Page 21 of On the Edge

“How’s the knee?” he asks sternly, changing tracks and becoming serious.

“It is fine! No pain.”

He puts a hand on the back of my sweaty head, giving me an abnormally fond look as he ruffles my sticky hair. I feel unduly warm, all of a sudden. I know Coach likes me, but at times like these I’m struck by the realization that he might also be proud of me. I hope he is. I don’t often make people proud, but I always strive to do so.

“What’s up, hockey star!”Luke calls as he hops out of Max’s car and waves at me. I wave back, easily matching his cheerfulness. Luke is always so joyful. I love being around him.

“Hello, Luke. You are looking well.”

“Thanks for noticing,” he says, throwing his free arm over my shoulder and tugging Max along by their linked hands. “I love watching you guys’ games. Don’t tell Cranky, but I sometimes prefer them to watching the NHL.”

Max gasps. “Blasphemy.”

“I think both are quite enjoyable,” I say equably, and Luke snorts. I don’t bother asking who he means by “Cranky.” There is only one person in our friend group who might be nicknamed as such.

“Whatever you say, Switzerland.”

I knock gently on the door and wait for Zeke to let us in. He does so with a twist to his mouth, telling me he’s thinking of all the times he told me I could just let myself in and that I didn’t have to knock.

“Carter is not home yet?” I ask Zeke, bending over to slip my shoes off and place them neatly by the door. Luke kicks his off as well, so I wait for him to pass by before I arrange them next to mine, making sure the shoes are all in a row.

“Not yet,” Zeke says, closing the door softly behind us and waving me toward the living room. “Carter was just going to order food like he usually does, but I actually ended up cooking.”

“You did?” I arch a brow at him, and he shrugs, sheepishly. “You made food for five people all by alone? Yourself,” I correct automatically.

“Well, I’ve discovered that I’m pretty awesome at making lasagna, and that’s something that can feed a lot of people. I made four, because…” He waves an arm through the air in a visual representation of the stomach capacity of three hockey and one baseball players.

“I shall help you clean up,” I tell him, feeling a little bad that he went through the trouble to makefourlasagnas. I don’t know how to make lasagna, but I can’t imagine it’s easy.

“No, Vas, you’re here to hang out, not do chores. It’s already done. Food is in the oven,” he says, raising his voice to be heard by Max and Luke as well. Luke lets out awhoop whoopfrom where he is sprawled on the couch next to Max.

“What are you working on here, Little Z?” he asks, nudging the coffee table with his foot. Luke loves giving people special names.

“Well, I’m working as a TA this semester, so I’m assistingthe professor with lesson plans. Right now, we’re covering axiomatic geometry, which isfascinating.”

“Oh dear God,” Luke mutters.

Max grins at me from the opposite side of Luke as I take a seat next to him. Zeke crosses his legs and drops onto the floor in front of the coffee table, which is likely where he’d been before we showed up. I listen quietly as they chat, simply enjoying how it feels to be around them. They are my favorite people.

“Did you submit the application for the internship, Vas?” Max asks, leaning around Luke to look at me.

“I did, yes. Zeke was very helpful.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Zeke corrects. “Just read it over. Have they called you yet?”

“Actually, yes. I will be having an interview with Sam Jameson next week.” My stomach gives a little flutter of nervousness at the thought, but is chased away by my friends.

“Hell yes, good for you,” Luke says. Max leans around him further, eyes alight with excitement.

“I wonder if your interview will coincide with practice. How cool would that be? Maybe they’d let you skate with the team.”

“Oh, I do not think they would want me. Perhaps they might let me watch, though.” I shake my head, chuckling. I’m not good enough to skate with an NHL team, not even at practice. “I am nervous for this meeting. I do not want to make any mistakes.”

“It’s normal to be nervous,” Zeke tells me, smiling. “But I don’t think you have to be. Your application and reference letters will speak volumes for themselves, and nobody who meets you could dislike you.”

I nod, even though Atlas is living proof that he is wrong.All I can do is hope Sam Jameson is friendlier than my communications partner.

“Hey, how did your date go?” Luke asks, nudging me with his foot and leaning his head back against Max’s shoulder.

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