"Wake up," said Nick.

I groaned and rolled away from him. I had spent last night on the couch, and barely got any sleep. My body was full of aches, including a persistent stabbing pain in my side that I quickly realised was Nick's finger jabbing me. I flailed an arm at him vaguely.

"Nnngh," I mumbled, "Still sleeping..."

"If you don't wake up, I get the room," said Nick.

Instantly I whirled around and sprang up.

"I'm awake!" I said, "Let's go!"

I got dressed, and we headed off to the athletics field. This early in the morning, there was a light mist seeping in between the trees. It was very picturesque. And cold. I was wearing a fleece-lined jacket I had picked up in Aspen. Nick was wearing that same raggedy grey hoodie and, somehow, shorts. He didn't seem bothered at all.

"This is so pointless, you know," I chirped, "I'm going to win. You might as well just give up now."

"I never give up," Nick muttered.

I rolled my eyes, "Oh, wow. Hardcore."

We reached the bleachers and Nick stopped. I could see a group of people already gathered by the running track, mostly fit-looking guys and girls in athletic gear, and an old man in a puffer jacket that I assumed was their coach. Nick held out his hand.

"What?" I asked.

"Phone," he said.

"Ugh," I handed it to him, "Don't break it, okay?"

"You know what?" said Nick, "I am gonna break it. I'm gonna drop it on the floor and step on it."

"Oh my god," I said, "You are not funny."

Nick put the phone in his bag and held out his hand again, "Watch."

I shrugged, "I'm watching."

Nick screwed up his face, "What the fuck? How are you gonna tell me I'm not funny and then you say that?"

"Whatever," I muttered. I took off my watch and gave it to him, "Sorry you have bad taste."

Nick put my watch in his bag and took a step back. He looked me up and down appraisingly.

"What?" I said, "Do you want to pat me down?"

Nick's cheeks reddened a little. He scowled, "How do I know you don't have another phone?"

"Why would I have two phones?"

"Lots of people have two phones," he said.

"Like who?"

Nick shrugged, "Drug dealers."

"Oh, yeah," I laughed, "Yeah, Nick, because I'm a drug dealer. I have a pound of cocaine in my bag and I'm going to be selling it to all my junkie friends."

"For fuck's sake," said Nick, "Just give me your bag."

I hugged my satchel to my chest, "I don't want to. It's mine."

Nick pointed at the bag decisively, "Second phone. There's a fucking second phone in there. You're cheating. You know you're not smart enough to win this bet, so you're cheating."

"I am smart!" I whined, "I just... it's my bag, okay?"

"There is a fucking phone in there," Nick growled, "Or a laptop, or a bunch of fucking textbooks. You little fucking weasel. You cheated your way into the room and now you're cheating again."

"I'm not a cheater!" I yelled, "Ugh! Look!"

I unzipped my bag and showed him what was inside. True to my word, it wasn't a second phone, or anything I could use to study. It was just a blanket I had smuggled out of my room.

Nick's brow furrowed, "What?"

"It's cold," I mumbled, "And I'm not going to be running around like you. Excuse me if I wanted to just a little bit comfortable."

Nick snorted, "So you brought a blankie?"

I threw up my arms, "It's cold! I don't want to be cold! Sue me!"

Nick shook his head, "For fuck's sake. Fine. Keep your blankie, Nick."

"You're Nick," I muttered.

"You're Nick," Nick said firmly, then slung his bag over his shoulder and started walking towards the huddle of athletes.

"You're Nick!" I yelled after him. He waved his hand dismissively, without looking back. I pouted to myself and headed for the bleachers.

The bleachers were as rough as I'd suspected. I wrapped my blanket around myself and tried to get comfortable, but it was a lost cause. My body still ached from sleeping on that awful, lumpy couch. I was going to have to talk to Nick about him giving me the bed back. I mean, he'd slept on it for a week, so he knew how bad it was. He couldn't honestly expect me to put up with it, could he?

Down on the field, Nick and the other athletes were standing in a semicircle while the coach gave them directions. With nothing better to do, I snuggled into my blanket and watched them.  Nick had left his prosthetic arm back at the dorm, and I noticed he was now standing at a slight tilt, his upper body listing a little to the left due to the uneven distribution of weight. That was kind of interesting, the way that the weight of his arm had an effect that ran all the way up through his shoulders, into his spine...

My eyes drifted away from Nick to the other athletes, and I found myself picking out the differences in their bodies, the way they stood. I had always found that interesting, the unique qualities of people that you couldn't really express with words...

I shook myself out of it. For the next month, I was focusing on study. Not leering at people like a pervert.

As the training session went on, it became frustratingly obvious that Nick was actually a very gifted athlete. I didn't understand all the drills that they were doing, but it was clear that Nick was fast, and agile, and seemed to tackle everything with 100% effort. 

It was a little confronting to watch. Nick wasn't just a good athlete. He was great. The coach started them on another drill, and I watched Nick burst up from his starting blocks, over and over again, each time with a look of furious commitment on his face. 

The coach seemed really impressed with him. So did the other athletes. I tried to remember a time when someone had been that impressed by something I had done. Nothing came to mind. My father's expectations had always been very high, and my mother wasn't the type to throw around praise either. 

I still thought I was smarter than him. I mean, he had probably never worked with a private tutor. He probably couldn't name a single opera. but if he was going to approach his studies with that same level of commitment... I was going to have to too.

I gritted my teeth and snuggled into my blanket determinedly.