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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Poor Brody. I had no idea he was dealing with a family split.
Something shifted between us the night of his game. It wasn't because his team lost, although everyone around me at the concessions stand said he was trying his best. Santa Cruz was just too good on all sides of the ball.
I assumed he was upset about the loss, which was why I saved him my last cookie, but his confession about his dad made my heart hurt so much. While he chose to leave, Brody didn't deserve to feel pushed out of his family. No wonder he wanted to be alone at first. Being let into any part of his friendship zone was super special.
Seeing him cry filled my eyes with tears, but I didn't release them until I got home. He got embarrassed, breaking us apart and wiping his cheeks. The stadium was empty except for the groundskeepers sweeping. Brody walked me to my car to the crickets chirping. I wanted to hug him again, to wrap myself around him and squeeze all his pain out, but his focus was a million miles away.
I hugged my parents with tight squeezes that made them laugh and question if I was okay. As much as I didn't want their smothering, they would always be there for me. The silence in my room compressed the moment, and I cried before bed. Tossing over my pillow, I sent Brody a message.
Me: Any time you need me, I'm here.
The message felt lame, but I turned off my phone and went to bed. He didn't answer me over the weekend, and I was worried as Monday arrived. I hugged my elbows, waiting at his locker and chewing on my lip. Had he seen his dad yesterday? Did he go surfing to make himself feel better? I'd thought about him more than my homework assignments, worrying if—there he was.
Brody approached with his head dipped down and long steps bouncing his hair fluff. He was wearing a gray T-shirt, black jeans, and his Falcons' letterman jacket. Earbuds were in his ears, but his small smile relaxed my shoulders, rippling relief through me. I exhaled. He was okay, and I didn't need him to say anything. Seeing him was enough.
He pulled out his earbuds. "Hey."
"Hi."
He stuffed his bag in his locker and pulled out his books. He leaned around the door, his eyes sparkling with his smile. "You walking me to class today?"
"I could." I started to smile, but Brody reached out and took my hand. His was hot, sweaty, and sent a blush up my neck. My face was burning before he slammed his locker.
Neither of us acknowledged our linked hands, the tips of his fingers bumping my wrist as we walked down the hall. For once, traffic parted for us. Only a few bumps hit my shoulder, so I shifted closer to Brody. It was nice. Nice enough for the whispers and surprised looks to blur into indifference. There were too many to count anyway.
Brody only released my hand when we reached his homeroom door. "Thanks."
He sounded serious, thanking me for more than the hall escort. I couldn't help but blush harder, but I was glad that anything I did helped him. He deserved to feel like someone had his back—Brody, the person, not Brody, the superstar football player. Screw short-term displacement here; I was honored he trusted me with such personal information, and he was getting the full friend benefits.
