Deep End(57)

“No.” He finally lets go of me. “It isn’t.” That impatience, though, is still there. The set of his shoulders, the lines in his brow.

“Is there a good reason you didn’t contact me?”

He looks away, jaw clenching. Then back to me. “No.”

Irritation pops through me. “Then I—”

“Lukas!” a man calls. He’s walking toward us, at once familiar and unknown. His eyes settle on me, inquisitive, and when I notice the unique blue of his eyes, something clicks in my brain.

“Jan, right?” I ask. “Lukas’s brother?”

I immediately regret it. Is it pathetic that I recognized him after one single photo? Does Lukas think that I’ve been sequestered in my room, drawing his genealogical tree, making collages out of used Q-tips pilfered from his trash can?

Hard to beat myself up about it with Jan grinning at me. “I am flattered.” He throws an arm around his brother’s shoulders, delighted. He has the body of a retired athlete—big frame softened by time and real life. There may be over a decade between them, but with Lukas having put off shaving for a while and Jan’s full beard, they look like they could be twins. “Does he talk about me all the time? Scrapbook about our imaginary lives together?”

“I only ever saw one picture, but it was prominently displayed on his lab bench. ”

“I knew it.”

“It’s not a giant picture of your ugly face,” Lukas says flatly. The tension of whatever was happening between us has relaxed. “This is Scarlett, Jan. Do leave her alone.”

“Swimmer?”

“Almost,” I reply. I don’t feel intimidated by Jan, probably because of his similarity to Lukas. “Diver.”

“Wow. Those things you guys jump off of, they terrify me.”

“Me, too.” I keep my laughter as non-bitter as possible. “Were you a swimmer?”

“Almost.” He winks at me. “I came to the US on a water polo scholarship, back when you weren’t even born.”

“Jan, she’s twenty-one.”

“Or conceived.”

“Jan.”

“Not even an idea in god’s beautiful mind.”

A deep sigh. “Scarlett, you do not have to listen to this.”

“Of course she does. Hey”—Jan turns to me—“did he mention that I taught him everything he knows about swimming?”

“He taught me to play dead in the pool to scare the lifeguard.”

“And it was hilarious. Scarlett, do you hike?”

I blink at the abrupt change of topic. “Yeah?”

“Have you ever hiked around this area?”

“Oh, yes. Several times. I’m happy to give you some recs, if—”

“Nah, we know where we’re going. Would love for you to come with us, though.”

Oh. Oh. “Thank you, that’s really lovely, but . . .” Does he think I’m Lukas’s girlfriend?

“But?”

Say that you have class. A date. Say something about being allergic to the sun. But when I sneak a glance at Lukas and find him staring, all I feel is a frisson of annoyance that he’s not the one put in the unpleasant position of lying to his kind brother, and what comes out of my mouth is “I doubt Lukas wants me to go with you guys.” It’s, at least, the truth.

Which is why I’m taken aback by the deep laughter that pops out of Jan. “I’m no mind reader, but I know my brother, and he very much wants you to come. And even if he didn’t . . .” His smile is a bottomless pool of charm. “I want you to come. That’s what matters.”





CHAPTER 31


LUKAS’S NAME SOUNDS DIFFERENT IN HIS BROTHER’S MOUTH.

Jan’s English is more accented, the grammar a bit stiffer, as though he began learning it too late to hit the perfect window of opportunity. I listen to their bickering—You’re a reckless driver. I’m not, Jan. Scarlett, is he not a reckless driver? I’m just glad he didn’t get a vanity plate.— and don’t bother hiding my smile. Every once in a while, when they’re talking about practical matters that don’t involve me, they break into Swedish.

It’s lovely to hear. Pitchy, melodic. An interesting combination of pillows and sharp edges. Sounds I could never reproduce, not even if I took daily classes on tongue positioning for the rest of my life. Peaks and dips. Songlike and calm.

The difference between Jan’s Lukas and mine is mostly in the u and s, and it makes me almost morbidly eager to find out how Lukas pronounces his own name. Is it weird, the way we all twist it into something else? What’s it like, living in a second language? Maybe I’ll ask, if it ever comes up. If we ever talk again.

And perhaps we will, because as awkward as being here is, he seems genuinely happy to have me along for the ride. It’s nice to be off campus in the middle of the week, in a place that’s never been touched by chlorine. On Wednesdays, I usually catch up on schoolwork, but the rolling hills and chaparral of the City of Palo Alto parks department couldn’t care less about my outstanding MCAT scores and inward dives.

I needed this break. A moment to recalibrate my perspective. I used to come here all the time as a freshman. When did I stop?