A shy high school senior jock and a closed-off girl battling an immune disorder fake a relationship to win a social media contest.
Being shy isn't easy, especially when you're the new kid at school. Scotts Valley's football program is subpar compare...
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"Josh, there's an emergency!"
The first time I heard those words, I sprung from my chair, sprinted down our graveyard hall like it was astroturf, and smacked my shin on a broken printer. Loud beats pounded in my ears, but I pushed on, limping to...
...someone who spilled coffee on their keyboard.
Those overused words hit me again before I sat down. I twisted to relieve the pressure on my lower back, and fireworks erupted in my shoulders as I rolled them. A loud pop cracked in my neck. My toes were pinpricked numb, and my calves were knotted like walnuts.
The pressure pounding between my eyes blurred my desk phone's red light. "Emergency, my underpaid ass," I muttered into my hands. My open breakfast bars sat where I'd left them next to my keyboard. The unopened box of malt balls was most likely congealed into one.
I sighed and rubbed my forehead, knocking my elbows on the equipment towers flanking my desk. Hot, stale air burned my lungs. Continuous hums of fans pumped out this insufferable heat. It created the worst case of sweat sacs and reeked of dust, metal, plastic, self-deprecation, and dead-end employment. My armpits and lower back were soaked and, given the campfire temperature in my pants, my balls were two burnt marshmallows. The left one pinched against my–
"Josh? Emergency?" Ekansh's voice filled with impatience.
"You know." I leaned back, to no nut relief, and met my future self's glare. "Fires, explosions, and earthquakes are emergencies."
Tired eyes lined with sandbags, lifeless skin, and frown lines around his mouth, Ekansh shuffled through an inch-thick stack of blue papers. His wooly eyebrows jumped, and he slapped a ticket stack on my desk. "Tell Ms. Gellens, the HR Director, when you fix her network connectivity emergency."
I grimaced at thirteen direct requests on my screen, three from the dragon woman. "Can I tell Ms. Gellens to stop kicking out her cords?" What I wanted to tell her was to stop eye-fucking me as I lay under her desk, reconnected those cords, and collected her dust bunnies on the back of my neck. A grainy texture rubbed the back of my neck. Fuck, were those crumbs? I wrenched up my shoulders and flea-scratched my head.
"Our job is to serve, not to judge." He handed me my ringing phone, which I yanked up to my ear.
"Desktop support!" I answered louder than intended.
"Josh!? Oh, thank goodness! I called eight times!"
I froze at the panic in her voice. "Mom?"
Raw desperation cut through her warm voice. Not her usual Mom-fret. A pulling-down sensation tugged at my stomach, so I clenched it. "What's wrong?"
"Jenna happened!" Her low wail mixed with raspy breaths. I almost heard her frenetic micro-stomped pacing. "The nurse called. She's-Ahh, I'm stuck, I–"
