“Thank you for helping,” she says to me.
“My pleasure,” I smile. She graces me with a smile that tugs her cheeks high and forces her eyes to squint. It’s a real smile, different from the one my mom wears, and it makes me feel good to have earned it from her.
“I’m Valerie, by the way,” she says, rubbing a towel over her hand, then taking mine.
“Nice to meet you. Reagan,” I say. She nods with a tight smile, and her eyes squint like her son’s do.
Nico grabs a soda from the fridge and holds one up for me. I shake my head no, but he tilts his head to the side and wiggles the can in his hand one more time.
“Okay, yeah. Thank you,” I say.
He reaches in to grab another cola, handing it to me and shrugging me to follow him to the front room, away from his mom. The little girl, now free of her ponytails, barrels around the corner from a short hallway that I can tell leads to what looks like three small bedrooms.
“Is that your sister?” I ask.
“Niece,” he corrects quickly.
I let that soak in, mentally working up to my next question, but Nico fills in the gaps for me.
“My mom watches her for my brother. She stays with us most of the time, but…sometimes…when he has a place,” he trails off, sitting on the arm of an old sofa backed against the front wall and looking out the main window, his eyes careful not to meet mine as they dart around. I can tell he doesn’t want me to ask what he means about his brother, so I let him have the last word on that topic, too.
“What’s her name? Your niece.”
Nico looks down at the soda in his hands, pulling the tab back and bringing it to his lips quickly to suck away the fizz. His eyes flit to mine for a second, just long enough for a half grin to dimple his cheek.
“Alyssa,” he smiles, and it strikes me how much his looks like his mom’s.
“She’s cute. Is she in kindergarten?” I ask.
“Next year…maybe. She’s a summer birthday,” he says, taking another big drink.
I fill the pause by opening my own can and gulping down several swallows, enough that the carbonation burns my chest, and I wince. Nico chuckles, but his smile fades quickly.
“You were looking for me?” he asks.
I was. That’s right. I’m here for Nico, to convince him. It seemed like such a cut-and-dry plan, and I felt so confident when I drove here half an hour ago. All audacity is gone now, though. I have a feeling, before too long, I’m going to end up begging.
“I’m here to tell you to try out for the football team tomorrow,” I say, managing to hold in the swallow that is begging to slide down my throat in front of him. Nico’s eyes don’t blink for several seconds, and his expression remains void of any sign that he heard me at all. And then the laughter comes.
“Uhhh, not just no, but hell no,” he says, laughing so hard that his mom peers around the corner to check on us.
“You okay out there? Can I get you guys something for lunch?” she asks.
“We’re fine, Ma. Thanks, though,” Nico says, dismissing her.
I never take my eyes from him, and I search for that last vestige of inner strength for me to be the girl who pitched this wild idea to her dad an hour ago.
“Why not?” I ask, setting the rest of my soda down on a small coffee table and standing with my arms folded in front and my posture as straight and rigid as I can hold it.
Nico laughs silently, locking his gaze with mine for a few seconds before blinking and glancing down. He sets his soda next to mine, then stands in the same pose as me, his smirk—his armor—in its place.
“For starters, I don’t need the football team,” he says.
“You’re right. But we need you,” I say, surprising myself. I practiced this on the way here, however short that rehearsal was. I knew I wouldn’t be able to trick Nico. I’d have to appeal to his empathy—I’d have to ask, make him feel needed and wanted. Frankly, he is.
His smirk drops a little at my reply, which makes my chest loosen just a little. I breathe in long and deep, but the longer he looks at me without speaking, the more my fingers twitch and my feet grow restless until I break my folded arm pose and bring my hands to my eyes, rubbing while I pace a stride or two in either direction.
“My dad needs you. The team needs you,” I say, opening my eyes to see him still staring at me, his smirk now gone completely.
I sigh, then tug my hair loose from the knot at my neck, scratching the sore spot where the band pulled it tight. Everything about me feels awful and uncomfortable right now, and I hate that Nico is looking at me. I’m already here, though, and I’ve already said the hard part, so I stare into his eyes and wait until his arms uncross, so I know he’s feeling a little off his game, too.