Sweet Little Nothing

“Tell me what you want to know, Emmalyn.”

I’ve already started digging myself a hole, so I may as well keep shoveling. “Why are you being so nice to me? I know you said you’re turning over a new leaf, but I just—I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

He tips his head to the side and adopts a wounded look. “You don’t trust me?”

“I want to,” I confess, since apparently, I’ve lost my mind.

“Guess I’ll have to try harder.” His words are the exact same ones he said to me after the quiz incident. I can’t help but wonder if it is a coincidence or a deliberate choice.

I smile weakly, not knowing how to reply. He has me flustered to the point of not trusting my own judgment. And when he reaches over and clasps my hand, twining our fingers together, I very nearly stroke out.

“What are you—”

“Shh,” he cuts me off, rubbing small circles over my hand with his thumb. “We’ve got the ball.”

The buzzer for halftime sounds, and the players hustle off the field. Stella tries drawing me into conversation, but it’s hard to hear her over the marching band doing their thing.

Shaking my head, I point to my ear, but Stella’s not having it. She stares pointedly at mine and Sterling’s clasped hands and then slips her phone out of her bag, her fingers flying over the screen.

Sure enough, my phone buzzes two seconds later. With my free hand, I wiggle the device free from my pocket, unlock it, and swipe open our thread.

Stella: BABE! Dish.

Me: IDK!

Stella: ...

Me: No, really. I have no idea what’s happening. Totally lost. It’s weird.

Stella: Good weird or bad weird? I’ll kick his ass if you want.

Me: Good. I think. Maybe.

Stella: Well, y’all look good together, if that counts for anything. Be careful though.

I nod and slip my phone back into my pocket.

Sterling leans all the way into me, pressing his lips to the shell of my ear. “It’s definitely a good weird, little mouse.”

I hate the way his nearness and that stupid nickname make me shiver, but they do.

They so do.

The third quarter passes in a blur of tackles and passes. And while I cheer when it’s appropriate, I still don’t watch the game too closely, thanks to my spinning thoughts.

I will myself to focus on the game, on Gabe and his teammates instead of on Sterling and his personality transplant.

It works for a while, too.

Until a whole new brand of torturous distraction catches my eye.

The cheer squad is now directly in my line of sight, and try as I might to ignore them, my eyes keep drifting toward them.

Their cheers are peppy and their routines are unique, but I can’t help but notice some of their counts are off.

Nope. Not my life anymore.

I tear my eyes away and focus back on the game just in time to see Gabe tackle a member of the opposing team to the ground. Cheers sound as Wildcats fans clap and holler and stomp in support of him, and Stella yanks me up onto my feet to join in.

As I sit back down, Sterling pulls me closer to him, so close our sides are completely melded together. “Why don’t you cheer anymore?” His warm breath tickles my ear, making me squirm against the hard bleachers.

“Why do you care?”

He looks at me quizzically. “You were really good, it’s a shame you quit, that’s all.”

“How would you even know?”

“Oh, Emmalyn.” He grins. “I know all sorts of things about you.”

“Creepy, much?” I ask, and he laughs.

“Okay, maybe this does make me a creeper, but I remember your freshman year you were upset because Rob and Sarah never came to any of the home games or your competitions.”

“Okay… and?”

“So, I went.”

“Went where?” My brow dips in confusion.

“To your games, when I could, and to finals.”

“Finals? As in Orlando? You came all the way to freaking Florida to watch me cheer?”

He nods.

“Um. Not to sound rude but, I don’t know how to respond to that.” At least outwardly I don’t; on the inside, I’m cartwheeling.

Seemingly undeterred by my weirdness, Sterling leans in, dipping his face toward mine.

My entire body stills. I’m fairly certain even my lungs stop expanding, and my heart stops beating. Surely, he isn’t going to try to kiss me, here, in front of all these people.

And if he does, am I going to let him? The dam breaks and panic floods my system.

However, it seems my freak-out was for nothing, because all Sterling does is gently tuck a wayward lock of hair behind my ear. “Your body tells me everything your words don’t, little mouse.”

I try to smile, but I’m sure it’s more of a grimace.

This man is so totally disorienting that merely being in his presence feels like stepping off a Tilt-A-Whirl.

Before I know it, we’re all on our feet cheering and stomping and hollering as one of our players scores the game-winning touchdown.