The Hard Count

by Ginger Scott

“On occasion, we act because of duty. We self-sacrifice for the greater good of the community—even when it breaks our hearts to do so. I cannot believe that the pleasure from sacrifice is always part of the equation. I know it’s not.”

“On occasion, we act because of duty. We self-sacrifice for the greater good of the community—even when it breaks our hearts to do so. I cannot believe that the pleasure from sacrifice is always part of the equation. I know it’s not.”

I kill the engine, and instantly begin to sweat. Say something. Something smart. Be nice. Please don’t be mad that I’m here.

Nico is a wild stallion full of promise and gifts, and I’m not sure if he can be tamed. I’m not sure if he should.

For once, I honestly can’t find fault with Nico’s position and questions. I blame the damned dream!

“I’m glad I frustrate you. Good; we’re even,” he chuckles,

but still—my dad let him put on a practice jersey and take the field…on his way to the bleachers.

“That’s my boy, right there. He’s never quit on me. Not once.” His gaze shifts to mine, his expression tired but hard—determined. “He asked me to be here. So I’m here.”

“It was last year, when we were practicing for the debate. I had a dream that you,” he stops, letting a genuine laugh play out, and I grip my steering wheel hard, preparing myself for some sort of insult. “You punched me.”

But I know one thing—Travis better have his back. Otherwise, I’m digging out my Ken doll and feeding him to the blender.

“This right here? It’s just a game. What matters are the relationships inside of it,”

This isn’t my shot. And our stories are too different.

“Until now…” I say, my smile pulling up on one side. Nico’s expression mirrors mine, and he settles back into his chair again. “Well, there’s this girl…” he starts, and my heart doubles its rhythm. “She can be kind of…persuasive.”

We’d sparred in class, which was nothing unusual, but for some reason, I couldn’t seem to pause long enough to even hear his perspective out. I resorted to name-calling. I got kicked out of class.

I rattled on about how the philosophers lacked specialization and focus, a bunch of crap I’d read in the counter-opinions at the back of our book, and Nico called me out on it by the time I was done. That’s when dickhead happened.

“You’ve worn your hair down ever since I said I liked it,” he says. I breathe in long and deep, letting myself feel this moment—all of it. I have worn my hair down. I did it hoping he would touch it, but never once actually thinking he would. “That’s how I knew,” he says, and my forehead crinkles. He smiles on one side, repeating the gesture and moving the long wave of blonde hair from my face again. “That’s how I knew I was more than just some guy you wanted on your dad’s football team.”

“So keep me off that list. I’m going to earn my way just like the rest of you. But you better be willing to prove your skills, because I’m done holding back, and I’m done not beating other teams by thirty or forty points,” Nico says, turning so he faces Travis, stepping forward until they stand only feet apart. “And I’m done pretending I don’t hear the things you say.”

“I’m filling my bags with rocks. I just want to see how far you’re willing to go,” I tease. He stands tall and turns to face me, the chair he was just sitting in now the only barrier between us. “The distance,” he says.

“I’m willing to go the distance,” he repeats. “No matter how far that is.”

“Just don’t ever stop looking at me,” he says, scooting closer, his knees touching my leg, his hand bringing my face to his. Nico’s nose brushes against mine, and my eyes fall shut, my lips parting, almost reaching for him. “Look at me like you expect more. Look at me like it isn’t going to be easy.”

“Make me earn it,” he says, pausing again to take my top lip between both of his. “I’ll earn it. I’ll never stop trying to earn it…to earn you.”

“Good never wins in a Grimm tale,” Nico says. “They just…they just are what they are. Life happens, and people make choices, and then life goes on.” I hold my breath because he tilts his head enough that his eyes find mine

“Sometimes, Reagan, you just need to rip off the damn Band-Aid,” she says. “And it always hurts more when you do it slow.”

Nico is the twist in the tale. He’s the element of good. He’s what humanity should be—the lesson to be learned. He is hope.

“I am not a child, Dad. If I want to give my boyfriend a ride home, I’m going to,”

“Anything will last if you give it enough love,” he says, shooting me a quick, crooked smile. “You’re corny,” I say.

“No, that’s not it. Reagan, your world…Nico’s world…same fuckin’ world. You come from different parts, but who cares? You meet in the middle.

“Some people are racist. Some people are jealous. Some people are just fucking ignorant,” she says, her eyes coming up to meet mine as her fingers let go of my shirt. “Don’t let someone else dictate how your heart feels about someone.

“One, you are not stupid,” Nico says, pulling me forward and kissing my forehead softly. I blush when I notice a few girls walking by in the corridor spot us and whisper to each other with a giggle. “And two, I wouldn’t care if you were green. Me liking you…you liking me. That’s kind of our deal, and that’s all that matters, okay?”

There was a lot of silent staring, which was…well…let’s just say I lost my first staring competition,” Nico chuckles.

“I think it was good. He told me if I wanted to ever throw a football again, that the seats better stay in the upright position, which made me want to die a little,” he says.

“Yeah, well, I’m holding your things hostage until I get her, and if you’re a minute late…” My dad lets his words trail off as he pushes his tongue into his cheek. Nico blinks a few times, then chuckles. “Yes, sir,” he says. “I’m not kidding,” my dad says. “Oh, I know,” Nico responds.

When he releases me, I’m dizzy and breathless, and I let my head rest against his chest. “I have never been kissed like that,” I say. “Me neither,” Nico says, his mouth coming down to the top of my head.

My mom’s expression remains staid, and as her hater continues to yell, pointing and gesturing toward me first, then Noah, my mom calmly opens the snap on her purse and reaches in, pulling out the thin, silver bottle of leftover party paint she had in her purse from when she and Linda met to make posters for the first game. Without a second of warning, my mom takes one step forward and sprays it at the Tiger logo embroidered on the center of the woman’s sweater, causing her to fall backward and scream. “Oh…shit!” I say,

She watches The Tradition lose, and then a slow smile creeps across her face, and her eyes shift to mine before the officer kneels in front of her to get her version of the story. “I suppose spray-painting a pair of fake tits looks better on your record than smoking pot and driving through the garage,” she says to me, not whispering enough.

“She told him…he had a lot to learn about being a human, and that if he ever belittled her again—assuming she didn’t understand football or the law—she would have her brother shove a helmet on his head so she could jerk his neck around and see how he liked it,” my dad says, blinking, almost in amazement.

“She poured it in from a mix. I watched her,” my brother says over my shoulder as he awkwardly climbs from the car with his crutches that were stretched across our laps for the ride here. “Thank God,” I say to him. “I know, right?” he chuckles. “Hush, both of you. I could cook if I wanted to,” she says. Our father lets her walk on to the door, but turns to face us with the trays of cookies in his hands and shakes his head to show how little he agrees with that statement.

“I thought so, too. But then I thought, he’s still taking the flowers. So, I asked him what he was doing with the flowers now, and he said he was bringing them to new girls. He said he was going to give a flower to a new girl every day instead, to make them feel nice. And we kept up our deal, every morning. He took flowers to teachers, to the woman that ran the cafeteria, to the principal, to girls in his class. It didn’t matter who they were, he said. They all deserved flowers. And one day, there would be a girl that he thought deserved them all.”

“Nicolas Medina, your tongue!” Valerie shouts from the kitchen. “I said freakin’ Mom,” he shouts. “Yeah, don’t act like I don’t know what freakin’ means. Beat your freakin’ head next time you think you can use that word here,”

“I will never not trust you again, Nico Medina! You’re my boy, you hear that? You…me and you, Nico. Every time!” I jump up on my friend’s back and squeeze him, my palm pounding against his chest. “One day, Sasha—we’re going to win it all for real,” I say in his ear. “I promise.”

“Alive,” he says against me, his lips grazing mine with the sweetest words ever. “Loving you—it makes me feel alive.”

“Truthfully, though?” I look down at my fidgeting hands, laughing to myself. “Vincent, I wouldn’t care if I was the only reason. Is that bad? It’s bad, isn’t it? It’s selfish. I know it is. But this girl, Vincent.” I run my hand over my eyes again and move it to my open mouth then my chin, laughing into my palm. “She has me so completely, and the only thing I can compare it to is the way you said Alyssa hit your heart. Like there’s nothing too crazy, too far, too much...”