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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Only a small orange crescent sun remained, setting between the hills behind the school. Their shadowed black contrasted the pale pink and purple backdrop.
I approached today's game by blaring my usual rock game day playlist and parked the farthest from the stadium. The longest walk gave me the shortest exit. Each step stretched my hamstrings and calves, and my bag strained my shoulder and armpit from its diagonal line across my chest. I entered the locker room to bleach-soaked air, peeling tan paint, and rusted lockers. Mine was number eight, and I exhaled at—
"Look who showed up." A half-dressed Pierce smirked, his dark chest and abs displayed from his untied gray pants.
I shook my head, tucked my chin, and squeezed past guys in various prep stages. My steps never wavered, starting with compression socks covered by regular socks to avoid blisters. Elbow and knee sleeves were next. The Falcons' uniforms didn't have pockets, so I pulled on my Hex layer and adjusted the knee, thigh, and butt pads into place. Brand new, they were extra-puffy, and I groaned at how tight my uniform pants fit over them. The waistline gouged my stomach when I bent over to put on my cleats.
With my Hex shirt tucked in my pants, I tied them and grabbed my shoulder pads. I pulled them overhead and clipped them in place, cinching the center lace under the weight of eyes on me. The room's attention focused on me. "What?" I asked, threading my arms through my ratty jersey's holes and shimmying it down my back.
"How much are you wearing, bro?" Nico tapped my elbow pad. "It's a game, you know."
He wasn't the main target on each Soquel kickoff, but I'd still be the least bruised tomorrow. As much as I hated Dad's criticism that came with his support, he spared no expense on my gear, including my new, freshly broken-in Addidas cleats. The gray on my SVHS helmet was littered with scratches, and a chunk of grass was stuck in the cage. Hopefully, that wasn't a sign of things to come tonight.
Coach Walters shouted his pregame speed, pumping the air with words like 'fresh start,' 'opening statements,' and 'clean slate.' I replayed Patel's speech from the last practice, 'soft hands, quick tuck, sprint' like a mantra, squeezing and releasing my gloves.
Rows of the same helmet lined ahead, spotting with reflections from the overhead lights. Caden led the team, followed by the offensive players and linemen. I wedged shoulders with the special team players, bumping Nolan's every other step. His leg loosened in two weeks of practice, lengthening his kicks while improving their accuracy.
The fact one of us set the game's tone was a mindfuck I hadn't wrapped mine around yet.
A navy blue line of the Knights players filled their sideline. Two years ago, they beat the Falcons 48-7, including some current players. Based on film, Soquel's defensive line was huge but slow, and their backs were lightweight but speedy. With 5-8 being their average height, I had both size and speed on them.
