“Friday night…when I watched you with your friends?” I wait for him to nod; to know he’s willing to at least listen to me. “You guys were…you were really good,” I say through a nervous laugh. I suck in my lip, needing something from him to encourage me to keep going.
“I’m sorry about your brother,” he says, and my heartbeat kicks up at the mention of Noah.
My eyes fall to my feet, and I shift my balance, looping my thumbs in my pockets while I nod lightly.
“Thanks,” I say.
When I look back up, Nico’s gaze is now on the ground between us, and he’s chewing at the inside of his cheek, which means he’s thinking. I know he is, because I’ve seen him work through things in class—bide his time before he could speak and make a well-rounded, hard-to-argue-with point. I can’t let him hit me with a foolproof defense before I get one last shot at this.
“He broke the tibia and fibula; he’s going to be out for the season. My dad…” I stutter, my breath catching hard, because I know this move could be a defining moment for my father. Win or lose means in or out for Coach Prescott, and his fate is literally in the hands of his quarterback. “I know what I saw you do out on that field. I’ve watched my dad coach the best, and I know how they move. You…you look like my father’s been working with you for years.”
“Yeah, well, he hasn’t,” Nico snaps, his eyes still down and his mouth tight.
“No, I know,” I say. “But I showed him…”
Nico’s body jolts at my words, and I pause long enough for our eyes to meet. His are wide now, and I think maybe this is the only time I’ve ever seen him on edge, unsure of the next move or what side of the coin he needs to pick.
“I showed him the video I shot. And he can’t ask you to come out, because of your scholarship. It can’t be part of recruiting. But if you decided that football was maybe something you wanted to try…if you, say, stopped by his office hours in the morning and asked about a supplemental tryout…”
Nico doesn’t blink. He also doesn’t frown or smile or react in any way. But he hears me.
“Look, I’ll understand. Or…well, no, I probably won’t. Because…” My gaze falls down, and my lips push together tight, because, gah! This guy pushes my buttons, but damn it, I need him. And he’s talented. And I can’t deny that. My stubborn side does not want to pay him a compliment, but there’s this other part of me, maybe a desperate part, that needs him to hear some good things about him.
“You have a gift,” I say, my voice small. I can’t look at him and admit any of this. My lips are actually quivering. “My dad would be good to you. I think maybe you’d like him. And…he won’t say it, because…well…you get it, but you’re better than my brother, Nico. You just are. It took me two minutes to tell. It took my dad ten seconds of video. So, please…just think about it. It might open some doors, is all. My dad…he has a way of getting people to pay attention.”
Nearly ten seconds pass without a word, and when I sneak a look, Nico’s attention is once again lost to the streets outside his window. Someone nearby has turned on loud music, and I can hear a few people laughing outside. I think he’d rather be there—anywhere but here, with me. I take it as a sign that my last effort probably wasn’t good enough, and bend down to pick up my half-full soda, raising it even though nobody is watching.
“Thanks for the drink. I’ll see you in class,” I say, moving to the screen door, and counting in my head to fifteen as I open it, step through, and hear it slam closed behind me. The party at the house on the corner has grown. That’s the music I heard, and more neighbors are gathering. People don’t gather on my street.
“Hey!”
My eyes blink wide as I look over the top of my car to the busy yard a few houses away. My brain takes a few seconds to catch up to the fact that the voice I heard was Nico’s, not just some neighbor late for the party. I turn and lean against my car to see him standing in his doorway, one arm holding the screen open completely, the other resting on the side of the doorframe, his body filling the space. Dressed for church, he looks years older than the eighteen I know him to be, and while I won’t say this part out loud, I will at least whisper it to myself—Nico is handsome.
His hair falls forward just enough to cover one eye, and he flips it back casually. I breathe in quickly when he does, glad for this distance between us, and that he can’t hear my response.
“Can Sasha tryout, too?” His eyes linger on mine, and I sense the slight crinkle in them over his hatched plan to get his best friend in on the action, too.
I bite the tip of my tongue with just enough force that I feel it to keep myself from smiling too big. I’m not sure how my father will handle it, but if it gets Nico out on that field tomorrow, I’m pretty sure my dad will be up for anything.