“Okay, Momma,” he says, bending down to kiss her cheek.
I move close to them both, helping Valerie to unclip the mic from her shirt, catching the cord as she lets it fall through the front of her blouse.
“I’ll see you at our seats, Mija,” she says, squeezing my arm.
I love her.
I nod okay.
The door falls closed, and for a moment, it’s only Nico and me. He squares to me, and I move my hands to his shirt, gripping it and holding on. Our eyes meet, and he breathes in deep. I can see the weight of the world on his shoulders. I know this look—I’ve seen it on my dad.
“You’re amazing,” I say.
He breathes out a laugh and rolls his eyes, but I shake my hands where they hold his shirt, getting him to look at me again.
“No matter what happens, just remember that. Just know that you’re amazing. You’ve done your very best, and this game—it does not define you,” I say.
His mouth falls to a faint smile, and his chest rises as he takes my words in.
“Okay,” he says.
“There…good,” I say, reaching up on my toes and taking his bottom lip in between mine. It’s soft and salty with sweat, and he smells like a boy who has been wearing the same shirt and pads on the field for hours every night. Yet, I don’t care, because he’s here. I can touch him.
We stand in silence for a few long seconds, and my hands slide down his arms until my fingers tangle in his. I follow my craving and look down to see our touch. Ever since I rushed with Sasha to the hospital, afraid Nico wasn’t going to survive, I’ve been more aware of these simple moments between us. I hold onto them, wanting to store each and every memory because in life there are too many things one just never knows.
“How’d your interview go?” he asks.
I inhale quietly, my eyes studying the look of his hands as I think about his question.
“The dean…he liked me,” I say.
“Of course he did,” Nico says, his fingers still working around each of mine, his eyes low, too.
“I’m pretty sure they’re going to offer me a spot,” I say.
I feel Nico nod, and I know he’s smiling. My eyes close, and I let myself feel his touch. Prestige is all I’ve wanted for so long. I’ve put in hours of my life, logged film in the dark, lost sleep listening to sound—my father had football, and I had this. But now it just seems so empty, my heart…it doesn’t want it quite like it did.
And I think I know why.
“I’m going to go to Southern Cal, though,” I say, and I feel Nico’s fingers freeze against mine instantly. My heart doesn’t pound, and my stomach doesn’t sink. Instead…everything suddenly feels even. My lungs grow as I inhale and open my eyes, my mouth curving into a smile.
My mom said I would know. She said I would be able to choose what I really wanted when I really had to. I want to study film, but I don’t need to do it at Prestige. I want to be near Nico. I want to see my brother play for San Diego, which is where he thinks he’s going to go. I want to be near the boys that I love with all my heart, and I don’t want to give them up because my plan has always been this one solitary thing.
“True story?” Nico asks, and I look up, laughing when my eyes meet his. His smile is crooked, and I move my hands back to his chest, shaking him.
“Oh my God, do not quote Noah. You’re smarter than that,” I say.
Nico bends down and meets my eyes, his wide and still waiting.
“Yes,” I say. “Yes, true story. Yes, I want to go to USC. And not just for you. For me, because of Noah, and because that’s what’s right.”
“But mostly me, right?” he says, his eyes hazing.
I push him, and he grabs me and pulls me in to kiss him.
I don’t answer, because I’ve learned what pressure can do to people, and saying I’m making a choice mostly for him is pressure that both he and I don’t need. But my heart feels stronger having made my choice. My head feels clear, and there’s a renewed energy in my step. I’m pretty sure I know what that is, but I won’t label it. I’m just going to enjoy it while it’s here.
There’s a pounding on the door, so I step up to kiss him one last time, letting his fingers slip free of mine as he jogs to the door, the sound of his cleats clicking on the concrete.
“All of West End is here to see you, you know,” I say.
“I know,” he says.
“Hey, Nico?” I stop him as he catches the door in his hand.
“Whose house is this?” I ask.
His lip quirks up.
“Hoorah!” he whispers.
The door falls closed behind him, and I sit back in the metal folding chair and simply breathe. We do things in life to make others happy. We make sacrifices because that feeling—the one I once thought was altruism, but have since learned is just love—it makes us feel good. We give, but it’s never selfless. Nico has given so much. He’s lost more than his share, and he’s sacrificed beyond what is right.
Tonight—tonight the universe gives back.
It’s not just customary.
It’s tradition.
24