Page 22 of Break Point
3 Well, that’s the fine’s amount, isn’t it?
4 “Hey, cut it out, will you?”
CHAPTER 6
SEVEN OH-ONE
SEPTEMBER 13, 2010
AT 6:25 A.M.,Henry’s bedroom door is wide open, but there’s no sign of him. The bed is neatly made, with a single tennis ball resting atop a few books on one of the nightstands. I can’t help but wonder what he’s reading these days. He’s always loved his books, especially military sci-fi.
A sudden urge to go into his room and look around, to figure him out, takes over me. But I ignore it and head to the kitchen instead to make my protein smoothie.
Robbie’s probably still asleep, and I have no idea where Henry is. He doesn’t seem to be in the apartment.
The balcony is empty, so I take my smoothie outside and sit on one of the chairs, savoring a brief moment of peace before the week begins.
The city is lovely at this time of day when it’s starting to wake up. I enjoy the quiet, if you can call it that. There’s always a police or ambulance siren blaring somewhere in the distance.
Whenever I leave the city, everything feels hollow, like a vacuum—too silent. One learns to live with the bustle.
After finishing my smoothie and setting the tumbler on the side table, Liam comes to mind. I could call him after practice and apologize, but waiting for things to cool off might be the smart thing to do. It wouldn’t hurt him to miss me a little.
Please miss me …
I’m such an idiot.
It’s always awful when we fight. Dad says Liam makes me lose focus, and he’s not entirely wrong. It’s even worse when Liam leaves upset, like he did last night. I can’t think straight, wondering if that was the last time we’ll ever talk or if he’s thinking of me the way I am of him.
Robbie’s awake now, and his presence pulls me out of my thoughts.
“Morning,” he says, head poking out the glass door.
“Good morning.”
“Where’s Henry?”
I shrug, clueless, just as he is.
“Can you drop me off at school on your way to Flushing Meadows?” He grins.
“On our way?” I say, standing up and heading back inside to get ready. “Tandon’s noton our wayto Flushing Meadows. We always take the tunnel.”
“Oh, come on. You never train this early. You usually start at eight, and I need to be there earlier today.”
Well, yeah, but my new coach said 7:00 a.m., and I won’t chicken out.
Our driver, Tony, is from Colombia and has worked for our family since Robbie and I were kids. My dad usually hires Latin employees to support the community in any way he can. But ever since Robbie started at NYU, Dad told him he’d need to manage without Tony. He said he didn’t grow up with a driver and is still alive despite that.
That means Robbie usually takes the subway to Brooklyn. And I sayusuallybecause whenever he’s running late, he’ll hail a cab and charge it to my dad’s credit card, which, if you ask me, is totally cheating.
“Fine,” I grumble. Robbie thanks me with a big smile, fixing himself a coffee on the Nespresso machine. “But we’re leaving at seven sharp. So if you’re not down there by then, you’ll stay behind. I’m not waiting for you to get your hair done for nerd school.”
“I’m gonna let that slide because you’re dropping me off at school,” he says, waiting for his coffee to fill the cup. “But you and your thousand little tennis skirts, mini shorts, sunglasses, and perfectly pulled-back ponytails aren’t exactly low on the vanity scale either.”
He’s got me on that one. I am a freak about my tennis sets, and since Iget plenty from Adidas, I don’t repeat outfits often. Still, I have a few favorite pieces I like to wear over and over.
“See you downstairs.” Robbie grabs his cup, gives his coffee a sip, and escapes to his room.
