The entire exchange makes me suddenly aware of every inch of my skin, and I push my feet farther under my seat, tucking my hands under my thighs and looking down to notice the goosebumps raised on my pale white and freckled skin.
“No, it’s fine. I get it. Brittany’s pretty fine. I’m with him on this one,” I say, mostly to deflect.
Sasha begins laughing instantly, holding his palm out for me to slap. I do, and as lame as my attempt to fit in probably is, it feels good to do this stupid little thing with him.
“Hey, just go with her,” Sasha says when he leans back on the railing. “Reagan, you’ve got your car here, right? Can you take my boy to Charlie’s?”
My mouth feels dry and fat all at once, but I manage to mutter out a “Sure.”
At some point, Sasha tells me I’m, “Awesome,” and we slap hands again, this time my palm numb and my head spinning, trying to figure out what I just agreed to. The longer it takes Sasha to leave, the more I realize that I’m going somewhere with Nico, together, and I start to work out the excuses in my head. I’ll need to get him home, because that wouldn’t be cool. But I could do that; take him home? I know my way in and out of West End now, and I could go now, and still get home way before my dad does, and nobody would need to know any of it…
“You don’t have to go. Really. I can walk,” Nico says, already standing and slinging the small gym bag, that I know is only a fraction of his things, over his shoulder.
“Oh…no, really. I don’t mind. I was just going to go home, and I don’t really have anything to do,” I say, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to erase any evidence that excuses were ever floating through my mind. I stand nervously, and my bag tumbles open at my feet, my camera and several memory cards spilling out along the grated metal landing.
“Here,” Nico says, dropping his bag and helping me pick up my pieces quickly. My heart is racing ridiculously, and my fingers can’t seem to work right to flip open my camera and test it. Nico notices, and when his hands cover mine, squeezing them to calm down, it has the opposite effect, and everything starts to feel faster—the world brighter, my legs wobblier.
“I’m sorry, I…” I don’t finish, instead just sitting down and giving over my camera to his steadier hands. I tuck my nervous ones back under my thighs and suck in both my top and bottom lip to quell my anxiety while my inner voice prays that my camera isn’t broken.
Nico kneels in front of me, his lip raised without laughing, and his able fingers flip open my view screen easily. He doesn’t know where the power button is, so I reach forward to show him, my hand still trembling with the jolt of adrenaline, and he nods. I pull my hands back in, this time pushing a few of the nails on the edge of my teeth. It’s a bad habit, and it’s the reason I don’t have long, pretty fingernails. It’s also the reason I can type wicked fast, though.
“Am I supposed to see you through this thing,” Nico says, holding the camera up to face me. He stands when I reach for it, and then holds his arm out to stop me when I stretch forward again. “Oh no, it’s your turn. Tell us, Miss Prescott. The academy wants to know why film is so important to you.”
“Oh my God, stop. I don’t like being on camera,” I say through nervous laughter. My hand finally snares the sleeve of Nico’s jersey, and he brings his left hand down, gripping mine tightly while he holds the camera steady on me with his right. “Nico, I’m serious!”
I am serious, but I’m also laughing hysterically, and I’m holding his hand…or rather, tug-of-warring with his hand. I battle with him, squealing and using my other palm to block my face when I finally give in and sigh, folding my arms over my chest before pushing my now-tangled hair out of my face, blowing the final strand out of my eyes before pursing my lips in the best pout-face I can make.
Nico keeps the camera on me for a few seconds, his face hidden behind it as his laughter subsides, until he lets it slide a few inches down, still recording though he’s no longer viewing. His smile is sweet and simple, no dimple or bragger’s rights painted on his expression. It makes my breath stop, but I hold my pose, praying I can bluff my way through this without giving anything away—without him realizing exactly what that look does…to me.
The heavy locker room door slams in the distance, and it breaks the strangeness we were both just living in. Nico looks down at the camera he’s holding, turning it off and flipping the view screen back in its place. He puts it in my bag, zipping it and handing it to me. I clutch it tightly this time, and I stand as he takes a few paces back to his own bag.