“I thought you dropped out,” Mark says. He’s not looking at me. He’s looking at the drink he’s been pouring for five minutes now. An excuse to talk to me? Why?
Everything about Mark’s tone says,I don’t give a shit about you. This is already the friendliest encounter we’ve ever had.
I wish my mind would give me something clever to say. “No,” my oh-so-clever brain spits out. Thanks for nothing, brain. I lick my lips. Try again. “I thought you didn’t slum it at sorority parties.” My voice comes out mocking. Antagonistic. Fuuck. One time, one time, I would like to say something friendly to Mark. Thanks to my stupid brain, pretty much every interaction we’ve had has been bloodshed in sports clubs. I picked a fight, Mark engaged, and we’ve spent the past two years joining every club and competing until one of us wins. Wins were judged by who was the best, who was put into the most important spot on the team, who was the most popular with other members.
Well, Mark. You win.
“It’s my friend’s birthday,” Mark says, voice level and unreadable as it always is.
“I didn’t realise you had friends,” I say while knowing all of them by name.
“More than you from the sounds of it,” Mark quips back.
It catches me off guard. I hesitate. Mark looks at me, then his gaze sweeps down, making my blood sing. His brow furrows as he looks at me; like something’s wrong with what he’s seeing.
And, fuck. There sure is. My weight—is it all off-balance? Askew? I knew I should have practised more before going out in public. My brain goes haywire. I take in a panicked breath.
“You swap to swimming?” Mark asks, catching me off guard again.
The surprising question throws my breathing back into alignment. “No,” I answer. Somehow it comes out normal.
“Running?” Mark asks next. He nods at my shoulders. “You’ve leaned out.”
The word Mark means is: deteriorated.
I grimace. Mark sees that.
I look away quickly. “I’ve been hitting the books.”
There’s an awkward silence. When I gather the courage to peek, Mark is just standing there, staring. I can see a hint of emotion on his face; something troubled.
“You’ll have to find someone new to compete with,” I say.
Mark stares intently at my face. I think he’s trying to read me. It’s a bit unnerving, and a bit stimulating.
My leg aches. I flinch, shoulders drawing up, and I instinctively try to shake out the pain. Mark grabs my arm. “Are you okay?” He’s looking at my leg.
Don’t look there.
“Fine.” I shrug him off and step back, wincing again but I try to hide it this time. “Later. Give Eddie a birthday beat on my behalf.” I escape into the crowd, braving the knocking bodies, and almost cry at how off-balance I feel. It’s the front door I get to first and I don’t hesitate a second before going out. My legs tremble as if I’ve been running.
I take a second to steady myself. It’s dark out, unusually warm for late autumn. I see lights on in most houses, but the pedestrian streets are empty.
I dig out my phone and my hands shake as I request an Uber. They’re steadier when I text Bethany that I’m heading home. She’ll wonder why, and most likely be annoyed with me. This is the first social event I’ve been to since coming back to college, and I’m ditching an hour in.
I may have to accept that I’ll soon be down to zero friends.
Chapter Two
I sit alone in the college dining hall eating lunch. My appetite is crap, has been a while now, but I go through the motions, mechanically chewing one bite after another until all the food is gone from my plate. I push my tray back and open a book, and—a broad back catches my eye. I look at that firm masterpiece, recognising the contours instantly. Mark faces his friend as he walks by—the tank, Eddie—and doesn’t notice me. My gaze catches on Eddie’s bulging shoulders, and my own tighten as bad memories prod at the back of my brain. The whisper of a jeer. A mocking laugh. I snap my gaze away, willing the ghosts away.
They end up sitting at the next table over.
Mark is facing me.
His black eyes connect with mine. I’m too startled to jump, which I’m glad for because that would make me look guilty as if I were checking him out or something. After a long pause, Mark glances at Eddie. I take the chance to look at my book.
Look at my book, not read. Because Mark keeps looking over at me. Eddie is talking all animated, but Mark doesn’t seem the least bit interested in his story.
