Page 41 of On the Edge

“I know,” he agrees quietly. I shake out my hand, fingers aching from how tightly I was clenching the steering wheel. Anxiety sits heavy in my stomach. We do not behave at practice in a manner that is safe for someone with bad vision.

“Sometimes at practice, we are leaving pucks and things on the ice,” I say a tad desperately, mentally tallying all the ways I’ve endangered Coach Mackenzie’s life these past few years. “I have bumped into him before, Max, when I was not watching where I was going!”

“Vas!” Max turns in his seat so he’s facing me. “He wouldn’t be on the ice with us if he couldn’t handle it. I’m sure you’ve noticed that he’s not as hands-on as the other coaches—he mostly stays off to the side and watches? He’s not going to do anything that’s beyond his limitations. He knows himself better than we do.”

“Yes, true,” I concede, still not feeling great about this development. I’m going to start staying behind after every practice to help clean up. Something else Max said makes me pause. “You are having panic attacks?”

“Oh, well…not often, no. I had a couple last year, but none recently.”

“Goodness,” I mumble sadly. “You will tell me, yes? If there is something I can do? I want to help, but I do not know how.”

“Yeah, I’ll tell you if I need anything. Thank you.”

Max requests I drop him off at Luke’s house. I idle in the street, watching as he goes inside and wishing I could go inside for a little bit as well. Luke has an almost uncanny ability of making people feel good—like he’s the human embodiment of a hug. He’s so joyful and friendly, and I think I could use some of that right now. But if I go up and knock on the door, I’ll be interrupting Max and Luke. They wouldn’tmind, or ask me to leave, but I hate feeling like a burden and I don’t want to infringe on their time together.

Pulling away from the curb, I drive back to campus. Too soon, I’m parking in my usual spot at my dorm and looking forlornly up at the building. I am a mostly solitary creature; usually after a day like this, with so much time spent with others, I’d be ready to have some time alone. But not today. Today, lonesomeness and gloom settle over me like a shroud, and I feel like being alone is the exact opposite of what I need.

Instead of turning around and driving back to Luke’s house, or perhaps going in search of Zeke, I text Atlas as I walk into the building.

Henri

Hello, Atlas, what are you doing this evening?

Atlas

why

Henri

I am wondering if you might like to come over?

Atlas

why

Henri

I do not have a good answer to that question. Why not?

There is no response from Atlas as I walk through the halls and up the stairs to my floor. I doubt he will come over. We do not have an assignment that needs doing together, and we are not the kind of friends who spend time together outside of class. Wecouldbe, though, if he wasn’t quite sostubborn. Atlas remains a bit of a mystery to me. His frostiness has melted toward me after that drunken night when he called me for help, and has gotten even better recently after he kissed me, but he’s still holding back. I get the impression that he likes me, but he doesn’twantto like me.

He doesn’t smile, and rarely laughs. I will occasionally catch him staring at me, but these times are very few and very far between. He replies to my texts, but never initiates the contact, and he certainly never invites me places unless we have an assignment that needs to be done. I’m unexplainably drawn to him, skin buzzing and stomach awash with nervous energy whenever we’re together.

I’ve thought about the press of his lips against mine every day since it happened.

Emptying my pockets, I carefully unfold the owl drawing and rest it on my desk. Undressing, I step into the bathroom to take a quick shower that ends up being twice as long as planned. The hot water feels heavenly, though, and it’s been a surprisingly difficult day. I finish washing in two minutes, but stand under the water for an additional five, willing the muscles in my shoulders to unlock.

It’s not until I am drying my hair that I hear the knocking on my door. Surprised, I wrap the towel around my waist and go to answer it. I’m even more surprised when I open the door and find Atlas glowering mutinously at me.

“Atlas, hello.” I grasp the towel, and his eyes fall to my hand, before crawling slowly up my chest and back to my eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, scowling. I step back to let him in, closing the door gently behind him. He’s wearing dark jeans and a dark long-sleeved T-shirt. It looks nice on him.

“You look nice,” I tell him, which makes him scowl withrenewed vigor. “I was in the shower. I hope you were not standing out there knocking for too long. Give me just a moment, and I will get dressed.”

I grab what I need from my wardrobe, holding it to my stomach one-handed and keeping a firm grasp of the towel with the other. As I close the bathroom door behind me, I hear Atlas mutter, “Don’t get dressed on my account.”

I dress quickly and do my best with my wet hair. My face is still flushed from the heat of the shower, and my shirt is sticking to my damp skin. I don’t look put together at all, but it can’t be helped. Probably, Atlas will not care.

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