According to Plan

Chapter 37

"Well let's see this arm of yours, Miss. Dangerously Awesome."

He tossed me the ball and I caught it with ease. I took the stance he had taught me back in camp.

Feet slightly apart, shoulders rotated, and the last two fingers between the lace of the ball.

I whipped the ball into the air and it soared with a clean spin, cutting, agile and rapid through gravity and landed, cleanly, in Cameron's arms.

Woah... I did not see that coming? Where was that skill when I needed it?!

"Wow!" he yelled from across the field, "you're better than your brother!"

I didn't know if I should take offence to that or not.

I suddenly felt a million times better about myself. Proud, even!

Hmph! That's right, Stella Morrison can throw a football! Just like a--

Before I knew it, Cameron had tossed the ball back to me, it spun rapidly towards me with such immense force and one word ran through my mind: hospital.

I considered my options: run, or take the hit. Well, it was too late to run... So-

Ouff!

The ball slammed into me and sent me flying to the ground in a persuasive thud.

In a split second, Cameron was by my side, panicking and frantic.

Good ol' Cameron DiMarco, still as caring as ever. There was a stabbing pain in my arm, it felt like someone had whacked it with a hammer.

"I am so sorry!" he apologised, "I completely forgot who I was playing with and my competitive side came out. Ugh, I'm such an idiot! Stella, are you okay?"

I shook off the dizziness, laughed heartily, and jumped to my feet.

"Don't worry, I'm fine, see?" I tried waving the one arm in the air, but I failed. It flopped back to my side and I noticed a huge round bruise forming underneath my shirt.

Alright, so maybe I wasn't okay after all.

Cameron turned a little pale. He must've noticed my arm as well.

Before I could protest, he lead me back to his truck, placing a gentle hand on my back.

He popped open the door and I climbed in. He sat there for a while, just looking supremely guilty.

"It's okay, Cameron, I bruise when I stub my toe, it's not a big deal," I tried comforting him, "that's quite an arm you've got there."

He grinned and cleared his throat, "The Golden Arm, that's what they called me in camp."

I smiled, "I know."

He raised a brow, "you do?"

"Eh," I shook my head, "Steve, he told me."

Technically not a lie... since I am Steve... I can tell myself things, right?

"Oh," he nodded, "...well, I never liked it. Being called that, I mean."

I drew in a quick breath, "really? But you were team captain.. you were the best.. how could you not like--"

"But that's just it, Stella," he interrupted, "I'm just me. No one special, I hated it when they called me that. I'm just another guy in the camp, trying to play the game, you know?"

"Oh," I realised what he was saying, "like you don't want to disappoint, but you don't want everyone depending on you."

"Exactly."

There was silence for a while.

"You know I've considered quitting football before?" he said out of the blue.

I gave him a look, "no way."

"Yeah... I mean I've told people that but they've always told me not to give up. That I'm gonna make it far and prosper if I don't give up. And they're right."

"So then why quit if you know they're right?" I asked.

"The pressure, it's too much. Trying to live up to everyone's standards.. it messes with me. I don't want football to be everything I live for. I don't want to go pro like everyone suggests. Nah, that's not for me."

"Then what is?"

He gazed over at me and smirked, his electric silver eyes gushed with warmth as he regarded me.

"Honestly Stella? I have no clue."

I smiled, "that's alright, Cameron."

He held his gaze.

"It's alright," I continued, "to not have the answer to everything. When you have the answer to life, what fun is it? Life's almost like a game; you never know how it's going to turn out. But it's the mysteries that keep you searching. So what's the point of playing, when you already know the outcome?"

His smirk slowly turned into a smile, and his voice became soft, "you're brilliant."

I chortled, "no, just average. Anyone could tell you that."

"Yes," he said, "but not everyone can say it like that. It gives it perspective. You're truly one of a kind."

Wait, what did he just say?

I bit down on my lip, "you don't mean that."

"I do," he leaned back, thinking, "Stella, you're truly a nice girl. I haven't seen one like you in a while. Maybe that's because I've been hanging around the wrong crowd. But it's been a while since I could really just be myself around a girl."

I swallowed, hard. Was he trying to give me a heart attack?!

"Well," I replied, "I'm not the only one in the world, you know? There are a billion others that are just like me, I'm sure of it."

He turned towards me, a little grin ran across his lips, "Stella, why can't you just accept a compliment? You're stubborn, I forgot to say that too."

"Well I can't accept what's not true."

I thought of the wig that laid underneath my bed, next to the stack of boys' clothes. The lie that I've been living ever since I met him was literally tucked underneath my bed. No, I definitely was not who he said I was.

"Stella, there's nothing you could say that could change my mind about you. You're a good person, and like the good person you are, you won't admit it," he responded.

"Cameron," I rubbed my arm, the pain had somewhat subsided by now, "I'm not who you think I am..."

"No," he stated, as he placed a gentle hand on the contours of my face, "you're more."

And within a second, he closed the gap between us, and held me in a kiss.