Page 63 of Deep End

“You mean theplatform?”

“Is that what it’s called?”

I cover my mouth with both hands to prevent a clamor of harpies from slipping out of my trachea and attacking him—and then realize he’s messing with me. “I hate you.”

He smiles and reaches out, pushing a strand behind my ear. Then tugs me till I resume walking. “I do get the diving groups confused. I couldn’t pick out an inward dive.”

Unacceptable. “Maybe if you did she wouldn’t . . .” I stop myself mid-mumble, and cast about for a not wound-salting way of ending the sentence.

But Lukas is already grinning. “Have dumped me?”

“I didn’t mean to . . . I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I could memorize every item in the diving book by degree of difficulty, and it would change nothing.”

“Are you sure? It’s a bit of a red-flaggy, deadbeat boyfriend move, not knowing the basics of your girlfriend’s sport. Maybe she feels neglected?”

He chuckles. “Sufficiently supporting each other was the oneissue we didnothave, Scarlett.” Then continues, more serious. “Pen and I got together when we both needed something—someoneoutside of our disciplines. Knowing little about each other’s sports was part of the draw.”

I guess it’s not too outlandish. “Josh once said that splashier dives were prettier because they reminded him of fountains, and that judges should score them higher.”

“Josh?”

“My ex.”

We take another turn. Lukas’s arm brushes against mine, his elbow grazing my shoulder. “The one you experimented with?”

“The one and only.” I huff a laugh. “Quite literally ‘the only.’”

“Is he here?”

“You mean at Stanford? Nope, he’s at WashU. St. Louis.”

“Is that where you’re from?”

“Where my stepmom’s from.”

He nods. “Did you break it off because of the distance?”

It’s more questions than Lukas has produced in the entirety of our acquaintance—all in the space of about ten seconds. Maybe he’s sussing out whether I’m a weirdo. “The opposite, actually. He broke up with me.” Lukas’s forehead curls into a scowl. “What’s that face?”

The scowl remains. “Nothing.”

“It wasn’t because—it wasn’t a sex thing,” I reassure him.

Lukas seems baffled. “I never assumed it was.”

I’m not convinced. “If anything, it’s more because of the way I am.”

“The way you are?”

“Just—my personality. Overachiever. Obsessive with wanting things to go my way. Hyper-controlled. Distant, sometimes. Basically, I know I come across as a stone-cold bitch, but—”

He laughs. Lukas straight-up, outright laughs. A rumbling, deep sound that’s louder than anything I’ve heard from him. I’m not sure what to do, except keep walking and stare, perplexed.

“What?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “You’re not cold, Scarlett,” he says. “You’re . . . soft.”

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