“That’s true. In case you’re interested, I am also very good at sports with balls.”
“Good for you.”
“Never enjoyed sprinting or long-distance running. Seemed… pointless.”
I nod. “I’ll run to catch a ball or to win a point after hitting it, but I won’t sprint for no reason.”
“Exactly. I need to be distracted from the running part.” He pauses. “Did I ever tell you about the catch I made that was reported in the paper?”
I snort. “Sure, okay.”
“No, I’m being serious,” he insists. “We were playing a cricket match against a rival school on this local green and I was a fielder, really far out, not really paying attention. The batter thwacks the ball right up in the air and it soared in my direction. I ran as fast as I could, caught the ball, and thensplosh!Fell backward into the lake.”
I laugh. “No, you didn’t.”
“I swear I did,” he says, grinning. “I rose from the water, clutching the ball in my hand. Everyone went wild. It was the best catch I ever made.”
“You really fell backward into the lake?”
“No word of a lie, it was the peak of my career.”
“Your extensive cricket career?”
“The peak of my careerperiod.There’s no way I can top that moment. Not even if I won a Pulitzer. The photo of me in the lake holding the ball made the front page of the local paper. Guess what the caption was?”
“Give me a moment,” I say, concentrating. “Something like ‘Quite the catch’?”
“If only they’d been so creative. But no,” he laughs, “the caption read:Local boy, Ronan, goes for a dip during cricket match.”
“Ronan!”
“They got my name wrongandthey didn’t even mention how good the catch was! They made it seem as though I was going for a casual swim during a game.”
“Hey, at least you were in the paper. That’s pretty cool.”
“It’s still framed on my parents’ mantelpiece.”
“Guess I’ll try not to hit the ball in your direction today, then.”
“Likewise, since you’re so good at sports with balls,” he remarks, smiling into his beer.
Catching his eye, I can’t help but giggle.
Then I remember I’m not supposed to enjoy his company and quickly look away.
“All right, everyone!” Mimi cries out, clapping her hands and getting our attention. “The annual games are about to begin. Anyone who has brought a jumper, throw it this way so we can use them to mark the posts of the rounders pitch.”
Ryan turns to me. “Let the best team win.”
“Oh, we will,” I assure him.
He smiles, tiny little crinkles forming around the corners of his mouth, his striking eyes fixed on me intently. It’s a different smile to the smug, superior one I’ve grown so used to over the past few weeks. It’s warm and sincere and inviting.
He wanders off and, while Mimi yells instructions at those holding up jumpers, Rakhee sidles up next to me.
“Did I just witness you and Ryan laughing?” she asks curiously.
“No,” I say defensively, suddenly feeling flustered. “I was laughingathim.”
