We take a break at the end of class to talk in French. Annie isn’t speaking French, but is excitedly talking about the speeches: who she thinks did well, how I rocked, and “Where did you ever find those boots?”
Aiden answers her. “Her grandpa had them made for her.”
And Annie gives me a look. A look that says, Uh, what’s going on here? Why is he answering for you and, more importantly, why does he know this and I, your best friend, do not?
A bunch of us girls are in Katie’s and my room getting ready to go to the JV game. We’re all giggling and laughing.
I’m all ready. I left my boots, tank, and shirt on, but changed into little jean shorts. And, I will admit, I’m sorta sitting here thinking about Aiden. Tutoring him has been good for me. I’m getting to know him and he’s been nicer recently. Not behaving like the smooth player that he was always trying to be. We haven’t had a fight in almost a week.
He mentioned in class that the team they’re playing tonight is the best in our conference, and that he hopes he and the team play really well.
I get an idea, so I dig down to the bottom of my desk drawer. Mom forced me to bring high quality writing paper, so I could write a decent thank you if needed.
I grab a piece of the thick creamy paper and a green marker. I fold the paper in half and then write inside.
And then I draw a big, green four-leaf clover on the front and outline it with black marker.
I tell the girls, “Hey, I gotta run to the dance room and grab my, uh, socks. I’ll be right back.”
Then I run out the door and text Aiden.
Me: Where are you?
Hottie God: Locker room. Where do you want me to be?
Me: Somewhere where I can give you something.
Hottie God: Walking out of the field house now. Meet me.
Me: Okay :)
I sprint—well, jog—as fast as I can in my boots and see him standing outside the field house. He’s got on his football pads and jersey, but is still wearing his athletic shorts.
God, he is just beautiful.
Scratch what I said before about him being a normal boy. He is so not.
“Boots are pretty cute with shorts too,” he grins, looking at my shorts.
“Thanks. Uh, well, I know you seemed a little nervous about the game tonight and um, I just . . .”
When the hell did I get so tongue-tied?
“Just what?”
“Well, here.” I hold the little note out in front of me.
“What’s this?”
“I don’t know. It’s a note. Some luck maybe. Just look at it, I don’t know, sometime before the game, maybe.”
“Not now?”
“Um, up you.”
“You know, Boots, you’re acting very weird.”
“I am very weird.”
He laughs. “True. Okay, so I have to get back in there.” He holds up the note. “Thanks, I think.”
I walk back to my dorm, wondering what the hell I just did.
Then I tell myself that I don’t really want to dance with him again or anything.
I’m a dancer.
I’m one of the people chosen to help spread school spirit and support our athletes.
I was just wishing him luck, motivating him, so that our team could win and we could be proud.
Rah, rah, sis, boom, bah, and all that.
That’s just the kind of selfless girl I am.
What the heck is on the football?
7:18pm
I’m sitting in the stands with a big group of people. My glass four-leaf clover is tucked into the pocket of my shorts.
Dawson is being his sweet, snuggly self and teasing me about my boots in front of everyone, but then he starts whispering in my ear about how he would like to see me in just my boots later on tonight.
I’m not sure if I could do that.
Two reasons why I could not float through my head simultaneously.
One is that Grandpa would roll over in his grave, if he were dead, if he saw me doing those things in the boots he had made for me.
The second reason is that boots are kinda Aiden’s and my thing. Like, not that we have a thing at all. But the way he calls me Boots and said he wanted to meet my grandpa . . . I just don’t think I could allow my boots to be a part of what Dawson has in mind.
I may have to put a blindfold on them or put them in the corner or something.
Jake and Whitney are sitting a couple rows below us, and I notice Dawson doesn’t seem to be affected by this at all. Which makes me very thankful. Bryce says Hey to them, then walks up and sits down behind me and Dawson.
“So, did you take any of our advice?” he asks me.
“About my speech?”
“Uh, no, about making Dawson worship you.”
This gets Dawson’s attention.
He says teasingly, “What have you two been up to in ceramics?”
Bryce laughs. “Well, so far I’ve made a lopsided cup and an animal that resembles a pig but was supposed to be a pony.”
“They may have suggested the library,” I tell Dawson.
His eyes get big and he gets a big old grin on his face. He turns to Bryce and puts his fist in front of him. They do a fist bump and he says, “You can make suggestions like that any time, man. Any time.”
Now Bryce’s eyes get big. “You mean you took our advice! Like, the library idea?”
I roll my eyes. “Maybe.”