Page 23 of On the Edge

“Well, actually, I was not made in Germany. I was born in Germany, yes, but I was made in New Zealand while my parents were on holiday,” I correct. Max snorts and I smile at him. “But yes, thank you, I think I will take Margot’s number.”

“Cool. She said she’d love to hang out sometime,” Luke says, holding his phone out so I can copy the number into my own. I put her contact in as “Margot—Luke’s friend.”

“You guys ready to eat?” Carter yells from the kitchen. Luke jumps up and holds a hand out to Max, pulling him to his feet. I trail after them to the kitchen, stomach growling at the smell of Italian. Zeke is a good cook—the few times I’ve eaten something he’s made, I have been impressed.

“You are a skilled chef,” I tell Zeke, inhaling deeply as I take in the massive pans of lasagna laid out on the island. In answer, he smiles and passes a plate to me.

I shuffle to the side, letting Max and Luke go first. This puts me next to Carter, who is leaned against the counter and drinking a glass of water like his life depends on it. I wait for him to drain it.

“Practice was tiring?”

“Yeah, but fun,” he says, leaning over and flicking the sink on to refill the glass. He glances back at me. “Nice work on getting an interview. It’s with Sam, right?”

“Yes, right.” I nod. Carter reaches behind himself to grab another glass, filling it with water and handing it to me.

“He’s pretty chill,” he says gruffly. “Cool guy.”

“I will try and make a good impression. I am wanting to make sure you are certain it is okay for me to stay here over the summer months? I do not want to be a bother, Carter.”

He scowls at me, drinking down another glass of water. I take a sip of my own and wait.

“You’re not a bother,” he mutters.

“I should also like to pay you,” I tell him.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he retorts. I sigh as he sets his cup down on the counter so forcefully, I’m surprised the glass doesn’t shatter. “Vas, I know you already talked to Zeke about this. The answer isno. I’m not taking your money, okay? Buy your own gas and groceries, and whatever else you need, but you can sleep here for free. Don’t argue with me about it.”

He puts a hand on my shoulder and turns me toward the island.

“Get something to eat,” he mutters, squeezing once before dropping his hand.

I do as he says, placing a slice of lasagna on a plate andsitting down next to Max. When I glance up at Carter, he looks embarrassed the way he always does when he has to say more than four words in a row. I smile at him softly, waiting for the very small smile I get in return before I bend over my plate and take a bite.

“This is very delicious, Zeke,” I tell him.

“Seriously,” Luke agrees around a groan, reaching for a pan and sliding it close enough for him to dish out more onto his and Max’s plates. He swallows, points his fork at Carter and says, “I fucking love watching you play this season.”

Max, after swallowing a mouthful and coughing a bit from the size of the bite, eagerly jumps in.

“Okay, so I’ve been paying close attention to the save percentages, shutouts, and GAAs of the starting tendies this season, and if you keep playing the way?—”

Zeke’s eyes, which had brightened at the mention of statistics, slowly take on a glazed look as Max and Carter jump into a spirited hockey discussion. Luke chimes in every now and then, but mostly just sits and watches Max with a smile on his face. For myself, I simply eat and listen, enjoying the presence of all my friends in one place.

I like seeing the way Carter’s face has become softer these last two years, and his mouth is quicker to smile. I like seeing how animated Max has become, as though Luke is a battery he’s drawing energy from. I like how happy they all are and I like that I am a part of it. I love them.

8

Atlas

My favorite time tobe on campus is after midnight; bonus points if it’s a night like tonight and the moon is full. Tipping my head against the back of the bench, I stretch my legs out in front of me and look up at the stars. It’s not perfectly dark, what with the lamps positioned along the walkways, but the stars are still visible. It’s beautiful.

Taking another drag of my cigarette, I fiddle with my cellphone in my other hand. I’d called my dad earlier, struck with a sudden madness that left me feeling strangely homesick. He hadn’t answered, and only just texted me back (seven hours after my call) to let me know he was busy, and that if I needed money, he would put some in my checking account. I shouldn’t be surprised. Our relationship is little more than a transactional one, at best. It’s a good reminder of whonotto call, should I ever find myself in an emergency.

I could just call Henri again, I think, and like I’m some sort of magician, the thought makes him appear out of the mist.

He’s strolling along the path, hands tucked into his pockets and chin tipped upward as he looks at the sky the same way I just was. He’s wearing a polo shirt, because of-fucking-course he is, and khaki pants. Even from a distance away, I can tell he looks good.

Taking another slow drag from the cigarette, I watch him. He hasn’t seen me yet, and there isn’t any reason for me to call out and make him aware of my presence. Twisting my phone around in my hand, I think of my dad. I think of my call history from the night Henri picked me up from the party. How I’d called seven other people before him, but none of them had answered. Only him. I think of the gentle way he took my shoes off, and how he let me sleep in his bed.

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