Fake It 'Til You Break It

“Is here okay?” I ask Nico. We’re only steps out the door, but already at the edge of the grass.

Nico doesn’t say anything, but sits and pats the ground beside him for me to join, like I wasn’t already about to.

I get set to read over the paper, but Nico’s hand comes down to cover it and I look to him with a frown.

He quirks a dark brow.

“What?”

“Can’t ask your own questions, things you might be curious about?”

“Who says I’m curious about anything?”

His jaw tics, and after a few seconds of silence, Nico snatches the paper from my hands, crumpling it in his own.

I gape at him. “What’s your problem?”

His gaze narrows. “Let’s do this a little different, yeah?”

“Different how?”

“Mr. B said it’s about misconception, right?” Nico starts, licking his lips. “So, tell me, D. What do you see when you look at me?”

“I...” I start, but quickly trail off.

What do I see?

I look from his hair, shaved at the side, perfect little mess at the top, to his deep cocoa-colored eyes and long lashes. He’s wearing a plain t-shirt, nothing fancy, and no sleeves – to show off his arms maybe? And I mean, they’re worth the show. Not bulging but clear evidence of the weight training class the team is required to take zero period, and they only tighten, becoming more prominent when he moves them around. He wears perfectly fitted jeans – not skinny but not baggy, and his shoes always match his shirt in some way.

My eyes roam over my form, and I begin to equate his perfection to my own body. I’ve always been comfortable in my own skin, but more and more my mom likes to comment about how I’m still a ‘work in progress’.

“D.”

My stare pulls back to Nico, who observes me with unreadable eyes.

“Why do you think he paired us together?” I blurt out.

His frown is quick.

“Look at these other partners, I’d bet they’ve never spoken to each other. Me and you, though?”

Nico simply watches me, his expression as ungiving as ever, so I glance away.

Way to put yourself on the playboy’s level, Demi.

“Look at me.” His voice is an easy command.

I do, and disapproval stares back. “Why you comparing yourself?”

“I wasn’t,” I deny too quickly.

His head drops back. “You’re lying.”

I’m clearly caught, so I give an extremely overdramatic sigh as my affirmation and shake my head.

I swear he swallows a small laugh, though when I quickly search for proof he’s human after all, it’s gone.

He pauses a moment, then asks, “What do you know about me?”

“You... play football, have for years.”

He nods. “You dance, hip-hop mostly.”

Common knowledge.

I nod, willing myself not to go where I expected him to start.

It doesn’t work and the words escape. “You have a thing for sex in water.”

He doesn’t even blink. “You’ve never had sex.”

My head tugs back at his sudden and so surely stated claim.

I eye him as he does me, and a slow frown takes over.

I’m not stupid, I know what he’s doing and it won’t work.

He can mock or make fun of me all he wants.

I shake my head. “I’m not gonna confirm or deny what you’ve heard, so don’t bother with this little tactic.”

His pointed expression deepens, and the longer he’s silent, the more I fidget.

Very slowly, his eyes narrow. “Confirm... what, exactly?” He leans closer. “And heard what from who?”

I scoff, looking away.

I get it, I opened myself up for this by bringing up his sex life, that’s my mistake, but he has to know I’m not a virgin, and I’m sure as hell not going to give him the satisfaction of hearing me say it out loud.

Nico’s gaze is laser focused for a long moment before he finally glances off.

He doesn’t say another word the rest of class, nor does he the remainder of the week.

When week two rolls around and it’s more of the same wasted time, I’m over it and attempt to strike casual conversation, but Nico quickly affirms his attitude.

He falls asleep propped against the tennis court gates, and since I have no material to study, I sit silently, replaying my routine over and over again in my head until we are told we can go collect our things.

Nico is suddenly wide awake and gone as soon as he’s excused, but I hang back, cautiously approaching our teacher once the majority of students are gone.

“Ms. Davenport, how can I help you?” The weariness in his tone isn’t missed. I can imagine he’s getting complaints left and right with the intense sets of pairings he set up.

I take another step toward him, so the stragglers still sliding in to get their phones can’t overhear. “I know you asked me not to complain, but I’ve tried to talk to Nico and he’s about as interesting as a cardboard box. He doesn’t want to converse, which is fine on a normal day, but I need to know this isn’t going to affect my grade because I don’t know what to do at this point.”