Page 87 of Breaking Away

That explains why my heart is racing.

“Fine,” I say, slowly smirking. “But only so I can tell your team they get to come over for a barbecue once you win.”

“I like that,” he says in a husky tone.

“What?”

Lokhov leans in. “You accepting that I always win, Princess.”

My nipples pinch. “Not against me. You have no idea how much you’ll lose to me.”

For once, he doesn’t argue. His expression sobers strangely. He makes an excuse, something about working out and leaves. I wave him goodbye, secretly panicking suddenly.

If they win their game, he’ll invite his team over for food, and then I’ll have to show him my photography account.

The one with nothing posted on it.

My photography versus his team-building.

It’s a competition I didn’t plan for but can’t lose! Because the winner gets a blank check of a dare. Anything, anywhere, at any time.

How many inches can you start with?

AHHHHH. Why did we agree to this again?

I’m supposed to be figuring out what to do next in my life, not challenging Lokhov and going to his game…

And having fun.

36

KAVI

The night of the game,I walk over to the arena and find Sonya waiting for me outside.

I shuffle back a step, not expecting her to be there.

“It’s so hot today,” she complains.

I’m wearing a pleated skirt with a crew-neck t-shirt. Sonya has on wide-legged cargo pants, and a long-sleeved t-shirt that layers mesh on top of what looks like cotton. Her hair is in a braided bun. It’s Scandinavian punk. No chains or accessories. Comfy edge.

“You’re wearing all black,” I note.

“I acknowledge no other color.”

“Even on stage?”

“More so on stage,” she emphasizes.

We walk into the arena. My mind races, and I keep looking at her. I want to ask.Are we… friends?

It comes across as rude, but I donotmean it that way. It’s just—I would love clarification if we are, as a person who sucks at making friends.

Historically speaking, in school you could subtract me from any group and nothing important would change. I was a warmbody to keep around or that extra person you added to fluff up the number count. When people said they liked me, they meant they liked how the awkward, shy girl always agreed with them.

Kavi Basra was a parrot. She thought being malleable and copying others is how friendship worked. Not that it really worked for me. After school I would linger, but no one knew me enough or wanted me enough to hang out. That’s why summers really sucked. I knew I’d be forgotten.

At first I thought the color of my skin had something to do with it—and maybe it didn’t help in the town I grew up in—but it was more than that. Connecting felt impossible. Every time I thought I had a best friend, I found out I wasn’t theirs.

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