“Oh, yes, you do. I found it odd how you volunteered to be his sparring partner when you literally could’ve chosen anyone else, and now this.”
I dropped the pen and folded my arms. “None of that means anything.”
She tilted her head. “You’re lying. You have a tell.”
“What tell?”
Grace threw her hands up. “Now, why would I tell you what your tell is? Then you’ll just quit doing it.”
I groaned, my arms dropping to my sides. There was no point in continuing to deny it because Grace was obviously convinced of her theory, and besides, she was spot on. I flushed and went to gather a change of clothes. The ones I was wearing had the stench of the sewers on them. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Darya,” she said with a sigh. I stood rummaging through my underwear drawer when Grace approached me from behind, pulling me into a hug as she rested her chin on my shoulder. “I thought we told each other everything. You know all about my weird crush on your sister.”
“It’s not the same. You hate Peter. I didn’t feel like I could say anything without you judging me for it.”
“Hey, I would never judge you. And I don’t hate him. I just don’t like how he walks around the school all aloof, thinking he’s better than everybody else.”
“How do you know he thinks that? It’s not like you can see inside his head.”
“It’s just a vibe I get. But seriously, I’m not judging you for fancying him. As a gay woman, I struggle to entirely understand what’s attractive about men, though I will admit that Peter Girard is easy on the eyes without being over-the-top handsome.”
My chest deflated. “I don’t even understand why I like him. We’ve barely interacted.”
“Sometimes who we fancy doesn’t make sense,” Grace replied. “I mean, look at me. If I had my way, your sister and I would be kissing cousins. I’m clearly a deranged pervert.”
I chuckled softly. “Right, but you’re not blood-related, so it isn’t that weird.”
“We’re still family, though. Thank God Rebecca’s too oblivious to notice I’m half in love with her.”
I turned my head a fraction to look Grace in the eye. Now it was her turn to stiffen self-consciously. “You’re in love with Rebecca?”
She rolled her eyes, trying to brush off the confession. “It’ll fade. There are just no other interesting and attractive women in my life right now. That’s why I’m so fixated on Becks.”
I patted her arm, and she released me from the hug. “Let’s hope my stupid crush on Peter fades, too,” I said.
Grace gave me a less than confident smile. “Let’s hope.”
I left her then, heading for my bathroom. I turned on the shower and undressed while waiting for the water to heat up. When it was sufficiently warm, I stepped under the spray. It felt good to wash away the stress and confrontation of the day. Too many things had come to light, and I hadn’t had nearly enough time to process all of it.
I squirted some shampoo into my hand, closing my eyes as I lathered it into my hair … and got the fright of my life when a voice asked, Darya, are you there?
I was completely naked, water running down my body. Peter couldn’t see or hear what I was doing, yet it felt illicit. My every pore drew tight in awareness.
I’m here. Is everything okay?
God, why did I sound so awkward even when answering telepathically?
Everything’s fine. Just thought I’d check in. There was a clear pause on his end before he continued, Are you sure you’re okay? You sound a little off.
I’m fine. Really. I’m just … uh, never mind.
No, tell me. If something’s wrong, I’d like to know.
Nothing’s wrong. I’m just in the shower right now, and I don’t make a habit of talking to people while I shower, I mentally blurted. The stress of today must’ve been getting to me.
Silence fell on Peter’s end. Then finally he said, Oh. Another pause. Maybe we should set up some ground rules for when we can and can’t make contact.
That sounds smart.
Shall I go away until you’re done in the shower, and then we can discuss it?
You’re here now. Might as well continue.
Okay … So, what times do you normally, uh …
Shower? I don’t keep to an exact schedule.
Right, well, that makes this more difficult.
How about we only contact each other between two and eight p.m. each day? I suggested as I rinsed the shampoo from my hair.
That sounds good to me. But what if there’s an emergency?
Obviously, an emergency will cancel out our usual hours, I said, cringing at the idea of trying to contact Peter while he was doing something even more awkward than showering. What if he was with a girl? Or worse, what if he was pleasuring himself? Or sitting on the toilet? Ugh! Why did there have to be so many embarrassing private moments that took place during a typical day?