“What about practice? And class?”
“I’ll speak to Coach Sanchez, and my professors. I’m sure they’ll understand.” Translation—it’s not your call to make.
He nods, but I can tell he doesn’t understand. I’m not even sureIunderstand. Joe Flannigan was notmyfather. But he sure as hell was there for me more than my own dad was.
“We’re coming up to the start of the Ivy. It’s not ideal to be missing practice at a time like this. We have responsibilities. Sometimes people in our positions have to make sacrifices.”
I nod before walking away, letting him know I heard him. But I don’t have the mental energy to placate him more than that.
I can’t focusduring class and I’m still zoned out at lunch. It’s only when I’m standing in line at the cafeteria and someone taps me on the shoulder that I remember where I am.
Mira’s staring up at me with her big brown eyes, not a strand of her gorgeous black bangs out of place.Somehow she looks perfect despite the fact she’s just come straight from tennis practice, too.
“Hey, how are you?”
I want to tell her she can stop this charade of having to say hi and ask me how I am every time we bump into each other. It’s been nearly a year since she broke up with me, I’m not mad at her, not anymore.
“I’m fine, how are you?”
She frowns. “You don’t look fine, are you sure? Do you need to talk?”
I feel like screaming,God, Mira, why do you have to be so nice?It would be so much easier if she was an asshole to me. Then maybe my mom would stop asking about her every time I go home.
“I’m okay.” I run a hand over my face. “Just tired.”
She cocks her head and keeps her focus firmly on me, and I know she isn’t going to let me off the hook that easily. I sigh.
“I found out someone back home passed away.”
She grabs my arm. “Oh my god, Nate, I’m so sorry. Who was it?”
I shuffle forward with my tray as the line moves. “You remember I told you about that guy who was dying when I was in school?”
“I think so. The father of an old friend of yours, right?”
“That’s the one.”
Mira swallows. I try not to watch her as she searches for the right thing to say. She clears her throat before she speaks again. “I’m sorry,” she says, the hand on my arm giving a squeeze. “At least he’s at peace now.”
“That’s what my mom said.” I flinch from her touch and try to ignore the look of hurt on her face.
“Well, it’s true,” she says, her voice quiet.
I shuffle forward in the line again and Mira follows me.
“People are going to think you’re cutting,” I say.
She glances behind her, brushing off the side-eyes she’s getting from a couple of girls.
“If you ever need to talk, I’m here for you. You know that, right? Just because we’re not dating anymore-”
“I know.” I say it a little sharper than I’d meant and she flinches again. “Thank you,” I add. “I appreciate it.”
I getmy food and take a seat with the guys from the team. Mira takes the seat on Mark’s left and he kisses her as she sits down. I look away.
Priestley clears his throat. “Nathan, you’ll be at the party tonight?”
It’s like one of those questions with only one answer my stepdad is always asking me. The instinct to say, “Yes, sir” pops up before I push it down again.
