1. Gia Bella

one

Gia Bella

Homecoming Game

A rush of adrenaline fuels my heart to thump out like thunderclaps as I weave in between the support beams of the old rickety bleachers. It's junior year Homecoming, and I'm finally an upper classman. I'm determined to make this year the best year—and one to remember forever. Our mediocre-and-a-tad-squeaky marching band has begun to practice the school's fight song for the half-time performance, and the disjointed melodies fill the crisp autumn air. The anticipation of the year's most exciting event already hangs thick as fans trickle in.

Here I am squinting—I lost a contact lens in cheerleading practice—until my eyes land on him.

North Newson.

The single soul I've been enamored with since I first laid eyes on him. With a deep breath, I pool all my courage, and continue towards him, heart pounding against my rib cage.

North is so handsome he makes people around him halt in their tracks. Being humble, he returns my gaze with a nonchalant smile and shy wave, but I can't imagine he doesn't know what his presence does to all the girls. The flush of his cheeks gives away his true feelings as more than modesty. He is one thousand percent shy, but that only makes all the girls fawn over him more. Despite his many options—any girl he'd want—he remains single, adding to the mystery.

Oh, and he's in the senior class with my older brother, Rocco, and happens to live right next door, so I see an awful lot of North.

Not that I'm complaining.

Nope, nothing but positive vibes from me.

Maybe a little blushing.

I was six years old when we moved into our little rambler next door to him. The drive from east Long Island wasn't long, but I had packed all my stuffed animals in the backseat in between Rocco and me. Of course, Rocco grumbled about them, but I tuned him out by sticking a Hello Kitty earbud into each ear. When Dad pulled our Dodge minivan into our desperately-needing-some cement-patches driveway, I had loaded as many stuffies as I could carry in my arms—with no help from Rocco.

Being independent for a grade schooler, I had planned for a second trip. When I returned for them, North stood with the rest of my stuffies. He had watched us pull in from his picture window and had run over to help. With his wild dark mop of hair that curled by his ears, and the perfect shade of naturally-sun-kissed olive skin, I had decided then and there that he was the most beautiful boy I'd ever seen.

Ever since football season started, we've been secretly meeting under the bleachers before the games. It began as a cheerleading thing, as my squad had put together treat bags for each player, filled with a sports drink, protein bars, and cards we all signed. I begged my squad to let me personally give North his bag, and then he started asking to meet in the same spot each week. He claims I'm good luck. Last week he even brought me a blue carnation.

What in the world of flower language does blue mean?

He said it was Bulldog blue. Our school colors are red, white, and blue, but I'm not going to lie, I hope it means he loves me. I don't want to be that pick-me girl that people complain about but when it comes to North, yes, I'm her.

Being so shy, he didn't say much about the flower other than, "It's for good luck." I didn't care if it was for horrible luck, I accepted that flower, and when it started to die, I pressed it in my chemistry book.

My heart pumps against my ribcage. The mystery of this meet-up and the excitement of my crush swirl together. "Hey Gia." The light wind rustles the lush curls by his ears. He's already wearing his #47 Bulldog jersey, complete with eye black, while he cradles his helmet under his arm. My heart could literally skip an entire chorus of beats just to hear him say my name.

"Hey." I do my best to act chill, and flash him my cool smile. "How are you?"

"I can't believe it's my last Homecoming game." He shifts the helmet from one arm to the other. "I guess I got the warmup time wrong, and I only have a few minutes." Pausing, he scratches an itch on the back of his head and speaks even slower, "Ah, earlier I overheard Rocco mention you didn't have a date for the dance tonight." His gaze dips to his feet before raising back up to lock on me, and his words rush out, "Would you save me a dance later?"

A ping slams into my heart, almost breaking my balance. I grab onto the bleacher support beam and pray this isn't the day these ancient poles decide to disintegrate into the ground.

I nervously twirl the end of my long ponytail with my free hand and pause, desperate not to look too eager. Then a weird thought enters my mind.

Why only one dance?

Is he asking me because he feels bad that I don't have a date? Why would he not ask me to be his date? The mere thought of me being his date, dancing in his arms, makes my blood pressure skyrocket.

His deep, espresso eyes dig into mine as he waits for an answer. Those eyes do nothing to lower my blood pressure, and my breathing ticks up another notch as I fight the steady slams of my heart headbutting my ribs. If he keeps staring at me like that, I'm going to need a paper bag to breathe in. There's nobody else I'd rather dance with. "I'd like that," I say softly, before lowering my lashes and smiling sweetly.

"Cool," he quips, and jerks his head toward the locker room. "I better go. I'll look for you later."

"Same." Suppressing a squeal, I nibble on my bottom lip and wave as he turns to leave. This night is going to be magical, just like I knew this whole year would be.