So go make the most of this weekend!
But it’s just gonna be a party-fest. You’ll be so out of your depth. It’s safer not to go.
I nod, agreeing with myself.
But Mac is going to hate it if I don’t go.
And he probably needs me there to keep an eye on him. The guy can get crazy wild without someone there to keep him in check.
I should go.
But it’s a four-hour drive. Even if you leave right now, you’ll miss most of the first day. Your parents won’t like it.
My insides clench, that familiar ball in my stomach starting to pulse as this indecisive war continues to rage within me.
I really hate that about myself, you know?
It’s a simple yes or no, but I always turn it into a big thing. I have to weigh it all up, overanalyze it. I can never justgo.
The court’s the only place where I can think fast. But I’m not really thinking; I’m playing on instinct. My body just knows what to do, where to be. If anything, I have to monitor myself to make sure Idon’tget too caught up in instinct mode and give myself away.
It’s situations like this—where I can’t make up my mind—that drive me crazy.
Just go. You want to go.
No, I don’t! It’s not my scene.
“So just say no,” I mutter to myself, my thumbs hovering over the screen as I decide to turn my vagueNot sure if I can make ittext into an outrightI can’t come.
“Jun Hie!” My mother’s voice is accompanied by the standard clip of her heels on our marble floor.
Pock, pock, pock.
She’s sounded like that my whole life. I’m not sure the woman has ever worn a flat shoe. Ever. She’d probably hike in a pair of practical pumps. Not that she’d ever go hiking.
“Jun Hie?” She pushes my bedroom door open, and I sit up straight. She hates it when I slouch.
Resting my hand on my knee, I give her a closed-mouth smile.
She eyes me up, crossing her arms and giving me a stiff nod before gazing around my room.
Yes, Ma. It’s tidy. Everything is in order.
Man, she knows how to make me feel like I’m eight years old, my body tensing as I wait for her to spot something she doesn’t agree with and tell me what I need to fix.
With a delicate sniff, she looks at me, her glossy lips curling into a smile. “I wanted to remind you about the Abbot function we’re attending tomorrow night. You’ll need to wear your tuxedo.” She starts walking toward my closet, and I touch my throat, already feeling the noose around my neck.
I hate wearing a tux. I hate bow ties. I hate having my body restricted by tight fabric and a suit jacket. Yes, it was custom-made for me, but still. I like my clothes loose so my body can breathe and move and?—
“I can’t go.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
Ma whips around to look at me, her almond eyes demanding answers. And they better be good.
I swallow and stand, needing the advantage of towering over her.
Her gaze follows me, and I still feel like an ant as I try to stand my ground.
“I have a… basketball thing. It’s a team-building weekend. I really need to be there.”
