What I Thought Was True(23)
It’s so ridiculously implausible in the light of day. Because it’s all the same—Nic’s focused scowl on the uplift, relaxing into pained relief as he sets the weight down, his faded, torn, “lucky” camouflage green workout shirt, sleeves torn off— 78
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everything. Manny must have been talking through his beer brain.
“Do I look like I’ve gained weight to you?” Nic asks abruptly, my staring at him with a crinkled forehead finally getting through.
“Yup, those shorts make your butt look huge.”
He frowns at me. “I’m serious. I’ve been eating over at Viv’s all the time since school got out and her mom’s desserts . . . If I bulk up too much, my swim timing will suck, and those guys will take their edge and—”
“Nico, you’re fine.”
He blows out a breath, lowering the weight and panting.
“Can you hold my ankles while I do crunches?”
I drop to the floor, loop my fingers around his sweaty, hairy ankles. I’ve been doing this for him for years, and the familiar-ity of it makes me brave again.
“Nico, Manny said— Are you and Vivien—”
“D’you think I should shave my legs?” he interrupts, panting.
“For prom?”
“For speed.”
“I don’t think your pelt slows you down too much, cuz.
Nobody else on the team does it.”
There’s a sharp, military-sounding rap on the door. I get up and open it to find Coach Reilly awkwardly holding a plastic bag. He’s so out of context that I blink. I’ve never seen him on the island. Cass, now Coach. It’s a Stony Bay invasion. He thrusts the bag at me as though it’s a bomb with a ticking time clock, then glances around the room, his brows pulling toward each other. “Your ma here?”
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I glance into the bag to find it full of romance novels with titles like The Desirable Duke and The Sheik Who Shagged Me. I so don’t want to think Coach reads these.
“My neighbor was gonna chuck ’em. I know Lucia goes for this kind of thing. So . . . she’s not home?”
I shake my head, try not to squint at him. Dad calls Mom “Luce,” only “Lucia” when they’re arguing. But the way Coach says the word, it sounds . . . different. I didn’t think he thought of her as “Lucia”—as anything but my mom, Nic’s aunt. I’m beginning to think I know absolutely nothing about what’s going on with anyone.
“Come on in.” I open the door wider.
He shoulders his way into the room. “Hey, Nic the Brick.”
Nic, who’s at the top of a weight curl, grunts a hello.
Emory gives Coach Reilly a distracted wave. Coach ruffles his hair, asks, “When you going to run track for me, Big Blue?”
Em holds out his arms, says, “Whoosh, faster than a loco-motive. Speeding.”
“Just what SB High needs, buddy,” Coach says, sitting down heavily on one of the kitchen stools and unzipping his SBH
jacket. He looks even more flushed than usual.
“Can I get you some water?” Or a defibrillator?
“Naah. Gwen, gonna cut to the chase. Got a kid on the swim team who’s in a jam. Screwed up in English and flunked that big final. Two-thirds of his grade shot to hell. The teacher will let him retake at the end of the summer. But he needs a tutor. I know you saved Pieretti’s butt with Lit 1 last fall. If Cass doesn’t maintain a good average, he’s off the team. We need him.
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I figured since he’s right here on the island this summer, it would be easy for you guys to find the time.”
Of course I knew instantly it was Cass. Not because I think of him as a bad student, but somehow the minute I heard Coach say “swim team,” I knew. Cass is getting to be like that one rock on the beach that you stub your toe on every time.
“I don’t think I’m the best person to help him,” I say. “Pam D’Ofrio tutors. And she’s on island too.”
I hear a sound like a cat choking up a hairball. It’s Nic, clear-ing his throat.
“You okay, Brick?” Coach asks.
Nic coughs again in that same incredibly fake way, then wheezes out. “Need a cough drop. ( Hack, hack. ) Gwen—can you show me where you keep yours?”
He jerks his head toward Mom’s and my bedroom with these big pleading eyes. Mystified, somewhat irritated, I follow him.
The minute we’re inside, he grabs my forearm. “Do it. Man up and do it.”
I lean back against the door. “Why? If Cass gets booted, your shot at captain is in the bag.”
Nic grimaces. “No way do I want to win like that. Get it handed to me. Besides, Somers ups my game. I do my best when I’m trying to outdo someone. I need that edge.” He’s been looking at me intently. Now his eyes fall to Mom’s ruffled pink-and-brown bedspread.
“Look, I know things are maybe a little”—he rubs his per-spiring jawline without looking at me—“whatever. With you 81
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and Somers. I mean, pretty damn clear last night, whatever the hell that was. But do this. For us. I need Coach to write me a rec for the academy. He went there. That’s huge. I need it.”