Through the Storm

Chapter Seventeen

For AnnMarieThrush

Saturday, September 15, 2007, 8:00 a.m.

I got to the gym around eight to get my cleaning done early so I could help Mitch with the parties. I thought it might make a nice peace offering, since he hated me now. When I opened the door, the lights were already on and two people were in the gym: Mitch and Toby.

Mitch was swinging around the bars, with Toby standing on a block underneath him.

So this is the sweating and touching he meant yesterday.

Toby gave him a push on one of his swings and I nearly had a heart attack when he let go of the bar and flipped twice in the air before landing with a loud thud on the blue mats.

"Nice!" Toby said.

"That was pretty freaky," I said.

Both of them jumped, and then relaxed when they saw it was me, but Mitch's face tightened immediately.

Damn. He's still mad.

Mitch took off for the locker room to change. I gathered my supplies and started cleaning the front windows. After a while, Toby strolled over.

"I guess he's still pissed off," he said.

My stomach twisted with grief, but I forced a grin. "You're probably psyched."

He laughed and picked up an extra rag to clean a smudge on the window next to me. "Maybe, but I'm not going to fall apart because Mitch Grassi turned me down for a date."

"Sure, you won't," I said.

"Seriously, he's just fun to tease. Don't get me wrong. Mitch is really cool. But a guy like that is a little more than I can handle."

"What do you mean?"

"Too smart. I couldn't pull any shit with him. He'd see right through me." He paused in his window-cleaning and tilted his head to one side. "I'd make out with him, though."

"So, why isn't Mitch on the team, like you and Jana?" I asked. "He seems really good."

"He hasn't competed in three years, since he moved here. I think it's injuries and a money thing."

"Money?"

"He's not in the poorhouse or anything. But it's an expensive sport."

"Is he good enough to compete?"

"Yeah, that's guy's got more talent than anyone on our team. He'd never believe me, though, which is why I'd never tell him."

"He'll think you're just trying to hook up with him."

He laughed. "Well, at least I'm not the professional player. Besides, I met this cute guy last night at my friend's party.

Both of us stopped talking when we saw Mitch come out of the locker room wearing his staff t-shirt and tan shorts. His hair was still wet from his quick shower. On the front of his shirt he had pinned a giant button that said PARTY HOST.

I followed him to the party room. He was placing cups on the table in front of each chair. I grabbed a stack of plates and walked behind him, setting them next to each cup. He ignored me for several minutes, then finally stopped and turned to face me.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm just helping. You're obviously pissed off and I'm trying to smooth things over."

He put his hands on his hips. "Why?"

I tried to respond, but my tongue twisted, holding back words I couldn't say. What would my Mitch have told me to do?