Page 28 of Break Points and Face Offs

This guy. I lean back in my seat.

“What makes you think I don’t have leadership experience?”

“Oh? Were you the president of a fraternity? Captain of a championship-winning tennis team?”

“No … but … I was the alternate captain on one of my junior teams, and I was assistant coach for a kid’s team over the summer.”

He says nothing to that, just continues staring at me as he eats his salad. My pits are getting sweaty as he watches me. I ignore him and try to focus on my food, but I’m suddenly not very hungry.

He sets down his fork, sighing like this pains him. “Fine. You can be the alternate captain or the assistant coach or whatever of our group. That should be better suited to your experience.”

“You can be a real prick sometimes, you know that, Rosie?”

I say it lightly, but it makes him recoil. He laughs, but it’s forced. I think about apologizing, but then I’d have to admit I didn’t really mean it as a joke.

We pick at our food in silence for the rest of the meal. As promised, Priestley pays the check. To his credit, he does it discreetly, without making me feel bad about it or showing off.

Back in the car, I relax a little. It’s dark and we don’t have to sit opposite each other under the harsh lights of the diner anymore. Still, it’s not exactly pleasant.

I’m relieved when Priestley breaks the silence. “We should get together this weekend to get started on a plan of action. If we’re going to beat Alice Liang’s group, we need to⁠—”

“I can’t this weekend.”

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Why not?”

“Because I promised I’d go home to Boston to visit my family.”

“Is it a special occasion?”

“No, but⁠—”

“I’m sure if you explain how important this project is, they’ll understand.”

“Of course they would, but that’s not the point. I wanna see them.”

Priestley huffs. “You’ve been here for less than a month and already you’re running home to Mommy and Daddy?”

“Fuck you.”

Shit, why do I keep losing it with him?

He clears his throat. “I apologize,” he says. He does? “That was a little immature.”

He waits. Probably expecting me to apologize, too. I’m still salty so I just sit there with my arms crossed.

“And don’t you think it was a little immature of you, too?” he probes.

“Fine.” I sigh. “Sorry.”

“Okay,” he says. “I forgive you. And for calling me a prick.”

“Great, thanks.” I meant it and I don’t take it back.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Do you accept my apology?”