His attention was drawn to my cup again. “So, seriously, why aren’t you drinking it?”

Why didn’t I want to tell him? Maybe because people had been making me feel weird about my strict commitment to swimming lately. There was nothing wrong with commitment, sacrifice. “I avoid sugar when I can.”

A horrified expression came onto his face. “Why?”

“It helps me swim better.”

“Wow” was his only response, and I couldn’t tell if it was an impressed wow or a patronizing one.

I gripped the cup a little tighter. The heat seeping into my palms felt good.

“Don’t you want to know something about me now?” he asked. When I only lowered my brows, he said, “I found out something about you. Now you ask me something. It’s what friends do.”

“I found out about your cider preference. That was a friendship deal breaker for me.”

He smiled, but I could tell my indifference was really bugging him. He was used to everyone liking him, and I didn’t. Was this why he couldn’t just walk away from me: He really was determined to make me his friend? To prove he could? I almost laughed out loud at this realization. He needed everyone to like him. I could ask him one question about himself. That wouldn’t be hard. I stared at him for a moment.

His brown hair was a curly mop on his head. It was short on the sides and longer on top. Did his dad have curly hair? His mom? Had he ever grown it out long? No, those weren’t questions I could really ask, so I continued down to his face. Like I’d noted before, he had green eyes. But he was lucky: instead of having my pale skin, he had an olive undertone to his. His lashes were thick and curled up. Did guys curl their lashes or was that natural? My hand reached into my pocket only to find it empty. I’d left my earphones at home. Not that I was going to put them in right now, but just feeling them in my pocket helped me relax.

His lips were on the thin side and his teeth were very white. I could tell that because he was smiling big right now. “Did you have braces?” I finally decided on.

“Yes, I did.”

There. I’d asked him a question. My eyes were on the leaderboard again, seeing his name and the distance he’d jumped. “Why don’t you do any sports, Holt?” I emphasized his last name with my question. He was obviously athletic. He beat me out at the lake. Sure, he’d cheated, but even if he hadn’t, he’d held his own pretty well. And his name occupied space number three on the leaderboard here and had for months now.

“Waste of my talent,” he said. “I’d rather do student council.”