Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter
twenty-seven
WE KISSED!!!!
I typed that into the group chat, and as I was about to hit send, I hesitated. I’d just dropped Theo and the surfboard off at his house, where we talked about going surfing in the near future, when the weather warmed up more. Before we could even get through that conversation we were making out. Me, stretched over the center console practically in his lap, his hands in my hair. He was such a good kisser.
Perhaps it was that giddy high coursing through me that had me typing those words into the group chat after he left my car and disappeared into his house. I was still parked on his street, my lips tingling from the kiss. But I hesitated. This wasn’t an over-text type of announcement. I had to tell them face to face. Especially when only one, possibly two, of them would be excited about this news. I wasn’t ready for my after-kiss high to disappear just yet.
There was a knock on my window, and I yelped.
Theo stood there, hand pressed against the glass.
I powered down my window.
“What are you doing?” he asked. “Texting your friends about kissing some hot guy?”
I smiled. “Something like that.”
He leaned forward and placed a kiss on my lips. “Is that why you’re blushing?”
“I’m not—it’s just hot.”
“It’s not hot at all,” he said. “In fact, I’m a little cold.”
I laughed and pushed the upper half of my body out the window to kiss him again.
“For training tomorrow,” he said between kisses, “let’s go to Cal Poly. Kick through their uprights.” Cal Poly was a state college about twenty minutes away.
I sat back in my seat. “We’re allowed to do that?”
He shrugged. “I’ve trained there before. I guess we’ll see.”
“Am I ready for that?”
“It’s time.”
“WHAT ARE YOUR COLLEGE PLANS now that football is off the table?” I asked as we worked our way through the Cal Poly campus the next day toward the football field.
He was quiet for too long, taking in our surroundings. The campus was beautiful, sandwiched between rolling hills; it had a small-campus feel even though it was relatively big. Maybe my relative was skewed, though, since I hadn’t been on a lot of college campuses and my high school was on the small side.
I grabbed hold of his hand because I wanted to be closer to him. Ever since we kissed the day before, I’d wanted to be near him. If I was being honest with myself, that feeling had started long before we kissed. “Wait, is football still on the table?”
“Yes,” he said quickly. “No…I don’t know…. Probably not. I’d have to try for a walk-on position, and even in my prime, walking on is not the easiest way to get on a team. What about you?”
“I don’t think I’ll play football in college,” I teased.
“Maybe you’ll get scouted next year,” he joked back. “No, but have you thought more about the internship? Sending in your podcast. It’s gotten so popular.”
“Jensen did that.” I said out loud what had been brewing in my brain since last week when he’d told me. “He’s the one who shared it on his socials. He’ll probably write it as one of his accomplishments on his application.”
Anger flashed across Theo’s face, and he stopped. I turned and looked at him. “He took credit for your views?” Theo’s voice waslow.
“He felt the need to point it out, yes. And beyond that, the real star of the show is my grandma. Jensen and my grandma are the reasons the show has done anything.”
“Stop saying stuff like that, Finley.”
“Stop saying the truth?”
“He doesn’t get to claim your successes anymore. And in less than two weeks, he’ll be put in his place.”
I wondered if that was true. He had easily won the hosting position, he’d get the internship. And he might easily win his kicking spot.
Theo nodded as if that settled it, and we kept walking.
We reached the football stadium and walked through the entrance and onto the field. I stopped in the end zone, breathless. It was huge, and I felt overwhelmed, to say the least. “Not sure this is a good idea for my first time actually kicking through uprights.”
“It only seems bigger,” he said. “It’s the same size as the high school field, there’s just more”—he spun a circle while pointing—“other things.”
“Right,” I said.
“So are you ready?”
“I think so,” I said.
He rolled his entire head. “Finley. You know this. You have to get pumped up. Get some blood flowing through your veins. Are you ready?”
“Yes…”
“Scream it!”
I laughed and looked around; the field was empty, and the stadium seats were mostly empty. A few people ran the steps, exercising. It was a Sunday, so the campus had been pretty quiet on our walk.
He moved so he was standing in front of me and jumped a few times, then indicated he wanted me to do the same.
I jumped.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes!” I felt like I was on the soccer field again about to start playing. In soccer we’d all huddle together and yell out positive affirmations. Things like We’re the best, We can run forever, Kicking balls is fun, Bury the enemy. That last one wasn’t so positive, but it always made Deja laugh. She was the most supportive teammate ever when working for the same goal. And when we weren’t on the same page, like now, in my relationship with Theo, the lack of support was glaring.
“Again!” Theo shouted.
“I’m ready!”
“Good! Then let’s go!” He ran to the twenty-yard line, and I followed. There, he took off his backpack and retrieved a football, then squatted down and held it in place. We’d practiced this last time after flag football. Him holding the ball instead of placing it on the plastic ring. It took a while to get used to. I kept thinking I was going to kick his hand. But he moved it out of the way fast enough every time. Right now, he looked at me with a sweet smile. “It’s all about muscle memory. Just do what you’ve been doing. Don’t even think about it.”
I shook out my hands. Don’t even think about it. Don’t even think about it. I drove forward and connected with the ball. It flew through the air and straight down the center.
Theo’s hands shot in the air like I’d just scored the winning points in the Super Bowl. “That was amazing. And it went far! Really far. We can back up ten yards.”
Theo grabbed another ball and was already running back to the thirty.
“And did I tell you!” he yelled over his shoulder. “The goal posts are narrower in college. So it will be even easier on our field.”
I followed after him, walking, not running like he was. “They’re narrower here?”
“Yes!” he said when I reached him. “You are brilliant!”
The wind picked up, whipping through my hair and twisting it around in front of my head. He pushed it out of my face and placed his palms on my cheeks, staring into my eyes in boyish excitement. “There’s wind!”
Coach Theo, who had turned to Kissing Coach Theo, was adorable.
With his hands still on my cheeks, I pushed forward and kissed him. “Does that mean I am done for the day? We can make outnow?”
He wrapped an arm around my waist and spun me in a circle. “No! It means we get to practice in the wind! You get to learn how to adjust your kick.”
I laughed and held a fake microphone up to my mouth. “Coach Theo, how are you feeling after your hard work helped an ex–soccer player make a field goal?”
He brought my hand to his mouth. “I’m feeling like she needs to kick about a hundred more today.”
“She thinks fifty sounds more doable.”
He laughed. “I’m seriously super impressed. We probably should’ve come here earlier.”
“And does watching her success make you want to kick a ball today?” I asked, fake microphone still in hand.
The giddy excitement that had been on his face melted rightoff.
I lowered my hand, dropping the reporter act. “Will you?” I asked softly. I’d watched him do so many physical things now, and aside from the occasional wince, and the slight favor he showed his left knee, I sensed what was stopping him was more mental than anything.
“We’re working on your kick. In the wind,” he said, squatting down to hold the ball in place. “I don’t…If I…Just pay attention to how the wind is blowing and adjust your swing in the opposite direction. It might take a couple attempts to get the hang of it.”
I squatted down next to him. “I guess I’m not the only one afraid to put myself out there.”
He sighed and shifted so he sat all the way on the ground. I joined him.
“I’m not afraid, Finley. The doctor said…” He trailed off.
“The doctor told you not to?”
“No, I’ve been cleared.”
“Then what?”
“I just need to…”
“Try?” I said. “See that it’s going to be fine? Come on.”
“No, I—”
“Please,” I said.
“I have been kicking,” he bit out. “Every day for a while.”
I blinked several times in surprise. “You have?”
He nodded.
“And?”
“And it’s not good. I’m weak. Unsteady.”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
He ran his hands down his face. “It’s fine. Maybe you need to learn when to keep trying and I need to learn when to give up.”
I pulled him into a hug. His breaths were short, irregular, like he was on the verge of panic. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Maybe you need to take some pressure off. Learn how to kick for the fun of it again. Without your whole future sitting on your shoulders.” I knew how heavy that weight was.
“Maybe. I’m just…” He held me against him and drew in some air until his breathing was steady and even.
“Yoga?” I asked, resting my head on his shoulder.
He gave a quiet laugh. “You, actually.”
“Your charming lines don’t work on me,” I said even though I was now smiling.
He laughed and pulled us sideways onto the grass. I rolled onto my back, and we both stared up at the sky, our legs and hands interlocked. Clouds floated lazily across the blue backdrop.
Eventually, he propped himself up on his elbow, staring down at me. “Have you ever thought about being a sideline reporter? You’d actually be really good at it. You get this glimmer in your eye during your fake interviews.”
I shook my head. I actually had thought of it but always quickly dismissed it. “I’m not good with live stuff. I need the security of being able to edit out my mistakes.”
“I think your unscripted commentary is some of the best when you’re interviewing your grandma.”
“Yeah, but…”
“But you want to be perfect?”
I looked toward the uprights. “I’m trying to be less hard on myself.”
“I get it. I obviously have insecurities too.”
“And here I thought you were cocky.”
He leaned down and brushed his lips over mine. “It’s all forshow.”