Exhaustion was setting in hard and fast by the time Michael got home. After a long drive from Alabama and a seemingly longer walk from the Crashdown, his eyelids were heavy and threatening to close.
Unfortunately, sleep didn't appear to be a possibility, because when he walked in the front door, there was an ambush waiting for him in the living room. Both his parents were there, along with a suit-clad man he didn't recognize.
"Michael . . ." His mom sent him a worried look.
He glanced back and forth between all three of them, trying to connect the dots. Maybe it was because he was tired, but he couldn't figure out what was going on. "What?" he said innocently, believing that, for once, he really was innocent. "What'd I do?"
An hour later, he drove his dad's car over to his girlfriend's house, hoping she'd be able to help him out with this latest . . . predicament. If anyone could, it was her.
Her mom let him in and told him he could go upstairs, under the condition that they once again leave the door open. Whatever. He wasn't planning to do anything anyway.
When he walked into her bedroom, he tried to lay on the charm right away. "Hey, baby," he said, plopping down beside her on the bed.
"Hey," she cooed, never taking her eyes off the laptop in front of her. Her fingers kept ticking away at the keyboard, but she did tilt her head to the side so he could easily kiss her cheek.
"How's my beautiful girl?" He sat down atop her and started to massage her shoulders.
"Good," she replied. "How was the game?"
"It was fun." He wasn't going to tell her about all the alcohol he'd consumed, or all the college girls who had flirted with him. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. He squinted at her computer screen and asked, "What're you doin'?"
"College stuff."
"Application?"
"Scholarship essay."
"Ooh, even worse." He bent forward and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, loving that even that simple maneuver caused her to shudder beneath him. "Think you can take a break from it for a minute?" he whispered in her ear. "I need you to do me a favor."
At last, her hands left the keyboard. "Seriously?" she huffed. "You're home for, like, two minutes and already you're asking for sex?"
"No, not that kind of favor." He moved off of her and lay down beside her, propping his head up with his left arm. "I kinda got a situation goin' on."
"Oh, no." Reluctantly, she closed her laptop. "What'd you do now?"
"Nothing. But when I got home today, there was this county court guy sittin' in my living room, waitin' for me. Apparently I've missed too much school already. Same thing happened last year."
She frowned. "But you haven't missed school. You've been there, like, every day."
"Right." He nodded, wishing it were that simple. "Just not the whole day every day."
"Oh, Michael . . ." she groaned. "See, I told you, you're gonna have to just buckle down and suffer through school lunches with the rest of us."
"No, I can't," he whined. "They don't even give you enough food. How are guys like Kyle and me, who have to go to football practice every day after school, supposed to be sustained on that?"
"Kyle gets two lunches," she pointed out.
"Yeah, 'cause Kyle can afford it. I can't."
She sighed, turning onto her side so her body position was mirroring his. "Well . . . I don't know what to tell you. You're just gonna have to stay."
"I can't," he reiterated, hoping she would understand. "Isabel, I'm not like you. I don't enjoy school. If I'm not able to get out of there and go somewhere else for lunch, I'll go crazy. The only way I'll make it through the day is if I take off during the middle of the day."
"Well, what do you want me to do about it?"
He smirked, hoping she'd ask that. "You're the student body president. And if I recall, during your marvelous platform speech, you mentioned that you'd start working on getting us upperclassmen some off-campus lunch privileges." If the school said it was okay to leave, the damn county court couldn't get him in trouble for it. It was the obvious solution. "So how's that going?" he pressed. "Any progress?"
She laughed a little. "Michael, I've been the president for, like, a week. I haven't really had time to get started on it."
"Well, now's the perfect time," he suggested.
"Uh . . . no, actually it's not." She looked at him as though he were a crazy person. "Do you know how busy all this college stuff is keeping me?"
"Come on, Is," he groaned. "The college stuff can wait."
"No, actually, it can't. Some of these scholarship deadlines are coming up fast."
"And won't it look great in a scholarship essay if you can talk about how you took the initiative to start up this program in your school?" he pressed.
For a moment, she seemed to be considering it, but then she backed off the idea again. "I don't know . . ."
"Isabel . . . do you really wanna be just like all the other politicians who don't keep their promises?"
"It's just kind of a big undertaking."
"But aren't I worth it?" He grinned, but it was clear that charm wasn't getting him anywhere, so he switched tactics. Next effort: guilt trip. "Come on, babe, I'm asking you to do something for me. Please, just help me out, for once."
"For once?" she roared, her whole body tensing.
Uh-oh.
"Let's flash-back, shall we, to the moment where I gave you hundreds of dollars to attend a football game in another state. Without me, even. I'd say I've done plenty to help you out."
Good old guilt trip obviously wasn't going to come through for him, so it was onto the next plan, and the most desperate one at that: mind games. "Right, you paid for my ticket to that game," he agreed, "and because of that, I went, I had fun, and I realized . . ." As painful as it was for him to say it, he knew it needed to be said. "Maybe college wouldn't be so bad after all."
Her eyes immediately lit up, and a huge smile replaced the angry scowl on her face. "Really?"
"Yeah. Maybe I'll even . . . go someday." The words tasted bitter in his mouth, but he managed to play it off as though he were seriously considering it.
"Michael, that's great!" she exclaimed, scooting close enough to him so that she could tangle her arms and legs with his. "I'm so happy. Does this mean I can get some applications for you?"
"Sure." Hell, it wouldn't hurt to fill them out. "See? If you hadn't helped me get to that game, I might never have had this epiphany. Good things happen when you help me."
"Aw . . ." She leaned in and gave him another kiss, and he could tell her had her. Mind games had done the trick. "Alright, I'll see what I can do about this open lunch thing, too. But you have to promise to fill these applications out. Deal?"
"Deal." It was a waste of time, because no school in their right mind would accept him; but at least he was getting what he wanted. Hopefully.
...
Isabel really was a go-getter. When she set her mind out to do something, it took her hardly any time at all to get the ball rolling. By Tuesday, she'd already constructed a written proposal for Principal Forrester to read, and by Wednesday, she was already arranging a meeting with him and the superintendent to discuss the idea further. When Thursday rolled around, she once again stood before the student body behind a podium in the middle of the gymnasium, speaking with the utmost clarity and confidence.
"As your student body president, I wanted to get a quick start on making improvements to our school," she said. "And I most definitely didn't want to be like all the other politicians who don't keep their campaign promises."
Michael smirked when she met his eyes.
"This week, I've been taking the necessary steps to enact the open-lunch policy I promised to pursue if elected. I met with Principal Forrester, as well as our superintendent, Mr. Lowman. Together, we discussed and deliberated the idea, and we've come to a compromise that we think will work for our school. First off, as I noted in my platform speech, open lunch will be a privilege extended only to upperclassmen, meaning juniors and seniors. Whether you choose to walk, drive, or ride with someone else to your lunch destination is up to you. However, you must be back by the start of sixth period. If you are not back by the start of sixth period, your absence will be marked as an unexcused absence. It takes only three of these for your parents to be contacted."
Michael shifted in his seat, figuring he could handle that. It would cut his lunches at the Crashdown a little shorter than they usually were, but it was better than nothing.
"If you're concerned about having enough time to leave the school and eat lunch elsewhere, we have several suggestions: First, you should consider calling in your order beforehand. Second, you could order your meal to-go. However, if you do bring food back to the school, it is to be finished in the lunchroom by the start of sixth period, no exceptions. Third: I've spoken with several of our local restaurants, and most did mention that they are willing to deliver for a slight bump in the cost. So if you're willing to pay a little more, and if the restaurant agrees to it, you could call your order in during the morning and arrange to have it dropped off here at lunch. If for some reason your food doesn't get here, understand that the school is required by law to make sure you get a lunch; so in that case, you would receive a normal school lunch at the normal price."
Those three words, normal school lunch, got a huge groan out of everyone.
"Principal Forrester and Mr. Lowman are as excited about this idea as we are," Isabel continued, "and they view it as a great way to offer our juniors and seniors the independent capability they have been trying for years to instill in us."
Michael rolled his eyes. They weren't agreeing to it because of student independence. They were agreeing to it because they could save money by not having to prepare so much food.
"However, they also wanted to make sure that open lunch is a privilege to be earned and not a right. Therefore, in order to be eligible for open lunch, you must be passing all your classes with a grade of a C or higher."
"Fuck," Michael swore.
Beside him, Kyle smirked and said, "Motivation."
He shook his head, disappointed. In fact, part of him suspected this little eligibility requirement had been more of Isabel's idea than the principal's. She was, after all, always trying to fix him. Maybe this was her sneaky way of fixing his grades.
After the assembly, she found him through the crowd, and she must have been able to tell right away that he wasn't completely pleased, because she said, "I did all I could. It's not like I had all the decision-making power."
"You did great," Kyle assured her, giving her a quick hug to his side.
"Yeah," Tess agreed readily. "This is gonna be awesome!"
But Isabel just kept staring at Michael, gauging his reaction. "It's better than nothing. Right?"
He nodded, knowing he should have been more appreciative. She'd done nothing but think about this all week. She'd even stopped working on that scholarship essay. "Right," he said. "It's fine. I'll just . . ." He sighed, hating the thought of what the future had in store for him. ". . . study." Because right now, he had mostly D's. And that just wasn't going to cut it.
...
"Alright, everybody get ready. Those little high school shitheads are startin' their open lunch today," Derek announced. "They're probably gonna flood the place."
Maria groaned. That sounded . . . so awful on so many levels. And of course her manager was such a loser that his only advice was to get ready? He wouldn't even consider bringing on more people to help cover that shift?
She supposed it was a good thing, though. More people meant more tips. Hopefully. But there was going to be absolutely zero downtime, and probably very little time to have any downtime with Michael. That is, if he kept coming by now that everyone else would be doing the same.
She looked over at the booth he always sat in. It was empty now, but what if it wasn't when he got there? What if someone else sat there and he had to sit in a different section?
She shook her head, trying not to rid herself of all the worries. Because it was ridiculous to worry about someone who was just a . . . a regular customer. Because that was all he was. They weren't friends. Not really. Friends were able to walk each other home and go to the football games.
"We do have a delivery today," Derek added as an afterthought. "Kid named Michael Guerin. Anyone interested?"
Maria breathed in sharply, not sure whether to volunteer herself or not.
...
It had been so long since she'd set foot in a high school that it actually felt sort of surreal to be in one. Almost as if she . . . didn't belong. Because she didn't. She wasn't one of them. She had to keep reminding herself of that.
When she walked in the front doors, she wasn't quite sure what to do. She could hear the thundering chatter coming from the cafeteria, and it sounded close enough to be right around the corner. Her first instinct was just to go there and look for Michael, but she hesitated. How awkward would that be? Just her, standing there in front of all of those high school students, wearing her stupid alien outfit . . . Even though she'd left the antennae headband in her work locker, she still looked ridiculously silly.
She really wasn't looking to embarrass herself, so she slinked into the office, hoping they could call Michael there over the intercom or something. Unfortunately, the two secretaries looked to have their hands full. The one at the front desk was on the phone, and judging by the exhausted and exasperated look on her face, she'd been on that phone for a while now. She kept trying to say something but was interrupted by whoever was on the other end of the line. The second secretary was back at the copy machine, helping clear a paper jam for one of the teachers.
Awkwardly, Maria stood there, waiting for them to have a moment. Back when she'd gone to high school, she'd never hesitated to be one of those kids who ran to the office pretending to be sick when she felt perfectly fine. So she'd stood around and waited for the secretaries a lot.
Once the secretary at the copier had fixed the problem, she breathed a heavy sigh, stared down at her cluttered desk for a moment as though she were afraid of everything lying there, then glanced up at Maria, apparently noticing her for the first time. "Can I help you?" she asked.
"Yeah, um . . ." She actually felt kind of bad being there, because they clearly had plenty of things to do. "I have a delivery."
"Oh, that's right. We just had to start our open lunch today." The secretary laughed, that kind of stilted, high-pitched laugh you did when you really didn't think something was funny. "Who's it for?"
"Michael Guerin."
"Oh, well, he's right back in the nurse's office. I'll give it to him." She reached for the sack, but just as she'd grabbed a hold of it, the door to what appeared to be one of the detention rooms flew open, and a guy in a dark black sweatshirt and baggy jeans sprinted out of the office.
"Shane!" The secretary immediately dropped the lunch and literally ran out after him. Apparently Shane was a troublemaker. And apparently he'd taken off like this before, because the secretary on the phone just shook her head and rolled her eyes as if she were used to it.
Maria stared at the sack for a moment, not sure if she was supposed to just leave and trust that they would get Michael's food to him or . . . well, they were really busy. And if he was right back there . . .
She grabbed the sack and slipped back past the copier. The nurse's office was right around the corner. The door was closed, and Michael was sitting at the nurse's desk, his arms folded, pillowing his head as he slept.
Opening the door, she spoke his name softly. "Michael?" He must have been really out of it, though, because he kept sleeping. She knocked on the doorframe, and he stirred. It took him a few seconds to force his eyes open, but when he did, he smiled. "Maria. Hey. Fancy seein' you here."
"Brought your food." She handed the sack to him.
"Thanks," he said, peering inside. "You didn't walk all this way, did you?"
She shrugged. "You know me." It really wasn't that far and didn't take too long. His food was still warm and everything.
"You didn't have to."
She shrugged again. Wasn't a big deal. He walked to the Crashdown during his lunch break almost every day. Besides, it was better than having to pay for gas and drive there. Not that she had a car. Not that she ever would with the small amount of money she was making.
"Well, thanks," he said again.
"No problem." She slipped inside and shut the door when a loud commotion started up outside. Sounded like Shane had come back, and probably not on his own accord. "So what is this, like quarantine or something?"
"No, it's, uh . . . ISS."
"In-school suspension?" She'd suffered through her fair share of those back in the day.
"Yeah, I've been missin' too much school, so I'm stuck here for the next few days. But apparently it's been a big week for juvenile delinquency, 'cause they don't even have room for me anywhere else." He leaned back in his chair, linking his hands behind his head. "It's not so bad in here, though. I got my own bathroom, plenty of prescription medication, a cot and a blanket. Could be worse."
"Could be," she agreed.
"But it's better now that you're here."
For a minute, her breath felt like it caught in her chest, and she wasn't sure what to say. But she quickly recovered. "I'm guessing you're supposed to be studying and doing homework all day, though."
"Supposed to be, yeah." He grinned, that kind of grin that probably drove all his female classmates wild and all his teachers up the wall.
"Well, I . . . I kinda have to go."
"Why?" he whined. "Stay."
"I can't. I'm on the clock." She wasn't even sure why he wanted her to stay. Was it just so that he had an excuse not to do his homework? Was it . . . was that all it was? Because that was all it could be.
"Well, let me pay up then," he said, reaching into his back pocket. He took out his wallet and searched inside for some cash. "Shit," he swore.
"Oh, no, do I need to start up a burger tab for you or something?"
"No, wait, here we go." He pulled out a ten, which was too much. Sure, his meal cost a little more because of the delivery, but . . .
"It's a tip," he said. " 'cause you're my favorite waitress."
She smiled, folding the bill in half. He was definitely, definitely her favorite customer.
...
The October Playmate of the Month was really a disappointment. Sure, she had huge breasts, but they were so obviously unnatural. She looked like she had two gigantic water balloons hidden beneath her chest. They were just too big, if there was such a thing.
"Michael?"
Flailing about, Michael quickly hid the dirty magazine under his pillow and pretended to just be daydreaming when his sister trotted into his room. "What's up, Teenie?"
"Here," she said, handing him a check. "Dad wanted me to give this to you."
"What's it for?"
"Football. Playoff t-shirts, I think."
Michael grunted, setting the check down on his nightstand. "I don't know why he wants to order a playoff t-shirt when he's not even gonna actually go to playoffs."
"He might." Tina pushed his legs aside a bit, making room for herself at the foot of his bed. She bit her bottom lip, and that was her tell-tale sign that she wanted to talk to him about something. He just lay back and waited for her to start in on it, whatever it was.
"Guess what," she finally said.
"What?"
"I have a boyfriend now."
He tried not to look too surprised but . . . hell, it was surprising. No boys had ever expressed an interest in Tina before. "A boyfriend?" he echoed. "Why?"
"Just 'cause."
"Just 'cause everyone else has one, right?" He'd been her age not all that long ago; he knew how it worked. During fifth grade, everyone was starting to partner up. It wouldn't amount to much of anything—a kiss on the cheek and some hand-holding at best—but it was practically a rite of passage these days.
"His name's Darrin," she revealed.
"Is he a nice kid?"
She thought about it for a moment, then nodded. And that concerned him. She shouldn't have had to think about it.
"What's his last name?"
"McCoy."
"McCoy. He have an older sister?"
"I think so."
"Yeah, I know her." She was two grades behind him. He'd seen her at a few parties last year, and he was pretty sure—though his memory was foggy—that she'd given him head over the summer. "She's such a . . ." He stopped himself before saying slut. "Sweet person indeed."
Tina lowered her eyes, plucking at some loose threads on his bedspread. For someone who had her very first boyfriend, she didn't look too excited about it.
"So when did this start?" he asked her.
"Yesterday."
He nodded, knowing that she'd be the type of girl to celebrate if they managed to reach even a one-week anniversary. "I didn't even know you liked this kid."
"Well, my friends got us together."
"Your friends." He hated those friends of hers. It seemed that every moment of her day was now geared towards fitting in with them and trying to impress them. "I don't know about this, Tina," he said, letting his true feelings be known. "You're a little young." Sure, lecturing her about this was very hypocritical of him, considering he'd had his first girlfriend at the ripe old age of four, but still . . . he wasn't quite ready to see his little sister grow up. But she was, and for some reason, he seemed to be the only person in his family who was noticing it.
"I'm ten," she pointed out, as though that were somehow proof that she wasn't too young.
"Exactly."
"Everyone else has a boyfriend."
"Why are you so concerned with bein' like everyone else?"
"Just . . ." She trailed off, looking frustrated.
"Just be careful, okay?" he advised. "If you don't want a boyfriend, don't have a boyfriend. Boys are trouble, trust me."
She laughed a little and pointed out the obvious: "But you're a boy."
"That's right. That makes me an authority on the subject." Truth be told, one of his worst fears was that Tina would grow up to date a guy like him. She deserved somebody a whole lot better, and if she kept trying so hard to fit in and be part of the popular crowd, there was no telling what kind of bad situations she might get herself into in the future. "Listen, boys are up to no good," he explained. "It doesn't matter how old they are, or even how young they are. They're always just lookin' for one thing."
"Sex?" she guessed.
She knew about sex now? When the hell had that happened? "Sometimes," he answered warily. "You know what sex is?"
Tina shrugged. "Sorta. I know when mom and dad lock the door to their bedroom and dad starts making all those sounds, that's what they're doing. I know it can get you pregnant."
She knew the basics then. Probably only a matter of time before she knew the specifics. And those new friends of hers would probably be the one to clue her in.
"Have you ever done it?" she asked quietly. "With Isabel?"
"No," he lied swiftly, hoping it was a long time before people started to talk to her about her brother's 'reputation' and she found out just how many girls he'd done it with. "Never."
...
With one final push forward, Michael spent himself. Hovering above Isabel, he let the feeling wash over him, faintly registering his girlfriend's content moans from the orgasm she'd achieved moments earlier. He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, just coming down from the high, but when he was able to think straight again, he rested against her a bit, remarking, "Took a while for you to cum."
"I just wanted to make you work for it," she teased.
He grinned, pulling out of her. He flopped down on the empty side of the bed, still trying to catch his breath. "That was good."
"Yeah," she agreed, curling up on her side. "Hey, so now that we did that, maybe we could start filling out those college applications I found for you."
At first, he thought she was joking. Because how on earth could anyone be thinking about something like paperwork after sex like they'd just had? But when he looked in her eyes, he could tell that she was being her usual serious self. Still, he said, "You gotta be kidding, right?"
She frowned.
"Oh, come on. Your mom's gone for the night. We have the whole house to ourselves. You really wanna waste time doin' college stuff?"
"It's not a waste," she argued. "Michael, you have to start applying. Deadlines are coming up."
"No, they're not." This was ridiculous. He'd just had an orgasm and his brain wasn't even capable of higher functioning. Not exactly the best time to be getting into a debate with a girl who was way smarter than him.
She narrowed her eyes, glaring at him for a moment, then said, "You're not gonna do it, are you? After I worked so hard to get your stupid lunch program going, you're not gonna follow through."
"I am," he insisted weakly.
"No, you're not. You never do." She spun over onto her other side, facing away from him, her whole body tensed with anger. "You said you'd at least apply."
"I will. But do we have to do that right now? I'm exhausted."
"No, you're just lazy."
"I'm tired. You made me work for it, remember?"
He heard her sniff back tears, and then she mumbled, "Fine, let's just go to sleep then."
"Fine." He lay there, shaking his head in anger. It never ceased to amaze him that a night could go so well before ending up so badly. But it happened this way all the time with Isabel. All the time.
...
Maria knew she'd stayed at the school too long. She knew that. But Michael was still stuck in the nurse's office, serving out his ISS, and the secretaries were both still too busy to notice that she was still there. Truthfully, she was in no hurry to get back to work, especially since Michael was going off on a clueless guy type of rant about Isabel.
"I don't get it," he said, throwing his hands in the air exasperatedly. "One second she's just lovin' me and everything I'm doin' to her, and the next second she starts throwin' out all these accusations about me being lazy. I don't get it."
"Well . . ." She wasn't quite sure how to respond, because she didn't know Isabel very well. But at this point, she had a pretty good grasp on who Michael was, and she knew he wouldn't get offended when she asked, "Aren't you? Lazy, I mean."
"Well, yeah, but that's not the point."
"What is the point then?"
"She's just drivin' me nuts with this college stuff. I told her I'd fill out the applications, and I will. But not today."
"It does kind of sound like you're putting it off."
"Of course I'm putting it off," he openly admitted. "Do you know how boring it is to just sit there and fill out college applications?"
For a minute, she looked down at her feet, sort of . . . embarrassed that she didn't know. And she probably never would at this rate.
"Sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean . . ."
"It's okay," she assured him quickly, managing a smile. "You know, I really should be going." If she didn't get back to the Crashdown within the next fifteen minutes, her boss . . . well, he wouldn't be concerned about what had happened to her, but he'd be pissed that she'd taken so long with the delivery.
"Don't go," he practically begged. "I'm so bored."
"Don't you have homework to do?"
"Yeah, but I don't wanna do it." He closed his math book and stood up, standing beside her at the door. "Wanna go do something fun?" he asked.
She gave him a puzzled look. What exactly was he suggesting?
"Come on," he said, opening the door just slightly. "Come with me."
"You're in ISS," she reminded him.
"So?"
"So?" Did that really mean nothing to him? Most people would just suffer through it, but apparently not Michael. He really was one of a kind.
"Come on," he repeated, creeping out into the office, motioning for her to follow. Reluctantly, she did so. They darted past the guidance counselor's office first, then the principal's office, and then right past the secretaries, both of whom had their backs turned as they tried to sort out the latest copy machine malfunction. The whole thing made Maria flash back to her own high school experience.
Once they had run outside, Michael threw his arms in the air and shouted, "Free at last!" She shook her head and laughed at his antics, not really sure why she was sneaking around, too, when she didn't even go to the school.
"What now?" she asked. Fleeing school was a rush, no doubt, but it was kind of pointless if all they were going to do was stand around outside.
"Down there," he said, motioning towards the stadium. "Let's go."
It took them barely over a minute to get down to the football field. It felt so gigantic with no one else around. Still, she wasn't exactly sure why he was dragging her down there when there wasn't exactly anything to do.
"Here we are," he announced. "This is where it happens, all the magic."
"Hmm, you're a magician now?"
"Well, Kyle is. I'm just his assistant." He kicked at the turf, staring up into the empty bleachers. "You should see it on Fridays. It just gets packed. And it gets really loud. It's actually kinda cool."
She smiled sadly, wishing she could be a part of it. But there was no way . . . there was just no way.
"I figured, since you can never make it to a game, I'd bring the game to you," he said, "give you a little demonstration."
Oh, she was so going to be late getting back to work. But that was okay. She could think up some kind of excuse. "Okay," she played along. "Let's see it."
"Well, you gotta take part," he told her. "We're gonna run a play."
"We are?" She didn't even know what plays to run.
"Yeah, you're gonna be the quarterback, okay? You're Kyle."
"I'm Kyle?"
"Yes. Now, I know you don't know much about football, but I'm a receiver. Do you at least know what that is?"
She rolled her eyes. "Yes."
"Okay. So you're gonna throw the ball to me, and I'm gonna catch it."
"What ball? There is no ball."
"Maria." He gave her a look. "Use your imagination."
There was something about the way he said that . . . God, he was so childlike sometimes, so easily able to just play around like this.
"Okay, you've got the ball. Are you using your imagination?"
"I'm using it."
"Alright, then we're gonna run the play. You're gonna wait a few seconds until I run downfield, and then you're gonna throw it to me. Got it."
She nodded affirmatively. "Got it."
"Okay." He turned and took off, moving faster than she'd ever seen him go before. He kept looking back over his shoulder as if were actually playing the game.
Pretending she had the ball in her hand, she did her best to mimic a quarterback's movements as he launched the ball in the air. It just felt awkward, though, and she was sure that, if she really had been holding a ball, she wouldn't have managed to throw it very far.
Michael stopped near the end zone and threw his hands in the air. "What? What was that?" he teased. "You play ball like a girl."
"I am a girl!"
He shook his head in mock disappointment, trotting back towards her. "Just remember, you're throwin' a football, not dancing ballet."
She laughed, embarrassed that her throw might have possibly looked that bad.
"Okay, we're gonna do a short pass instead," he decided, " 'cause you just haven't had enough practice to launch one downfield. Okay? Short pass, you got this."
"I got this."
"Say hike or something."
"Hike?"
"Say it."
"Oh, okay. Hike!"
He ran further to the sideline this time, and again, she pretended to throw the ball to him. This time, he lunged for it, pretending to catch it. He landed with a hard thud on the ground, but it didn't seem to bother him, because he got right back up and pretended to parade around, carrying the ball high in the air. "Oh, first down Comets! Unsportsmanlike conduct on number sixty-nine, Michael Guerin."
"Do you get called for that a lot?"
He shrugged. "Not really. Just once in a while." He raked one hand through his hair, rejoining her near the center of the field. "Alright, now you're gonna play defense. You gotta tackle me."
"Tackle you?" Easier said than done. She was way smaller than him.
"Yeah, you can do it."
"No, I can't."
"Uh, you're gonna have to. 'cause I'm gonna score. I score all the time."
"In more ways than one," she mumbled.
"Ooh, touché." He stepped closer to her and egged her on. "Come on, tackle me."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can. Come on."
She rolled her eyes, not even sure why she was doing this. Maybe just because she had moments like this so infrequently.
Halfheartedly, she shoved her hand against his shoulder, barely even nudging him backwards.
"Wow, that was pathetic," he said bluntly.
"Well, how am I supposed to do it?"
"You just gotta go for it. Here . . ." He backed up a few steps and motioned for her to come at him. "Get a running start."
This is ridiculous, she thought, debating whether or not she should. But really . . . why not? In a weird, weird way, this was kind of fun, and it was a nice change of pace to have fun once in a while.
She ran towards him, knowing she probably waddled like a penguin, and lunged at him. He made it easy on her and practically crumpled to the ground with just the slightest hit. She fell on top of him, instantly aware of how close they suddenly were.
"There you go, good hit," he complimented.
She barely even heard what he was saying, because all she heard was her own heart beating. God, he had to have felt that. Because they were just . . . they were really just too close.
"You might have a future in the sport."
She laughed nervously and got off of him, quickly sitting up. She didn't want to make this into more than it was, because they were still just playing around. But Michael was . . . well, he was Michael, and he tended to play around with a lot of girls.
Plus, his girlfriend was right inside that school, right there in that lunch room, probably surrounded by her fellow cheerleaders and classmates who weren't as smart as her. So that was something to remember, too.
She had to stop using her imagination now.
