Page 71 of It’s All in How You Fall
Nat continues to build on the nuance he somehow discovered in the past week and plucks the paper from my hands, taking the time to scan the whole entry description and rules before answering me. “That was nice of him.”
I can’t read his tone. “It was. So… would you be in?” I could ask Dad. Olga. Peregrine. Sunny. But my gut wants Nat to be there. I don’t know if that’s because I want him to see that I’ve actually been working really hard, not just hanging out with Alex, or if it’s because I need someone who will tell me like it is, no matter what the score says.
But maybe he’s also my preferred buffer. Someone who can stand between my heart and Alex while also being firmly at my side. Nat thinks for a moment, eyes shaded. I’m about to summarize his commitment and emphasize that it won’t be too much—a match Friday, the next match or the loser’s bracket on Saturday. Maybe something Sunday, but not likely. He wouldn’t have to go to the end-of-tournament gala on Sunday night with me. Heck, I might not go at all—
“Of course,” Nat says. I try to steal back the entry paper, thinking that’s it, but he whips it away from me. “But on one condition.”
That is never a good addition when it comes to a deal with my brother.
“You allow me to buy you a new racket.” He thumps theLJMon the bottom of my racket handle. “You’ve progressed past borrowed bits.”
Well, that’s unexpected. “I don’t mind. No one knows it’s borrowed—”
“Iknow. And I’m telling you I’ll go if you let me buy you a new racket. It can be exactly like that one for all I care. If you’re going to do this, let’s do it right.” My face melts into surprise I can’t hide, which Nat actually reads. “This isn’t a ‘gotcha.’ You won’t owe me. It’s… something I can do. Let me do it.”
“Um. Okay.”
He checks his watch. “We can get it done before dinner if we leave now.”
“What about Ryan?”
Nat simply turns. “Hey, Rodinsky, I’ve gotta run. Stadium stairs tomorrow?”
Again Ryan says, “Sure thing,” and grins like the freshman homecoming king he was last year—the sophomore crown is probably in the bag already. But then, as Nat jogs over to grab his water and extra ball, Ryan tosses me a curveball out of left field. Okay, I know that metaphor doesn’t totally track and he’s a soccer player currently holding a basketball, but it works. Promise. “Hey, Caroline… how’s Peregrine?”
I halt. Ryan’s standing there squeezing the ball again. This time, his confidence is propped up by his height and gleaming smile, any internal tension being channeled through his fingertips and palms as he crushes that poor ball.
He’s holding on for dear life. But he’s also not fighting his fight.
I don’t know what to say—I’m not sure if Peregrine’s really serious about him or not. So I just point out that this is his problem, not hers. “Why don’t you ask her yourself? I hear you have her number.”
I forget who he’s supposed to be dating now—it’s like the freshman cheerleaders each lined up for a turn with the star soccer player. But if Ryan’s embarrassed, it’s overpowered by another emotion: fear.
“I do. But I’m too intimidated to use it.”
If I’m shocked Ryan would admitthat,Nat is nonplussed. Actually, he’s irritated. “If a girl gives you her number, you use it. Immediately.” Ryan ducks his head and Nat squints at him. “Wait.How long have you had it?”
“Um…” Ryan fumbles.
“March,” I answer as Ryan—popular, handsome, nice guy Ryan—looks like he wants to melt into the cracked asphalt Wicked Witch of the West–style. “He’s had it since March.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Nat exclaims, now irritated, disappointed,andpissed. “It’s not the black lipstick you should be afraid of, it’s that you’ve strung her along for five months. Jesus Christ, man.”
EvenI’mshocked when Nat grabs Ryan’s phone off the bench and tosses it to him. Ryan drops the ball, angling to catch the phone.
“Open it,” Nat orders, walking up to him. Ryan does, and Nat immediately steals it back, scrolls down, and begins typing.
It only takes a second, but then Nat’s done. He stabssendand tosses the phone back to Ryan. “There you go, opening gambit. You’re welcome.”
Ryan’s lips drop open as he reads the text “he” sent. “Hey, wanna get coffee?”
Nat finger-guns Ryan. “You’re welcome, kid.”
32
The week flies by. I see Alex every day, and we don’t talk aboutSunny.
I can’t explain it, but for something that was my focus forweeks, the idea that Sunny and Alex are dating is now literally the last thing I want to think about or talk about.
