Page 73 of (Not So) Famous in Paradise

But he nods once, then pulls a drying mat from under the sink. All nonchalant, like he’s unaware he’s probing me about my biggest failure ever.

I answer him anyway. I’ve already got the shame of almost proposing to Carly messing with my head. I can’t let my rejection from Georgia get in there too.

“She called me the best ‘teammate’ ever.” I grip the wine glass he hands me so tightly, I’m surprised it doesn’t crack. “So…not great.”

“What’s wrong with being a teammate?” Adam pulls the plug from the sink, and the water drains with a loud gulping sound. Then he leans against the counter, tosses his dishtowel over his shoulder, and stares at me.

I answer him by raising both my eyebrows. Because, look, I’ve been on a lot of teams. Baseball. Football. Soccer. Badminton. Pickleball…

You name it, I’ve played it. I love all sports. And not to brag or anything, but I’m usually the best one on any team I ever join. I may not have been able to read in school, but I was always picked first when it came to dividing into teams. That is, when I wasn’t the captain.

I know what it means to be a teammate. Adam does too, so he answers by raising his own eyebrows, and I know I’m not getting out of this conversation without some explanation.

“Whoever said there’s no I in team only got it half right.” I lean against the table across from him and return his stare. If anyone walked in, they’d think we were playing our old “reflection” game. The one where we’d anticipate the other’s move and copy it like we were standing in front of a mirror.

“Okay. Do you want to explain that?” He crosses his arms and leans farther into the counter, settling in. His question is rhetorical. It’s also accompanied by the sounds of my parents singing along to “Something Good.”

“She can’t remember our names, but she still remembers that song.” I shake my head slowly, and Adam sends me a sad smile.

“They’ve always made a goodteam.”

I roll my eyes, and he lets out a soft laugh. But it works. I’m ready to talk.

With a sigh, I rake my hand through my hair. “Every team member has to work together, but there’s always a Kobe or a Michael or a Lebron.” (Okay, so maybe I have a favorite sport). “You know this.”

“Yeah. So what’s the point?”

I consider Adam’s question. If there’s anyone besides Georgia who I can be completely open with, it should be my twin brother. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.

He stays quiet until I finally raise my eyes to meet his. “The point is, there’s always a star. One person the rest of the team revolves around.”

“And you’re that person?” Adam’s eyes narrow with confusion. “Too good for Georgia?”

I scoff. “Please. We all know Georgia is the star.”

“And you think that’s what she was saying when she called you a teammate?”

Adam’s still not getting it. I shake my head trying to jostle my thoughts into an order that will make sense.

“Not consciously.” I take the dishtowel from my shoulder and twist it around my hand. The pressure around my fingers shifts my focus away from the hurt that comes with putting words to my feelings. “But Georgiaisthe star. Not just any star. She’s the sun. She’s the one we’re all working for. She’s the one with all the talent and all the ideas.”

Adam cocks his head to the side, but he doesn’t say anything.

“I’m ateammate. The guy there to help her shine.” I unwind the dishtowel and throw it on the counter. “Which is fine. I want to be that guy. I want her to be successful.”

“But?” Adam interrogates me with just the one word.

I escape his stare by walking to the breakfast nook, where I sink into the window seat. “But we’re not equal. I’m the friend working for her. The teammate there for support and backup.” I don’t know if I’m making any sense to him, but talking about why the word teammate bugged me when Georgia said it is helping me work out why.

“And you want to be a partner?” Adam says, and everything falls into place.

“Yes.” I exhale with relief. “That’s it.”

Adam takes so long to answer that I start to think we’re done talking. He understands and agrees with me.

Then he scratches his head and says, “Can’t teammate mean partner? Is it possible Georgia meant it that way?”

I draw my brow so tightly together, the skin around my eyes pulls. “Why would she think of me as apartner? She’s doing all the work. She’s just bringing me along for the ride to be nice.”

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