“Will it be like last time when you left your wallet back in your room?” After I’d already ordered the largest steak on the menu.
He laughs. “No, see I have it right here.” He takes his small black leather wallet from his back pocket and slaps me on the knee with it. “Now get up.”
I’m always a little leery when Cyrus says he has a fun day planned. My idea of fun and his don’t always mesh. One time he told me we were going to revel in the culture of the country we were currently staying in. After wandering the streets forthree hours, we somehow ended up in a cockfighting competition. I haven’t been able to eat a chicken nugget since.
“Fine.” I toss off the covers and make sure to kick him a few times as I scramble my way out of bed.
The metal from the hanger scrapes against the bar in my tiny little closet that smells like sawdust. They always make these athlete accommodations with cheap materials, pulling theminor details together at the last minute. The good thing about being at a United States sponsored event is the little time and energy I have to put into my outfit. I pull out a white long sleeved T-shirt they provide us, the big USA flag on the front, and a pair of jeans. Instant outfit.
“That is totally not fair,” I say when I turn back from the closet and see Cyrus has wiggled his way undermy covers and is currently wrapping himself up with my blankets.
“I couldn’t let the warmth go to waste.” He smirks and cuddles his head into the pillow.
Well on the positive side, at least my pillow will smell like him tonight. “Don’t get too comfortable.”
I share the room and teeny tiny bathroom with Stacy — another snowboarder on the American team. I’m pretty sure she’s hooking up with askier. It takes me less than ten minutes to get dressed, but when I toss my dirty clothes in the pile I started in the corner, Cyrus lets out a snore.
“This is not cool.” I can’t risk injuring him before he has a race, but that doesn’t stop me from throwing a small brick — otherwise known as a protein bar I signed an endorsement deal with — directly at his head. The things taste horrible anyway,but they pay me a ton to be seen eating one every so often. Once I’m back in the states it’s time to find new representation. Someone who won’t talk me into signing every deal out there.
Cyrus warned me to be picky, but I was stubborn and didn’t want his advice at the time. Now I regret it, but not enough to admit I don’t love the chunky, nut-filled crap bars.
The wrapped weapon makes contact.He startles, his head coming off the pillow with wide eyes searching the room. “What was that for?”
“You were sleeping.”
“Yeah, you took too long.” He yawns and stretches, sitting up in the bed.
“Well, let’s go. Mr. We-have-to-leave-at-the-crack-of-dawn.” I grab my keys from the small dresser in the room and stick them in my pocket.
Cyrus drops his feet to the floor, still wearing shoes. “Charlie,it’s 9:30 in the morning. The crack of dawn happened hours ago.”
“You put your dirty shoes on my sheets. Now is not the time to correct me.” I open the door for him to walk out. “Why are we friends anyway?”
He pats me on the shoulder as he passes by. “Because you love me.”
I sigh and roll my eyes. “You keep telling yourself that.” I pull off nonchalant flawlessly. If Cyrus had any idea howmuch truth was in his statement, our friendship would never be the same.
“Where are we going?”
“Don’t worry.” His smile causes me to worry. “It’s not far.”
Cyrus telling me not to worry is reason enough to panic.
**
The red light on top of the skee-ball machine flashes as the siren plays over the constant stream of loud music from the other games around us. The whole place is loud.It’s like a mini casino for children. Cyrus jumps up and down like he’s won the lottery. Children…pro athletes… almost the same.
“Did you see me?” he yells over the ruckus.
“Uh-huh.”
He grabs me by the shoulders, his eyes huge with excitement. “Charlie. I almost rolled a perfect game. I might be the first person in the world to make a perfect game in skee-ball.” I thought it impossible, buthis eyes actually get bigger. “When I retire from snowboarding I’m going to become a professional bowler.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Do you think skee-ball skills translate to bowling?”
“Of course they do. It’s rolling a ball down an aisle.”
The buzzing stops and an attendant in a bright red polo shirt leans over the counter set high above the rest the arcade. “Sir, what you like for prize?”he asks, his English broken, but fairly good.
