Undercover As Geek

The Reconciliation

Soo... I've finally updated! And I apologize sincerely for my tardiness!!!!!!!!! But I hope you enjoy it anyway! (it's getting close to the ending...!)

Today is Saturday, two entire weeks after the picnic, and I've gone to the alley every afternoon since Noah told me I was back in the UFOrdinance. Three days. Thursday and Friday he wasn't there, and I waited for him for hours to show up. I tell myself that it's no big deal; we've only met there twice, and it's possible he only rarely goes there to play basketball. But the utter confusion agitating my insides force me to check anyway. This morning when I went he wasn't there again, but I'm making myself try again tonight.

After fidgeting for a few hours, staring at the clock, I can't wait anymore. When the vibrant green flicks to 7:03pm, I bolt up from my bed and fling my hair into a ponytail. As I tie the brown strands behind my head, my eyes are drawn to the poster I plastered on my wall yesterday. An old, used one that I had bought off of eBay the other day. It has a young boy with defined muscles, messy hair, and an ambitious grin caught mid-sprint, a basketball hovering between the ground and his splayed fingers. Below the picture are "The Green Machine" in wide, crackling blocks. Underneath it all, the prodigy's astounding records are printed in three detailed columns. A forgotten sports marvel.

I sigh and contemplate the poster. I know I've got it bad, but I can't help it. He started it by placing his head on mine. It's his fault, completely. Walking out of my room, I laugh at myself. Somehow, over the course of a week, my heart has transformed from a betrayed, broken thing into a soppy, lovesick, broken thing. I've never been the type to fawn over a celebrity, but then I've never met anyone quite like Noah, either. I guess people change. I know that I have, over the month since I've joined the geek club.

It doesn't take long for me to arrive at the end of the alley. My hopes low, I don't notice the unusual car parked on the street. It's the dusty, muted red color that captures my attention. A Honda. A red, old, hideous Honda. The most beautiful sight on the planet.

I gape at the vehicle for a split second before my legs start to pump themselves to the forlorn basketball hoop. My shoes clatter against the concrete in obnoxious echoes, but I don't care. Not a whit. Noah is here. He's finally here. If I wasn't running so hard, I would shout with joy.

Gasping, I stumble to a halt when I reach the court. Noah is there, but he isn't playing the sport. He's sitting against the opposing wall of the least mangled hoop, the basketball calmly at his side, waiting. He doesn't turn towards me as I stop a few feet away, his gaze locked on the swinging shreds of the net. I stand with my hands on my knees, sucking in air, but keeping my eyes on him. He taps his fingers against the ground methodically.

"I thought you'd come," he says flatly, but I catch a hint of a smile lingering in his expression.

I swallow another gulp of oxygen. "I need to talk to you."

"I figured." He stands, bringing up the ball with him. He dribbles once, twice, three times. But doesn't look at me. Doesn't glance in my direction. Just throws the rubber against the concrete indifferently. His nonchalance makes me want to strangle him.

I clear my throat, but that doesn't stir him. Scowling, I try again. "We can't go on like this," I say.

He launches the ball towards the basket. It glides through, of course, flawlessly. "You mean avoiding the subject? " he says, strolling towards his ball. "Oh, I know that. But I figured that since you're the one who came here about it, you should start it."

Biting my lip, I try not to scream. "Noah!" His name tears from my throat in an exasperated shout. He raises his eyebrow and positions his self at half court for another throw silently. "Noah," I say again, quieter this time. His arm begins to extend. I draw in a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut for a second. "You're confusing me."