Page 8 of Test Me

“For real, man. What’s up?”

I debated deflecting, but Ansel wouldn’t buy it anyway. The guy didn’t miss much, maybe because of the amount of time he spent analyzing his run times or whatever. Plus, he had this kind of stealth wisdom vibe about him I’d always liked. Maybe I could use some of that right about now, and since we were casualfriends, but not attached at the hip or anything, he’d probably be more objective. I’d been mentally running back and forth through my tutoring sessions with Logan for a solid week. “You know Logan Jenkins?”

“The tutor guy? Our year?”

“Yeah, he’s tutoring me in physics now.”

“Small world.” Ansel’s mouth quirked. “I’m pretty sure he’s tutored half the track team through physics, so you’re in good company. They talk about him like he’s some kind of miracle worker.” He paused his stretching to eye me critically. “You don’t like him? Does he suck as person or something?”

God, I so didn’t need that image in my brain right now.

“No, he’s as helpful as everyone says. Just… distracting.”

“I can tell. Your form’s worse than the time you tried lifting after that Lambda Chi party.”

“You weren’t even at that party!” I laughed.

“I didn’t have to be. Pretty sure you were exhaling half your weight in booze fumes with every bicep curl.” He smirked when I flipped him off. That’d been a rough day. “So your tutor is distracting you by… being an excellent tutor.” Ansel arched a dubious brow, waiting for me to elaborate. I wanted to. I started to, and then the words evaporated on my tongue, felt clumsy in the back of my throat.

Ansel was perspicacious enough to read the meaning behind my silence, though. A gentler, half-smile curved his lips. “When I’m training, I have to focus on one thing at a time or my times suffer. Maybe you need to figure out what you want first.”

“Says the guy who analyzes every millisecond of his runs.”

“Exactly. I know what I’m talking about.” He transitioned smoothly into another stretch. “Sometimes the hardest part is admitting what you want in the first place. It’s even harder when you haven’t figured out what that is yet.”

I thought about Logan—how my stomach did backflips every time he fiddled with his glasses. Or forgot that he was trying to make a physics problem more relatable for me and slipped into physic-y terms like “projectile” before hurriedly correcting himself. About how I still wasn’t sure what any of that meant for me. I had a lot I needed to mentally unpack. “Yeah, maybe.”

Ansel nodded, then grabbed his smoothie and took a sip. “You heading home for Thanksgiving?”

“Yeah.” I wiped my face with a towel, grateful for the subject change. “Looking forward to it, actually. Got some stuff I need to talk to my folks about.”

I hadn’t exactly planned it, but the words felt right as soon as they left my mouth. Maybe getting things straight—or not so straight, as the case may be—with my family was the first step for me. The thought of telling them I was bi twisted my stomach into knots, but in a good way. Like the moment before a big game, that last deep breath I took before running onto the field.

“Sounds serious.”

I shrugged, trying for casual. “Hard to say.” What I didn’t say was that every tutoring session with Logan made me more certain about who I was. Who I wanted.

“Well.” Ansel finished off his smoothie with a noisy slurp. “Just remember, you can analyze something to death, but eventually you have to take the starting position. Or field.” He hitched his bag on his shoulder. “Though maybe work on your form before you try anything else. You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep lifting like that.”

I flipped him off, but I was grinning. “Thanks, Coach.”

“Anytime.”

“Maybe I can return the favor someday.”

“Psht,” Ansel scoffed sardonically. “I’ve got my shit figured out.”

“Famous last words.”

“See you at Winter Fest?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “The whole frat’s working it.”

“I heard there’s gonna be pie throwing.” The glint in his eye told me he was planning to take advantage of that fact.

“Maybe save the competitive streak for regionals,” I called after him, and he laughed before flashing me a peace sign.

I turned back to the weights, Logan’s face floating through my mind again. But this time, instead of messing up my reps, I channeled some of Ansel’s focus. One thing at a time. First Thanksgiving break. Then my parents. Then maybe…