Fish Eyes

9

"AND1!" I yelled, dunking the ball in the net.

"I haven't seen you play this aggressively in... years. What's your deal?" Dean wiggled his eyebrows at me as I chucked the ball at him.

"It's nothing," I insisted.

Except it wasn't nothing. 

I was beginning to get uncomfortable with how casual of a flirt Dalia was. Every single time she spoke, she said something that made the hairs on my neck stand up along with other anatomy that was harder to hide.

Except I wasn't actually uncomfortable with the casual flirting, or the conversations, but rather how insane all of it was making me feel. I'd gone from stalking the girl at her home and school to playing basketball to relieve stress for the first time in years. I'd pretty much retired the sport completely after I took up photography, with the rare exception of casually playing with Dean at our neighborhood blacktops.

It turned out the crush that I'd developed nearly instantly after meeting Dalia was sustaining itself. Strong.

And I had no idea what to do about it.

My first instinct was to ignore it, which I was trying to do, but I found myself word-vomiting to my friend.

I was especially stressed after she fell asleep at the bartop and instead of waking her up and closing up. I mindlessly listened to her snore while I scrolled through Pinterest on my computer. It wasn't until her mother came in to close up that she made us get up and go home. My face still burned red at the memory. 

"I don't really have that much dating experience, and there's this girl..." I scratched at my sweaty neck under my hair that was tied in a low sloppy ponytail at the nape of my neck.

I had Dean's attention now. "I don't think she likes me like that. I don't even know the signs. And she like, compliments me and seems to find me objectively appealing, but like not subjectively? If that makes sense?"

He snorted. "I've dated plenty, and I'll tell you, it doesn't get any easier to understand them even with experience. Every person's different in general, I guess. What makes you think she's not into you?"

"I kind of think she might be too good for me or something. She comes from a lot more and has this confidence... even when she's being nice it feels like she's talking down to me. And we're really different. And I'm pretty sure she's using me to win an art competition. I dunno."

"In my experiences, no matter how much they say otherwise, girls love being impressed. You're an impressive dude. Just wow her."

"How are you and that dark-skinned beauty from Trent?" I asked, not even trying to be discreet.

"Wait. Were you talking about her?" He whipped his head around at me from where he originally faced the rim, looking exasperated.

"Nah," I snorted. "But I take it you're still chipping at the ice."

"She likes nerds apparently."

"I don't even know what Dalia likes for real," my eyes widened as I realized I had a Freudian Slip moment. 

"Ah. So you got ahold of her after staring a hole into her hair at movie night, I assume?"

"I'm surprised you even noticed with how you were dressing Wendy down."

I'd spent the better half of my early Saturday out with Dean. Dalia and I had yet to make significant progress on our competition piece, but we had a theme. That was the most important part. However, my brain stalled when it came to continuing my train of thought past the concept. As much as I wasn't originally interested in this project, Dean's words about impressing women stayed imprinted on my mind. I remembered Dalia's genuine compliments of my work and artistry, and how validated it'd made me feel; I had the opportunity to do that again and again if I could just get this project right.