by Shae Ross
“As you recall, we asked each of you to fill out an evaluation of your partner. You rated your partners on a scale of one to ten, taking into consideration things such as cooperative spirit and teamwork skills. We awarded the number of points based on how many points you gave, rather than how many points you earned. Team Jett won as they were more generous in giving points than the women. We will not be announcing the winning charity until later this week. We’d like to give ourselves a little more time to consider the information. Thank you everyone for your hard work today.”
Just like that. We lost. Day two. Mr. Trott’s words sink into my brain like a brick tossed into setting concrete. I feel the weight of Jett’s stare on my profile. I gather my items and stand. He pushes back from the table and he’s facing me. I meet his gaze and note the hard line of his jaw. We’re back to being competitors. I tuck my hair behind my ear. He and his team did everything right today. He played the game with kindness and generosity—at least after he set down his chips—and I am not going to be a poor loser.
“Congratulations,” I say, wishing my voice sounded stronger. He remains silent. I put my fingers on his forearm and squeeze as I move past him. His body half turns, and I feel his gaze following me as I make my way over to Devi and Robert. I listen in on Robert’s conciliatory speech, which somehow makes me feel worse. Devi packs up her purse, we grab our coats and Jade’s from her empty chair, and head to the elevators. “Let’s go find Jade,” I whisper.
We step out of the turn-style and onto the busy sidewalk. I thumb out a text to Jade.
Where are you?
She pings back.
Broad Street, behind a bush, under a tree.
We are on Broad Street. I look up and search for her. I see a park across the street and the silhouette of legs protruding from the backside of a tree as if someone has dropped a house on her. Shit. I grab Devi and head that way.
“Hey,” I say, coming around to sit beside her. Her black bobbed hair is raised and disheveled at the crown, caught against the bark of the tree supporting her. Her legs are crossed at the ankles, hands tucked between her thighs. Except for the redness around her lids, she looks as pale as winter.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“No.”
She closes her eyes and leans her head against the tree.
I put my hand on her knee. “What’s wrong with your mom?”
Her head tilts back a notch ’til her face is angled to the sky, eyes pinched closed. “Breast cancer,” she says, her mouth trembling at the corners. “She needs a mastectomy, chemo, radiation.”
Devi inhales a small gasp and sinks to her knees beside us. “Oh God. I’m sorry, Jade.”
I purse my lips and slant my fingers over my mouth. “I’m sorry,” I say, grabbing her arm.
Her expression is flat and defeated. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just didn’t want you to feel more pressure in having to win this competition. We need $14,000 so she can travel and be treated in a big city hospital.”
“Jesus. Do you think your dad can help?”
She shakes her head against the tree. “Even if he wanted to, he doesn’t have the money. He couldn’t even help me with the cost of the pre-‘Treps competitions. I used all my savings from my summer job.”
Jade’s been able to count on her father for exactly nothing. I’ve never seen him contribute anything remotely positive to her life. After her mom was deported, her dad existed in a perpetual state of passed out at their kitchen table, sobering just enough to stumble to his night shift and back. I used to live across the street from Jade. When we’d come home after school, there her dad would be, his head slumped over a paper plate, a half-eaten fried egg smeared in his rumpled black hair.
I grab Jade’s hand. “You know if we win, you can have my money,” I say, and a tear rolls down her cheek to match the one rolling down mine.
“Your family has done enough for me, Ryan. I could never do that. Besides, you need that money for law school.”
“We’ll have enough to help you once we win this competition,” Devi says.
“Did we win today?” Jade asks with a hopeful lilt in her voice. Devi and I exchange a quick glance.
“No,” I answer in a soft voice.
Jade lets out a breath. “I’m sure walking out in the middle of my presentation to take a call didn’t help us.”
“It wasn’t that,” I say. “They scored us based on how many points we gave the guys in our evaluations. The guys won because they gave us more points than we gave them.”
“That’s twisted.”
“No shit,” Devi sneers.
“We’re down two out of five. If we lose another task, we’ll be packing it up.”
“We’re not going to lose, Ryan.” I remain silent with Jade as Devi glares expectantly at both of us. “Look, I did not give up a ‘Girls Gone Wild’ party on Miami Beach to be beaten by some dull-headed frat boys. Snap out of it, girls!” She claps her hands. We’re thinking about the health of Jade’s mom, and she can still get pissed about the thought of having given up her spring break for nothing. “Get up,” her gleaming red lips demand. She’s a cross between the MAC cosmetic girl and a drill sergeant. “Now!” She leans in.
I roll onto my hands and knees and push myself up, exhaling a groan. We both reach down for Jade and pull her to stand. We cut across Broad Street to take a parallel route back to our hotel.
We talk about Jade’s mom on the walk home, trying to come up with strategies to help her. All the while my mind is circling a loop around Jett Trebuchet.
Thinking about what he did today blows me away. No one has ever done anything like that for me. It’s certainly nothing Phil would’ve done. When I told Phil about placing as a finalist in the competition, his only comment was that the competition might interfere with his spring ball schedule.
I needed to thank Jett. Tonight.
“How did things go in the work rooms with the guys today?” I ask.
Devi snorts, presses her hand to her mouth, and then starts to giggle. “We totally made out,” she says.
Our mouths open in shock. “What? Seriously?”
“Yep. Finished our proposal early and made out the rest of the afternoon. I’m exhausted,” she says, fluffing her hair.
“So you like him, then?” Jade asks.
“I love him, he’s a blast, but not as a boyfriend.”
“Why not?” Jade squeaks. “You two seem perfect for each other.”
“I know, right?” Her voice is enthusiastic and then falls flat. “But I can’t seriously date Ben, we’re from completely different worlds.” For some reason Devi thinks she can only be with someone whose home life is as messed up as hers, and that’s gonna be hard to find. I’ve tried to talk her out of thinking that way, but she won’t budge.
“I have a confession, too,” Jade says. Her gaze shifts between Devi and me. “I really like Vaughn.”
“Well there’s a shocker,” Devi says with a smile.
Jade casts a sideways look toward me. “I’m sorry, I know we’re competing, but I do like him.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” I say. “He does seem like a really nice guy.”
We are silent for a moment and I see them both looking at me out of the corner of my eye.
“Spill, Ryan,” Devi says.
“Oh, all right.”
“Here it comes.” Devi sounds out a drumroll.
I clear my throat. “I’m hot for Robert.”
“Shut up, you are not,” Devi says, pushing my shoulder. “You’re falling for Jett. I totally saw it today when he was presenting. You were practically drooling. And you were the one telling me to calm down when I saw Ben. Ha!”
“I’m not falling for him, I just don’t hate him anymore…and I actually sort of like him…and he’s six degrees hotter than hell.” We laugh and I scratch my neck. “Maybe I do like him a little,” I admit, and then I tell them how he handled our presentation.
“Still, I’m focusing on law school. I really shouldn’t start anything…with anyone. Certainly not our competition.”
“Robert’s going to be so disappointed,” Devi says, giving me a sideways smile.
“Damn straight he is,” I snark back. “He is seriously starting to give me the creeps. He tucked my hair behind my ear today.”
“What?” Jade gasps. “Ewww.”
“Did you tell him to keep his hands to himself?”
“No,” I say in a flat tone, staring at my heels as they clip over the pavement. “I’m hoping I don’t have to…at least until the competition’s over.”
Jade and Devi start a debate about whether or not Robert’s attentions are going to harm us or hinder us in this competition. I tune them out. I’d much rather bask in the warm glow left by the memory of Jett’s arms around me this afternoon. I recall the look on his face when he was inspecting the sandwich I brought him for worms. I suppose he’s justified in thinking I’m a complete bitch. So far, that’s all he’s seen from me. My insides cringe. I’m going to do something about that tonight…I just have to decide what.
It’s eight p.m. and we are on our way to the Monkey Kick. Jade wants to apologize to Vaughn for running out on their presentation, I want to thank Jett for what he did today, and Devi wants to dance.
We stream into the Monkey Kick and see the guys at the bar. Ben and Vaughn signal us over and we form a circle around two open bar stools. Jett stands next to Ben with his back turned to us. He’s talking to a group of men I recognize as Trott employees. I head to the bathroom and when I come back Jett is still talking and the circle of people around him has expanded. I drape my jacket over an open bar stool three feet away from him but I doubt he even knows we’ve arrived.
I see the guy from NYU law school that I was chatting with last night. He’s at the bar ordering a drink with a girl. I say hello and he introduces her as his girlfriend, Marie. She’s a student at NYU as well. We strike up a conversation about the best places for law students to live in New York when I feel someone’s back brushing against mine. I feel it again as I start to answer Marie, intending to turn around and check my position, but instead I pause.
Something feels familiar. Another slow brush behind me and I can sense the position of his height in relation to mine, the hardness of his body, the heat of his skin. I lower my gaze to my side and see his hand close to my thigh. It’s Jett. We’re standing back-to-back but I’m questioning whether he’s seen me yet to know that I’m behind him.
Another playful brush answers my suspicion. I lean inches back and float against him, continuing my conversation with my NYU friends. I hear his voice now, laughing at something Vaughn has said, and I feel the hard rippling vibrations pulsing through his back. The ice in my gin and tonic has turned to watery shards, and I’m emboldened by the almost empty glass. I drop a hand and skim my fingertips over his palm. He turns it open and I hook my index finger around his ring and pinky fingers. They fold against mine and lock. I try to pretend I’m paying attention to my NYU friends but my mind is on Jett. Heat pulses through me and I feel him leaning back, turning his head to the side and drawing me closer.
“Want to get some air?” he asks.
“I’ll follow you.”
He pushes off the bar and steps into the crowd. I manage to stammer an excuse to my NYU friends and grab my jacket before the slack in his arm reaches me and pulls. I turn and grip his forearm with my free hand, staying close.
“Stifling in there,” I say, scooping my hair off my neck and pulling it over my shoulder. My boots touch the pavement and a burst of cool air flows over me.
“Much better out here,” he says, looking at me with an appreciative smile. “Want to walk?” He nods toward Central Park.
“I’d love to.”
We walk for a long time, listening to the low sounds of night in the park: bushes rustling, the hum of lampposts, and distant traffic. The path bends and opens to a reservoir hemmed in by a black iron fence that curves beside the lake. Yellow globes from lampposts shine above us, reflecting an arch of glowing stepping-stones across the water. I grab his hand and lead him to the small fence surrounding the reservoir. He leans against the rungs and together we stare out across the still water. His hand grips the top of the black finial.
“Thank you, Jett, for what you did for me today, for presenting my PAN-CAN proposal.”
“You wrote a great proposal, Ryan.”
“I wrote it but you did the hard part. I’ve never been able to talk to people about my dad’s death without crying. I mean, how do you do that?” I can see him thinking about what I’ve said.
“The lines you wrote before you pushed your computer away—about your last days with your dad. I don’t go that deep. I don’t talk about the hard memories unless I’m with someone I trust.”
He stares at the dark waters with a distant gaze, pulls away from the fence, and looks down. “I remember the morning after my mom died, I woke up and found a file box on our kitchen table. My dad had taken down all of her pictures. I couldn’t understand it. I get it now. My dad just couldn’t bear it—couldn’t function.”
Oh my God. My heart is breaking for him. I picture his gorgeous face as a little boy finding that box. It makes me want to wrap my arms around him. I reach my hand up to rest on his forearm.
“I’m sorry, Jett.”
“I took a picture from that box, kept it under my bed, and pulled it out every night. I wish I could remember what it felt like to have that family, to be together with my mom and dad. It feels so close, the memory, like it’s just in the back of my mind but I can’t call it up.” He rubs his fingers over his brow as if he’s massaging a headache, and his eyes wade deeper into the memory. He drops his hands and eases them into the front pockets of his jeans, and I see his shoulders relax under the leather jacket.
“Your mom would have been so proud of you.”
“You think so?”
“I know so. Seriously. Are you bad at anything?”
He shrugs and laughs. “I’m bad at losing.”
“That’s just because you’re not used to it.”
He rubs a hand over his face. “You’re probably right.”
I laugh at his guilty-as-charged smile.
“Your turn,” he says. And it flashes through my mind—he’s asking me to trust him. And in this moment, I do.
I look up at the sky. “I have some great memories of my dad. I can remember lying in my bed Christmas Eve and peeking around the shade of my bedroom window while he unloaded a beanbag chair out of the trunk of our car…” I pause, feeling a rush of warmth run through me, as if I’m back in that canopy bed with the pink patchwork quilt. I turn back to Jett, smiling. “When he pulled the bag out of the trunk, he turned and looked up at my window.” A tear slides down my cheek but I’m smiling. “I know he saw me, but we both went right on pretending that Santa knew exactly what color beanbag to bring.”
“That’s awesome,” he says.
“I miss the sound of his voice most, though. I try to close my eyes and listen for him calling my name. It’s like an echo through a long hallway.” My hand grips the rung of the fence, and I look down at my toe flexing between the iron bars. “Unfortunately, my dad dying was just the beginning of our struggles. We had no life insurance, and my mom had never worked. After we ran through the savings, we lost the house and moved to a less desirable neighborhood.
“That must have been tough for both of you,” Jett says.
“My stepdad came into the picture and life rebalanced eventually.”
“How is your relationship with him?”
“I adore him. He was my dad’s partner at the law firm. I never want to be in that position again, though, where someone else has to come in and pick up your pieces. I want to be able to take care of myself—and my family.”
“Is that what winning the competition would mean to you? Being able to take care of yourself?”
I think for a moment abou
t his question. “Yes.” I brush a strand of hair off my face. “And you? Is that the reason you want to win? The financial stability?”
“No. My dad’s expecting me to run his company, Jett Industries. He says he’s been grooming me to take over. He has investor partners and the company’s operating agreement states that before relatives are offered employment, they have to have worked for a Fortune 500 company a minimum of one year.”
“So is that what you want to do?”
He flashes a quick look of surprise at my question. “You know, you’re the first person who’s ever asked me that.” He smiles and presses his palm over his chest, turning to stare at the lake again. “I don’t know,” he says on a deflated note. He narrows his gaze as he thinks. “I wouldn’t mind working for the company, but I’d rather not have my relationship with my dad tied to spreadsheets and budget meetings.”
“Well, you’ll just have to tell your dad you’re competing against a brilliant trio from Michigan State and there’s simply no way you can pull out the win.”
He turns his body full frontal to mine and loops his fingers into his jeans.
“Well, you’ve got it half right.” We both laugh, and when our laughter subsides, I’m staring at him.
“If we weren’t competing against each other, I’m sure I’d really like you.” My words float in the air. I didn’t think that through before I said it, and I immediately regret my confession, sure that I have a horrified look on my face. He takes a firm step, closing the distance between us.
His index finger touches the underside of my jaw and runs a slow line toward my chin, titling my face up to his. “I’m positive I’d like you, Ryan.” His dark blue eyes glow in the soft yellow light, and something shifts inside of me. I hold as still as possible—not breathing, not moving a muscle. I resist the urge to look lower on his face to his lips, but the longer he stands here staring at me, the harder I have to plead with myself.
His foot scuffs the ground and it jars my senses. I stiffen and he moves back a pace. I pray to God I am doing a good enough job concealing my disappointment. “We should probably head back,” I say in a small, rushed breath. I start to walk, and after a few steps look back to see if he’s coming. He’s ambling, an easy smile on his face, and I think he must know. I would have let him kiss me.