"You can talk the talk, but can you walk the walk?"
"Try me!"
"I will!"
-.-
The crowd goes wild when Becky catches the ball and ultimately scores a touchdown.
It's their second year of Pee-Wee Football and reports say that their Double-Coach O'shea team is the now the best in the entire Midwest. But that's beside the point.
"Dude. I know you hate her, Spike, but Icebox is really—"
Spike glares ahead, not even willing to care who's speaking to him right now. "Shut up."
The Icebox. She's taken over his team. She's taken over his field. And what's worse, she's taken over his brain.
She literally confuses him.
Really, how can someone of the female population be that talented at a typical-all-guy sport and still be confident enough to be the only one in their ranks to show up for all their games wearing that stupid little skirt? As far as he's concerned, it's not even that witty on her part, or that charming, but somehow the idea just caught on overtime and now that's her signature uniform. She stands out because of it. Everyone knows it's her and they get a real kick out of it. And that's why Spike just doesn't get it. She always tries to be one of them during practice drills other days, and wants so badly to be treated like a boy...and yet, she expects that to happen when she makes an ironic fashion choice like that one?
If anything, she's sending the inhabitants of Urbania more mixed signals than she originally had before.
Last year, Danny O'shea had arranged a town-wide carwash to raise funds for his new team, to make their faces known, to gain more support from their community.
This year, that tactic continues to be successful in Urbania. The sun's out and the weather is humid right now and it's the perfect week for the team to be outside, being active, even though it's not on the field practicing.
But, the one problem this season they have is pooling Kevin's Cowboys and Danny's Little Giants together to form one larger single team instead. The brothers have come to accept it of course since they are now co-coaches—though it's actually some of the kids who have yet to let go of the past and forget that they were once rivals—and when the adults aren't close by, hovering over them to supervise, sometimes things get out of hand.
Tad cries out when a bucket of suds comes rolling up towards him and knocks hard against his ankles, soaking his shoes all the way through his socks in the aftermath. He looks up in disdain, and there's Spike and Icebox, completely oblivious of what happened because they're too busy wrestling with a hose, and kicking out their feet, and wasting more water on themselves rather than on the parked car right in front of them.
"Hey!" he shouts at them, but it's futile.
"Quit it!" Icebox shrieks, totally blinded by her fury, digging into Spike's ribs with her elbow. "Stay on YOUR side!"
"I WAS on my side!" Spike pushes back, barking out, "You stay on your side!"
"I was here first!"
"You were not!"
"Just let go!"
"You let go!"
Icebox seems to just snap, and she drops her section the hose on the spot, taking a sharp step backwards with her hands up. Yup, she is so done with him. Spike's balance is thrown off somewhat by the sudden release, and the hose ricochets in his hands.
Icebox doesn't completely walk away though, not yet, and definitely not that easily. She has to pick up the two wet, foaming sponges left sitting on the hood of the car first, throwing both of them at Spike's head as hard as she can, and then, she stalks off, heading inside the gas station for some space.
Tad sighs in defeat and knows it's just safer to ignore it. He refocuses on wiping the layer of dry dirt off the car door before him. It's not like they haven't gotten into water-fights before...because, hey, that is the fun part about doing these carwashes on these hot days, but still...the ones before were harmless and playful...they've never turned so...hostile like that.
With a blink of an eye, they're two years older already, and they're back in school, and she's standing in the middle of the Hammersmith living room, dropping off a textbook for Spike that's holding differently-colored sheets of paper inside it. (Spike has missed two days' worth of Environmental Lab assignments due to a serious sore throat and headache. She knows this because they do have that one class together.)
He's sprawled over the 70s-patterned couch, watching live wrestling.
"Here." She doesn't sound very sympathetic as she slaps his homework down upon the coffee table near where his feet are resting, but she does acknowledge that he is looking pretty miserable and he's trying to hide it from her. "You've got extensions on the first two until next week. But the blue assignment is still due Friday morning along with everyone else's."
"Thanks," he says, albeit pessimistically and she wonders if he is truly grateful deep down or not.
But, she won't back down and recoil from him like a coward. So, she nods back at him briskly, commenting, "Anytime," and without realizing at first, she lingers there for a long moment afterwards, eyes causally skimming the room.
She's been at his house before, sure, but she hasn't been fully inside it, seeing Spike in his natural habitat.
And, truthfully, it feels...quite homey and normal despite the fact that Spike is not that evolved by Darwin's standards and his father before him was obviously raised by all buff, rough and tough military figures too. Although, she notices a certain something is still missing from the atmosphere; a splash of a woman's presence here and there...and she notices this only because she doesn't have that sort of something or that feeling in her dad's house either. It's something she can probably relate to, actually.
Spike catches her snooping or whatever, and snarls out a testy "What?"
She blinks, shaking her head rapidly. "Nothing," she gives in, "I'll just go."
A month later, she ends up on the top of Cheery Hill with Spike off all people, with their bikes, since Junior is out of state visiting his father up north, and her dad's taking that chance to take Patty out on another private date that night.
They merely sit there for a while, quietly overlooking the sunset. She's not angry at him for once and he's not seething. They're just...content, idle.
"Do you know where your mom is now?" she eventually asks him, still gazing straight at the dying sun.
Spike answers without delay, "No. Do you?"
"Mine's probably on stage somewhere," she supposes, only half-humorously, "sitting under spotlights and talking to movie-stars over coffee."
"...Do you forgive her for leaving?"
That's when she finally turns her head and sees the lines in his profile hardening. And she can sense it's from a silent stab of pain that's suddenly surfacing.
(Well, damn. He might have more depth to him than she gives him credit for, after all. Spike Hammersmith has layers beneath that rugged, brash exterior. Who knew, right?)
"Sometimes," is what she shares with him sheer honesty. "You?"
"Yeah. Sometimes."
It's another free and boring Saturday afternoon, so they're at the park.
Her shove this time around hardly makes him wince. "C'mon, Ice Bottle," he teases her with a throaty laugh, "is that really all you've got today?"
"Just throw me the ball again, you jerk," she demands coolly.
He grins and obeys her order. He chucks the ball to her, fast and hard, and she catches it, holding it tightly to her middle and power-sprints around him, not holding back. And as soon as his arms are reaching towards her, she spins on her heels expectedly, and the lack of physical contact makes him stumble.
She giggles in victory when she reaches the imaginary end zone and finally scores herself another fake-point.
He responds by charging at her anyways and she dashes off again, still cutting round him just in time, and they keep on blocking and dodging, running from one end of the park to the other.
Eventually he is able to steal the ball away and the chase flips to the other side. In the end of the contest, Icebox propels forward and tackles him.
By then they're both beat, just having the energy left over to untangle themselves and roll back over the grass, gasping for air.
"Truce?" she proposes, swallowing hard.
"Okay," he yields. Just for today. "Truce."
Three more years go by, and life in Urbania pretty much remains the same as it always does.
However, kissing Spike on top of Cheery Hill is something new to her, and frankly, it wasn't pre-calculated or anticipated.
It just happened.
And, it wasn't a bad moment per se, or even that embarrassing.
It still took her by surprise though, as she woke up in the morning after it took place. Because the one leading fact was, that she's had this image swimming in the back of her head for some time now—and it's only naturally for girls, even sporty-girls like her, to fantasize about what their first kiss is going to be like, isn't it? Well, hers—was, more or less—different than she thought it would've been, since, originally, the lips she dreamed up in her head had always belonged to Junior up until now.
And for a little while, that's what she was mentally preparing herself for; that's what her whole judgment on kissing a boy would've been based on.
But, along the way, her deep-seeded desire of kissing Junior washed away little by little, like the ocean's tide rippling upon sand.
Spike has set new standards and has inserted a few additional new requests and wants in her mind.
Generally speaking, she doesn't hate the feeling either. In all actuality, it has clicked perfectly in place like it does in the movies and even though Spike was far from winning her affections in the very beginning, now it just sorta made sense to her, like it was going to be inevitable no matter what.
He's a hothead and rash, when she's cool-blooded and sturdy. He's forceful in nature and she's resolute.
He's a boy, she's a girl. Clearly.
They are the sun and moon in endless chase. Sheer opposites that clash with each other as much as they do attract.