"Indoor allergies."
Everyone laughed. I laughed a half-beat late, because the chair had wobbled again.
I stayed in place about thirty more seconds.
"Okay," I announced, and dropped to the floor.
"Pickle. What are you doing?" Jake's voice.
"Structural assessment."
Two loose screws on the front left leg. I didn't have a screwdriver, so I used my thumbnail, pressing into the groove and twisting. It hurt. I didn't care.
"Nobody's making you do this," Jake said. "The chair's fine."
"The chair is a liability. Gravity is relentless. It's always waiting."
"Is he okay?" Heath's voice was quiet and uncertain.
"He's fine," Evan said. "This is just a thing he does."
"Is he always like this?"
"Yes."
The second screw caught. I shook the leg. Solid. No wobble.
My chest relaxed. I could breathe again. One thing in the whole evening was fixed, right, and done.
I crawled out. Everyone stared. Jake had his phone out—this was going on the group chat.
Adrian watched me with his head tilted, like I was a puzzle he was still solving.
"Better?" he asked.
"Much. You're welcome. I just saved everyone from certain death."
Heath hovered at the edge of the group.
I reached across and grabbed his sleeve. "You're too far away. Hovering is illegal. Team rules."
He let me pull him into the seat on the opposite side of me from Adrian.
"I don't want to intrude—"
"You're not intruding. You're sitting."
"You're on the team," Evan said. Simple. Factual. "So you're here."
I remembered what that felt like—the first time someone said you're one of us and meant it.
"Evan's right. You're stuck with us now. No returns. We're like a bad tattoo."
Heath stared at me.
"The kind you get at 2 a.m. because it seemed like a good idea, and then you wake up and you're like, oh no, this is permanent, but also you kind of love it because it's yours."
He laughed—a real one. "I think I get it."
