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Most conversations are trivial enough to small talk my way through, and a few I have to dodge because some of Mom’s friends are downright creepy with the way they ogle me, especially since I’ve known some of them since I was fourteen.
I check my Apple watch: 1:15 p.m.
Atlas is only fifteen minutes late.
Normally, I’d have suggested we ride together to ensure he didn’t arrive late, but I wanted to help out with the food and decorations.
About ten minutes later, he steps out onto the back porch and heads down to the pool. A few of Glen’s friends approach him, and he makes small talk, forces a smile, but I know it’s fake, and I know how much he hates faking.
It’s been little more than a week since Atlas and I made the bet, and I haven’t seen him much. It might just be school. Or work. Or all this studying I’m cramming in now to show him up. Or maybe it’s awkward to see each other again after we set the terms of his ridiculous bet.
I’ve run through the conversation again and again. Regardless of my interpretation of how the bet came about, one thing is clear: Atlas agreed to it.
And so did I.
What’s wrong with us?
Maybe we’re both trying to take some time to figure that out.
“Oh, he was a fantastic athlete,” Sabine says with a bright smile to Margot, who just moved into the neighborhood a few months ago.
I grit my teeth. I knew the moment Sabine approached with Margot that this wasn’t going to be pleasant. Sabine is one of Mom’s oldest friends, and the sort who couldn’t stop herself from saying what’s on her mind if her life depended on it.
“Everyone was sure he would get recruited for college,” she goes on.
Why are we doing this?
My attention turns to Atlas, who’s chatting with one of Glen’s golf buddies. He hasn’t looked at me once since he got here. Why not? Is he freaked out about what he agreed to?
Maybe he is. Then it’ll be even better when I ace this test and show him what I’m capable of. Then he’ll regret ever fuckingwith me, and I’ll be declared the victor of the bet and he a coward for not following through.
“What happened?” Margot asks Sabine, as if I’m not standing right here.
“He had a bad accident one game at the end of junior year.”
“An ACL tear,” I clarify, trying to take back my own goddamn story.
“Couldn’t recover in time for the next season. Just so close,” Sabine says, shaking her head, as though she feels oh-so-sorry for my poor pathetic self.
Margot offers her condolences for the last thing in my life I need them for.
“It must be difficult seeing all your peers having all this success, being on TV and having crowds cheering them on,” Sabine says, since she won’t finish digging a hole for herself until she’s six feet under.
I explain it’s really not as big a deal as Sabine is making it out, and uncompelled, they move on to chat with a familiar face Sabine notices.
As they walk away, Atlas’s gaze shifts to me.
I offer a smirk and a wave, and he grins. No sign of uneasiness in his expression. Maybe he’s just masking it really well. Hard to tell. Sometimes a subtle wince or twist of his lip shows his hand; other times, his expressions are fucking riddles.
He excuses himself from Glen’s golf buddy and saunters over to me with a wineglass in hand. As he nears, he takes a sip. “How’s the studying going?”
Of course he wouldn’t be able to keep from bringing that up, even here. I try to play it cool, but I glance around to ensure no one’s in earshot.
“Ash already took Thermo,” I say, “and he’s a fantastic tutor, so he’s helping me out.”
“He took Thermo already?”
“He’s kind of a whiz. Close to a 4.0. Took a bunch of AP classes in high school. He’s already taught me acronyms and given me analogies to help me get my head around the concepts I was struggling with. And he’s giving me practice tests to track my progress.” I’m not going to mention that on the first practice test I only got three out of ten questions right. “If anyone can help me get there, it’ll be him.”
