I turn away and stop in place, stunned. Milo stands ahead, his face shocked. He obviously heard the whole thing.
“It’s nothing,” I mutter, averting my eyes. “Don’t worry.”
“They’re wrong, you know,” Milo says softly.
It causes me to look up at him.
His eyes are comforting, framed by his rounded glasses. “You’re beautiful.”
The word causes me to jolt backward. My insides contort, rejecting the word. I grit my teeth, disconnecting any association the compliment could possibly have with me. I shake my head and tell him, “Don’t brown-nose me. I already agreed to help you today.”
Milo is taken aback and utters a few sounds before spitting out, “Umm, I wasn’t. I didn’t mean…” His shoulders slump. “Sorry.”
I huff and wave it off. “Whatever. Are we doing this or what?”
A weak smile twitches on his face. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Milo has already changed into his gym uniform, but I stay in my normal uniform as a cover. If my coach or any other gym teacher catches us, perhaps Icould play dumb enough and convince them I didn’t touch the soccer ball at all.
When I dump my books, I hand Milo the soccer ball from inside my locker. He cradles it under his arm as we leave the school building and head outside toward the soccer field.
It feels super weird to be stepping onto the field in my shiny black shoes. If the girls thought I looked ridiculous before, they’d have a field day seeing me in a blazer and tartan skirt by the goal posts.
Milo drops the ball to the ground, letting me take the lead.
“Okay, just kick it back to me,” I say, nudging the ball toward Milo.
Milo takes a deep breath as apprehension sweeps across his face. As the ball rolls closer, his leg winds back. His body isn’t in position to aim the ball at me. He hasn’t looked up to check where the ball is headed. Instead, his framed eyes fixate on the ball. His tongue juts out as he rushes his foot forward, connecting with the soccer ball. He went toes first, and the ball propels a foot off the ground. There was little strength in the kick, so the ball bounces back down, and does little hops in a thirty-degree angle to my left.
“Ugh.See,” Milo complains. “I need help.”
“You weren’t even close to aiming,” I say, jogging after the ball and dribbling it back to my position. “How have you not learned how to do that?”
He shrugs. “How do you not understand act one scene two of King Lear when we’ve discussed it in three classes?”
I rock my shiny leather shoe over the ball. “Because it’s boring.”
Milo gestures at the ball. “Well, this is useless.”
“It’s not useless.” His words feel like a personal attack. “It keeps you fit. It teaches you to use your peripheral vision, so you stay alert. It teaches you hand-eye coordination. It teaches you balance and agility. I could go on and on.”
“You need to start listing off the good things about classes like that.”
I turn to the side and aim at Milo. “Not gonna happen. Now, when I kick it over, just stop the ball, don’t try to kick it back.”
When the ball rushes toward Milo, he sets his foot forward, letting the ball ricochet off his foot.
I groan. “Dude, you’ve gotta stop going toe first.”
“What does that mean?” he asks, throwing his hands up. “I told you I don’t have any skills, and you haven’t taught me how to do anything.”
“You can’t stop a ball?”
“I’m obviously doing it wrong. I don’t just tell you to equal out the sides for an algebraic problem. I’ll show you how to do it.”
I throw my head back and drag myself over to him. “Fine.”
“Don’t you remember being taught the basics?”
