Nancy

I don't understand why she's still here. She has not said anything to me since we left the field. The nurse has left only a minute ago but it feels like an hour has passed.

Perhaps I should have said that I did have a problem with her staying. I was hoping we would talk, but I don't think she wants to. She is only here to be at peace with her conscience, after all.

Does she regret offering to stay now?

I glance at Alex, expecting to find her bored and zoning out. It's not how she is at all.

She looks tensed. Uncomfortable. Somber.

When I meet her gaze, I think she lights up, and my hands become sweaty.

"Er..." she says, unsure, "Are you... feeling better now?"

That is a start, I guess. "Yes. Thank you for... For staying, and helping me get up. And walk." I try a smile. She looks bewildered.

"I'm the one who hit you, y'know that, right?"

"But you didn't want to, did you?" I say hesitantly. "That's... what you said earlier. You didn't do it on purpose."

Alex shakes her head, though not to contradict what I said. She just looks confused. "It's still my fault. You shouldn't thank me like it wasn't the fucking least I could do."

I guess she's right. But on the other hand, she's the one who came to help me when everyone else was laughing. She apologized, and I could see she meant it in her eyes.

"Did you- Did you laugh? When I fell?"

She stands up so fast I start. "Of course not!" She exclaims, sounding offended.

I offer her a smile. "Then I'm not mad at you."

"Because I didn't laugh? The ball hit you in the damn face!"

"Everyone else did."

Alex opens her mouth as if to say something, but she quickly reconsiders. As she thinks, my eyes wander.

They begin at her shoulders, bare and tanned, and square, strands of straight blond hair brushing them. Her arms are muscles covered with the softest-looking skin. I let my eyes fall lower and before I know it, I find myself staring at her thighs again. I wonder how it would feel to touch them, and then I realize what I'm doing and my eyes dart away. I feel my neck and cheeks burning. A match could probably be lit up only by scratching it against my skin.

Feeling way too self-conscious to keep looking at her, I settle on my hands instead. For the third time today, I notice they are scratched. It stings a little.

"I'm sorry."

Alex's voice makes me look up. She's frowning at the bed, fists closed against her sides, as if planning to beat it down to pulp - cotton pulp.

"I've already forgiven you", I say.

At first I think I have made things worst, but then she sighs, and with the breath leaving her lungs goes the tension out of her nerves.

She eventually stops glaring at the mattress and slumps back in her chair, looking confused and beautiful, her ponytail whipping the air around her neck in an hypnotic motion.

I force myself back to reality. I don't think I would actually call this whole exchange 'talking', but maybe I can fix that. And if she doesn't want to talk to the four-eyed nerd that I am, at least I would have tried.

"Do you like dodgeball?"

I agree, not the best I could have come up with. It still is something, though.

Alex

"Do you like dodgeball?" The question comes out of nowhere. I was so deep in my thoughts, trying to understand why she'd forgive me just like that, I must admit I jump a little.

"Are you serious?" I ask her, bewildered, when my brain finally understands what she just said. I mean, the girl isn't real. You don't just ask the person who threw a ball in your face so hard you fucking fell if they like the game you were both playing when they did it.

Then again, you're not supposed to forgive them that easily, either.

Nancy is looking at me expectantly, like she really wants to know the answer to that stupid question. Worst part is, she probably does.

Worst worst part? I find that cute.

"Yeah", I end up mumbling, "I like it." I almost ask her the same thing, but think better of it when I remember why we're here, and talking. It's ironic, when you think about it. That me, Alex-the-popular-cheerleader, would have to (accidentally) send the local nerd to the nurse's office to talk to her for the first time. Doesn't mean I won't enjoy it while I can, though.

It's when I hear Nancy shifting on the bed that I realize I should probably say something. So, I do.

"What music do you like?"

Yeah, I know, pretty neutral, right? It's what I always start with when I meet someone. Who doesn't like music, after all?

...I hope she does. Thinking about it, I've never seen her with headphones. Or earbuds. Whenever I see her, she's either studying or reading. Shit, am I stereotyping her? Just because you're a nerd doesn't mean you don't like music. Wait. Not a nerd. That's what the others say. A good student. That's what she is.

"I... like classical music", she says slowly, and I almost groan. Seriously? What kind of teenager listens to classical? I'm not even sure my grandmother listens to classical. "Jazz, too, and Ska... Sometimes rock." Oh. Well. That's better. At least I know some rock bands. I don't know shit about classical music. "What about you?" My eyes shoot up at that. She's looking at me expectantly again. Waiting. Her eyes are brown, soft. Not hazel. Darker. They are the color of the earth that lays under the moss. And so deep... I can't look away. I don't want to, either.

"Pop, mostly, but I'm not difficult." I shrug. "As long as it's not too slow, I can listen."

"Why?"

"I like to feel invincible", I answer, grinning. Nancy stares at me a little and I stare back, not really understanding the expression she's wearing. It looks a bit like surprise, but also something else...Curiosity, maybe? Whatever it is, it makes my guts coil. I feel the urge to tap my knees, but I don't. She'd notice. Instead, I clasp my hands together and casually lean my elbows on my knees. At least I hope it looks casual. I mean, I'm usually pretty good at playing nonchalant when I'm nervous. Not that I'm nervous. It's just that when I am-

She averts her eyes. Her head makes a soft sound as she lets it fall against the wall.

"Why do you like to feel invincible?"

"Doesn't everyone?" I ask back, trying not to stare at the pale curve of her neck.

"I don't... And this was not an answer."

She has a birthmark on her neck, under the corner of her jawline. It's oddly fascinating.

"I guess it's kinda like getting high, or drunk. I know it's artificial, just a feeling, but it's just so good and liberating that I couldn't care less."

The atmosphere in the room is weird. The circumstances are strange. We've never talked, and yet she just asked me something kinda deep and personal. I should feel uncomfortable. I should be looking for a way to switch the topic to a safer one. Something like the upcoming game, or fashion. Boys. Something familiar and meaningless.

But I don't want to.

Maybe I'm tired of meaningless. Maybe I'm tired of fashion, and boys, and pretty, long, blond hair, and boring chatting that goes in endless loops.

Unless it's this scent in the air. Like the comfy blanket you have on your legs when you stay up late to watch a movie with your friends. Something that invites secrets to be shared.

Maybe it's both.

Nancy

I can hear the sincerity she puts in her answer, and it surprises me. Not only that, but the way she says that it's liberating and artificial… It sounds almost like a confidence. I feel grateful for it. She has barely stopped talking, yet I already now I will replay these words in my head all night, and the nights that will follow. Replay this glimpse of her true and more vulnerable self she showed me.

A pair of seconds flows before she speaks again.

"So, why don't you?" She asks, sounding curious. I want to look at her, see if she really means it, if there is something more behind. I want to look at her and let myself simply fly into her eyes. But I fear I would find nothing, so I keep my gaze locked on the ceiling instead.

"I prefer to feel alive", I begin. "Or rather, I prefer to feel like myself. Flaws, fears, weaknesses… More than intelligence, beauty, courage- I believe that's what makes us really… well, us. I never feel more alive than when I'm out of my comfort zone."

As I talk, I realize that although I've never said that to anyone, I don't feel self-conscious at all. Somehow, the atmosphere is so that even my crush being my interlocutor doesn't make me uncomfortable.

My crush.

Did I really think that? It feels… bizarre. But so right. As if I had finally found the answer to a question I never knew I wanted to ask.

Alex doesn't let me ponder about it.

"Like when?" She asks, not even the slightest hint of mockery in her voice.

I feel the urge to turn toward her again, but this time I don't fight it. I just yield and let my head tilt on my left, let my eyes find her own. Meeting them feels like a blast of wind. She's closer than I thought, leaning a bit on her elbows, her knees touching the side of the bed.

Her eyes widens with surprise. She holds my gaze.

"Like... right now", I tell her softly.

She doesn't answer.

We are staring at each other.

We are children in a pillow fort - far away from the world, its people and their rules.