After a half hour he jumps off the treadmill, looking barely out of breath.
“Your turn,” he says to me, with deadly sweetness.
“Thanks,” I answer in the same tone.
The coach looks between us, probably thinking we still have bad blood because of the cheating. If only that was the only issue between us.
“Kick his ass,” Áine hisses to me.
I give her a thumbs-up and get onto the treadmill. But right away I feel unbalanced and idiotic. I almost never run on treadmills. Or anywhere, except for the tennis court. And especially not in shoes like these. Each step makes a distracting jangling sound, and the curly toes really aren’t optimal for running.Forget the shoes. The main thing is to beat Dane. I fix my gaze on a point on the wall and focus hard. Someone in the crowd wolf whistles at me—I choose to believe unironically.
“Going great,” Áine shouts.
It feels like itisgoing great. For about ten minutes, anyway. Then I look at the screen and realize I’m behind Dane’s time. If I’m going to have a chance at beating him, I have to hurry up. I put on a burst of speed. My breath comes harder and faster. Sweat trickles down my forehead under the elf hat. I’m sure I hear a snort of disdain coming from the direction of Dane. He’s still lurking in the crowd, his careless gaze just raking me over like I don’t measure up to some invisible target in his head. He catches my eye and starts eating that stupid Refresher bar again. There’s a distinctly a suggestive look on his face as he wraps his lips around it, which reminds me of what he feels like wrapped around my dick. He’s doing it on purpose. He’s the most shameless, juvenile…
Hang on. I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to distract me, and I’m falling for it. He doesn’t want me to beat his time. I ignore him and push myself harder on the treadmill, pumping my arms and lifting my knees. Check the screen … I’m not that far behind him, actually. That’s probably what he’s worried about. He’ll do anything to stop me beating him. I speed up even more. Then my left foot slips. I try to regain my footing and trip over my other curly toe. My feet are all tangled and the treadmill is still moving fast beneath me. There’s a moment of panic where everything seems to hang in the air, then I’m propelled hard and fast right off the treadmill. Dane is suddenly there to catch me. I have a moment to be surprised and then I land, Dane breaking my fall and making it much less bad than it could’ve been. Even so, pain spears through my left ankle.
“Fuck,” I whimper. My head spins. I try to clamber off him, and stop when pain hits hard. He wriggles out from under me and feels cautiously around my ankle.
“Probably a mild sprain,” he says.
“For fuck’s sake,” Malachi says. He looks exasperated as well as worried. “You were pushing yourself too hard.”
“Sorry,” I say.
I can’t think of anything else to say. I wish everyone would stop looking at me. I feel weak and kinda sick with pain. Also like the biggest idiot. I couldn’t even go ten minutes without falling and injuring myself. No one else has fallen off the damn thing, not even the older club members. Dane’s hand is on my shoulder. I want to shrug it off. I’m still mad at him, even though he tried to save me. But I don’t have the energy to push him away. I’m fighting back tears of pain. Shoppers crowd around to offer advice and help. Some are complaining about whoever chose my shoes, which seems fair. Everyone is being so nice, but I still feel humiliated. First Dane cheated, and now this. Why’dhe have to see me fall on my face in front of everyone? This Christmas is going so wrong.
Chapter 5
Dane
Ipark in Alex’s driveway and grab my bag of peace offerings, but I don’t get out of the car. The bag feels sweaty in my hand. I’m so nervous. I’ve never been here before, not even to one of his high school parties, which were famous. I was never invited.It looks like a perfect party house. Modern, sleek, with big windows and a minimalist look. But it still seems welcoming… to everyone but me. I can’t really blame him for not inviting me to the parties, to be fair. He stopped speaking to me after the mistletoe incident. It’s the kind of thing you look back on and physically shudder about, even years later. If it’d happened to me I would’ve begged my parents to let me change schools. But Alex was too brave for that. Much braver than me, as usual.
I shake myself out of the horrible memory of that corridor. The hurt in Alex’s eyes. I need to get out of the car before he sees me through the cameras that a house this fancy must have. He’ll wonder what I’m playing at, just sitting in his driveway like a stalker. A couple of matching real potted Christmas trees flank the front door. They’re decorated with tasteful white lights. And there’s a trellis around the porch where wisteria probably creeps affluently in summer. Alex’s mum is a surveyor and they have a bit of money. More than my family, anyway. It’s just been him and his mum since his dad left when we were in primary school. I knock on the door and wait. His mum should be at work, and I’m hoping Alex is recuperating alone. I didn’t text ahead in case he doesn’t want to see me. I figure it’s harder to turn me away when I’m standing right here. While I wait for him to hobble to the door, I examine the wreath. Lush with dark green foliage and silvery baubles, it looks like it cost at least fifty quid. Very different from the cheap, tinselly one on my own front door.
Finally Alex’s voice crackles through the intercom.
“What do you want, Dane?”
He sounds tired, and in pain. Guilt pricks at me. I probably shouldn’t have been distracting him when he was on the treadmill. But he makes teasing him too much fun to resist. Mind you, those stupid curly elf shoes didn’t help either. Why didn’t he just choose the Santa costume like all the other men? Some part of me wonders if he wanted to see my reaction tothose tight velvety hotpants. And fuck, my body reacted. I can’t believe I got down on my knees in apublic toiletbecause I needed to suck him off right then and there.
“I came to see how you’re doing,” I say. I hold up my plastic bag so he can see it through the camera. “I even brought Lucozade.”
The traditional beverage of the ill and incapacitated since time immemorial, at least according to my dad.
“Well, if you brought Lucozade...”
There’s a dry, sarcastic grin in Alex’s voice. Reluctant, like he’s mad at himself for relenting, but it’s there. Finally the door opens and he stands there looking at me, propped up on crutches. He seems smaller than usual, wearing big fluffy house socks in the shape of a snowman. Also jogging bottoms and a huge REM sweater that dwarfs him. His hair is messy. He isn’t wearing any eyeliner, and it makes him look vulnerable and unsure. The biggest part of my heart just wants to grab him and kiss him right now. Obviously I don’t. He gave me that chance when we were fourteen years old and I blew it.
Anyway. Ancient history. Alex looks at me now, his unusually bare face questioning. I’m just standing here, saying nothing. Probably freaking him out.
“Are you not coming in?” he says.
“Yeah… yeah I am. I suppose.”
“Do you want something to drink?” he says, ignoring how dopey I’m acting.
He leads the way down the hallway on his crutches, slow and laborious. I can’t have him being the host when he can barely walk.
