Page 86 of Overtime
We’re on the way to the second to last game that will decide if we go to regionals. I know we will, but half of the team is collectively crapping their pants and the other half is frozen. There’s little chatter on the bus, which suits me well because I’m in the mood for it even less than usual.
I sit at the very back on my own, headphones on and blasting something hardcore. My knee bounces nonstop. If anyone was paying any attention to me, they’d think I was nervous.
About the game? No. Our opponents are down their star striker. It’s not like I’m underestimating them for that reason. They’re just one of those teams built around a single player. Without this guy, they’ll crumble against our defense. And if not, they’ll have a wall between them and the net.
However, for the past two weeks, Strawberry and I haven’t been able to schedule a single tutoring session.
Between studying for midterms, the midterms themselves, increased practice time, PT sessions, scheduled games, interviews with pro recruiters, cooking, and sleeping, we’ve seen neither hair nor hide of each other. Which is a damn shame because I like both of hers a lot.
And that’s a problem.
Because I can’t find another excuse for reverse tutoring. And I can’t ask her out because a) I have no time, b) Coach sniffing around, and c) we’re about to graduate—and then what? I don’t know what she’s planning to do after college. I don’t know where I’m going to land either. What would be the point of starting something now?
I should’ve taken that damn elective a year ago. Maybe then…
I lean my head against the cold window and stare into the dark. An apt metaphor for how my future looks right now. Strawberry would be proud of me for knowing what a metaphor is.
I check my phone for the billionth time. Still no texts from her.
Except for the one time a bunch of Bolts and Strikes got together at my place, I haven’t seen her since the lake. I wish we could’ve stayed together longer that time and that I hadn’t had practice that afternoon. But maybe it would’ve been worse. Because we might’ve scored in each other’s nets, and I’d be a lot more tangled now.
I stare at my bouncing knee. But maybe I wouldn’t feel so restless. Maybe I wouldn’t be checking my phone every five freaking seconds.
Unlocking the screen, I find Strawberry’s contact and reread the last exchange—just a friendlygood luck on your next gameandthanks. In theory, there should be nothing more to say. With other girls, I rarely said more than this. But she’s not other girls. She’s…
Strawberry.
I convince myself to stop the knee-bouncing by taking action.
Me
*Grunt*
Time passes slower than usual as I stare the crap out of the screen. It works, though, because her three dots appear.
Strawberry
Well if it isn’t my favorite caveman
I spring forward so fast that I slam my forehead into the seat in front of me. A vague protest filters through the music playing in my ears, but I ignore it while I type back.
Me
Didn’t know I was your favorite anything
Oh, shit. I know what I’m doing, and I can’t stop myself. Probably because I don’t even try. I’m flirting, and I know it.
Her three dots appear and disappear. Every time they go away, I glare at the screen as if it’s the enemy. But finally, her response comes through.
Strawberry
You’re my favorite in two categories:
1) Caveman
2) Student
Me
