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"Three days," Miles says.

"It feels like four hundred." Declan says. "You're coming."

"I'll give it a miss."

"Miles." Mason leans forward. "You need to…"

"Fine." The word lands hard, letting Mason and Declan know the subject is finished, and he only agrees to shut them up.

Mason blinks. "That was easier than expected."

"Don't make it weird."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He stands, replacing the chair, then he looks between me and Miles one more time looking amused and saying nothing about what he thinks he’s seen. "Sadie."

"Mason,” I mimic his tone.

They leave. Declan gives Miles one brief look on his way past that communicates something that only they know.

I turn to Miles. "What's Blake's?"

He leans back in his chair, then he looks at me for a moment like he's deciding something. Then he nods toward me, it’s a small gesture, he’s asking me to come closer. I lean in without thinking about it, which is a decision I regret the moment his cologne hits me.

He drops his voice low, and he’s close enough that I can feel the warmth of it.

"We have a friend who runs an underground fight club," he says. "We go sometimes."

I pull back enough to look at his face. "Do you fight?" He doesn't look like someone who has bruises, or broken bones from fighting. But at the same time, he does, he looks like he has a mysterious side to him.

He reaches across and pulls my laptop closer to him, turning it slightly.

"Explain this photograph to me," he says.

And that's the end of that conversation. I explain my images to him, hoping he will open up a little more. This mysterious side of him only makes him sexier.

***

Practice runs twenty minutes over, I’m not sure if coach is annoyed with us, or because she wants us at our best.

There are only three days left until regionals, meaning the work isn't finished until it's finished. I know I still have work to do, and I’m going to work hard every day for three days to make it perfect.

I ran the floor piece four times now. The Debussy arrangement Miles mentioned is on my phone and I've listened to it twice between runs and he's right, which makes it feel weird, because how did he know this would work for me. I bet he’s one of those people who when they have nothing to do, they read and listen to everything. They want to learn every single day.

But he’s right, it suits the way I move.

Juno falls into step beside me on the way out, my kit bag is over one shoulder, and my hair is still damp from the quick shower, because tonight I needed it. The night air hits cold and sharp after the warmth of the gym, and I pull my jacket tighter and match her pace down the path toward the residential buildings.

"Your floor work looked good today," she says.

"The third run was good. The others were fine." I pull a sad face toward her.

"Fine is enough for now. Plus, I know you, you’ll be in there for the next three days to make it perfect.” She jokes, looking around at the other students walking past.

"I need to be ready for Saturday.” I smile at some of the hockey players walking past us, and Juno makes an annoying noise, and when I look over at her she’s rolling her eyes.

Before I can ask her what that was about, she bumps my shoulder with hers. "You'll be ready."

She’s the third person to say that to me this week. I'm starting to almost believe it. I know I’m good, I know I can compete on the floor and the beam, I just have to stop over thinking it.