Page 19 of It’s All in How You Fall
And it isdelicious.
I toss my money at Alex again because I shouldn’t be gumming up his employee tab, but he bats it back without a single comment. Which only makes me more desperate to find out how I can repay him for his kindness. Let’s be honest, he actually really thought about this and put way more effort into helping me than I did into helping myself.
I try again.
“You’re doing something nice for me. I want to do something nice for you.”
I fail.
“I’m doing something nice because I want to. I’m not your brother—there’s no end game.”
Okay, maybe my being Nat’s little sister has something to do with wanting to even up with Alex. With Nat, everything is a bargain, everything has a price.
Still, I squint at Alex—his neat hair, orthodontically perfect smile, the beloved car he bought with his own savings fuzzy in the distant staff lot behind him. What on earth do I have that this boy wants? Despite his Sunny-like perfection, there has to be something. I just can’t see it.
But I’m going to find out and I’m going to pay him back.
9
As we head back to Alex’s car, his sand-written list of sports isswirling in my brain, warring with my certain guilt over owing him something for his attention.
I’m sort of curious about how Alex coaches a sport he actually plays. He didn’t really teach me basketball the other night, but considering that everything he plays is on the list, he could try with something else. “How about tennis for the next sport?”
Of his three sports, tennis is probably Alex’s best. I mean, he’s a literal tennis star, winning state last year, and he’s been to national tournaments and stuff, so his tips will likely be excellent. Plus, my size won’t matter nearly as much as with everything else. I mean, I think. Maybe. They don’tlookbig on TV. And the people who just wandered by weren’t giants or anything—and bonus, they were older than Dad, which means the sport might not be hell on my back.
Alex smirks as he unlocks the car. “Tennis is harder than it looks.”
“It’s on the list.” I slide in next to him. The seats are hot as hell.
“After today, I’m not completely convinced I should arm you with a racket. If you actually get a piece of the ball, I want to keep my head.”
A protective towel lands in my lap and I contort myself to spread it out on the upholstery without opening the door. The backs of my thighs and shoulders are immediately thankful. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But for real, it’s a fall sport. You don’t have to be super tall, and agility and flexibility are bonuses.”
Alex’s face goes deadpan. “You’ve been watching Wimbledon, haven’t you?”
“It’s on seven hours a day, and if you’ll recall, I’m not at the gym for those hours, sooooo…”
“You’re watching the best in the world—they make it look easy.”
The Challenger roars to life, and I know he’s trying to drown out my retort. Nice try but it won’t work. “Prove it. It’s the next sport.”
Alex’s face breaks into a little smile and I know I’ve got him. He rolls down the windows, letting the hot air escape the car before we wind through the lot. “Fine.”
“Free next Thursday?” I ask, mostly because it’s exactly a week from today.
Alex’s schedule is a whole lot more complicated than mine—we’re still parked, so he whips out his phone and checks the calendar. His lips kick up. “Thursday’s good for me.”
“Excellent, gives me time to do my homework with Wimbledon.”
Alex taps the gas. “Watching Rafa Nadal flex after winning an eighteen-shot rally isn’t going to make you a natural at tennis.”
“No, but it couldn’t hurt. You know, for science.”
After a few minutes, we hit a red light and a natural pause in the conversation. I’m about to ask Alex if he wouldn’t mind dropping me by the grocery store so I can get the ingredients for my sad-sack brownie offering and walk home when he surprises me by asking, “So, what are the specifics of an Amanar? And who was she—he?”
It takes me a moment to realize he actually cataloged some of the information I blathered about out on the court. “It’s a vault named after a Romanian gymnast—Simona Amanar. Yurchenko entry, two and a half off.” His eyes sort of glaze over and I realize I’m not speaking normal teenager English. “I can show you sometime, if you want.”
He sucks in a breath. “Are you cleared to do an Amanar?”
