“He’s coming Friday. He lives up near Metahill, up north. My mom’s going to pick him up and bring him,” he says, his cheeks colored with a hint of pink. I think he might be nervous about having his uncle watch him.
“He’s going to be so impressed,” I say, and Nico shrugs my compliment off, twisting uncomfortably in his seat. I’m starting to learn that as comfortable and confident as he is with his academic talent, he’s exactly the opposite with athletics. Maybe it’s just because he’s out of practice. I know it’s not because he’s lacking on the field. As smart as he is in the classroom, he’s twice as smart out there.
Nico leans forward, and all my camera is capturing is the top of his head. I can tell he’s starting to feel less comfortable in the hot seat, so I stand and turn the camera off.
“I’d like to meet him,” I say, unsnapping the camera from the tripod and folding up my equipment. Nico glances up at me with one eyebrow raised and a half smile that I’m starting to fall for…a lot.
“I’d like you to meet him, too,” he says.
Our eyes lock again in that space we’ve grown used to. I wonder if it makes Nico feel the same? I wonder if he’s wishing I’d look away, or if he’s hoping I don’t. I swallow from the intensity, and he blinks a few times, his focus falling to the camera and equipment in my hands.
“You need me to help you with that?” he asks.
I lift it up and down a few times to show how light it is, then chuckle.
“I’m not that weak,” I say.
“Oh, I know you’re not. I’ve carried your school bag,” he laughs, standing and stretching toward the rooftop gutters. His fingers grip the edge lightly, and his shirt raises enough that his stomach shows. I turn to face my car quickly.
“I should probably go,” I say, not wanting to leave at all, but very much out of excuses to stay. “Tell your mom I said hi.”
“I will,” he says, following me to my car. “She’ll be bummed she missed you. She wants to get to know you more. Mom likes to keep up on all of my stalkers.”
My eyes flash wide, and I laugh awkwardly.
“I’m sorry. Next time I’ll ask before I come,” I say, glancing in his direction, my eyes not making it all the way.
I fumble with my keys and unlock the car, dropping my equipment in the seat. I reach to unwrap my shirt from my waist, but instead of covering things, I just toss it on top, not wanting Nico to see me have such a low opinion of his neighborhood. When I turn to face him again, his hands are in his pockets, and his eyes are down.
“Do you want my number?” he asks, gazing up with a brow raised.
“Yes,” I answer quickly, my chest expanding fast and my inner voice reminding me to be cool. “That’d be nice.”
I pull out my phone and swipe it on to type, but Nico reaches and takes it from me, typing in his contact info. He hands it back, but doesn’t meet my eyes.
“Your friend…Izzy…” he says, and my heart sinks. “She said something about some dance or something? Right after next week’s home game.”
“Homecoming,” I say. The word comes out flat—like I said a password.
“Yeah, that. I’ve never been…you?” He brings his hand to his neck, rubbing the back of it, and eventually bringing it over his face.
“I went last year…” I say, remembering how Travis took me out of pity. My brother put him up to it, and Izzy encouraged it. I was really over him by then, and the entire night felt like a forced babysitting event. I didn’t even like my dress.
“You think you’ll go again? Like…with your friends or whatever?” he asks. His hands have fallen deeper in his pockets, and he looks up at me in short glances.
My friends.
My…friend.
He wants to know if Izzy will go.
“I don’t know, maybe. I’ll have to talk to Izzy about it,” I say, positioning my key in my hand so I’m ready to leave.
I step around my car, and Nico backs up a few steps to give me space.
“Well…let me know…if you guys go. Maybe I’ll make Sasha come,” he says.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, pulling my door open wide.
My fingers automatically pick at the dry skin on the side of my thumb, a nervous habit I’ve had since I was a small child, and I look at it, knowing that I’m doing this because I want out of this trap—I don’t want to set Nico up with Izzy, and if he dances with her, I don’t want to watch. I open my mouth to give myself an out, to lie and say I probably won’t go because of something I have to do, and I probably won’t be back in time. I’m instantly distracted though by the heavy thumping from a car stereo, and both Nico and I turn to see a dark red car stop at the end of the driveway.
Nico steps a little closer to me as a guy gets out, a black flat-brimmed hat shadowing his eyes and a long-sleeved black shirt hanging low enough to meet the line where his jeans sag, far below the waist.
“Hey, Nicooooo,” he says, dragging the name out long and slow. His eyes are heavy, and his expression is amused. He flicks a lit butt onto the driveway and steps on it. It looks like a joint.