Page 25 of Hits Different

“I was just wondering if you could talk me through some of the recreational activities that you have here at Summit”, Brandon says, in a tone that I recognise as his most earnest student voice, “I don’t know whether you saw from my transcript, but I’m big on the importance of a work/play balance”.

“Ah, yes—your transcript”, I grab an imaginary clipboard from the desk and make a show of flicking through imaginary paperwork. “Very interesting reading”.

“Oh, really?” His nose wrinkles, “How so?”

“Your grades are impressive. Suspiciously so, for someone who confusedTo Kill a MockingbirdwithWe Bought a Zooin middle school”. He snorts, and I continue, “Keen athlete. Punctual. Well mannered. Goodbreeding. All looks in order Mr Carter, oh-oh dear”.

“Problem?”

“Under surplus information, it saysan inability to satisfy sexual partners to full completion”, I inhale sharply, “That’s not really the kind of approach we look for in our clients here at Summit. How disappointing”.

“Sometimes the journey is more important than the destination, Di Rossi”.

“Easily distracted by shiny objects”.

“You could argue that’s merely a case of heightened observational skills”.

“And as for the STI test, well…”

“All right, enough!” he yells, shoving me, half-laughing. “You always knew how to push my buttons”.

“What are best friends for?” I grin, which he returns, before the smile slips from his face. Because we aren’t really best friends, are we? We were, then we weren’t. Now, it still feels unclear. Like we’re being careful with each other.

I hand over his induction forms. “Here, fill these in. Leave no detail unembellished”.

I busy myself printing his pass and ID card. The only sound comes from the scratch of his pen against the paper. I glance up. His brow is furrowed in concentration, and he still does that thing where he silently mouths the words that he’s writing, just like he did in English class.

“Finished”. He passes the paperwork back over. “When can I kick a soccer ball?”

I flick through them. “You can’t be serious”.

“What?” he asks innocently.

“Under ‘Cause of Injury’, you’ve put ‘Small-Dicked Goalkeeper’”.

“That is factually accurate. I’ve seen Volchok in the showers”.

I smirk, then glance at the clock. Shit. We’ve been chatting for so long; I need to get him through the proper induction or Sheryl will be pissed.

“Let’s go through the mobility exercises. If you wanna just slip your shirt off and stand against the wall over there”. I grab the camera. “I just need you to do a few stretches, and we can see how banged this shoulder really is”.

Brandon hops off the bench and yanks his shirt over his head, exposing broader shoulders than I remembered.

I used to take a weird kind of pride in the fact that I was bigger than he was, having started lifting weights much earlier. Now, I’d guess we probably benched the same. Our body types might be different, but he’s still a lean, muscular guy.

I catch myself. What does that even matter? The days of my one-sided competition with Brandon should be long over.

“Just turn around for me and take these”. I hand over the resistance bands as he absently scratches his chiselled abdomen. The sunlight catches on the silver chain that hangs loosely halfway down his chest.

I guide him through a couple of basic motions, trying not to be alarmed by the way he grits his teeth whenever he has to move his shoulder.

“That’s enough for today”, I say, and he practically collapses in relief.“Time for me to show you round the facility”.

“Really?” he asks, looking pleased.

“It’s kind of my job”. His face falls immediately, so I quickly add, “But I want to”. The room suddenly feels small. Too small for the two of us and twenty years of combined history. I need to get out of here as much as he does.“Come on”.

I lead him back through reception and drop the clipboard in the new entrant tray. As I do, one bit catches my eye.

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