“So what kind of camera is this? Like a DSLR or whatever?” His friend is trying to be nice, so I indulge him, even though he has no idea what kind of camera I’m using.
“It’s just a high-def handheld. It’s easier to maneuver it, when you want to get action shots,” I say, lifting it so he can see it more closely. He takes it in his hands, holding it with one while he pulls his hat from his head and runs his arm over his forehead, smoothing out his damp hair.
“Action shots, huh? You shoot a lot of porn?” he says, unable to get his jab out without laughing halfway through. Nico smacks him in the chest again, and I can’t help but smile.
“Nobody wants to see a porn starring you, Sasha,” Nico says, taking the camera from his friend’s hand and returning it to me.
“I meant her, Nic…” Sasha says, stopping before finishing when Nico shoots him a warning glance.
“My boy’s an asshole sometimes, but it’s only because he isn’t around girls a lot,” Nico says, and his friends join in laughing while Sasha flips them off.
My fingers are tingling, so I busy them by opening and closing the lens on the camera, while Nico’s friends all catch their breath and begin gathering their things from the field. Nico stays near me, and the longer we stand in silence, the stronger the urge is in me to fill the quiet.
“I’m making a film for my application to Prestige,” I say, tucking my lip in between my teeth while my fingers flip the camera lens even faster. I don’t know why I thought Nico was interested, and the longer it takes him to respond, the more desperate I am to escape this small dark patch of grass. I long for the press box, for the bleachers, for my mother’s circle of friends. The game clock has started again, and my mind is actively searching for the right words to say goodbye, to leave without making it worse, to not be a complete ass.
“Like a documentary? On what? The team?” His questions come several seconds later, and I trip over my feet a little at the sound of his voice. He grabs my elbow, steadying me as we walk the few steps up the slant of the hill.
I hold my camera in one hand and pull the long, blonde braid around one side of my body so I can hook the strap over my other arm. Nico’s eyes watch my hands, and my stomach rushes with a strange feeling that comes over me even more when his eyes snap to mine, catching me looking at him. I look down right away.
“It’s on the team…sort of,” I say, shaking my head and wondering how much sharing is too much. I don’t know Nico well, and I don’t really like him, but there’s this odd, overwhelming desire pushing at my chest right now to tell him things.
“Is it on your brother?” he asks, and I flinch at how remarkably close to home his question hits. He grins, recognizing my tell, and I deflate seeing him look satisfied.
“It’s on the team, mostly. On the legacy and history, but also on what the pressure of it all does to people,” I say, sharing more than I planned. I hold my breath, digging in for an argument.
Nico looks back for his friends, and his eyes squint a little as his hand runs along the side of his neck. He stops walking, and I stop with him. Reaching for the shirt still tucked into his waistband, he pulls the dark gray tee loose, shaking it out and slipping it over his head and arms, fishing his black hat out when it gets stuck inside and putting it on backward. I expect the smirk and the dimple, and some response about how silly my idea is when he looks at me, but instead his mouth is a flat line, and his eyes bleed sympathy.
“I bet this sucks sometimes for your family, huh?” he says. His friends are still several feet away, and my family is still being judged out under the hot Friday lights.
I nod, just enough that he registers it and nods back, his eyes never leaving mine. Within seconds, his friends are close by, and Sasha hands him a backpack and longboard, the same ones he left the classroom with earlier.
“You’ve been here all afternoon?” I ask.
Nico drops his board to the ground and rolls it forward to the walkway, smirking on the side closest to me.
“So have you,” he says.
“Yeah, but I drive home. It’s dark out here, to ride a board…” I gesture to it. A few of his friends have already taken off on bikes, and two others are walking through the middle of the parking lot.
“I ride everywhere,” he shrugs, looping his backpack over his shoulders and adjusting his hat.
I look back to his friend Sasha who is pushing his board forward and back with his foot, pretending not to be hanging on our every word.
“If you can wait until the end of the game, I could…I don’t know…take you home?” I feel foolish the second I offer it, and the feeling only gets worse when I hear his friend let out a breathy laugh.