. I honestly can’t work out what I’m feeling right now, and the wine isn’t helping.
He grimaces. “Can we talk about it later?”
“Sure.” I hope that my voice doesn’t sound tight.
“You’re staying at mine tonight, right?” he asks.
“Umm,” I hedge. “I have netball quite early tomorrow so I might go home. But I could come over later in the day. I can’t wait to see your mum again and hopefully eat some of her brownies before you get to them.”
“Oh.” He looks slightly taken aback. “Of course. That’s fine. I know she missed you.”
I turn to face the group again and take a deep breath. Only one more hour before I can leave and then finally the knot in my stomach might start to fade.
Chapter 9
Seventeen years old
Sam
Iring the doorbell at Kath’s house, ready to head to Claire’s party together. But instead of Kath, Tom opens the door.
“She just texted me to say she’s running late.” He leans against the doorframe. “Apparently, you’re not checking your phone.”
I blink at him in confusion.
“She and Bobbie only just left his house,” he adds, his tone apologetic.
With a sigh, I pull out my phone. Sure enough, I’ve got a missed call and a text. I don’t know why, but it irritates me. Kath’s never late—she’s obsessively punctual. I don’t like the way that’s changing. Or, more accurately, I don’t like thathe’sthe reason. Herboyfriend—or ‘the guy she’s dating’ because apparently, he’s ‘not into labels’. Whatever that means.
