Page 50 of Crease Collision

“And you’re yelling at me about soap. You get shot down or something?”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” My voice is so loud that Coach glances over from across the aisle.

Theo shrugs. “That guy would stop traffic in a gay bar.”

There are so many things wrong with that I could yell for ten minutes. Instead, I force out words through gritted teeth. “I didn’t get shot down. We’ve met before. I congratulated him. That’s it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“If you’re going to sit here, be quiet.”

“Whatever you say, bud.” He’s still watching me. “I’ll keep people off your lawn.”

I unlock my phone and flip through game scores I don’t care about. Somehow, I end up in my contacts.

Oskar. Of course he’s still there. I should delete his number.

Instead, I open a message.

KAI: We didn’t fix anything.

I glare at the words. They make it sound like there’s something to fix. Worse, he might think I want to.

Delete.

KAI: When will you be in New York?

Delete.

KAI: We need to talk again.

I look at that one the longest. My thumb hovers over send until my hand cramps.

This is how people get hurt. One message. An opening. A chance for someone to get close enough to find the soft spot, and…

Delete.

I lock my phone and look out the window as we roll into the Lincoln Tunnel.

After a whole two hours of sleep, I’m late getting to LaGuardia. Coach Holmer gives me a look when I board the plane. Everyone else is wide awake, which makes me grouchy.

I take a seat in the quiet section and open my tablet. Reading will be safer than talking.

After takeoff, Noah sits beside me with his cross-stitch bag. “You mind?”

“Free country.”

“That means you don’t?”

I sigh and shift my knee out of the way. “It means sit down before I change my mind.”

He stitches while I pretend to read. Reading is supposed to help. Most of the time, a good book calms me, but not today. I read the same paragraph at least ten times, and all I can see is Oskar’s face in that fucking room. The way he looked when I left, like I’d done exactly what he expected but still let him down.

“You’re quiet,” Noah says.

“It’s the quiet section.”

“You’re aggressively quiet.”