Page 29

eighteen

The field felt different at this time of night when there wasn’t a full game going on.

Last night, the place had been lit up with huge lights and you could barely hear yourself think of the crowd yelling, the cheerleaders chanting, and everything happening on the field.

Tonight, it was quiet and dark. I thought that it should have felt creepy or lonely, but strangely, I liked it.

“I would just like it on the record,” I told Sebastian as he placed the soccer ball in front of me to practice kicking, “that I do not play soccer.”

“Your stance has been noted,” he said. He backed away from the ball, giving me the space to kick the ball. “It’s no big deal if you don’t get it in the net.”

Yeah, there was about zero percent chance of me getting the ball into the net, even without a goalie there to stop it.

Apparently, he thought I should do this before we started playing a game of soccer so I could get used to the feel of it again.

I thought we should just do something else—such as me sitting on the sidelines and watching him dribble by himself, but apparently, that didn’t sound as appealing to him as it did to me.

I took a deep breath and stared at the black and white ball on the ground in front of me. This was no big deal. All I had to do was kick the ball. Not even kick it well, just kick it. I could do that. I could…

I landed on my back.

Don’t ask me how. One second I was pulling my foot back and the next I was toppling onto the turf, the soccer ball untouched. And Sebastian, the caring boy that he was, doubled over laughing.

“You could at least help me up,” I snapped, glaring at him from the ground.

“Sorry,” he managed between laughs. “I’ve just never seen someone fall that fast.”

I pushed myself up and brushed off the little black turf pellets that had stuck to my palms and pants. At least I hadn’t skinned my knees—thank you, leggings—but my pride wasn’t so lucky.

“I don’t like soccer,” I declared, folding my arms.

“Oh, come on.” He jogged over and put his hands on my upper arms. His touch was gentle and soft through the arms of the sweater I was wearing, and I felt a warmth spread through me at it, much like it had the day that he kissed me.

I tilted my head up to look at him, and watched the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he stared back at me.

What did I look like to him? When he stared at me like that, was he thinking of me the way he thought of Ainsley or Imogen—another sister he had to protect?

Or did he think of me like Tiffany—a girl he wanted to kiss?

I hoped it was the latter. I hoped it so much that it hurt.

And I wasn’t even sure why I wanted him to want me so badly, because I knew nothing could happen between us.

In a matter of days, he would probably go back to Tiffany, once the effect of our conversation had worn off.

My hands closed into fists as I imagined that.

Him driving me to school next week with Tiffany in the front seat again, making passive aggressive remarks about me and calling me Nellie just to get on my nerves.

My gaze drifted down from his dark eyes to his full lips as I remembered the last time he and Tiffany had been broken up.

The party. The kiss. If they were broken up now, maybe it was time for a repeat.

Who knew how long I had before they got back together?

I could do it now. I’d have to go up on my tippy-toes, but I could reach him.

This was the closest we’d been all week. If I just raised up a little…

“One more try,” Sebastian said, pulling me out of my daydream. I blinked and realized my feet were still flat on the floor, my face still just as far from him as it had been since he walked up.

“One more?” I echoed, not sure what he was talking about. Had I mentioned the kiss out loud? Did he also want to try one more time?

“It will go better this time,” he said. “You just need to practice.”

I was happy to practice kissing if Sebastian was volunteering. But then he let go of my arms and stepped back, nodding at the soccer ball beside me. Oh. Right. I guess that made more sense.

I nodded and rolled my shoulders, ready to take aim. Then I pulled my leg back, swung forward, and… kicked him square in the shin.

He yelped and bent over, grabbing his leg. “Not what I meant.”

Any other time, I would have felt bad, but I thought this was his cosmic punishment for forcing me to play soccer, so I just shrugged. “You’ll live.”

Sebastian limped in a slow circle, still clutching his shin like I’d broken his leg. I rolled my eyes but laughed at his antics.

“You’re stronger than you look.” He stopped and started stretching the leg out. “Deadly.”

I put my hands on my hips and grinned at him. “Are you scared of me now?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “Absolutely terrified. Might have to start sleeping with a knife under my pillow in case you come by to kill me.”

Yeah, if I was ever in Sebastian Novak’s bedroom, I was pretty sure killing him would be the last thing on my mind.

“Go again,” Sebastian said, clapping his hands. “I’m ready now.”

I started dribbling—if you could even call it that—and he pretended to defend me, arms wide, doing that thing where he kept his body between me and the goal.

I zigzagged left, then right, mostly guessing what I was doing, but when he shifted his weight just a little too far, I kicked the ball through the gap between his feet and chased after it.

“What the—” he said, spinning around .

I didn’t stop. I got to the ball first, took one more clumsy step, and booted it into the net.

Goal.

I blinked at the ball, caught up in the white netting, sure that it couldn’t be real.

Once I stared at it long enough that I was sure it wasn’t going to magically move to be outside the net, I turned to Sebastian, trying not to look as smug as I felt.

Sebastian groaned and ran a hand through his hair.

“Unbelievable. First you injure me, then you embarrass me.”

“Pretty good for someone who doesn’t play soccer, huh?”

“I’m onto you,” he said, pointing an accusing finger in my direction. “I bet you secretly played in little league and don’t want to admit it.”

“Ha!” I said, forgetting momentarily who I was with and what I should be saying around him. “Soccer was way too violent of a sport for my mom to put her little girl in. She only wanted me to do dance or cheerleading.”

Sebastian looked at me curiously as he scooped up the ball. “I’m not sure I can imagine you as a cheerleader.”

“Why?” I asked. I raised both my arms and one leg as if I was doing a cheer and said, “Go team!”

He laughed. “Okay, I stand corrected. You would be the perfect cheerleader.”

“Tiffany’s a cheerleader, isn’t she?” The words were out of my mouth before I could think them through.

Why would I ask him about Tiffany right after I saw them break up?

Stupid, stupid. I guess this week I’d gotten used to asking about Tiffany so I seemed interested in his life and not at all jealous of the fact that he had a girlfriend who wasn’t me.

And now, I was a little curious too. I knew little about Tiffany except that she was popular, pretty, and hated me.

But now, I was curious of what about her was his type.

Did he only have a thing for cheerleaders?

Maybe I screwed myself over by becoming a swimmer instead.

Not that I had any interest in cheerleading.

The only reason I’d ever tried it was because Mom thought it was the perfect team for me to join, as a classic teen girl interest. She had a dream of me being head cheerleader and falling for the quarterback, just like she had.

Needless to say, she was crushed when I didn’t make the team in ninth grade.

She even offered to go down to the school for me and talk to them about it.

I managed to talk her out of it without revealing that I’d blown the try-out on purpose to make sure they wouldn’t put me on the team.

That, I knew, was a secret I would have to take to the grave.

“Yeah,” Sebastian said. He started tossing the ball between his hands. “Actually, she’s the captain this year.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize.” Now that we were on the topic of Tiffany anyway, I wanted to ask him about the breakup, but I wasn’t sure how to go about it.

I reached back to tie my hair in a ponytail, trying to use my nervous hands, turning away slightly so I wouldn’t have to look at him as I asked the question.

“Speaking of Tiffany… I saw you two talking outside today.”

“Oh, so that was you I felt watching us.” I waited for him to add on to that, but he fell silent and I realized it was a diversion tactic.

He made jokes when he didn’t want people asking him questions, just like how he kept a smile on his face all the time.

And maybe I should have respected that and let it go, but I was too curious now if they had broken up—and more importantly, if it was because of what we’d talked about last night.

“Did you two break up?” I asked. The question was probably a little too blunt.

Any other time, it probably wouldn’t have been, since breaking up was pretty much their thing and I couldn’t imagine it was a very fresh wound for him.

But he ducked his head away and I wondered if I’d been right in my assessment earlier that this breakup seemed like it was worse than the ones that came before it.

“Not that I’m trying to pry! I know it’s none of my business. I was just?—”

“Yes,” Sebastian said. He didn’t lift his head, but he stopped tossing the ball. “We broke up. I guess sometimes it doesn’t work out, right?”