Page 52 of Fortunate Misfortune
“I wouldn’t dare.” I look over at my illegally parked car. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for practice. “My meet is all day tomorrow, so let’s plan for Sunday. I’ll bring the towels.”
She chews on her bottom lip nervously. “Do you think the lake monsters are more likely to eat a girl in a bikini or a one piece? I want to keep my chances as low as possible.”
Thoughts of Mallory in a swimsuit have my mind racing, so I force my brain to focus on something much less attractive. Like the dent on my truck or the way I’m about to get screamed at by Coach Brown for being late.
“The monsters will be on their best behavior,” I promise. Her mouth opens, probably ready with another excuse, so I keep talking. “And no, I won’t be too tired after the meet.”
If anything, being with her will be rejuvenating.
There’s a little extra pep in my step as I rush back to the truck. I grip the steering wheel, but Mallory waving in the mirror halts my celebration.
I poke my head out of the window. “Miss me already, Eddie?”
“One day you’re going to choke on all that ego, Gray.” Her smile is glorious. “Good luck tomorrow, and don’t open your mouth under water!”
“Good swimmers never do. See you Sunday!”
My face burns, likely close to the color of my hair as I peel down the road because Mallory just agreed to hang out with me outside of the allotted three punches, and I’m going to make every second count.
Chapter Eighteen
Kenneth Gray apologized tome. Without prompting, bribing, or sarcasm.
I’m so used to the“I’m sorry that your feelings got hurt”bullshit ones, which was what I fully expected when he stopped me.
I’ve always thought of apologies as band-aids, used to fix an issue over and over until they’re no longer sticky, making them completely worthless. With every half-assed apology I’ve gotten over the years, my belief in those two words withered away, leaving me with zero trust in them.
Until Kenneth said them.
I thought his proposition was a weird dream, but here I am in the passenger seat of his navy pickup. His promise to take me to a lake is in motion, and I’m anxious.
And sure, I’m always anxious, but this is different.
I also have a tiny confession to make. A solo watch party for his race took place in my bedroom during a study break. The starting beep went off, and he dove quickly and expertly into the water, his arms propelling him with speed I’m sure makes many jealous. Hell, it made me jealous. My breath synced with every graceful stroke, and I couldn’t take myeyes off the screen. When the announcer screamed that Kenneth met the standard, solidifying his spot at the National Championship meet, I yelped loud enough to wake Winry from her nap.
This morning when I opened the front door for him, I was so excited that I leapt right into his arms. Kenneth finally had his first real breakthrough since freshman year, and the only way I knew how to express my excitement was hugging the man I’ve never hugged.
It was clear I had crossed a line when he froze like a block of ice, the tips of his ears fuming red. I stepped back, ran past him, jumped into the passenger seat, and have been pretending to be asleep for the last twenty-five minutes.
I sit up and sigh, giving up on Operation Fake Sleep and roll down my window to let the cool breeze lick my skin. After a bit of research over the past week, I found out that my assumption was correct. Lakes are even nastier than pools. But even with that newfound, terrifying knowledge, I’m fully prepared to get in the water.
I know. I’m not sure who I am anymore.
It felt like a gift to have Kenneth smile at me like that when I agreed to come. After almost three years, I thought I had seen all his smiles. The kind smile. The polite smile. The smug smile. The photographed smile.
Standing there on that sidewalk, he showed me one I had never seen, and it was just for me. A bit crooked and shy, lopsided and perfect. The plaster around my heart cracked at the sight, and I hated every second.
“Are we almost there?” I say, dragging out the last word like a child.
Kenneth takes one hand off the wheel and scribbles on his forearm. “Adding impatient to your running list of crimes.”
“I would’ve bet big money it was already on there.”
“I can be kind sometimes.” There’s a glint in his eye when he looks at me, but his attention returns to the road.
“Why are you smiling like you’re plotting a crime?” I ask. “I didn’t tell anyone where I was going today.”
I slap a hand over my mouth. Every true crime podcast host would shame me for that slip up. Now I regret not telling The Quartet or my mom. I was afraid they would try to make this a big deal.
