Page 28 of On the Edge

“I’m good. I mean, freaking out and all, but I guess I’m good. It’s funny, isn’t it?” He laughs under his breath, slumped back against his pillows. “How can it be possible to think you’re straight your entire life and then one day it’s justboom—gay!”

I snort, shaking my head.

“Maybe you weren’t straight, man. Not everyone figures out attraction right away. Maybe you’d been brainwashed by all the heteronormative bullshit we’re forced to swallow our entire lives.”

“Fuck ’em,” Nate says, raising his hand and flipping off the ceiling. He drops it back down, mouth twisted as he thinks. “Actually, now that I think about it, I did have a lot of cowboy posters on my wall growing up. No cowgirls. ”

“I’m going back to bed,” I reply, chuckling as I picture Nate papering his walls with pictures of men in Wranglers. Groaning, I pull myself up and snatch my mug off the floor. Nate’s smiling at his phone again. “Dude, seriously? Have some self-respect.”

He raises his middle finger again, this time directing it at me. Stopping downstairs to refill my mug, I head back to my bedroom and crawl into bed. Sipping my coffee, I fiddle with my cellphone and think about, of all things, Henri. We’re not friends, but that doesn’t mean I can’t befriendly. Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull up our text message thread and type out a message.

Atlas

Good luck in your interview today.

9

Henri

I’m sittingin my car in the parking lot of the practice rink for South Carolina’s NHL team. Checking the time, I note that I’ve still got an hour before my interview and recline my seat a little bit, allowing my legs to stretch out. I didn’t have to come so early, but I was nervous about traffic and finding my way. It’s always better to be early rather than late.

Pulling my phone out, I look again at the message Atlas sent me this morning.Good luck in your interview.It was unexpectedly kind and so out of character for him, I wondered if he might be drunk at 6 a.m. I’d texted back a thank-you, but he hadn’t responded. Even so, his was my favorite of the messages I’d received from my friends and brother, wishing me luck and telling me I’d do fine.

Carefully setting a timer, I prop my phone in the cup holder and grab the textbook I brought to pass the time. By the time my phone chimes forty minutes later, I’ve made littleheadway in the reading I’m supposed to get done. I know I’ve got a good grasp on the English language and that my problems mainly stem from low confidence, but it’s a hurdle that only seems to get taller. The longer I’m in school, the harder the subject matter becomes, and the gap between the content and my understanding seems to lengthen. It seems rather unfair that the only language I struggle with is the one most people speak.

Checking my hair in the rearview mirror, I smile at myself and make sure there isn’t anything in my teeth. I can’t find anything overly offensive with my appearance, so I check the portfolio I brought to make sure everything is still inside. All is as it was the last five times I checked it. All of that done, there’s nothing left but to leave the car and walk to the front of the building.

As I approach, the door opens and a man I recognize as Sam Jameson steps out, propping the door open with his hip and watching me. He’s a nice-looking man, with warm brown eyes and an easy smile. I try to relax my shoulders, and extend my hand to shake his.

“Hello, sir. I am Henri Vasel.”

“Sam Jameson,” he replies, shaking my hand and gesturing me inside. The door locks behind us as it swings shut. “But please, call me Sam.”

“Thank you, sir.”

His lips twitch like he wants to grin, but he merely strides off down the hallway.

“Do you prefer to go by your last name, or Henri?”

“Oh.” I pause, surprised to be asked. I’m so used to everyone calling me Vas. “Well, whichever you prefer! I am happy with however you like to speak to me, sir.”

He chuckles softly and stops next to an open doorway, gesturing for me to precede him through. He puts a gentle hand on my upper back, the touch barely discernible through my shirt, and uses his free hand to indicate the chair in front of his desk.

“Have a seat, Henri. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Oh no, I am fine, thank you so much.” Sitting down, I rest my folder on my lap and link my fingers. “I should like to apologize if there are any mistakes in my English, sir. I will do my best.”

“No need to apologize, and no need to call me sir. This is a casual interview, Henri. We’re just going to be chatting. I’ll tell you a little bit about what the program looks like, and what we’re looking for, and you can tell me about yourself. Sound good?”

“Yes, si—Sam,” I correct.

He hands me a packet that I glance at before tucking into the portfolio I brought. I will need to apply myself to reading it later, but for now I want to be sure and give him my full attention. He talks me through the internship, outlining each level of the organization I would be involved in. I start to get excited as he speaks, imagining myself in the role. I know I could succeed here, if given the chance.

Sam talks for a good ten minutes, before he stops and asks if I have any questions. I like the way his voice is smooth and calm, and the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. He seems like a nice guy and I trust him immediately.

“You have some impressive letters of recommendation,” Sam says, smiling at me in a way that makes his eyes seem impossibly warm, like melted chocolate. “Nico Mackenzieand Anthony Lawson have had nothing but good things to say about you, as I’m sure you know.”

“They are too kind. I am appreciative of having the opportunity to learn from them.”

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