Battling Hearts and High Scores: A Teenage RomCom

Battling Flags and Foes

Guess who just scored an easy 101.5 on their Pre-Calc exam?" I announce, proudly holding up the paper for my two friends to see.

Greg lowers the romance novel he's reading, raising an eyebrow. "Let me guess—you did the extra credit? For a smart guy, isn't that kind of... dumb?"

"For the record," I say, slightly annoyed, "I like a challenge."

Greg shrugs, turning back to his book. "Yeah, but the grade book caps at 100. Also, you already have a perfect score in the class. It's pointless—except for teasing someone about it."

His comment lands a little too close to home. I grit my teeth. Of course Greg's right. I'm trying to one-up Shalom. He always sees right through me, which is why I've nicknamed him Mr. Empath.

"Thanks, Mr. Empath, really appreciate the insight," I mutter sarcastically as I grab my stuff and follow the rest of the guys out of the locker room.

We all shuffle out to the football field for gym class, and soon we're lined up outside for—who knows what. Now that the weather is warmer and it's early March, all the gym classes are required to be held outside instead of in the gymnasium.

"I love showing off my impressive athleticism to Izzy," Max says seriously, flexing his arm in an attempt to show off the bit of muscle he has. The black eye he acquired over the weekend is still fresh on his right eye. His glasses, which were once on his face, are now gone, they were cracked during the whole fiasco with the trucker. Fortunately, he has a backup pair of contacts he's using instead now.

After Max's whole fiasco where he slapped the trucker, we ended up leaving the diner. I had gotten the hint that the trucker was not very happy. As we were having a long discussion in the parking lot about how we're going to have to beat fifty missions in order to win the story mode in Steel Reckoning III, the trucker and his squad emerged from the diner looking much more intimidating as they strode over to us while we unlocked our bikes. We tried to unhook them as fast as we could, but the trucker only said he wanted to teach the "little one" a lesson. Before we knew it, Max had gotten struck right in the face. The group of truckers hopped in their trucks fast, but thanks to Greg, who memorized the license plate numbers, a report was made on the group.

I glance over, fighting back a laugh as Max struts around in his usual neon green gym shorts and matching sweatband. Ever since Izzy casually mentioned that she loves neon colors, Max has taken it upon himself to dress in full neon for every gym class. And of course, with a splash of 80s flair because, well, that's just Max.

"Neon's really working for you," I deadpan, watching as a group of girls walk by, giving Max's outfit some questionable side-eye.

Max rolls his eyes, waving them off. "They're just jealous. Everyone else has come around to my outfits. Deep down, they know I look good. Anyway, it's Izzy I'm impressing."

I glance across the field, and sure enough, Max's attention is locked on Izzy. She's decked out in a coordinated lavender purple gym set—fitted tee, tights, and her coiled dark hair in a tight high bun with a few strands loose. She's barely noticed Max's blazing ensemble, but he's convinced otherwise.
Just then, a sharp whistle cuts through the air, bringing us back to reality.

"All right, ladies, gentlemen, and everyone in between..." Coach Iverson pauses awkwardly, glancing at Olive, who came out as non-binary earlier this week. Olive stands there in their dark, emo-inspired gym attire, staring blankly back at the coach.

"Uh... right," Coach stumbles, before continuing. "Today, by popular demand, we're playing flag football! I'll be going down the line to split everyone up into teams."

Greg, still reading his book, sighs softly. "Flag football. I can hardly wait."

Max bounces on his heels, oblivious to the sarcasm. "I'm definitely scoring all the points today."