Page 88 of Oh, Flutz!

“We know, Lian,” Bryan says soothingly. “We’re going to be fine.”

“You better be,” our coach grumbles, standing up from her seat. “I’ll see you in an hour. Don’t be late. And don’t laugh, Young,” she adds curtly, just as Bryan unsubtly covers his grin with a yawn, practically turning maroon from holding it in.

Don’t laugh, Young,I mouth, and he has to shut his eyes, tiny squeaks coming out of him.

“Bye, Lee,” I say, and he can’t even reply. As soon as she’s out of sight, he can’t even hold it in, and he just starts howling laughing,

“Oh my god, I can’t breathe,” he gasps, and I start giggling uncontrollably.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re literally an ice queen. I have no idea how you were able to hold it in for so long.”

“I don’t emote, remember?” I say, and that sets him off again, but I just poke his shoulder, grinning enormously as he struggles to breathe. “We have to be door-to-door salesmen on that ice, Young.”

“Stop!” he begs, clutching at his stomach. “It hurts!”

“Fine, fine.” The sight of him smiling this wide, the crease by his eyes and the scrunch in his nose beaming sunshine onto me, it makes my stomach twist. Because I remember all the times I’ve seen him smile like this, but I remember just as well how he looked when he was falling apart in front of me.

The question slips out before I can stop it. “Why were you so upset that night?”

Bryan’s eyes slide back onto mine, the laugh dying in his throat, a flicker of surprise visible before he blinks it away. I guess I didn’t need to clarify what night I meant. “I…” he trails off, an odd, resigned look on his face. “It was nothing.”

“Clearly it wasn’t nothing.” His brow pinches, and I mentally tell myself to stop being so damn demanding. “Sorry. I just mean—sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”

He’s silent for a moment, and I can see him weighing his options.Answer the psycho, or don’t answer the psycho.I’m half-expecting him to not answer the psycho when he does.

“My dad had a flare-up. He’s immunocompromised because of his injury and gets sick a lot. Nothing too serious this time, but it was stressful. I had to take him to and from the doctor once a week because he can’t drive, and my mom works crazy hours, plus I had to make sure Alexandra was alive and eating something other than takeout for six weeks straight, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh.”Oh? That’s all you can say?“Is he…okay?”

Bryan shrugs. “He’s got medical complications up the wazoo, but he’s been like that ever since the accident. He’ll survive. He always does.”

I bite my lip. “At least he’s fine now,” I mumble, and the second I say it, I know how stupid a remark it was, because Bryan lifts his head, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Yeah,” he says slowly, and my face erupts in flames.

Stupid, stupid, stupid—

I clear my throat. “Anyway, you’re a good son for doing that. He’s lucky to have you.”

I meant it as a swift way to turn the page and change the subject on a slightly less humiliating note, but the look on Bryan’s face tells me otherwise.

He looks almost…what? Surprised?

“What?” I ask suspiciously, and he blinks a few times.

“Nothing. Just…funny that you’d say that, is all. Anyway, it’s whatever.” He laughs. And I know that laugh. It’s one of the rare Bryan laughs that I don’t like to hear, because it’s the one that only comes when he’s being self-deprecating.

I crease my brows. “No, not whatever. What aren’t you telling me?”

He lets out another short laugh, leaning back in his chair, like he knows he’s dug himself a hole. “Nothing! It’s fine.”

“Young, I’m going to cut your hair off in your sleep if you don’t tell me.”

His hands fly to his overgrown sandy curls, blue eyes round with horror. “You wouldn’t!”

I raise two fingers, miming scissors. “Snip-snip,” I whisper, and he blanches.

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