“Seriously?” He sounded more impressed than surprised. “Why not?”
Because I had no friends. Because after I stopped being friends with Adriana, it was depressing to constantly see pictures of my former friends hanging out together. Because no one followed me, except a couple kids from school who I barely knew. Because Dad screamed at me about a picture once, saying I was asking for it. My social media accounts were just another way for him to keep tabs on me, and part of me still felt that way. I didn’t want him to have access to any part of my life.
“I never had that many friends,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “Sort of depressing to be snapping and have no one watching it.”
He winced, like he felt so much pity for me that it physically hurt.
“And I don’t have a phone anyway, so it wouldn’t matter if I did,” I said quickly, to cover up my embarrassment.
“Why didn’t you have many friends?” he asked.
“I just never . . . fit in, I guess.”
He nodded, and was quiet for a moment. “I never had that many either,” he said. “Grayson and Madison’s dad was good friends with my dad, so they came built in. But Grayson is older than me, so I was always kind of alone at school. Especially in high school, after he graduated.”
“He’s . . . how old is he?”
“Twenty-two. Three years older than me. I never got along with kids my own age. Maybe because Grayson was always around, but my mom says that I seemed to hate being a kid, even from a very young age. She said I was resentful.”
“How so?”
“I resented that no one would take me seriously because I was young. And she’s right, honestly. I remember looking up at adults laughing at me, not even in a mean way, just like because they thought I was cute, and I was so angry about it.” He laughed. “I was an old soul, I guess. My father had no patience with children, even his own. Especially his own.”
I cocked my head, silently asking for him to go on.
“He’s not a bad guy,” Julian said quickly. “Not like—” He cut himself off abruptly.
“My dad,” I finished for him. “It’s fine, you can say it.”
“He never hit us or anything,” he said, a little gently. “But he’s very busy, and the stress of his job bled through to us at home, I guess. I can’t blame him for it.”
I could blame him for it, but I didn’t say it. I wasn’t here to tell Julian how to feel about his own father.
“Anyway, he didn’t understand children, and he expected me to act like an adult most of the time. So I did. And it was frustrating when other adults treated me like a kid, because I didn’t feel like one, on the inside.” He turned to me, his gaze soft. “It’s the same with you, I think.”
“I wouldn’t say my parents treated me like an adult.”
“Sure they did. Your dad hit you, and it sounds like your mom didn’t protect you. You don’t treat a child that way.”
“That’s . . . a really good point.”
He leaned a little closer to me, until our shoulders touched. “So it’s not surprising you have trouble connecting with people on the team. You’re older than them. You’ve always been older than them.”
I smiled at him, warmth flooding my arm where he was barely touching me. His face was only inches from mine, a distance that we could close in a second. A distance I could close. But I’d never kissed a guy first. I’d only kissed two guys, total, and they’d both made the first move.
Laughter sounded from across the field, and Julian jumped, taking a quick glance at them like he was worried about being caught doing something wrong. The guys in the middle of the field were walking away, disappearing around the side of the building. Quiet settled in between us as their voices faded.
Were we doing something wrong? This sort of felt like a date, which was against the rules, according to Madison.
He held out the macaron box to me again, not meeting my eyes. I took one.
“Thanks for keeping me company,” he said, a little quietly.
It seemed weird that he would thank me for that. I’d spent all day surrounded by people, but this moment, with just him, was the least alone I’d felt all day.
“Thank you for the macarons,” I said. My voice was barely above a whisper, and I hoped my tone conveyed that I was expressing gratitude for more than dessert.
His gaze met mine again, his lips turning up a tiny bit. He understood.
15
I was stiff and sore the third morning of training, and I winced as I descended the steps to the ground floor of the sports complex. Priya bounced ahead of me, jumping over the last two steps and turning around with a grin.
“Just run through the pain,” she said. “It helps.”
“I really doubt that.”
“I did five summers at cheer camp. I know what I’m talking about.”
I lifted an eyebrow.
“Don’t give me that look. Cheer camp is no joke.”
“I’m sure it’s not.” I took the last step and followed her through the door and into the hallway. Given that Priya seemed to be in much better shape than I was, I could definitely believe that cheer camp was no joke.
Laughter and talking echoed from the cafeteria as we walked toward it.
“What did you do in high school?” Priya asked. “Wait, no, don’t tell me.” She tapped her chin as she considered. “Newspaper.”
“No.” I looked at her strangely. “Your high school had a newspaper?”
“Yeah. It was just online, but we had one. My friend wrote for it.”
“Huh.”
“Rugby?” she guessed again.
“I’m not even totally sure what rugby is.” I reached for the cafeteria door. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“What I did in high school. Nothing.” Unless staying alive counted as an activity.
“Oh.”
We walked into the cafeteria, which consisted of rows of long tables and plastic folding chairs, most
