Chapter Twenty
The morning drags through first and second periods with the usual mix of calculus problems and English literature analysis.
By the time third period study hall arrives, I’m restless and ready to move.
Instead of sitting in the library pretending to focus on homework, I grab my soccer gear and head to the field.
The afternoon sun beats down on the empty practice field as I set up cones for free kick practice.
Most of the team uses study hall for actual studying, but Coach Martinez has given me permission to work on individual skills as long as I keep my grades up.
With league championships behind us and the season officially over, this is my time to perfect techniques for next year’s tryouts.
Derek appears at the edge of the field, goalkeeper gloves already on his hands. “Thought you might want some target practice.”
“Don’t you have AP History third period?”
“Free period. Mr. Thompson is out sick, and they just threw us all into study hall.” He jogs toward the goal, stretching his arms above his head. “Besides, watching you miss shots is one of my favorite pastimes.”
“I don’t miss shots.”
“We’ll see about that.”
I line up the first ball, focusing on my approach angle.
Derek settles into position between the posts, bouncing slightly on his toes the way he does before every save attempt.
There’s something comfortable about this routine, just the two of us on an empty field, working on our skills without the pressure of a game situation.
“Your form looks different today,” Derek calls from the goal, adjusting his gloves. “More relaxed.”
He’s right. For the first time in months, I’m not thinking about heart conditions or family secrets while I play.
My chest feels clear, my breathing steady, my heart beating at its normal rhythm instead of the anxious racing that’s become too familiar.
The Jeremy and Emma situation has settled into something manageable; they’re spending the day touring the city together, giving me space to focus on normal teenage things like soccer and schoolwork.
“It’s nice to just play without worrying about collapsing,” I admit, taking my first shot.
The ball curves beautifully toward the upper right corner, but Derek reads it perfectly, diving to make the save with fingertips that just graze the ball enough to push it wide.
“Still got it,” he says, rolling to his feet with that satisfied grin goalkeepers get when they make a good stop.
“Lucky guess.”
“Skill, not luck. I’ve been watching you take corner kicks for two years. I know your tells.”
I collect the ball and set up again, this time from a slightly different angle. “What tells?”
“You always look at your target spot twice before you shoot. And you tap your left foot when you’re going for power versus placement.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do. Watch.” He points to my left foot, which is, embarrassingly, tapping against the grass. “You’re going for the lower left corner this time.”
I deliberately aim for the upper right instead, but Derek is already moving before I even make contact with the ball. He catches it cleanly, hugging it against his chest with obvious satisfaction.
“Show off,” I mutter.
“Observant boyfriend. There’s a difference.”
The word ‘boyfriend’ still gives me a little thrill, even after weeks of dating. There’s something official about it, something that makes our relationship feel real in a way that casual hanging out never did.
We continue the drill for another twenty minutes, Derek making increasingly spectacular saves while providing running commentary on my technique. By the time the bell rings for fourth period, I’ve managed to beat him exactly twice out of fifteen shots.
“Not bad for someone who ‘never misses,’” Derek says as we gather up the equipment.
“You’re just getting better at reading my non-existent tells.”
“Or you’re getting predictable in your old age.”
I throw a practice cone at him, which he catches easily. “We’re the same age.”
“I’m three months older, which makes me wiser and more experienced.”
“It makes you more likely to forget where you put your car keys.”
“That happened one time.”
“This week.”
Derek laughs, slinging his goalkeeper bag over his shoulder as we head toward the school building. The afternoon has warmed up considerably, and other students are starting to emerge for lunch or afternoon activities. The normal rhythm of school life continues around us, reassuringly predictable.
I line up another shot, focusing on the placement rather than power. The ball curves perfectly into the upper corner of the net, just out of Derek’s reach despite his impressive dive.
“Show off,” he says, getting to his feet and brushing grass off his practice jersey.
“You’re just getting slow in your old age.”
“Old age? We’re the same age.”
“I’m three months younger, which makes you practically ancient.”
Derek jogs over to where I’m collecting balls, that easy grin on his face that makes my stomach flutter even after weeks of dating. “Speaking of normal,” Derek says as we reach the main hallway, “we should probably talk about winter formal.”
The mention of the dance makes me smile. After months of family drama and medical appointments and emotional revelations, the idea of a school dance feels wonderfully ordinary.
“What about it?”
“Well, it’s next month, and I was thinking we should coordinate colors. You know, so we don’t look like we accidentally ended up together in photos.” Derek stops at his locker, spinning the combination with practiced ease. “I may have been researching boutonniere and corsage combinations.”
“You’ve been researching floral arrangements?”
“I take formal events very seriously. Plus, Maya sent me a link to a Pinterest board titled ‘Olivia’s Dream Formal Look’ with about fifty different color schemes.”
I groan and lean against the lockers. “She made a Pinterest board? When?”
“Last week, apparently. According to her extensive research, navy blue is your best color, but emerald-green brings out your eyes, and dusty rose is ‘romantically timeless.’ I have no idea what dusty rose actually looks like, but she included very detailed photos.”
“Maya is going to plan our entire formal experience if we’re not careful. She’ll probably have opinions about what kind of car we should arrive in and what restaurant we should go to afterward.”
“She already does. Apparently, Giuseppe’s is ‘too casual for such a momentous occasion,’ and we should consider the new French place downtown.”
“The one that requires reservations six weeks in advance?”
“That’s the one. She may have already called them.”
I stare at him. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I wish I were. She’s very invested in making sure our first formal together is ‘Pinterest-worthy and memory-making.’” Derek closes his locker and turns to face me. “So what do you actually want? Color-wise, I mean.”
We start walking toward the cafeteria, joining the stream of students heading to lunch. The hallways buzz with typical afternoon energy, locker doors slamming, friends calling out to each other, the general chaos of a few hundred teenagers trying to get somewhere in a limited amount of time.
“I’ve always liked that deep forest green,” I say, considering the options. “It’s sophisticated but not too serious. And it goes well with your coloring.”
“Forest green it is. I’ll find a tie to match.” Derek pauses, looking suddenly uncertain as we reach the cafeteria entrance. “This is kind of our first real formal event together. Are you nervous?”
“About formal? Or about us?”
“Both, I guess. I mean, it’s one thing to hang out and go on casual dates, but formal is… public. Official. Everyone will be watching to see how we are as a couple.”
I consider the question while we get in line for lunch.
A month ago, I would have been nervous about everything, the dress, the dancing, whether Derek and I were ready for such a public display of being a couple.
But after everything that’s happened with Jeremy and Emma, after learning to navigate complex family relationships and emotional revelations, a school dance feels wonderfully simple.
“I’m excited,” I say, surprised by how much I mean it. “It feels good to have something normal to look forward to. Something that’s just about us, not about family drama or medical appointments or any of the heavy stuff we’ve been dealing with.”
“Good. Because I may have already put a deposit down on a tux rental.”
“Before we even discussed colors?”
“I’m very confident in my ability to match whatever you choose. It’s one of my many talents.” Derek grabs a sandwich and chips from the lunch line, while I opt for the salad that actually looks fresh today.
“Along with your modesty.”
“Especially my modesty.”
We find seats at our usual table, where Maya and Sophie are already deep in conversation about weekend plans. Maya looks up as we approach, her eyes immediately zeroing in on our joined hands.
“Perfect timing,” she announces. “I was just telling Sophie about the formal planning committee I’ve established.”
“The what now?” I ask, though I’m already dreading the answer.
“The committee to ensure your first formal with Derek is absolutely perfect. Sophie’s in charge of pre-formal photos, I’m handling color coordination and restaurant reservations, and Jessica volunteered to help with hair and makeup planning.”
Derek and I exchange looks across the table.
“Maya,” I say carefully, “that’s really sweet, but don’t you think you might be going a little overboard?”
“Overboard? This is your first formal with Derek. This is a milestone moment that requires proper documentation and celebration.” Maya pulls out her phone and opens what appears to be a very detailed spreadsheet.
“I’ve created a timeline starting three weeks before the dance, including dress shopping, accessories selection, hair trials, and nail appointments. ”
“Hair trials?”