Like You Like Me ✔

5

Reading Celia's letter had me feeling like I was on clouds nine, ten and eleven. I low-key read it three times to make sure Celia actually asked me to write to her again. The whole time I was going through the letter, Connor was pacing the room like the floor was on fire. I had to give him credit though, he waited until I was done to ask me what it said.

After hearing the news, I think my boy C became the second most relieved person on the Canadian East Coast that night. To celebrate, we made plans to hit up our favourite donair place the next day.

Since the night I put my foot in my mouth, Celia hadn't said two words to me, and I couldn't blame her; I messed up, big time. But that night, I dreamt we were chilling on the rocks watching the shimmering lights of Halifax. We talked about college, Minecraft and how we'd fix the world if we could be king and queen for a day.

God, I loved hearing her laugh and knowing I was the cause.

I woke up the next morning feeling like I'd won the lottery. Knowing there was a letter from Celia hidden in one of my old journals put a smile on my face and a pep in my step. I even brought Lewis along for the trip and made good on my promise to hook him up with another Slurpee.

For a while, everything was good in the neighbourhood. Celia and "Romeo" were exchanging letters every week. On the court, the boys and I put on a clinic at our game against Charles P. Allen High—my lucky sleeve was working all its magic that night. But I should have known things couldn't stay golden forever.

A couple weeks before our Homecoming game against Citadel High, the talk that had been quietly making the cycle around school finally came out in the locker room.

"So, DJ," Mike appeared behind me.

I jumped back a bit before turning around. "Yo, you gotta stop creeping up on me like that, man."

He smirked. "Heard you've been experiencing a drought."

The boys let out a collective chuckle.

I threw my towel around my neck. "That's funny," I scoffed. "Because last time I checked these hands were raining down threes and dishing out dimes like a Gringotts Goblin on the court the other day."

"Ka-ching!" Connor said before hitting me with a low five.

A shower of cheers ripped through the room.

"I wasn't talking about your game on the court," he replied. "I was talking about your game with the ladies; it's been looking pretty dry and dusty lately."

Oohs echoed off the walls. Connor shot me a look; I knew he was about to intervene, so I spoke up.

"See unlike you," I said, "I'm single by choice not because I lack options."

The room erupted in jeers. Mike should've listened to his boy telling him to pick up his face after my clap back, but listening was never his strong suit. Connor and I were about to bounce when the last thing I wanted Mike to say hit me like a slap in the face.

"Prove it," he huffed.

"DJ doesn't have to prove anything," Connor replied.

"Oh, my bad," Mike said sarcastically. "That was meant for DJ, not his secretary."

Connor's face turned Coke-red. "Keep talking like that, and the bench won't be the only thing you'll be riding."

"Yo Tyler," I held Connor back. "You better come get your boy before he needs some milk and a pair of crutches. Let's head out C," I tilted my head towards the exit.

"Whoomp, there is," Mike said as I turned around. "I knew your girl game was as weak as your lay-ups."

I should have kept walking. But instead, I marched up to Mike and stared him down.

"Gimme a name," I gritted my teeth.

Mike grinned. "Nicole Bouchard—get her to go to Liam's party with you."

"That's this Saturday," I said, trying to keep my poker face on.

"Should be plenty of time for you," he brushed past me.

"What do I get when I win?" I asked without turning around.

"You mean if—"

"I didn't stutter," I cut him off.

Mike chuckled. "I'll let you choose your prize. Deal?" he held out his hand.

"What's in it for you?" I left his hand hanging.

He shrugged. "Nothing too big, just your signed Kobe jersey."

"You don't have to do this, bro," Connor said.

I shook his hand. "Deal," I replied then stormed out of the room.

Connor caught up with me in the hallway and slowed me down by pulling my shoulder back.

"Bro, are you trippin'?" he said. "Why'd you let Musty Mike get under your skin like that?"

"I had to shut him up," I shook my head. "Plus, how hard can it be to convince Nicole...what was her last name again?"

"Bouchard," Connor sighed.

"Yeah," I shrugged. "How hard is it gonna be to get Nicole Bouchard to hit up the quarterback's party with yours truly?" I slapped my chest.

Connor covered his mouth and exhaled. "Two things: One. Nicole Bouchard's parents high-key treat their house like a monastery. Two," he looked around then whispered. "What about Celia?"

Shit.

In the heat of the moment, I forgot all about my letters and Celia.

"Maybe she won't be at the party," I scratched my head.

"She's gonna be there, bro," he sounded confident.

I wrinkled my forehead. "How do you know that?"

"I just do—heard some of the volleyball chicks talking about it yesterday."

I sighed. "Well, Rosaline doesn't know I'm Romeo, so I'm just gonna have to roll with that.

There's no way I'm letting Mike get his musty digits anywhere near my Kobe jersey."

"K," Connor bit his fist. "Better start brushing up on the Mysteries of the Rosary—and I hope you still remember some Français from French Immersion 'cause the Bouchards are more Quebecois than poutine."

I stared at the floor, wondering if I'd bitten off more than I could chew.

Connor threw his arm across my shoulder, urging me forward. "I'll say a couple Hail Mary's for you, bro; you're gonna need it."

Thing is, I was way ahead of him on those Hail Mary's.