Like You Like Me ✔

10

The music sounded distorted as I made my way downstairs a step at a time. It wasn't until I felt a warm hand on my shoulder that I snapped out of my slump; Nicole was smiling at me.

Nicole pulled me back on to the dancefloor, which was a good distraction; dancing made hiding my emotions easy. We basically stayed out there until it was time to take her home. Connor reappeared at some point before we left. He said a few of the boys got in some drama, and he was trying to stop them from throwing down in the basement. Nicole and I peaced for the night, and I drove her home with ten minutes to spare.

"I had a great time tonight," she smiled.

"Yeah, me too," I replied, trying to sound chill.

I could tell she was hoping for a repeat of our moment on the steps, but I couldn't and shouldn't do that. She put her hand on mine and thanked me before opening the door. And just before closing it, she leaned in and said, "For what it's worth, I think she's lucky."

"Who?" I acted the fool.

"Whoever the girl on your mind is," she flashed a broken smile. "Bonne nuit, Damian. Merci encore."

"Nah. You're the reason we had a good time; merci beaucoup."

She blushed a bit, closed the door, walked towards the house and waved before going inside. I drove home with my heart feeling mad heavy because somehow, I'd managed to disappoint two girls in one night. It was one hell of a double-double, and not one I wanted to repeat.

***

The next week was filled to the rim with Homecoming preparations. Following tradition, we were scheduled to play our rival school, Citadel High on that weekend. The boys wanted to practise every day to make sure we didn't lose. None of our teams wanted to wear the embarrassment of losing to those peeps. Despite all of that, I still managed to get a heartfelt letter ready for Celia by Monday.

By then, the letter turnaround was two days, so when the sun rose over the hills on Thursday morning, and I still didn't have a reply from Celia, I was on edge. Connor confirmed that Rachel delivered the letter, but since then, Celia hadn't said anything—hashtag, she left me on read.

I tried to focus on preparing to put a beat down on Phoenixes come Saturday, but my frustrations were bulking up and threatening to leak out on the court. All it took was one cheap slap on my arm from Mike when I was going for a lay-up, and I erupted like an Icelandic volcano.

"Get off me, man!" I pushed Mike, who just managed to keep his balance.

"That was all ball!" he shouted back, getting right up in my face.

I scoffed. "Like Hell it was. Do that again and—"

"And you'll what?" Mike stepped closer.

I was just about to throw hands at his chin when Coach pulled us apart.

"Break it up!" He yelled, looking at both of us.

"He got in my face first," I pointed at Mike.

"That's bull!" Mike shouted and rushed at me.

Coach blew his whistle. "I don't care who started what! I don't wanna see that on my court. So either you cool down on the bench or in the showers. I won't say this twice: cut it out. Both of you. Clear?"

I shot daggers at Mike and nodded; he returned the favour.

"What?" Coach said, holding his hand up to his ear. "I didn't catch that."

"Yes, sir," we muttered.

"Bench," he looked at us and pointed to the bleachers.

I walked to the opposite side of the court with smoke still coming out my ears. As the boys kept playing, Mike continued staring me down. I wanted to get back at him, but I knew if I tried anything, Coach would send me home, or worse make me sit out the Homecoming game.

A lightbulb flicked on in my head: the bet. I still hadn't collected my reward from going out with Nicole, and it was time to pay the piper. The only thing Mike loved more than his funky, green camo hoodie was his beats. And being the hipster that he was, it would have killed him to listen to anything but CDs. So naturally, I'd need to hold on them for a while.

I waited for Mike in the hallway after practice. Then I hit him with the news that he was about to lose his discs.

"I don't save any music on my computer," Mike said.

I breathed out a sigh. "I don't see how that's my problem."

Mike shook his head. "Can I at least keep one?"

"Nah. I want all of 'em and your Discman."

"What?"

"Did I stutter?" I wrinkled my forehead.

"No," Mike huffed.

"Good. You know where I live; drop by at 8—don't be late."

The plan was to give them back to Mike sometime around Christmas, but I left that part out because I was petty, not cruel. Mike showed up right on time and handed everything over. Whatever my opinions about the guy, I couldn't say he went back on his word. But that still didn't stop him from looking like I'd just ran his dog over.

"Take care of those, okay?" he said. "Some of them were signed by the actual artists."

"Don't sweat it; they're in good hands."

Mike shook his head and stormed back to his car. He fired it up and drove off hissing into the night.

***

When Saturday made its appearance, something felt off. At first, I thought it was just my nerves acting up due to the game that night, but I'd soon find out something else was up.

I dug through all my drawers, trying to find my light blue sleeve. Up until that point, I had never lost a game when it was on my arm—playing without it was not an option. I searched every corner of my room and the basement, but came up dry. Leaving without it felt wrong, but I didn't have all day to hunt it down. So eventually, I bounced.

All varsity players were expected to attend the games of the various other teams, which is why I had to be at the field that morning. We had to be there to support the Soccer teams. I asked my mom to see if she could find my sleeve and to text me if she did. I looked pretty into my phone during all the games, but at least it took my mind off Celia for a minute.

Celia and the rest of the volleyball girls were sitting as far away from the basketball guys as possible. It looked deliberate. Connor made the same observation as well. He also noticed I was looking a little rattled, and asked me what was up.

I shook my head. "Couldn't find my sleeve this morning."

"You're lucky one?"

"Yeah," I muttered.

"Crap," he pushed his hair back. "I can hook you up with the spare one in my bag—I know it's not the same but—"

"Thanks, man," I said before he could finish.

"I know I always got your back," he held up his hand for the secret handshake.

I cracked a smile as we slapped our hands together, fist-bumped up, down and side to side. For a while, I calmed down and just watched the games. Both soccer teams cleaned up and brought home the win. The Football team had a harder time in the afternoon, but they were able to score what would be the winning touchdown with twenty seconds left on the clock.

The entire school was fired up; all the field teams had done their thing. Now the focus would be shifting to the court scene. I was pumped about the wins, but my lucky sleeve still hadn't made an appearance by the time Celia and her girls were ready to take the court. And I was starting to feel the weight of expectation to win our game.

Every muscle in my body felt tingly, like small bolts of lighting were flowing through my veins, and not in a good way.