PART THREE | FLAT TIRE

I've tried smoking once. My brother, Oscar, let me take a drag on his cigarette. I feel my throat burning and my head go dizzy. I swear that was the first and the last time I smoke cigs.

Now the sky is turning darker. But the field is bright from the field lamplight. I can see my silhouette on the grass. Fortunately, it is not raining today. The practice is over an hour ago. Everyone is already going home but I decide to stay a little while as usual.

The last thing I do in my practice is stretching for ten minutes. I am lying on my back with both knees bent and my feet flat on the mattress when I hear my phone chimes from the bench. Indicating a new text message. I get up to see who texts me.

It is from Mom, saying that she got a flat tire and cannot pick me today. I text her back to confirm that I am okay with walking home. It is pretty windy and dark, but I have no choice. I quickly gather my belongings. It is better to call the practice off before it is getting late.

"Doing an extra practice again?" A voice comes from the field entrance when I am ready to leave, making me startle. I have to squint my eyes to see who is talking. He steps forward to the light so I can see him better. It is Jeremy Harrington. The boy who technically steals my water.

"You startle me," I point out. I stare at him, realizing that he is still in his practice attire as well. I am wondering why he is still here. "How about you? Extra practice for the quarterback?"

Surprisingly, he lets out a chuckle. "No," he says. "I'm doing my homework. Pretty quiet here."

I frown. "Unbelievable," I say.

Jeremy starts to walk in my direction. He sits on the bench beside my bag. "It's not normal, I know," he says with an indifferent shrug.

"You're something else," I say, trying to hide the smile on my face. I don't even know why I am smiling. "Is that good?" I point my chin to his right ankle.

He follows my gaze to his right ankle. "Had to take a rest for a week but it's good now."

"Great."

He doesn't say anything so I continue to pack my belongings. When I finish and ready to go, he clears his throat. "Congratulations," he says.

I lift my eyebrows. "For what?"

"For making it to the main team."

I am taken aback by the sincerity in his word. "Thank you. I don't believe that I can make it though."

He smiles, I notice a depression on his left cheek. A cute dimple. "That's something humble coming from you, Tara-Jane."

I let out a light chuckle. That's not humble, that's pessimistic. "You tell me," I say. "Now, I have to get going before it's getting dark."

"Yeah, sure," he says, getting up from the bench. "Your mom picking you up? Like the first time we met."

I hesitate for a while before responding. "Actually, no. I'm walking home."

"Oh."

I nod. "Goodbye, then."

He doesn't reply to it immediately. But when I turn around and start to walk to the entrance, he says, "You know, I can give you a lift, Tara-Jane."

I halt on my spot. Then turning around to face him again. "You don't need to."

Jeremy starts to walk closer. "It's okay. I owe you last week. And the water."

I bite my lower lip, it's not that I want to take advantage of him. But, the thought of walking alone amid darkness is not promising either. "Okay," I finally say.

On hearing the answer, he smiles again. "Okay. I'll see you outside the changing room."

After changing my clothes, I find Jeremy waiting outside the changing room in casual attire. The way he dressed up is so simple and fresh, there is no picture or words covered his shirt. It is just plain black fabric and a blue pair of jeans. Something that portrays him perfectly.

We are walking to the parking lot side by side in silence. He doesn't attempt to talk to me and I feel like it is better that way. It is easy to find his car because the parking lot is nearly empty. There are four cars left and without hesitation, I can guess the black sporty Ford Mustang belongs to him. What would you expect from a popular jock?

That's true. We walk closer to the black convertible. He opens the passenger door and let me slip through it. The bag that carried his football gear is thrown carelessly on the back seat with one swing before he climbs to the driver seat.

The interior of his car is nice. It smells just like him; citrusy, crisp, and clean. My gaze darts on his dashboard. A box of cigarettes laying there. Realizing where I am looking, he grabs the box and shoves it into his breast pocket.

"I didn't know you smoked," I state, regretting immediately because it sounds out of the line. I earn a side glance from him as he starts reviving the engine. We are exiting the parking lot to the road.

"Where do you live?" He asks, ignoring my statement. I mention my address, fortunately, he knows the area so I don't have to direct him. Let's say, I am not good with direction.

"I smoke sometimes." He pauses to lick his lower lip. "You can't tell my coach." His eyes fixate on the road ahead of us, but I sense humor in his voice.

"It depends," I say with a smirk.

He groans, flashing me a glance. "You're not blackmailing me, are you?" I laugh at his grumpy behavior. He joins the laughter and shakes his head.

"We never meet at the cafeteria," I say, pivoting to another topic. I keep wondering where he is while the rest of his teammates longing there at lunchtime. There is a long pause before he finally responds.

"I eat alone," he answers. "On my secret den."

"A secret den?" I repeat his answer, lifting my eyebrows. He nods as confirmation. "Where is that?" I ask with curiosity.

"You don't understand the definition of secret, do you?" He mocks. A smug grin decorates his pretty face.

I snort and manage to mutter, "Fine."

He chuckles. "I'll show you if you want. But, you can't tell my coach about me smoking." His eyes are full of excitement.

"Deal," I say. I never plan to tell the coach either.

"Meet me in the field at lunch break. Bring your food," he says. "And don't tell anyone, including your three best friends." He glances at me.

"You know my best friends?" I am surprised. How could he knows about me when I know nothing about him. He only responds with an amused chuckle.

I recognize we are arriving in my neighborhood. My house soon appears in my vision. "The white one," I point and instruct him to park in front of my gate. His car comes to a stop.

"Thank you for the ride, Jeremy." I turn to face him

"With pleasure," he responds, smiling. It is impossible to look away from his sweet smile. It feels genuine.

Finally, I manage to say, "See you tomorrow, then." I unbuckle my seatbelt and open the passenger door.

"See you at lunch, Tara-Jane." He waves me goodbye and starts roaring on the road again. I wait until his car vanished from my vision.

I couldn't wait to see his secret den tomorrow.