Page 82 of Deep End

“But we still had fun. That’s just to say, I know how you divers are, and . . .” He trails off, and for that I credit the vehemence with which I picture sticking toothpicks into his eye sockets. I’ve unlocked a hitherto forgotten power. It might even look good on med school applications.

But no. Even in the dim fairy lights, Trevor’s eyes shine as he tilts his head up. “Holy shit, Lukas Fucking Blomqvist. Hey, man!”

He holds out a hand. Lukas ignores it and takes a seat in front of us, on a wooden coffee table that looks way too tired for this shit. I’m certain it’s going to break. I should probably record it forSweden’s Funniest Home Videos.

“You okay, Scarlett?” he asks, ignoring his fanbro’s excitement.

“Yup.”

He studies me, silent, probing, like what I say cannot be taken at face value, and has deeper meanings that can only be discovered under the layers of my skin.

Meanwhile: “Man, I cannot tell you how amazing it was racing next to you today,” Trevor fawns. Which leads me to the shocking discovery that I am, in fact, able to find him evenlessattractive.

Lukas tilts his head toward him. “You want him to stick around?”

“Hell yeah, she wants me around. We’re having fun. Aren’t you having fun?”

“Not really,” I say—alcohol, the ultimate truth serum. Trevor’s face crunches into a hurt crumple, and . . . Shit. “But it’s not”—wholly—“because of you. I just had a crappy diving day.”

“Aww.” He clearly finds my athletic failures cute—like a capybara bathing, or a child who saysaminal. He scoots closer, one hand wrapping around my bare knee, and . . . yikes. It’s an unpleasant, too-tight heat that has me nauseated—until Lukas leans forward, grips Trevor’s wrist, and forcibly moves it back to his lap.

Trevor gives him a confused look. “Am I overstepping here? Are you two . . . ?”

“No.” I shift away. I can’t take him touching me again.

“Why do you care, then?”

He’s asking Lukas, who informs him, “She’s my sister.”

I almost choke on my spit.

“What?” Trevor blinks at me. “For real?”

I must be a terrible person. Because I nod.

“But isn’t your last name . . .”

“Half sister,” I improvise.

Lukas nods. “Different dad.”

“Seriously? I had no idea. Is it pretty well known, or . . . ?”

I shrug. “It’s not a secret.”

“Right. You guys must be pretty close in age.”

“Yeah.” I inspect my nails. “Not to slut shame, but our mom got around.”

Lukas tries to hide a smile. Fails. Hangs his head.

“Oh, wow.” Trevor sounds impressed. “My mom’s kind of a slut, too. Had an affair with one of her colleagues out of revenge for my dad fucking her cousin. So petty.”

Lukas and I freeze. Exchange a bewildered look. “Thank you for sharing this . . . powerful autobiographical story,” he tells Trevor, finally sparing him a crumb of attention. “Could you go get my sister a glass of water?”

“Oh.” Trevor scratches the back of his head. “Um, yeah, sure.”

“Thanks, man.” Lukas focuses on me.

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