“With Kai gone, we could work on your soccer skills,” I suggest. I bite my lip and add, “Or, should I say, lack of skills.”
“Ha ha,” Milo mutters. “Are you just saying that to get out of studying?”
“No, I want to finish this, but you also need more help. Aunt Maddy doesn’t need me at the cafe, so I have free time to be here.”
“Don’t you usually hang out with the guys at the skatepark in the afternoons?”
I shrug. “Kai won’t be there. The other guys are probably hanging out playing a video game.”
“Well, if you’re game to teach me again, I’m in.”
We move onto my set of math problems, and I fight to stay conscious against Milo’s hypnotizing scent. They are relatively similar to yesterday’s homework, so once I tell the difference between dividing each side and minusing each side, he gives me the green light to leave the dining table.
“I’ll head to the garage and grab a soccer ball,” I say, launching from my seat. I’m well versed with the racks of sporting equipment lining the walls in Kai's parents’ garage.
Milo leaves in the opposite direction, saying he’ll change clothes and check on his cat.
When I collect a soccer ball, I slip out of my shiny black leather school shoes and put on a pair of Kai’s old sneakers. They’re loose, but surely more comfortable. I also grab one of Kai’s sweatshirts and pull it over my crisp white blouse. I leave my shoes and blazer by my bag in the dining room and take the soccer ball outside.
While I wait for Milo, I kick the ball up and hit it with the inside of my foot. The ball lifts higher in the air and when it lowers; I hit it with my thigh. It bounces off and I strike with my opposite thigh.
“Whoa,” Milo mutters, meeting me outside. “You’re not making me try that, are you?”
I let the ball hit the ground and step on it to keep it in place. I laugh. “Somehow, I think it’s above your coordination level.”
Milo smirks. “Me too.”
“Why don’t you try dribbling?”
“Excuse me?”
I pass the ball to him, and to my astonishment, he stops it without tripping.
“Dribbling is where you run the field while maintaining control of the ball by kicking it ahead of you on each step.”
Milo kicks the ball towards me, toe first, and it spins out. “Show me first.”
“Boy, we gotta get you kicking with the inside of your foot, not your toes.”
Milo groans. “It is so hard to care about these little nitpicks.”
“I’m not nitpicking,” I respond. “It’s just technique. There’s a wrong and right way. No in between.”
“You’re making this sound like math.”
“Would it help you to think of soccer like math?” I ask, dribbling the ball across the grass.
Milo lowers on bended knees, watching me dribble. “Hang on, dribbling is kicking, right?”
I stop the ball and puff a laugh. “I knew there was a reason they call you a genius.”
Milo stands tall with a dubious look. “Well, I’m no soccer expert, but wouldn’t it make sense to teach me to kick before getting me to run and kick at the same time?”
It is a solid point. I roll my eyes and pass him the ball. “Good call.”
Milo sticks his leg out to stop the ball, but the ball rolls between his legs.
I slap a hand over my forehead. “Oh, boy.”
