“The charts epitomize the absence of taste,” declares Sinclair. “And the top one hundred is basically the same thing.”
Henry looks at me, offended, but I’m afraid I have to agree with Sinclair as he heads off toward the sound system.
“It’s not my fault,” Henry says. “There’s so much music out there, I don’t know where to start.”
I can’t help laughing. “There are ready-made playlists. ‘Autumn Moods,’ ‘Workout Songs,’ anything you like.”
“Yeah, but there are too many of them too.”
“Do you ever listen to your Discover Weekly?” I ask.
Henry frowns. “What’s that?”
I sigh. “Oh, wow...”
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing. Do you listen to music while you run?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs his shoulders. “I always avoided running until now.”
“Oh, yeah, right. I can put something together for you for training. With some charts stuff in it too, I promise. I even use my playlists to pace my runs. That’s perfect for me—I can have slower songs for gentle runs and faster ones for tempo efforts. I’ll share them with you. Although to start off, it’s better to run without music so you can concentrate on your breathing.”
Henry doesn’t seem convinced.
“Are you going to train with Grace?” I ask. “I bet she knows all the tricks too.”
“Maybe. We’ll see. She’s really busy.”
Before I can say anything, Tori wraps her arms around me and drags us off to play a kind of truth or dare. Except that all the dares involve drinking, so for her, Henry, me, and a few others who don’t drink alcohol, there’s only the truth option.
As a result, I learn that Sinclair would rather be able to talk to animals than speak loads of languages, and that a guy called Omar always cries at Disney films.
“Seriously?” Sinclair asks. “Disney?”
“Totally, man. Haven’t you ever seenBrother Bear?”
“I loveBrother Bear.” Tori sighs.
“That’s masochism, but hey, whatever.”
Tori rolls her eyes and leans around to me. “Sinclair’s the artsy type—he loves all those weird classics.Dead Poets Society,The Dreamers, you know the stuff...”
I nod, though I’ve never seen either film. Maybe I should watch them sometime.
“Enough of your cheek,” says Sinclair.
“Hey, I’m just telling it like it is.” Tori leans back again.
“All right, your turn.” Sinclair points at Henry with his wine bottle. He seems already to have decided on his question, because he asks it without hesitation. “Big spoon or little spoon?”
There’s an expectant silence as Henry gives him a withering glare. Suddenly, I’m pretty certain we’re not talking about cutlery.
“And you have to tell the truth even if you’re stone-cold sober?” Henry asks, but it’s a feeble attempt.
“Especially then,” declares Sinclair.
“Fine.” He sighs. “Little spoon...”
