A shy high school senior jock and a closed-off girl battling an immune disorder fake a relationship to win a social media contest.
Being shy isn't easy, especially when you're the new kid at school. Scotts Valley's football program is subpar compare...
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My second week at SVHS progressed faster than the first. The more days I counted down to the first game, the more themes in my life unfolded. I emerged as the undisputed top player for the Falcons. My teammates' initial resistance and jealousy went on the back burner of forced acceptance. The guys focused on their shit, at least prepping for the first game. Except for Nico and Caden, the entire offensive scoring unit glared at me as if I stole something from them. Shoulder and elbow bumps greeted me whenever I set myself on the line.
They'd get over it once we won.
Why couldn't they see all I wanted was to get in, score points, bloat their stats, and get out? Because I turned down all social offers from the team. I gnashed my mouthguard and almost bit it in half. Avoiding locker room shit, I dressed in Home Ec and showered at home. The smell in my truck was already at a rotten onion stage.
"Where are you working out, Brody?"
I grimaced at Pierce's question. Scotts Valley's equipment was awful. We were assigned jerseys from within a pile Coach Patel offered with a sympathetic smile, whichever number fit. I got eighty-three, which meant nothing. The guys complained that half the lockers didn't lock and the weights room equipment was rusty. On the field, Coach Patel spaced out white PVC pipes instead of a ladder, the lineman's blocks were full-contact instead of pushing sleds, and the quarterbacks and coaches threw passes instead of using a throwing machine.
After scrambling all over the uneven field after errant catches, my feet ached when I got home. Mom set up an ice soak in her cleaning bucket, then pretended to pass out from the smell in my equipment bag. I think she ran out of that disinfectant spray.
"My trainer set me up on a plyo program," I said. Mason opted more for loosening my muscles to increase speed and agility over tightening them by bulking up with squats.
"Yeah? Where?" Pierce, the muscular, dark-skinned guy with a short fade haircut, took the most interest. Flapping his loose lips, he talked openly, to the point I knew his life story. Two stable, wealthy parents, the oldest of three kids, and the freedom to do whatever the fuck he wanted. As a tight end, we were on the same offensive team on paper but competed for the same catch opportunity each toss.
Trayvon was relieved at me taking kickoff returns. He shoved me into the position, securing the starting nickel back position. I'd gotten steadier at catching, but it was a learning curve. Given the higher risk of injury from open-air tackles, I wasn't sure I wanted this position. As soon as other teams figured out how fast I was, they'd stop kicking it to me, rendering me a decorative pilon.
"At his gym." My mumbled admission was half-right. Mom's apartment building had a decent gym that no one used. The bike kept my legs loose while the laundry spun next door.
"Why?" Caden asked.
"My dad set it up. Gotta go," I mumbled to the ground, my cheeks burning. "See ya."
