Page 19 of Only When It Breaks

Kai unlocks his car with a beep, and I slide into the passenger seat without a word. He starts the engine, glancing at me sideways. “Seatbelt,” he says.

I click it in place without looking at him. A few minutes pass in silence, just the hum of the engine. “So,” he finally says,drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “What kind of music do you like?”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re seriously trying to small talk me right now?”

He grins. “I’m trying to be nice.”

“Well, don’t hurt yourself.”

He laughs like I’ve made a joke. “Okay, hostile silence it is,” he says, turning the volume up slightly on the radio. Indie rock.Figures.

I sigh. “I like musicals.”

“LikeHamiltonor, likeHigh School Musical?”

I side-eye him. “Hamilton, obviously.”

“Respect,” he says, nodding like I’ve just told him something profound. “Never got into it. Too many words.”

“You can always listen to it, they actually do it on audio, unless you’re too busy checking yourself out in the mirror.”

He fakes a gasp. “Ouch. That was savage.”

“Not as savage as you calling Ava’s trainers ‘charity shop chic’ last week.”

He winces. “Okay, fair. That was a low blow.”

I turn to him, surprised. “Did you just admit to being wrong?”

He shrugs, eyes on the road. “I’m evolving.”

I snort. “Like a Pokémon.”

He grins. “Exactly. I used to be Kai, now I’m Kai two-point O. Slightly less of a dick.” There’s a pause. The corners of my mouth twitch, and I look away before he can see. “Anyway,” he says casually, “we’ve got ten more minutes of this ride. You can either keep roasting me or tell me something I don’t know about you.”

I cross my arms. “Fine. I collect pressed flowers.”

He glances at me, eyebrows raised. “Seriously?”

“Deadly serious.”

“That’s kind of cool, actually.”

I shrug. “And I like to read.” He grins, and for once, I don’t instantly want to punch it off his face. “What about you?”

He taps the steering wheel some more. “I’m not great at reading,” he announces, like it’s been weighing heavy on his chest. “Or spelling.”

I glance over, but he stares straight ahead. “Oh.”

He laughs, but I know he doesn’t find it funny. “Yeah, who would have thought it.”

I shrug like it’s no big deal. “Loads of adults struggle to read.”

“Not how my dad sees it,” he mutters, with a hint of bitterness in his words.

“No?”

He takes a breath, then glances over before forcing a brighter smile, one that he thinks hides his pain. “And obviously, football.”

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