Page 2 of Fortunate Misfortune
“Finally,” Shay mutters. “Fourteen years of friendship almost down the drain over aChad.”
“Chicks over dick,” I vow. Our fists bump in agreement.
My gaze jumps across the pool to my next target. Alongside many swimmers I know and respect stands one I know but definitely don’t respect.
“And You-Know-Who? He didn’t get laid over the break.”
The dimple in Shay’s cheek deepens into a crater. “Neither did you, hypocrite. And you can say his name. He isn’t an evil villain.”
“Are you sure about that?”
My teeth meet with a hard click as I focus on Kenneth Gray. Five plum bruises stand out along his left arm and shoulder from a recent cupping session. Mild amusement and worry dance across his strong features as he runs a large hand through scarlet waves, watching bubbles pour from his teammate Grant’s nose. I swear a few girls swoon when his smile appears.
Shay says because I like the man as far as I can throw him, I’m blind to “the truth.” Sure, years of being an elite athlete have sculpted his shoulders into boulders, you can wash clothes on his abs, and he could totally snap someone’s neck with his thighs, but that’s not the point!
I roll my eyes, refusing to give him any more of my attention. Before I can refocus on my next finding, I’m caught. Emerald eyes lock with mine, narrowing slightly. The coolness that radiates between us would give Jack Frost a cold.
A thick, red brow lifts, and I can basically read his mind:Can I help you, Edwards?
I roll my lips together.Yes, Gray. Fuck off for all eternity.
The bruised boulder shoulderrises.Ladies first.
Before I can flick him my favorite finger, he swiftly ends all brain talk and mouths, “Stop pouting.”
“Shut up,” I mouth back, pushing my tongue out like a petulant child.
He does the same because he is also a petulant child.
We’ve been at each other’s throats since the first day of freshman year when he called my yellow sneakers and multicolored cardigan “rainbow vomit.” After that, I was determined to avoid him, but we were thrown together at every turn. Things really went downhill when we both chose majors in the Hilliard School of Public Health.
What started as off-hand comments about who got the higher grade on the Bio 101 exam morphed into something much more, with planned point opportunities and a score sheet to meticulously track our wins. Everything is a point up for grabs in the Brain Bowl: the highest test scores, athletic national championship wins, canned food drives, community trash pickups, candy donations, dodgeball, party games, spelling bees, and more.
I won freshman year, 13-9. Kenneth won sophomore year, 11-14. Moving into the new semester for junior year, he’s currently in the lead, 8-9. Junior year is on the line.
Dammit, my pride is on the line.
“Mally!”
My body convulses in a way that’s not attractive at the shrillness of Shay’s voice, and the back of my head smacks the chair with a painful thwack. “Ouch!” I shout, rubbing the sore spot. “Who the hell died?”
“Your youthfulness. Stop letting Kenneth give you frown lines at twenty-one.” I relax my face, because I refuse to let him be the reason for my wrinkles, but they deepen when Shay speaks again. “By the way, your mom called me earlier.”
A dry laugh slips out. “Of course she did.”
“You know she calls me when you don’t answer.” She doesn’t sound annoyed, even though this happens at least twice a month. “With Kenneth bragging all day, I didn’t want to pile on more bad news. Especially after your endocrinologist appointment yesterday. It was rough.”
Understatement of the year.
A little over a year ago, I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. Even though we’ve only been together for a short time, I describe it as my other half. The partner I can’t leave behind or take a break from. It’s always there and always will be.
I suck in a breath, holding it for three seconds before exhaling slowly.
Breathe, Mallory.
Releasing my jaw, I focus on my best friend’s scowl and not the messy state of my brain. “You and I both know it’s better that you didn’t tell me earlier because I wouldn’t have come out tonight. I would’ve stayed home and listened to sad music with my hand deep in a bag of tortilla chips. You did the right thing.”
Lifting my phone from my tote, I hand it over.
