Gimme Everything You Got - Iva-Marie Palmer Page 0,36
embarrass myself.
“Hey,” I said, and he turned around. He was wearing warm-up pants, but he still looked punk, with his spiked hair and a black T-shirt with holes that appeared strategically cut from the chest and shoulders. I felt nearly naked in my shorts. And cold.
“Hey,” he said. “I didn’t know there were goals here now.”
“They’re new,” I said. “Our coach got them.”
“Nice,” Joe said, gesturing to his cones. “I brought cones to make one. They might still come in handy if we practice footwork stuff.” Then, noticing my shorts, he added, “You need to get some track pants. Next time we practice, I’ll bring you a pair.”
Was he this easy around everyone? Bringing cones and offering pants? Maybe that was how he’d landed the “babe” from Sportmart. “You don’t have to but, um, thanks,” I said, not knowing what to say to him already mentioning a “next time.” He seemed too eager, I guess, to be a punk. Or at least what I thought a punk was. “And thanks for meeting me.”
“No problem, champ,” he said. “I’m a little rusty but I remember the basics.” At that moment, with me standing about ten feet away from him, he flipped the ball off the top of his foot and, nimbly tapping the ball with the inside edge of his Puma, sent a pass my way. Instinctively, I kicked it, but too hard. The ball flew over his head and landed on the playground.
“Good reflexes,” he said. “We just need to work on that control. What position are you?”
“I don’t exactly know yet?” I said. “Not goalie, though. That’s what you played, right?”
“Yep,” he said, clicking his tongue and tilting his head as he sized me up. “You look quick. Maybe a midfielder, or forward?”
“I’m fast, yeah, but I don’t have a great shot. I haven’t scored yet,” I said. “But I really want to. Score.”
Joe clapped his hands and winked. “Well, you’re gonna score today. We’re not leaving this park until it happens.”
I rolled my eyes but smiled. It was the first time I’d said it out loud like that, that I wanted so badly to score a goal, but it felt good, it felt right. And I wasn’t even embarrassed about the double meaning, that “scoring” was another word for having sex. It’s not like it mattered, with Joe. He was cute and all, and it was nice he was here to help me, but I could already tell he was the type of guy who was way too cool to take anything seriously.
I could hear Candace in my head, telling me that I found something wrong with everyone. And she wasn’t wrong—but that didn’t mean I was. There was something wrong with everyone. Michael Webster was too full of himself. Jeff Sipowitz was a gross, lechy pig. Joe seemed fun and funny, but these sorts of irreverent, flirty dudes rarely turn out to be boyfriend material (not that I had a lot of experience with boyfriend material), and besides, he already had a “babe.” Was it really some great mystery why I was fixated on Bobby?
Joe told me we’d run a passing drill and I’d work on scoring in the empty goal first; then later he’d let me try to shoot on him. “Don’t let me being a skinny dude fool you. I’m all legs and arms. You kick it at me and it’s a mess. For you.”
“We’ll see about that.” I grinned, even though I was already worried this would take all day and he’d regret offering to help me.
Joe passed me the ball again and we dribbled alongside each other, trading passes until we approached the net. Then he’d kick it sidelong to me and I’d have to kick it at the net. The transition from running to shooting messed me up immediately, just like at practice. Several times, I kicked the ball way too high, or too wide, or too lightly, so it stopped just short of the goal. A few times, I misplaced my kick and my leg sliced air.
“Maybe I’m not cut out for this,” I said. “You’d think one would go in by accident.”
Joe waved me off. “You know what it is? You’re rushing.”
“I only have a few seconds to kick it, though. Or less, if someone steals it.”
“Seconds are long, man.” Joe came up behind me. I tensed a little, sensing his body right behind mine.
“May I?” he asked. His tall frame cast a shadow on the grass next to mine.