Page 65 of Deep End

“Good. It was just some MCL strain.”

“You’re breaststroke, right?”

“Yup.” We exchange a smile. I already feel more comfortable—

till he adds, “That was a bad injury. Yours, I mean.”

“Oh . . . yeah. I guess.”

“It wasn’t just a tear, right? There was other stuff?”

“Oh, um . . . a concussion. Some lung stuff. Sprains.” I shrug, tense. I doubt Hasan notices.

Lukas, though . . . “Why did you tell me not to ask you aboutinward dives?” His voice takes me by surprise. I turn to him, admiring the way he’s nonchalantly peeling the apple with a knife—a perfect, continuous spiral, like it’seasy, when I’ve tried a million times and always mess it up. Then his question falls into place.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Close enough.”

“Not really.”

“You said, ‘Next you’re going to ask me about my inward dives.’” He finishes peeling, eyes never letting mine go.

Ugh. “They’re just hard.”

“Ah.” Hasan nods knowingly. “Like mini max sets with double ups?”

“Exactly.” No idea what that is, but I nod, relieved. Lukas’s eyes on me are still sharper than I’d like. I glance around the kitchen, desperate for a change of topic. “By the way, I love your pristine and—I can only assume—weekly pasteurized home.”

Hasan grimaces. “We’ve got a bit of a regime situation going on.” He shoots a heavily insinuating stare at Lukas—who settles apple wedges on a plate, unbothered. “A full-on dictatorship, some would say,” Hasan adds.

I drum my fingers over the immaculate counter. “That’s not very collegial of you, Lukas.”

“We are adult men,” he simply says, sliding the plate toward me.

Did he . . . did he make me asnack? Is it a thank-you for the—

“Adulthood is not necessarily incompatible with the occasional crumb in the sink,” Hasan says.

“And Kyle’s or your head are not necessarily incompatible with the toilet,” Lukas counters benignly.

I nearly choke on my apple, and ask, “Did you—was that a threat?”

“I don’t know.” Lukas’s eyes remain on Hasan, serene and challenging. “Would you like to test me?”

Dictatorship, Hasan mouths at me.Regime.

“Is it a Swedish thing?” I mock-whisper at Hasan, biting into another slice. Sweet and crispy. Perfect.

“He also cooks extremely healthy meals, does laundry every weekend at the same time, and probably uses a protractor to fold his underwear. Maybe itisa Swedish thing.”

“It’s a not-a-manchild thing,” Lukas counters. He hasn’t eaten any apple yet. Is this just forme?

“How long have you two been living here together?”

“Since sophomore year,” Hasan explains. “Caleb moved out last year after he graduated. Kyle took over.”

“Is Kyle as enthusiastic a, um, cleaner as you are?”

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