Fake It 'Til You Break It

“We’re on the field?”

Thanks, Mr. Brando.

Josie purses her lips. “How are your little ‘getting acquainted’ sessions going, Demi? He still ignoring you the best he can?”

“Sure is, Josie. Is he still walking away from you in the halls?” I snap back but don’t stand there to catch her response.

She told me where I needed to go, and I’m not interested in her drama.

I quicken my steps, easily spotting Nico sitting against the goal post and drop beside him.

“Sorry,” I rush out, but when he doesn’t so much as acknowledge my arrival, I don’t explain further.

We sit there in annoying silence for a few minutes, and in that time, I can’t help but notice the way his gaze continues to roam the length of the turf.

He must be running plays in his mind like I was my routine yesterday. Every few seconds his eyes tighten, then snap to another area, like he’s playing it all out, visualizing every move, maybe the ones I spotted him practicing earlier.

The utility bin beside the team bench at the edge of the sidelines catches my attention.

Oh, screw it. It’s worth a shot.

I push off the grass to stand.

That has Nico’s eyes snapping to mine, but I hardly spare him a glance, walking over to snag a football from the container.

I’m tired of this avoidance crap, so... I’m getting on his level.

It just so happens I’m wearing my Nike’s with a pair of shorts today, so I throw the ball up and try to kick it but of course it bounces off the side of my shoe, landing a sad foot away.

I pick it up, noticing a few of the other groups cutting glances at me, but I ignore them and try again. This time it goes a solid five feet, sideways and wobbly, but still.

I look to Nico.

While his focus is lasered in on me, his expression remains bare.

I pick it up again, tossing it in the air a few times only to throw it a little out, running to try and catch it, but it falls to the grass.

Before I can make another grab for it, Nico’s swift hand flies in to snatch it first, and our eyes meet, both of us still bent over.

I straighten first, and he slowly follows, twisting the ball in his hands.

He eyes me a second, but then tips his chin as he positions his fingers against the laces, elbow raised and prepared to launch.

I follow his lead, jogging out a few yards, and he throws a short pass I’m able to catch with ease.

He licks his lips and claps his hands in front of him, his way of telling me to throw it back.

I try kicking it again instead, and he frowns, but the corner of his lips tip up the slightest bit.

“Ah.” I point to him teasingly before my hands find my hips. “I knew it.”

“Knew what? You can’t kick for shit?” He points the ball to the left, so I start jogging that way, and the ball falls right into my hands.

“No.” I take several steps back and his forehead creases slightly. “I knew that you couldn’t stay padlocked so tight when in your element.”

I tip back slightly and throw the ball, it’s a horrible throw and spins the wrong way but it makes it close enough to where he can jog up and make the catch.

“What do you know about my element, Pixie?”

“Pixie?” I tilt my head slightly. “I’m less than a head shy of you. Not a pixie.”

“Maybe I’m not talkin’ about your looks.”

I swipe a hand out in a do tell type of way, but when he doesn’t acknowledge me, I answer his question. “Not much, to be honest, but I know it’s where you spend every afternoon pretty much all year long, pre-season, regular season, post-season.”

We walk toward each other, but Nico quickly spins like he would in a game, a similar move I saw him do earlier, and I laugh, turning with him.

He bobs, slowly swaying back and forth, so I move with him, and when he darts around me, rushing for the end zone, I trail behind.

I’m only two feet from him, so when he stops abruptly, whipping around to face me, my body slams into his.

I yelp slightly on impact and he catches me around the waist so we don’t fall, both of us laughing. I look up to catch him in the act, but slowly his amusement dies, causing mine to follow.

I clear my throat and step back the second he removes his hand.

I glance to the side where Mr. Brando stands at the edge of the bleachers, binder in hand.

He tips his chin, a small smile in place, and then he switches his attention to a few of the other students around, so I turn back to Nico.