Page 20 of Hidden

My first shot hits the rim and bounces off. My second goes wide by an embarrassing margin. Juno compensates with the focused intensity of someone who has decided this is now personal.

"Stop thinking about it," she tells me.

"I'm not thinking about it."

"You're absolutely thinking about it. You're doing your beam face."

"I don't have a beam face." I fight back, but now I’m wondering if I do.

"You go very still and look at the cups like they've personally offended you." She demonstrates, which is unfortunately accurate. "Just throw it."

I throw it. It goes in. Clean. Dead center. Juno makes a noise that probably carries to the next street and grabs my arm, and I'm laughing, actually laughing.

"BEGINNER," she shouts, at no one in particular.

"Lucky shot," the knuckle-cracker says.

"Throw again and find out," I tell him pleasantly.

I feel it then, the feeling of getting attention from somewhere that isn't the beer pong table. It’s different from the general noise of the garden, different from the people around us. I deliberately don't turn around. I take my next shot instead, another cup, slightly less clean but it goes in and lets Juno lose her mind beside me, and I keep my eyes exactly where they are.

I bounce the next one deliberately off the rim, just to have something to complain about, and say something to Juno that makes her laugh. The garden keeps going around us, loud and bright and full of itself, and I don't turn around once.

We win.

The knuckle-cracker gives me a smile so polite I almost miss the irritation underneath it. I shake his hand anyway, and Juno does a small victory lap of the table that I photograph mid-stride, her arms are out, and she is completely committed to the moment.

I turn back to Juno.

"Rematch?" the knuckle-cracker asks.

"Obviously," I say.

I’m on a high from winning. I might as well see how far it takes me, plus I’m enjoying the night.

Five

Miles

For three hours I’ve been sitting with my laptop, trying another piece of software. This one seems to be working, but it's a waiting game now. For three hours, Mason has been telling me to get off the laptop and go get some fresh air.

Mason lasted three hours and one minute before he physically closed my laptop.

"Party. Move you fucking idiot.” It looks like Mason wants to be an asshole tonight. He only thinks about his dick.

"I'm working." I snap at him.

"You're always working. Let’s party." He takes the laptop from my lap and throws it to the other side of my bed. “Come on, there are new girls who need to know how good I am in bed.”

I roll my eyes, get up, grab a pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt, and follow my annoying brother out. I had plans for the evening that involved a very sexy gymnast. I mean, I don’t think she even knows who I am, but I saw her look my way the other day. She saw me, and I’m planning on making sure I’m the only person she looks at.

“You know one day I’m going to post a picture of you naked with a small penis just to piss you off.” I turn to face him, laughing at me.

“And I’m sure all the girls who’ve been lucky enough to see will be happy to prove it's a lie.” Idiot.

”So, how many girl numbers are you working for tonight?” I ask Mason.

“First night, let's start small. Ten,” I chuckle to myself at his answer. I don’t think anyone thinks ten is a small number, but knowing my brother, there’ll be no trouble in getting them. Fuck if I try, I could get them too. “Are you going to talk to Sadie?” I turn to face him, and now he’s laughing. “You can hack and hide shit, but I can still side glance at your laptop. Anyway, are you going to talk to her or are you planning on just having crazy fun with her?”