Page 37 of Break Points and Face Offs

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve never encountered children or animals before.”

“Not in that capacity.”

“What capacity? A regular, normal life?”

“Exactly.”

I wait until we’re in the car to ask him to elaborate.

“You don’t have siblings?”

“I have a younger brother, Jamie. But I didn’t see him much growing up because I was at boarding school and he attended a local private school in Connecticut, mostly.”

“He didn’t go to boarding school with you?”

Priestley’s expression seems unperturbed, but on closer inspection, I see a slight tightness in his jaw.

“He did, but … he didn’t like it, so he came home.”

“He didn’t like it?”

“Jamie’s sensitive.” He winces before correcting himself. “He’s shy. Boys were cruel to him, especially when they discovered that he’s gay. Despite my best efforts, I wasn’t able to protect him from boys his own age when they were in their dorms.”

Fuck. I’m mentally calculating how hard it would be to track these assholes down when I realize I should say something. “Sorry, Priestley. That sucks. I’d flip if someone was bullying Ally or Chase.”

Priestley swallows, it looks like an effort. The silence spreads and I wrack my brains for something else to say.

“Did you have pets as a kid?” I try.

Priestley visibly relaxes. He smooths his hand over his polo as if he’s wearing a suit and tie.

“My parents have horses on their estate. I used to have riding lessons, and I had a horse named Shadow when I was a child, but I didn’t see him much when I was away at school.”

“That must have sucked.”

“Not really. I enjoyed school.”

“You didn’t miss your parents?”

He squirms in his seat. “Of course,” he says, but it sounds forced.

“They must have missed you.”

Something dark flashes across his face. He recovers quickly, but I saw it. What does that mean?

“Your mother seems proud of you,” he says. I know he’s changing the subject. I don’t know what to say. Why wouldn’t she be? I’m at Princeton. I’m a good student. I didn’t get anyone pregnant in high school—not likely, anyway. And I’m not on drugs. I’m a good son, or at least, I try my best to be. What more could she want?

We pass the ice rink where I learned to skate on our way to the grocery store and it gives me an idea.

“About you being the leader of our group …” I say.

Priestley’s head snaps up from where he’d been furiously typing something on his phone.

“How about we have a little competition?”

His eyes light up. Competition to Priestley Rosenthal is like catnip to a feral alley cat.

“What kind of competition?”