Adorkable

by Cookie O'Gorman

  At half-time, it was three to two, and I was nearly hoarse from shouting. Becks had scored two of those goals, Ash the other. Mom was back down there with the Kents, the brothers waving their arms around expressively, most likely reliving Chariot’s best moments. There were certainly plenty to choose from.

  “Dang, Spitz.” Hooker elbowed me in the side. “He’s like a man possessed.”

  I grinned proudly. Possessed wasn’t the word. In the last play, Becks had done Rick Smythe’s job, blocking the goal with his body, the ball rebounding off his chest. Phenomenon would’ve been more accurate.

  “Becks is the best,” I said, smiling. “There’s no one better.”

  “Ugh, spare me.” She made a face, leaning back against Cicero. He wrapped an arm around her, discussing that last block with the guy sitting behind him. “If you love him so much what was all that stuff at Mercedes’s house? I thought it was over between you two.”

  “It is,” I mumbled, wishing I hadn’t said anything. Hooker was watching me carefully, her gaze too direct. I was worried if she looked close enough she’d see the pain I’d worked so hard to keep hidden.

  “You don’t sound so sure, Spitz,” she countered. “If things weren’t over, I’d have a few things to say. Number one would definitely be that you and Becks are acting like a couple of first-class idiots. Why can’t you just tell him—”

  Jumping to my feet, I decided it might be time for a bathroom break. She was obviously about to tell me all the reasons I should confess to Becks. Been there, done that. My heart still hadn’t healed from the first time. The line to the ladies’ room would be long, a welcome escape from Hooker’s prying eyes.

  They’d said there was going to be a special treat at half-time, but I had no desire to see it. That is until Becks stepped out onto the field, carrying a microphone, Ash on his heels, Clayton lugging a chair behind him. The sight of the trio was so unexpected I lowered slowly back into my seat, ignoring Hooker’s exclamation of, “This is it? What a lame excuse for entertainment.”

  I didn’t know it then, but she couldn’t have been more wrong.

  “Hey everyone,” Becks said, voice echoing over the loudspeakers. “Enjoying the game so far?”

  The words were met with a loud roar of applause and a couple of boos. Naturally, those came from the Broughton side.

  “Yeah, me, too.” Becks exaggerated wiping sweat off his brow and being out of breath, like he’d really been working hard—which he had. The crowd laughed. “You all are probably wondering what I’m doing out here.”

  “Yeah,” Ollie hollered, “what the hell are you doing, Becks?”

  That got a few snickers. I watched as Leo pulled him back down, smacked him in the head, and then moved my eyes back to Becks. What the heck’s he doing? I wondered. He should’ve been using this time to rest and recharge. Instead he was out here showboating for the fans.

  “Good question, Ollie, and I’m about to tell you.” Becks grinned as the crowd grew silent, waiting to hear what he’d say next. “Everyone knows I’m a little superstitious. The proof’s right here,” he said, pointing, “on my face. But sometimes you got to risk something if you want to get a better return.”

  Murmurs went up as Becks sat down in the chair, and Ash pulled a razor out his pocket, holding it up so everyone could see.

  My hands went to my lips, realizing just what he intended to do.

  “What is it?” Hooker said, laying a hand on my shoulder. “Spitz, you alright?”

  I hardly knew. He wouldn’t…would he?

  “Don’t do it, Becks! Don’t do it!” one fan cried.

  Searching up and down the rows, Becks met my eyes, our gazes locking, mine shocked, his determined. His mic caught the words and threw them out for all to hear, but the words were really for my ears.

  “This one’s for you, Sal.”

  Someone gasped—or a whole bunch of someones actually. I might’ve been one of them. Next thing I knew, Clayton had lathered Becks’s cheeks and chin, making sure to cover the entire lower area of his face. Ash moved in after him, leaning down to do the honors.

  Before he made the first stoke, Ash spoke into the microphone. “And the idiot’s letting me do it just to prove how serious he is. Don’t fall for it, Spitz. Call me instead.”

  Ash’s invitation went in one ear out the other. I was too focused on the so-called idiot I loved.

  Becks got shaved right there, any luck that might’ve been in that beard falling away with each scrape of blade on skin. It took less than five minutes, but the whole time the crowd seemed to hold its collective breath. When it was done, Becks stood up and pounded Ash on the back like guys do sometimes, and The Whip returned the gesture.

  Like I said before, guys = strange. Period.

  “Thanks everybody,” Becks said, looking right at me, before Clayton stole the mic for his own special announcement.

  “Sally Spitz,” Clayton said, scanning the audience as my face grew hot. I sunk down lower in my seat, but he still spotted me, not too hard since a few others were looking too. “There you are, girl. Just wanted you to know, if we lose this thing, it’s on you.”

  Gee, thanks, Clayton. If people hadn’t known it was me before, they sure knew it now. I couldn’t look anywhere without meeting a glare thrown by one of Chariot’s many diehards. I took note of the exits just in case things started going south.

  “I don’t get it,” Hooker said, her face a question. “Why’d he say that was for you? All he did was get his stupid facial hair shaved.”

  “Don’t know,” I lied, smiling as I turned away—looking straight into the eyes of another glaring fan. I dropped the grin, didn’t want to provoke the woman, but I was beaming on the inside. Hooker didn’t have to understand. Like Becks said, that performance was for me, and I knew exactly what it meant. My broken heart tessellated (a great SAT word, meaning to mend), and it didn’t matter if half the stadium attacked. Becks’s confession had given me wings. I could fly out of there if I had to.

  The second-half was even more brutal than the first. Broughton got ahead, four to three, with just minutes remaining. The menacing looks got worse, and Hooker moved down a few seats, fearing for her safety. It took a team effort, but with an assist from Becks, Ash tied it up. In a real nail-biter, especially for me, public enemy number one in the CHS section, Becks knocked the final goal in, making an impossible shot, one only he could’ve made.

  At the whistle, everyone jumped up, cheering, screaming. The stands shook as hundreds of people raced for the stairs. It felt and sounded like an earthquake rolling through. I tried to meet Becks right after—but it seemed like every person in Chariot rushed the field. There was no getting around the wall of bodies as the stadium emptied out. TV crews and reporters, family members, the fans, it was crazy. By the time I made it to the stands’ railing, I couldn’t even see Becks in the sea of people.

  That is until he was lifted high into the air on the shoulders of his team.

  Look at me, I thought. Please, look at me, just once, so I’ll know we’re okay.

  And then he did.

  It was only for a moment, but our eyes found each other above the crush of people and held. Everything else melted. It was just Becks and me. The next second he was whisked away as the crowd rolled on toward the dressing rooms while I was still stuck in the stands, but it didn’t matter. Just before he’d been carried off, Becks had given me the most desperate look—like he didn’t want to leave me as much as I didn’t want him to go.

  I knew I was smiling like an idiot but couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. I wasn’t nervous anymore. I knew we were going to be okay. Better than. And I also knew, with a certainty that couldn’t be shaken, that Becks would call, and we would talk, and things would be right again.

  Setting the volume to high, I put my phone in my pocket and tried not to check it every five seconds.

  #

  When Becks finally called, it was 4:27 a.m.

  I’d fallen as
leep in my room but got blasted awake by an earful of the Star Wars theme.

  “Becks?” I said, suddenly standing. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m at the door.”

  “What?”

  “I’m at your front door,” he repeated, louder but still whispering, “outside your house. I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Be down in a sec.” Throwing on my Yoda snuggie, I tiptoed to the front door as quickly as I could, not wanting to wake Mom. When I opened it, Becks said, “Thanks,” then shot past me into the living room, barely meeting my eyes. I closed the door carefully, flipping the lock, wondering what all that was about.

  Guess I was going to find out here in a second.

  I turned on a lamp then took the seat next to him on the sofa. Becks was just sitting there, smiling right into my eyes, like it wasn’t two hours before dawn.

  “Sorry, I’m so late. I just managed to escape Clayton and the boys. Aren’t you gonna congratulate me, Sal?”

  “Huh?” I said.

  “On the game.” He leaned back, making himself comfortable. “You never said anything about the game. Everyone else and their mother talked to me about it, but I wanted to get your take.”

  “At four thirty in the morning,” I deadpanned.

  “If it means hearing your voice, then yeah,” he said. “Four thirty sounds good to me.”

  I kept the giddiness contained, face the mask of disapproval.

  “What were you thinking?” I said, poking him in the chest. Becks seemed surprised, but I was just getting started. “How could you have risked the championship—the championship, Becks—just to pull a stunt like that? Why would you do it?”

  “Ah, Sal, you loved it.”

  “I did not.” I crossed my arms. “That was just about the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Don’t you mean the sweetest?” His arms came around me, and when I allowed it, Becks smiled. “C’mon, Sal, don’t be mad. You know I did it all for you.”

  “You did it to impress people,” I corrected.

  “No,” he said, “I did it to impress you. Did it work?”

  Relenting, I placed a hand on the smooth skin of his face. There was nothing I liked better than a clean-shaven Becks, but this time it meant something different, something more.

  “Why?” I asked again.

  He linked his hands behind my back and pulled me closer. “I was pretty sure you wouldn’t believe me unless I did something drastic. You wouldn’t listen, so I decided to show you how much I love you.”

  “A championship’s a lot to wager,” I said, my heart soaring. He’d said it again, and this time I was listening. I was hearing him loud and clear, and I desperately wanted to hear him say those sweet words over and over.

  “Not if I get you out of the deal.” Becks stared at me, expression serious, eyes on mine. “I love you, Sal. I never said anything because I thought you knew and just didn’t feel the same. I couldn’t risk losing you, our friendship. I figured we’d always be ‘just friends.’ When you asked me to be your fake boyfriend, I swear my heart stopped. This is it, I thought. My one chance. Even if we weren’t really together, I decided to make the most of it.” He paused to make sure I was listening. “But you have to know. Every word I said, it was all true. Every word. You are my girl, Sal. I love that you’re so smart but still a little crazy. I love your freckles.” I caught my breath as his fingers skimmed my nose. “I love that your favorite movie is possibly the worst movie on the planet. God, I love it when you talk German to me. I have no idea what you’re saying, but I love it. When you told me you loved me, too…” He shook his head, a look of awe on his face. “I’ve been really stupid, but I’m putting a stop to it right now.”

  My eyes filled at his confession. I blinked them furiously, not wanting to ruin this beautiful moment by blubbering all over myself. Becks loved me! It was so unbelievable, but the truth of it hit me hard as I saw the look in his eyes.

  “Sal, don’t cry.” Using his thumb, he gently brushed away the first teardrop to fall. “There’s only one thing I know—have always known—that I wanted out of life. And it’s you.”

  The bawling really started then, and Becks cursed, tugging me to him. I ignored the tell-tale creak of a stair and the following sigh, which told me Mom was definitely up and listening. From the quiet whimpers—not mine—I thought she might be crying, too. After a moment, during which he continued to rub my back, he said, “You okay, Sal?”

  “Yeah.” Sniffling, I pulled back, but Becks didn’t let me go far. With all Becks’s pretty words running wild through my head, I’d almost forgot about his big collegiate announcement. “So…UNC?”

  “Heard you were going to Duke.” Becks shrugged. “UNC offered me a full scholarship.”

  I gave him a look. “Didn’t everybody?”

  He just laughed. “What can I say? The head coach said they need me.” Becks looked down then back up at me. “And I need you.”

  I melted into him. How did he always know just what to say? “I love you so much.”

  “I know.” Leaning closer, he dropped his voice to a whisper and said, “I’m your Huckleberry.”

  And he was, I thought, as he kissed me breathless. He was my Huckleberry, my Han Solo, my one, but most of all he was my Becks and I was his Sal. That was the truth.

  It didn’t get any better than that.

  ###

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  This book almost didn’t get published, so I’d like to give a heartfelt thank you to everyone who encouraged me to keep writing, keep going, and never give up. To my mom who has always given me her love and full support. To Colleen who gave me my very first Harry Potter—as you can see, HP not only got me reading but brightened my world just like it did Sally’s. To Pat who loved Becks and never let me get down on myself or my dreams. You are not only my aunt, best friend and editor; you are my favorite person of all time. You three are my heart. Thank you for filling my life with love and humor and all the best things. I love you.

  To any and all of my literature teachers, thank you for teaching me the beauty of words and how to use them.

  To Stephanie Mooney, thank you for giving my book such a gorgeous cover. It’s perfect.

  To my dancers, thank you for making me want to come to work each day.

  And to you, the person who is reading this book, from the bottom of my heart: Thank you. I’m so thankful that you decided to read Sally and Becks’s story. It’s because of you that they are no longer languishing on my computer screen. It’s because of you that they have a life beyond my imagination. I hope you enjoyed Adorkable as much as I enjoyed writing it. And if you’re still looking for your Becks, never fear. He’s out there. And he’s probably looking for you, too.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Cookie O’Gorman writes stories filled with humor and heart for the nerd in all of us. Fiery first kisses, snappy dialogue, smart girls, swoonworthy boys, and unbreakable friendships are featured in each of her books.

  Cookie is a hopeless romantic, a Harry Potter aficionado, and a supporter of all things dork. Chocolate, Chinese food, and Asian dramas are her kryptonite. Above all, she believes that real life has enough sorrow and despair—which is why she always tries to give her characters a happy ending. Adorkable is her debut novel.

  Whether it’s about her books or just to fan-girl, Cookie would love to hear from you!

  Website: http://cookieogorman.com

  Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/CookieOwrites

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/cookieogorman

  Table of Contents

 

 

 
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