Page 42 of Counter Bet

I rest my head on his shoulder. “I know. And I will always be your number one supporter. Don’t forget it when you’re swamped with jersey chasers.”

We chuckle, but it’s bittersweet. My heart hurts. Deep down, I know we’re doing the right thing.

Rivers sometimes meet and flow together, heading downstream before splitting apart again. Rick and I have reached the fork in our road.

* * *

I’m in good spirits on Monday morning. I did a lot of soul-searching the night before. It would have frightened me a month ago not to have Rick by my side, but something is changing inside me.

Little by little.

It doesn’t send me into a tailspin anymore to think about the future. It’s still scary but not overwhelming. I’m not lying awake at night with anxiety. The emptiness in my chest is slowly filling up with genuine smiles and moments of happiness.

Like right now. I’m feeling reckless and mischievous.

We’re painting a fruit bowl in art class which is so cliché.

I glance over at the teacher as I dip the paintbrush in the cup of water, so it’s nice and wet. I swirl it in the purple paint next. Then, when she’s not looking, I turn and flick it at Matt.

It hits him right on the cheek.

“What the—?” he says, wiping his cheek, smearing the paint.

I press a palm over my lips to suppress my laughter.

His eyes flit up.

“Oops!”

He inspects the paint on his hand and chuckles. He picks up his paintbrush, dips it in the red paint, and holds it up threateningly in the air. “Oops, you say?”

I look over at the teacher.

“Oh, she can’t help you now.” He abandons his canvas and walks toward me.

I hold my hands up, giggling. “It was an accident.”

“Sure,” he grins, taking another step closer. His blonde hair falls in his eyes. “You just happened to flick paint at me from two rows over.”

“I have involuntary reflexes.”

His eyes sparkle. “Like this?” he pretends to flick the brush.

I squeak and duck. “Look,” I say, lifting my hands placatingly. “It was definitely an accident. I wouldn’t dare flick paint at you.”

It would sound more believable if I wasn’t smiling.

He comes to a stop in front of me, grabs my jaw, and paints a line down my nose.

This time I really do laugh, batting him away.

“Oh, look at that,” he says, staring at the hand holding the brush like he can’t believe what just happened. “Involuntary reflexes.”

“Mr. Young!” our teacher snaps. “Back to your canvas now!”

He winks at me, walking backward. “Word of advice, don’t rub it, or you’ll look like Rudolph.”

* * *

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