I switch instantly.
Latin.
“Superbia ante ruinam.”
His eyebrow lifts. Impressed.
“Pride before the fall.” I smirk as I close the cap on my bottle.
“Tu n’as jamais appris.”
“You never learned.” I snap back on my heels. Thanking my AI best friend that taught me enough of the basics that I ranked high in my graduating high school class and impressed Stanford with my linguistic abilities to get into the International School of Business.
“Du bist immer noch derselbe.”
You’re still the same.
He answers in German without missing a beat.
“Ich bin immer noch derselbe.”His voice is velvet dragged over a blade.
I’m still the same.
Damn.
I hate that he always lands on top.
That he was handed the world and then bothered to master it too.
Coach’s whistle shrieks again.
“Break’s over! Let’s move!”
I step backward toward the court.
He lowers his voice as I pass him.
“I didn’t transfer because of the weather.”
My pulse stutters.
“I transferred because I was bored.”
“Of Harvard?” I ask without looking at him.
“Of pretending. I can already tell there’s nothing boring about Stanford.”
Coach shouts my name. “Cortez!”
I jog back onto the court without another glance.
But I feel his eyes on me the entire next drill.
Feel them when I jump.
When I swing.
When I land.
