Page 66 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

“You could have easily justified yourself to Professor Miller, explained how he’d underestimated you.”

“I don’t have time to waste on people who don’t have time for me.” It was one of the most important lessons my father taught me. It was almost always easier to win someone new to your side than to convince someone who was already against you.

My mother had already decided I’m a disappointment.

My father might be moved enough to send more money.

People like Arjun and Miller? Neither has the ability to seriously influence my life.

“I want to hold grudges. I want to tell the girls that my money bought those boots.” I inhale deeply, breathing in his Old Spice and Lucas-y scent. My voice is quiet as I admit, “I wish⁠—”

“Yes?”

“I wish I lived in a world where I had enough money to bankrupt my father and buy out my mother.”

“I’m not sure what that means.” Lucas’s lips on my head feel cool, his voice steady.

“My mother doesn’t care about any of us beyond the possibility that we could have been, still might be, our father’s heir. If I had enough money, I’d hire a lawyer and give her a check. She’d sign over custody rights, and I’d raise the girls on my own.” I breathe out a long sigh. “Whatever.” I shrug, my body matching the lie in my words. “Neither wallowing in anger nor fantasizing about what-ifs accomplishes anything.”

“Even if the anger is justified?”

“Justifiable anger, if I’m not able to act, is helplessness by another name.”

“You’re awfully cynical.” He lifts my hand to kiss one side of it.

“You can’t be this naive.”

I’m not trying to be mean, and I keep my tone as light as I’m able, but it feels dangerously close to an argument.

“Is this why you always want to be in control of everything? From our practice schedule to the budget of our dates?”

“It’s why I need to be in control of everything.”

19

RICH PEOPLE —THEY’RE NOTHING LIKE YOU OR ME

PRESENT

Ifeel incredibly stupid in my black full-body rash guard, but a bathing suit is out of the question—too many scars I’m not ready for anyone here to see. Wetsuits that offer the same UV protection are too thick and suffocating for my skin, and given how sensitive my largest organ has become over the years, a full-body rash guard seemed like the only reasonable option.

That said, knowing I’ve made the rational choice, that I’m less likely to trigger a flare-up being completely covered, is cold comfort when I see what the other women are wearing.

Vi is modeling a dark-blue plunging halter one-piece that should be indecent but somehow comes off as sexy but classy, with cleavage that’s displayed in a way that’s a master class in the tease. Khloe is sporting a black-and-gold one-piece that has a decidedly Grecian flair. And the other women, none of whom I recognize, are showing off an ample amount of smooth and tanned skin arrayed in fishnet, mesh, and cutouts.

With my goggles and SPF 60 mineral-based sunscreen, I look down the dock and wonder whether it’s too late to run away.

Seeing me frozen, Brody waves and disembarks, leaving an annoyed looking Vi standing next to her twin.

“You hanging in there?”

I try to force out a laugh. I squeeze another layer of sunscreen into my hand, in part because it gives me something to do.

“Yeah.” I search about for a safe topic, watching as Khloe intercepts Lucas, who had also been headed toward me. “Vi’s hair looks different.”

“They wanted the twins to be distinguishable for the last shoot. Apparently, when you get lighter streaks, they’re called babylights.”

I nod.