Staying On Top(47)

My heart sank, then stuttered as I remembered something awesome. “No! At least, I don’t think mine is—I got a free sample of that new spray shit that’s supposed to make anything waterproof. Check it out.”

I dug my phone out of my pocket and pressed the home button. It flickered on as though it hadn’t been submerged in river water, which was crazy. I’d seen one of the first demos on the Today Show. They threw a bunch of ketchup and mustard on Matt Lauer.

“That is fucking crazy,” she breathed, taking it from me. “Do you mind?”

She started scrolling through my contacts before I could respond, finding Mari’s cell phone number and hitting dial. “What are you—?”

“Marija? Hi, it’s Blair. Listen, I know I promised you that there wouldn’t be any trouble for you or your family if you helped us, but Sammy and I have run into a little snag.” She paused. “What? Oh. I don’t know why I just called him Sammy. My lips are numb.” Her cheeks reddened again, probably from the realization that Mari would think her lips were numb from an entirely different activity. “Anyway, you need to call the police and report your parents’ Mercedes stolen. Say you just noticed and you don’t know how long it’s been gone, since your parents are out of town and you’ve been using a driver—they’ll believe you. We’re going to catch a taxi back to your place, grab our things, and get out.”

I motioned for the phone, which Blair handed over. “Hey, Mari. I’m really sorry about this, and I’m sorry to ask you for something else, but I saw an old Volkswagen in the garage, does it run? Can we take it? I promise to get it back to you.”

“Sam, I don’t care about that shitty car. My dad only keeps it because it’s the car he taught me to drive with and he’s a sentimental sap. Are you okay?”

The concern in her voice touched me. I looked down at my body, soaked and a little worse for the wear, then glanced at Blair, who resembled a drowned cat. The expression on her face reflected longing and resignation, and it cut me straight through the chest.

We were both a mess, but someone cared enough about me to ask if I was okay. Had anyone ever asked Blair the same thing and truly wanted to hear the answer? Her friends at Whitman seemed nice enough, they seemed as though they liked her—especially her roommate, Audra—but what did I know? I’d spent a brief few days with them, and we hadn’t been sober the majority of the time.

“I’m fine,” I told Mari after a pause. “We’ll be by in the next thirty minutes. Thank you, and I promise to explain every last detail of what’s going on when I see you in Australia next month.”

“You’d better. Take care of yourself, please. And for God’s sake, don’t trust every single person who looks up at you with big doe eyes and says you can.”

Mari hung up before I could reply, which was fine since figuring out a response that wouldn’t raise Blair’s hackles would have been difficult. I put the phone in my pocket and reached out, tugging her into my chest before she could protest.

Her body went rigid against mine, her arms tucked in, forearms against my chest. But the longer I held her, my chin resting on the top of her head, the more Blair relaxed. Finally, her arms went around my back and her chest sank into mine.

“Are you okay?” I asked, my breath steaming in the cold morning.

She nodded. When we pulled apart, I saw the tears in her eyes but chose to ignore them. This girl wouldn’t hate anything more than me seeing her cry, except maybe me making a big deal out of it. Maybe she wouldn’t let me give her much, but that I could do.

*



We made it back to Mari’s, changed clothes, grabbed our packs, and took the Volkswagen without any trouble. Two police cars passed us on the way out of her neighborhood, but the fact that we avoided that situation made me feel better about involving my friend.

It also made me feel better that Blair cared enough about not getting Mari into trouble to make that call at the first opportunity. The way she’d treated her had bothered me more than a little—having an attitude with me for no apparent reason was one thing, but doing it to a friend was something else altogether.

I would never compare growing up in the tennis world to anything more stressful, such as growing up an orphan or a foster kid, but our community was bonded in a similar way. We didn’t always get along, and there were some who were better friends than others, but we were family.

“Okay, so where next?” I asked, ready to type a destination into my phone since Blair’s was toast from the dip in the Danube.