by Lily Roberts
As the ball came into reach, I let loose, aiming to pop it off to the left. It spun through the air, curving just enough to avoid getting out-of-bounds. Like that, we both took off, Scott practically diving across to try and catch the ball as I full-blown sprinted to first. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched his fingers barely curl around the soccer ball’s surface before it bounced against the ground.
Good. I was still in this.
I rounded to second base, barely able to drop to the ground fast enough as the ball came whizzing past me. I felt the air cut past me, but I quickly pushed back up to my feet and took off, passing Scott as he ran to grab the ball once more.
We exchanged looks for a second. Just one, fleeting second.
Third base was mine; my foot pounded the ground as I heard him trailing behind me. There was no way he’d reach me, though. If he’d waited till I got to third, maybe he could’ve pegged me, then. But he was halfway across the field. There was just no way.
Until he managed to catch the ball against my ankle.
I barely registered the smack as I stumbled across home. Bent over and panting, I turned around, catching his smirk as, he too, was catching his breath. He was still over on second base; he managed to hit me from all the way over there.
Yet, for some reason…I was smiling, too. He wasn’t going to make this easy, and that’s just how it should’ve been.
---
I was forever grateful that said “morning class” was just Journalism. With the project going on, we were pretty much allowed to skip the lecture portion in pursuit of interviews and data-collection. After all, some of our interviewees had set free times, so we needed to take advantage whenever we could.
That also meant I couldn’t forfeit based on a technicality. Which I was cool with.
It had taken nearly an hour, but we were finally at the end of it. Two-to-two, myself pitching with Scott up to kick. We were both sweating buckets, having likely drained the snack bar’s water supply to try and keep up with each other. But this was it; I just needed to get him out and kick a homerun, and this game was in the bag. By now, we had an audience from both the patiently-waiting football team and any other curious passerby; the first few rows of stands were filled with folks, cheering the two of us on as Scott stepped up to kick.
“Don’t choke up, Squid,” he called playfully. “I’d hate to beat your ass when you weren’t at your best!”
I rolled my eyes, squaring up to home plate so the ball would go right down the middle. No way was I letting him bitch and moan about a, “sloppy pitch.” I arched my arm back, testing the weight of the ball, and then, I let it roll. It skidded across the dirt a few times, but my aim was absolutely true. My legs were twitching, ready to spring whichever direction Scott popped it.
Much to my surprise (and delight), he totally whiffed.
“Aww, don’t choke up, Scotty-Dog!” I sang as he jogged to go grab the still-rolling ball. “I’d hate to beat your ass at your worst.”
Scott shot a condescending grin my way before overhanding the ball towards me. “Yeah, yeah, just giving you some false hope.”
I laugh, the crowd behind me sharing a few chuckles with me as well. Second pitch, I try and curve it slightly to the right in an attempt to get him to kick it in the direction I want. This time, the heel of Scott’s foot catches it, sending the ball spinning out into our pre-designated foul zone.
“Dude, Scott,” Cooper himself hopped off the bleachers to snag the ball. “Don’t let it end like this, man. I’ll make you run extra laps if you beef it like this.”
I watched Scott’s face flush red—well, redder than before—as Cooper tossed the ball his way. This was too good an opportunity to pass up. “If you need to, I’ll let you kick it like that!” I called out teasingly. “Go on; I bet I’ll catch it, anyway.”
Scott took his time walking back to home plate, spinning the ball in the palm of his hand while stared at it. His face was unreadable to the unobservant eye, but I knew that look well. He was about to do something he thought was smart, something witty and hilarious.
So, something stupid.
My legs were twitching like crazy now, fully prepared for whatever stunt he was about to pull. I had my arms up, ready to catch whatever fastball he was about to literally throw my way. Scott stepped up to plate, still futzing with the ball as a smirk crossed his face. It was the moment he let the ball drop and reared back that I connected the dots, but at that point, I was a little too slow to duck out of the way.
I didn’t feel anything at first. The ball’s rubber smacked me square in the face as I fell back, hitting the ground with enough force to cause our little crowd to let out a collective gasp. It was only after a few seconds that the pain kicked in; a combination of a throbbing and burning sensation that spread from my nose and across like wildfire.
“Oh, shit--!” I heard Scott’s swear, the clamor of feet crossing over bleachers. Eventually, a small ring of concerned folks circled around me, the largest percent being members of the football team.
“You all right, Sydney?” Cooper asked as he offered me his hand up.
“Need us to beat the hell out of Scott?” Dinesh added as I managed to stumble up onto my feet.
Too many questions at once. I held up my hands, trying to wave the crowd away and take in a bit of air. This wasn’t my first rodeo, after all; being sporty it just came with the territory. I did a quick check to make sure everything was okay, lifting my hand to my face for a tender inspection. I gave a pained grimace as my fingers gently poked around the front of my nose, stomach falling out slightly at the touch of something wet. “Is my nose bleeding?” I asked.
Cooper nodded, going to sling his backpack off his shoulders. “Yeah, looks like it. I think I got some tissues in here for—Dinesh, put your shirt back on!” He shoots a glare at the linebacker, the hem of his shirt halfway up his chest at this point. “If you get sick because your dumb ass thinks it’s chivalrous to literally give a girl the shirt off your back, I’m not going to let coach go easy on you.”
“Hey, chill out, man,” Dinesh replied in a jovial tone. “I just wanna make sure the lady doesn’t bleed all over herself.”
Ugh. Slight cringe. But, a seemingly respectable gesture, if not a little overboard. “Thanks, but I’ll just stick to tissues, easier and more hygienic.”
As Cooper pulls the pack out, I catch the man of the hour himself finally slipping through the crowd. At first, I thought Scott was trying to hide away, but he suddenly holds out an ice pack towards me. Well, an attempt at an ice pack; it’s just a small sandwich bag filled with ice and wrapped in paper towel. “Syd, I am so sorry,” he began to apologize profusely, a look I’m not necessarily used to seeing on the Scott Sawyer. “I didn’t mean—I thought it would be funny, but if I knew I’d peg you in the face—seriously, lemme walk you over to the medical office.”
I shoo him back, too, stacking the ice pack on top of my tissue barrier for double the action. “No, come on, I’m totally—!” A tentative pinch around my nose tells me otherwise; this really, really hurts. “Actually, I’ll take you up on that offer,” I said with a now nasally-sounding tone to my voice.
“Don’t worry about your setup,” Cooper reassured me. “We’ll pick it up real quick.”
“Let us know later if we should beat the hell out of Scott or not,” Dinesh added with a wink.
“I’ll…keep that in mind.” With a grateful nod to the team, I followed Scott across the field, still keeping a firm hand over my nose while my face tingled from the aftermath. Hoo nelly, but this boy better be ready to buy me lunch forever after this little stunt of his.
Oh, God.
That was not a thought that just crossed my mind.
Holy shit, that was way funnier in my head. Which, to be fair, is how a lot of my worse-laid plans start. I mean, Sydney was literally asking me to do it; I thought it’d be hilarious to kick the ball her way, say some one-liner about regretting giving me the choice t
o self-pitch and jokingly start towards first base.
Well, unless she took it seriously. Then it was full-steam ahead.
But her face? I nailed her in the face?! Everyone watching obviously took her side on things, not that I blame them, but that was seriously the last thing I needed right now. I know Sydney’s a tough girl—no way would a ball to the face even come close to bringing a tear to her eye— but God damn, did I have to break her nose in the process?!
And this morning was going so well…
“S-So, it’s just through this building and off to the left,” I explained, holding the door open so Sydney could pass through. She gave me this look, partially obscured by the layer of paper towel and tissue over her face, which clearly screamed with sarcasm.
“Gonna finish the job with the door, I see?” she asked sweetly.
My face felt like the surface of the sun. “You know I didn’t mean to, right?” I asked as I followed after her inside.
Sydney took a beat of silence to torture me, but soon after, her tone shifted to something more…sympathetic. “God, of course not, Scott. Who would be stupid enough to do something like that in front of their peers? I mean, you might,” she added with a laugh. “But I like to think you have some self-control. Not a lot, but, some. Besides, obviously if you were aiming for my face you would have missed.”
Eh, I’d take it. “How’s your nose feel?” I asked.
Sydney replied by gently pinching the bridge, visibly wincing after the fact. “It’s…probably gonna bruise. I wouldn’t put it past you to have broken it.”
Shit. “Syd, I’m really sorry,”
She holds up a hand my way. “Groveling doesn’t suit you, Scott Sawyer. Let’s just call us even, now, huh?” Sydney turned to look up at me, a slight smirk playing across her face. “For all the years I, and I quote, ‘beat the hell out of you.’”
“Whaaat?” I laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of my still-sweaty neck. That game was way more intense than I realized. “I don’t remember saying anything like that.”
That just got Sydney to laugh louder. “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”
“I like to think of myself as a work in progress,” I replied.
It didn’t take us long before we stood outside of the medical office door. Once more, I hold the door open for Sydney, who this time gives me a dramatic curtsy. “Ooh, the gentleman holds the door twice, does he?”
That got a chuckle out of me. “You want me to stick around?”
Sydney scoffed, again waving her free hand toward me. “I can handle this on my own, thank you.” She paused, then added with a surprisingly amount of sincerity, “But, thanks for offering. And walking me over.”
My heart dared to race at that comment. Okay, so, maybe I hadn’t completely screwed everything up between us. “So, I’ll see you sometime during practice?”
Sydney pulled the ice pack away from her face, long enough to shoot me a devious smirk. Even with a creeping, painful-looking red radiating across her face and starting at her nose, she still managed to make me catch my breath. “Um, we’re still tied up in kickball, Scotty-Dog. You’re gonna see me way earlier than that.”
If I wasn’t so self-conscious, I could have started to sing there and then. “Y-Yeah—yeah! Then, I’ll see you for a re-rematch, soon?”
“It’s a,” I knew exactly what word she was going for, but Sydney catches herself. “I’ll see you then.” She closes the door gently behind her soon after, myself giving a wave of encouragement after her. I can’t help but be a bit disappointed—she was this close to saying the phrase—but I’d take her not actively hating my guts as a victory.
“Now I just gotta endure whatever shit the team’s gonna throw my way.” With a sigh, I started back to the field, mentally preparing myself for the onslaught. Still, that look on Sydney’s face, the smile she gave me…that would make things a bit easier to endure.
“Damn, girl,” Denise takes a long sip from her iced coffee, face clearly twisted up in a grimace as she stared at my face. “He really got you good with that kick. You sure it ain’t broken?”
I nod, taking a long sip from my own beverage of choice; a strawberry-banana smoothie. “The doc said it’d be sore the next few days, but given how many times I’ve been hit in the face, I’m pretty sure it’ll go down quick. Still,” I added, gingerly touching the bandage stuck against the bridge of my nose. “It hurts like crazy still. I iced it for a long time last night, but I guess that was hoping for too much.”
We find a corner table to plop down at, admiring the scene of the campus’ local coffee shop. I honestly can’t believe I hadn’t come here, sooner. It’s a pretty well-secluded space, seemingly not as popular as one of the shops farther off campus grounds. Still, I wouldn’t knock a cheap smoothie, and this one had exceptional taste for such a small establishment.
Denise played with her straw, unable to look away from my face. “Seriously, though. You’re really growing one hell of a bruise. You should quit school, go pro.”
I laughed. “What, be a certified bruise-grower? Yeah, I think I’ll pass on that one.”
“Still,” Denise went on, seemingly trying to crush the already-crushed ice in her cup with her straw. “It was nice of Scott to take you to the medical office. Why, someone might read that situation as…overly sweet and protective of him to do so?”
“Or he did it so he could save whatever face he had left with his crew,” I pointed out. “He did kick a ball into my face.”
Denise scoffed, pushing her coffee off to the side so she could prop her elbows up onto the table. “Girl, you’re hella whack if you think that’s the only reason he did it. You two are literally a rom-com couple come to life.”
Bad time to go in for a sip of smoothie. I coughed and sputtered, reaching for a napkin to wipe up whatever spittle I let loose across the table.
“That reaction alone proves my point.” Denise grinned.
“I thought you were on my side?” I asked, giving my roommate an overly-dramatic pout. “Scott’s a complete tool, remember?”
“Mm, I mean, yeah,” Denise caught a curl of her hair and began twirling it around her finger, that shit-eating grin still clear as day on her face. “But even a tool has some use, right? Not that I’m saying you go bang the guy, but…?”
“But nothing.” I slurp the last bit of smoothie down before standing and walking towards to the trash can. “Scott had a moment of weakness; when he was actually human, that’s all it was.” God, even I was believing that excuse less and less. It was so confusing; sometimes he’d be that idiot I knew and hated throughout primary school, but every so often, that Scott from yesterday would poke through. What the hell was his game, though? What was the point of playing with me like this?
After all, I was the one who practically made a morning-date between us.
And, sure, I didn’t say which morning we’d play, but the implications were there. Regardless of whatever past narrative I’d put in my head, it was obviously changing before my very eyes. For some ungodly reason, I, Sydney Burton, wanted to see Scott again at a scheduled time and place.
Like you would for a date. Had the ball hit me that hard?
I didn’t even realize I’d been standing at the trash for over a minute before the sound of someone clearing their throat caught my attention. “Something interesting to look at there, Squid?”
Oh, God. It was way too soon. I turned to greet Scott and Cooper, hands both full of what looked to be orders for the rest of the team. Instead of a snarky comeback, I found myself just smiling good-naturedly. “I see you’ve been assigned the coffee runs, Scotty dear?”
The boy grimaced as Cooper laughed. “Yeah, the team’s not letting him off too easily after yesterday’s escapades.”
“Oh, you guys don’t have to worry ‘bout little ol’ me,” I said. “I’m built of tougher stuff than you think.”
“Nobody doubts that for a second,” Cooper replied. “But, we can’t let
our favorite new person get off that easily, right?”
Scott just gave a weak nod as a response, not once breaking eye-contact with me. Or, more specifically, my nose.
“Some folks say it’s rude to stare,” I stated plainly.
Scott’s face turns a nice shade of pink as his eyes quickly dart away. Poor guy; he really was torn up over this.
“Still, you’re looking pretty good regardless,” Cooper continued. “I’d hate for you to come to the party Saturday looking too beat up.”
Now that gave me pause. “Party?” I asked, confused. “What party?” I watched as Scott’s face goes from pink to white in seconds; this idiot’s clearly forgotten to tell me about something.
“Aw, no! That ball didn’t hit you too hard, did it?” Cooper’s voice was a mixture of teasing and concern. “The football team’s got our annual bash this coming Saturday. Scott swore up and down he invited you to come along…you’re sure he didn’t peg you too hard with the ball, did he?”
Oh, I was absolutely ready to tear Scott a new one. A party? He told everyone I was going to their party? It would be a nice sight to watch him absolutely eat shit underneath the bus I was about to push him under, but before I can get a word out, Denise’s hand is suddenly pushed down on my shoulder.
“Oh my God, right! Sydney told me all about your little shin-dig.” She flashed me a grin, one that practically screamed, ‘shut up and let me have this.’ Denise was staring right at Cooper, smiling like an absolute idiot. “No, Sydney was telling me about it last night; the doc suggested it might not be a good idea, but I’m sure if I tagged along to watch her, she’ll be just fine.”
Cooper didn’t quite look convinced. “Are you sure? I mean, even a minor concussion should be taken seriously. If you’re not up to it, Syd,”
