His Butterfly

Chapter 4

I look at the ground and take a deep breath. I slowly let go and land on my feet in seconds. I may have been centimeters off the ground, but this was a life changing moment for me.

"It was a scary moment for us all," Jaxon teases, picking up both our bags.

I narrow my eyes in his direction and follow him to the middle of this freshly cut field.

"Tada!" He drops the bags in the middle of the field and raises his arms.

"Oh. A field. Yeah, I see it now." I hold my hands out, and make a rectangle with my thumbs and forefingers, as if to capture the moment.

He smirks at my response and pulls out a soccer ball from his bag. "When we first spoke, you told me you always wanted to play soccer."

I glance at the ball and back at him, "What are you trying to say?"

He twirls the ball nervously and bites his lip, "I was hoping I could help you."

I raise my eyebrows and cross my arms, slightly in denial.

"But you're going to have to work with me." I can hear the hopelessness in his voice and I automatically take it as a challenge.

"Fine. I will work with you, as long as you promise not to laugh."

He crosses his arms, studying me to see if I'm telling the truth or not,"Fine." He finally gives in, tossing the ball onto the ground.

"Kick it."

I kick it gently and it rolls not even five inches away.

"Butterfly, you're going to have to kick harder than that."

I take a deep breath and back up for a running start. He backs up too, ready to receive it.

I put all my might into it, yet miss it by a centimeter, sliding onto my butt.

He lifts his hand to his forehead and closes his eyes. "That's um. Hm. It's- it's okay," he reassures me, pulling me back up, "We'll work on it."

That's weird. He's actually being patient with me. I don't think anyone has ever actually been this patient without wanting to throw themselves down a flight of stairs.

"I was just warming up." I brush it off and stand back in position, ready to try again.

"Woah, woah, hold up." He places his hands on my shoulders to stop me and kneels to my feet, "You're going to want to kick the ball with this part of your foot. With the strength you're kicking with, I don't want any broken toes." He looks up showing off his dimples, then stands up, placing his hands on his hips. "Try again."

This was going to take a bunch of work and patience, but I feel like I may actually be able to get through it.

After we practice, I sprawl out on the grass, sweaty and tired.

"Good work today Brooklyn." We exchange a weak high five and he drops next to me.

I build up enough energy to hit his arm gently, "Water please."

I watch him roll over and grab my water, sitting up slowly, "If you want it, you have to sit up." He teases, holding the water above my stomach.

I groan and pull myself up, grabbing the water from him, "Thanks."

He waits until I finish and leans back, opening his mouth, "Fountain."

I sigh and hold my water above him, draining it into his mouth. I suddenly get this great idea to toss it, open capped, to him and grab my bag, running.