A shy high school senior jock and a closed-off girl battling an immune disorder fake a relationship to win a social media contest.
Being shy isn't easy, especially when you're the new kid at school. Scotts Valley's football program is subpar compare...
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"Put your hands together, Scotts Valley!" The smattering of claps sounded more like the rain hitting the window I leaned my shoulder on versus Santa Cruz's concert roars. "Now, introducing your starting Falcons!"
Why me? These things were the worst. I rubbed my already fire-prepped face, closed my eyes, and groaned. At least it was in front of a small crowd. Only two bleachers flanked the worn basketball court, with limp nets hanging from the rims. The ends were open to doors on both sides.
"Brody?" A girl called. "Where–there you are."
I blinked between my fingers. A tall, stacked blonde in a blue and gray cheerleader outfit approached while tugging a dark-skinned girl with her. Not her. Layla was the last person I wanted to be associated with.
"This is Faith, your escort." She shoved the other girl next to me, bumping our shoulders.
Despite Faith's polite smile, another cheerleader didn't excite me. They were toned, pretty, and confident, but I wasn't interested. Not in the way she looked at me like I looked at cheeseburgers, ravenously hungry. No offense to her or cheeseburgers, but past experiences demonstrated cheerleaders showed more obsession with attention and superficiality with–
Giggling, Faith snapped a selfie. "We look good together."
—appearances. We stood side-by-side, the silence growing more awkward with each second. The gray light from the window cast a shadow on the back of Nico's shoes. His were blue, with a white stripe. Faith's shoes were white, half the size of my black Nikes, and dotted with a mesh pattern over her toes. They were so brilliant white. Nico's looked gray in comparison. The girl beside Nico and the one behind me had the same shoes. Not a single scuff, huh. Their dark blue uniforms had detailed gray stitching up the side of the pants and long sleeves. The Falcons' logon in the center of Faith's chest was sleeker than the one on my jersey.
Eyes to floor, Brody. I tugged on the unraveling threads on my hem. "Why...are your uniforms so clean?" The question slipped out, but the difference was stark. We looked like we escorted the cheer team.
"What?" Faith dipped her chin. "Layla's mom bought them."
"Oh."
Despite a neck-down full cover, they were tight and revealing. My eyes appreciated the sea of feminine curves, but I kept them off any body part that would label me a creep.
Nico's introduction shuffled Faith and me to the front of the queue. The overhead lights burned the back of my neck. Sweat tickled my forehead, which I wiped with my hand. A flash of bright pink moved in the top row on the left bleachers. Paige sent me a soft smile.
My mouth moved on its own into a returned smile, but it wasn't happy. A pulling sensation tugged in my chest. I was a jerk. A week and a half of ghosting, and I hadn't apologized.
"Number eighty-three...Brody McCallister!"
I needed to change that. Mom and I filled out the name change forms, her trying to talk me out of it at each step. How would I get Dad's signature? Because–
