He steps back, and the phantom of whatever emotion had possessed him clears from his eyes. “I really—think you need to watch where you’re going,” he says, his voice almost normal again, save the tremor in his exhale. “Didn’t you see the signs earlier? There are loose rocks everywhere, and if either of us gets killed via massive falling rock before we reach the mountaintop, we won’t have a chance to win.”

Of course that’s what he cares about most. The rational side of my brain whirs back into action. Winning. Securing his letter of recommendation for a spot at his dream university. His brilliant future, which involves only himself. His concern just now had been more about the competition than me.

Still. Whatever his motivations, he did help me.

“Do you need something for that?” I ask, nodding at his arm. “I can head back and ask the teacher—”

“This?” He glances down to inspect the damage. “No, it’s barely a scratch. Let’s just keep climbing.”

“You’re sure you’re not hurt?”

“Certain.”

He says it so easily, so firmly. As firm as he’d sounded when the teacher had asked him a very similar question, two years ago: Did someone hurt you? But back then, there were dozens of students gathered around us on the staircase at our old school, watching with uniform expressions of shock and horror and outrage as Cyrus replied: She did. Two words, and I was deemed guilty. No matter how much I had protested—no matter how many times I tried to tell them the truth.

Only I knew what had really happened. I don’t even remember what we were arguing about to begin with—something stupid and trivial, like all our arguments—but we were heading up the stairs from one class to another, and he was behind me, following me around as he always did to annoy me.

“Have you ever considered leaving me alone, Cyrus?” I had demanded, walking faster, taking two steps at a time in some attempt to put more distance between us. But his legs were just as long as mine, and he kept his pace without problem.

“No,” he said. “It’s too much fun watching you glare at me.”

“When I glare at you, I’m imagining laser beams coming out of my eyes.”

“See?” His voice was near my ear. “That’s what makes it so fun.”

“You’re completely shameless,” I muttered, hugging my books to my chest.

“I know.”