The Ocean by Mia Castile Page A

sat down by the field. Even from where I sat, I could tel he was uncomfortable. He’d lean forward, sit back, turn and look in our direction, and the poor guy had to be in one of the skits. They had al worn their jerseys to school, and other students wore school tshirts.
    When it was over, we were dismissed for the day. We slowly made our way down the bleachers. He climbed the bleachers two at a time to where we stood talking. He took my hand and spoke conspiratorial y with me.
    “I don’t have to be back until five-thirty. Wil you come to my house?” I nodded my head yes.
    “Good.” He turned to lead me away. I waved to Abby and Kiarah. We went to his car and were on our way.
    “You should forget law school and go to Hol ywood,” I said, trying to keep a straight face.
    “You should take your comedy special on the road.” He did keep a straight face. He reached for my hand and held it as we pul ed into the driveway of a house two blocks away from my home. He turned to me.
    “If I asked you to do something, would you?” He seemed nervous. I nodded yes, wondering what I was getting myself into. He got out, and I fol owed.
    He led me to his front door. We were inside in seconds. There was a yummy smel to his house. It reminded me of wintertime in Indiana and my mom making stews to warm us up. I stood there a moment taking in the homey fragrance. He led me upstairs to his room. It was a charcoal grey color. He had a desk in the corner, a dresser and chest of drawers lining the other wal s. Windows on a wal with a side view and a double bed centered between them. Shelves on the wal s held little league trophies that were too many to count from soccer, footbal , basebal , lacrosse, and basketbal . He had pictures of his friends, of his family, one of a woman and a man in black and white. I stepped to it and touched it delicately. He watched me as I turned around his room taking everything in; he had a pile of dirty clothes in the corner. He saw me look at them and blushed.
    “Sorry for the mess.” He went to one of two closed doors and opened it. From the top shelf he reached and took down a plastic bag. He brought it to his bed, removing a kel y green shirt and a white shirt. He unfolded them. They were the exact same V-neck t-shirt replicas of his jersey—just in different colors. On the front they had St. Petersburg High School and the mascot, the Devils logo; Nichols was printed across the top of the back with a large thirty-one centered in the middle. His number, I suddenly realized, but I looked at him confused. Did he stash tshirts for al his random admirers?
    He handed me the green one and asked, “Wil you wear this to the game tonight and to the rest of the games this season?” He looked shyly at me.
    “Real y?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Yeah, I’d be honored to wear these shirts.” I smiled as I held one up. He reached in the bag and pul ed out a green zip-up hoodie that had the number thirty-one on the upper left-hand side. These were al women’s shirts and in a smal .
    “Try them on.” He pointed to the second door. I went in and found a bathroom. I was assaulted by his scent, his soap, his cologne. My mind wandered to the vision of him shirtless. I managed to changed shirts. It actual y fit me perfectly. It looked great with my dark denim straight-legged jeans. I came out and did a twirl.
    “Is it OK?”
    “Great fit.” He smiled as he held open the hoodie for me to try on. I slipped my arms into it.
    “They fit perfectly. How did you know my size?” I tested the zipper.
    “I asked Alex. I ordered them Tuesday, and they arrived yesterday. This way everyone wil know you’re my girl.” He hugged me to him over my shoulders. I hugged him, too, around his waist. Was this official now?
    “Alright, let’s go get something to eat.” He led me out of his room, as he added, “This isn’t our date either, in case you were wondering.” I smiled as we came down the stairs.
    “Travis!” A little girl