I also froze. And I didn’t move my hand away either. Yet, Aleksey didn’t look like he was trying to mess with me; he just looked as though he didn’t have the energy to care.
“You’re going to burn out,” I said softly.
Aleksey stared down at our touching hands. “I don’t have a choice.”
“Everyone has a choice.”
He scoffed. “Of courseyouwould think that.” He finally pulled his hand back, sliding the red pen toward his notebook. “You wouldn’t get it.”
“Try me.”
He looked up. Dark circles carved hollows beneath his eyes. And the scar along his jaw looked less threatening.
“If I tank my GPA, I’ll lose my scholarship,” Aleksey snapped, setting the pen down. “And then I’m back in Detroit with nothing. So I don’t take fucking breaks.”
His blunt honesty caught me off guard.
There was no performance in it, just the cold, hard reality of his life. After our rocky start, I expected him to tell me to screw off, not to actually be open with me. It threw me, but the instinct to back away faded.
I forced my hand to relax around my pen.
“We still have ten more minutes,” Aleksey muttered, noticing I’d gone still.
“I know.” I pulled the textbook back toward the center of the table. One more problem sat unfinished at the bottom of the page, the answer half-scratched in his cramped handwriting. “Finish this one, Aleks. Then we’re done.”
We spent the rest of the session in quiet. The anger had drained out of the room, leaving a charged silence behind. I kept my eyes on the textbook, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the rough warmth of his hand.
When the hour was finally up, I packed my bag quickly and left for the dining hall.
I thought finding a crowd would help clear my head, but a few hours later in the athletic dining hall, I felt more isolated than ever. The loud clatter of ceramic plates echoing against the high ceilings was grating.
I sat wedged between my brother, Trenton, and a few other legacy players, trying my best to project normalcy. Tracing circles on my plate, I pushed a dry piece of chicken around.
“You’re quiet today, Kart,” Elliot said. He bumped my shoulder. “Tutoring finally fry your brain?”
“Just tired.”
Trenton leaned back. He pointed his fork at me. “Zotov will do that to you.”
“He’s been fine,” I said.
Trenton scoffed. “I don’t know why Coach hasn’t cut him yet. He’s a penalty waiting to happen.”
I didn’t answer. Anxious energy made me jittery. The conversation only reminded me of the tightrope I’d been walking lately. I was trying to fit in, but I was constantly caught between the quiet resentment of the scholarship kids I lived with at the Ice House, and the snide, light-touch remarks of the legacy group.
Guys like Trenton didn’t understand why I’d chosen off-campus housing, viewing it as a bizarre snub against my own kind. I didn’t fit in with my housemates, and I clearly didn’t fit in here.
Looking one table over, I caught Aleksey staring right at me. His gaze locked onto mine with an expression that hardened into stone, pulling the thick white scar along his lower face taut.
He’d heard them. Our tables were close enough, and Trenton never bothered to lower his voice.
“Anyway,” Trenton went on. He looked at Elliot. “Did you see the new freshman walk-on’s today?”
“They looked decent,” Elliot offered.
“They looked like total disasters,” Trenton corrected. “Let’s hope none of them pull a Pearson.”
A few guys at the table chuckled. It sounded tight and ugly. Elliot shifted in his seat. He stared at his water glass and didn’t laugh.
