I start walking toward the football field, toward the place where I met him on the bleachers. As I walk, I try to convince myself that it’s not him. That he’s not the new student. But despite how many times I tell myself that it can’t possibly be him, I already know that it is.
The sweater.
> Transferring in.
Hands in pocket.
Hoodie.
I mean, honestly, if this isn’t the case, then the world is cruel.
When I reach the bleachers facing the field, I notice that the players are gone. The only people still on the field are the head coach and a couple of the equipment managers. You’d think with how many people this high school employs, whose sole job is to worry about the football team, that we were an SEC college or something but nope. Still high school.
I still can’t believe that ever since I met him last week, I haven’t been able to get him out of my head. Maybe it’s the fact that he tried to ignore me for the most part. Or maybe his witty remarks, how he met my attitude with some of his own. My mind flashes back to all the times I got him to crack a smile.
It can’t be him. That would be too great and great things don’t happen to me often.
Shaking my head, I grab my volleyball bag and make my way over to the parking lot. Finding my brother’s car at his usual spot, I drop my bag on the floor and sit on the trunk. I’m relieved that the car is still here because it means that they’re still inside and I haven’t been ditched again. The one time I’m grateful that their practices run extra long some days.
I get off the trunk and search my bag for my headphones and phone. Finding the two, I jump back on. Scrolling through Spotify, I find my favorite playlist, pop my headphones into my ears, and listen to music.
I’m lost in the songs that play as I wait for my brothers to show up. I feel someone tap my leg and that startles me. I open my eyes, instantly ready to kick Nick for being annoying, but instead I’m met with him—the guy from the bleachers. He looks at me comically and says something.
I squint my eyes when I don’t understand what he’s saying. He points at my headphones and I roll my eyes. Feeling like an idiot, I finally take them off.
“Better now?” he asks, his hoodie no longer on and his hair dripping from what I assume is a shower. He’s got dark black hair. Not military like as I imagined. Still, it’s not as long as my brother’s either. It’s the perfect length to run your fingers through though.
I push that thought out of my head and respond. “Did you say something?” I tell him.
“Just wondering if you’ve been waiting for me at this parking lot for a week now,” he teases back, catching me off guard.
“You make jokes?” I ask. “I thought you were the serious type.”
“Dark and mysterious if I remember it correctly.”
“What are you doing here?”
“You ask too many questions, you know that?”
“Are you the transfer student people are talking about?”
“People are already talking about it?”
“I told you. You wouldn’t go unnoticed if you came here. You’re kind of easy to spot for the reasons I said before and also because you’re pretty tall and have broad shoulders,” I tell him then wish that just as easily as those words left my mouth I could shove them right back in. Who just tells someone that they’re big and have broad shoulders?
He smiles again, making me forget my regrets. “I guess you were right.”
“So you are the transfer student, then.” I don’t know why I keep asking when I already know the answer.
I remain at the top of the trunk. “So, when you said you were thinking about playing football,” I start and watch as he steps closer to me. “You meant here?” I ask.
He nods.
“So you knew you were transferring here.”
He takes another step toward me. “I wasn’t certain yet.”
“If you had been certain, would you have told me?”