Page 40 of Resilience

Monty, the club’s other prospect, was coming up on his two-year mark. Though rarely the club voted to extend, two years was officially the maximum for a prospect. Not long ago, Dad had told Sam that the club was reluctant to give up free labor early when new patches weren’t absolutely necessary, so Sam should expect to go the full two.

But Maverick was sounding like maybe he wouldn’t.

Monty would be so pissed if Sam got patched at the same time he did. But he’d probably say he expected it. He had a big speech, which Sam had heard multiple times, about the privilege of the legacy. Sam knew he wasn’t wrong, but he’d celebrate an early end to the torment of prospecting just the same.

“I’ll talk to my dad,” he said.

Maverick grinned and slapped his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Good. Good. Gotta think ahead.”

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~oOo~

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Toward the end of his shift, Sam had just finished taking care of old Mr. Watters and his thirty-year-old Oldsmobile and was heading back into the shop when a flash of blue caught his eye, and he saw Athena’s Fiat pull into the lot. She didn’t stop at the pumps but instead pulled to the side of the building, where they had a few parking spaces. When she got out, she was dressed for work. He would have said she was on her way home except that the station wasn’t between her house and the school.

She was so pretty, in her slim black pants and soft yellow sweater. She had a scarf tied around her neck, and he knew what that was about. More than a week after the cabin, she still needed to hide that fucking bruise.

They hadn’t talked as much as usual lately, and that was on him. He felt shitty about it, but he was such a snarl of confused feelings and new desires that it hurt, like physically hurt, to talk to her and try to pretend things hadn’t changed for him. He needed time to sort himself out and get back to normal—or to wait until the time was right to tell her the truth. If the time could ever be right.

He felt especially shitty because she needed him. Literally the only thing she needed of him was to be her best friend and stand by her while she dealt with being raped. But he couldn’t help but make it all about himself and his fee-fees. He fucking sucked.

Right now, though, she was here. So he put a smile on his face and signed, “Hey.”

She did not smile, and she didn’t respond until she stood right in front of him. “We need to talk.”

Worst sentence in the world. When a girlfriend said that, the writing was on the wall. But Athena wasn’t his g—Jesus. She wasn’t breaking up their friendship, was she? That was the whole reason for his turmoil! Had he fucked up so bad he’d lost it while he was trying to save it?

“Okay ...” He swallowed and opened the door. “I got about twenty left on the clock, but Chet’s not here yet, and the bays are closed, so we’ll be alone inside.”

She walked past him and into the shop. Sam followed her.

When they were behind the counter, Sam jumped up to sit on it. Athena leaned against the cigarette case and stared at him.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, afraid to assume he knew. “You look upset.”

“You tell me what’s wrong. You’ve been weird all week.”

“I don’t know—”

She waved him off with an impatient snarl twisting her lips. “Don’t lie to me, you butt. You are ghosting me, and that is some serious bullshit. What is your fucking problem? If you’re pissed because I won’t let you go after Hunter, I swear—”

“No!” Sam jumped down from the counter as he cut in. “I told you I’ll back your play. It’s your call, and I get that.”

She stomped her foot. “Then what?” Another stomp. “What?!”

He wanted to tell her. Mom said he should, and despite his real, deep fear that doing so would ruin everything, he wanted to tell her so damn bad.

But he couldn’t, and it was more than fear holding him back. This was really not the time. Less than two weeks ago, Athena had been raped. By her boyfriend, a guy who’d professed to love her. What she needed right now was her best friend, not some asshole telling her he loved her, like his feelings were the most important thing. And how was she supposed to believe him if he did tell her, while she was still marked from the last guy who’d sworn his love?

Sam must have gone too long without responding, because suddenly Athena lunged forward and grabbed his shirt in both hands. She yanked on it as if she thought she could move him; then she let go and punched him instead. That sent his breath whooshing out and almost doubled him over; she’d aimed for his solar plexus, and the girl knew how to punch. Small but mighty.

She had a tattoo on that very point. Around her right wrist, ink like a charm bracelet, with three charms: the constellation of Virgo, a crescent moon, and a round charm with the tiniest letters Sam had ever seen inked that read ‘FIERCE’—it was a reference to the quote from A Midsummer Night’s Dream: ‘Though she be but little, she is fierce.’ Athena had a poster of that quote above her desk as well.

Thinking of her ink sent his eyes to his own left forearm, where he had a tattoo that matched another of hers, in the same place on her left arm: a quote from The Fellowship of the Ring: ‘All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.’

In this particular moment, that sentence, and the ink he and Athena shared, seemed particularly profound.

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