"I'm insulted," I say, raising my hands after a while of tolerating him but now, I really can't let it pass.
I wipe the sweat off my forehead, now realizing that it's a very bad idea to actually do P.E. in our gala uniforms.
Harry licks his lips, confused as he plays with the ball under his foot. "Why?"
"First of all, you're playing with me like I'm a royal persona, insulting," I answer. "Second of all, you're playing with me like I don't know how to play."
He snickers.
"And third of all, you're playing with me like I'm a girl."
"You are a girl," he comments.
"Yeah, but it's insulting that you actually treat me like a girl while playing," I say. Insulting as Louis does that, even Runner and it gets quite annoying. I wipe my forehead again and then put my handkerchief in my pocket.
We've been playing for a while now and I've been telling him to play it the way he'd play an actual game but as far as I can tell, he's not taking me seriously.
"How do I play with you, then? I can't exactly play it rough on you."
I click my tongue, "You're really not going to play fair with me, are you?"
He shrugs, "Just tell me if you want otherwise."
"I've been telling you!" I yell. "Dude, you've been taking it easy on me and I don't like it. I don't."
"Tired of everyone treating you like a princess?" He asks and smiles.
I mutter a swear under my breath and then say, "Exactly."
He sighs, "Alright, I'll play fair with you. Don't blame me for how it ends."
"Deal," I say. "Change of plans though, I'll keep, you kick. Half field."
"You sure?"
"Si," I answer and he smiles.
As I walk towards the goal posts, I recall the many times I've seen him kick a goal during the past month, when he'd pretend there's actually a goalkeeper. He has a pattern. . .
I lick my lips as he stands in the middle of the field with the ball in front of him. He starts with a small kick, the faster he goes, the quicker he runs to maintain his distance.
I move my left foot as a diversion. I know that pattern.
A few meters away his pattern starts showing itself, left foot, right foot for distraction, fake kick and then. . .
Upper right.
I caught the ball, feeling the impact of his kick from it in my fingers. "Ow," I mutter to myself, as I place it on the ground. I open and close both my palms, which are both turning red.
My mistake.
I look at Harry and his eyebrows meet. Again, he's looking perplexed as ever.
"How'd you know I was going to kick there?" He asks.
"Good hunch," I lie. "Again?"
He nods. I kick the ball to him, he kicks it and simply plays with it until he's back at the field.
He's trying his other pattern and I pretend not to notice. Once more, swift and strong, I block the incoming ball with my hand. . . another mistake.
"Ow," I groan to myself.
Harry laughs, "I'm playing it fair, I swear. You're just good."
It's not that!
I actually want to yell him but then I remember, it's not his fault at all. I told him to play it fair and it's not his fault he misunderstood.
"I'm not good, you're just predictable," I mutter through gritted teeth while rubbing my palms together.
"Predictable? Me? Predictable?" He asks. "I'm sorry but that never sounds right in the same sentence." Not a dork, not a shy person, none of that, anymore.
I huff upwards, partly pouting and blowing off my bangs as I cross my arms. "How do you answer the fact that I've been two steps ahead of you, twice?"
"Maybe you're just good," he answers.
"Look, you can kick all you want over and over and nothing would get pass me."
"How are you so sure?" He asks.
"Predictability," I answer. Not only does he have a pattern in movements, but there are also clues in his body movements. His eyes, eyebrows, fingers, lips, the way they move show their next step.
He raises an eyebrow, obviously skeptic about the idea. And then his face eases, "Alright, I'll call your bluff. Five times and I'll believe you."
"Five times," I repeat as he starts making his way back to the middle of the field.
Harold Edward Styles is goal-oriented, he's perseverant of what he wants to do. Only, I am right, he's very predictable. He tries to change his patterns, he has but not his expressions and simple mannerisms.
My hands are red by the time those five times are over. I put them in my pockets and shrug as I walk over to Harry.
"You're not going to get into the team if you're that predictable," I tell him. Harshly, maybe.
"Of course not, who gets in the team when they single-handedly get beaten by a girl?" He asks in a grumpy tone while rolling his eyes.
He's got an attitude problem if that set him off.
"You're seriously not mad about that, are you?"
"No," he answers and that relieves me. "How predictable am I?"
"Very, but not so much for the non-observer," I answer plainly, still watching out for his mood, just in case he's a moody person but so far, I don't think it's that way.
I walk towards him, keeping a distance about a quarter of a meter. "Four things, eyes," I point to his eyes. "Eyebrows," and then I point to his eyebrows while he follows my fingers with his eyes. "Lips and fingers," I finish off without pointing the rest.
"Those give you off," I add.
His eyebrows furrow, "What do you mean?"
"It means you're readable," I answer. "The fact that your eyebrows are furrowed now would suggest either confusion or displease, sometimes both. According to the situation, it easily means you're confused. So what do you do when you're confused? You usually ask right or sometimes deny that you are confused. But you've already asked."
He opens his mouth, but I raise my voice as I say, "And now you're either going to ask or comment about how irrelevant that seems when I'm saying your next move. Next one is you'll either shut up or say something in awe."
He stays quiet, staring wide-eyed at me.
I shrug with a sweet smile, "As I've said, predictable. Shall I continue?"
It takes him a few seconds before he composes himself, letting back the macho, bravado look on his face that shows how quick his response is during certain situations.
"Yes."
"As you may notice, I've said two options in each situation, did I not?" I see his expression and we both laugh. "According to your face, you did not notice, am I right?"
He bites his lower lip, smiling and nodding.
"Anyways, that leads us to my philosophy in life," I trail. "There's no such thing as 'no choice' in life, most likely, life will lay out two choices in each situation."
I walk closer, bite my lip and stare down at his lips. Two choices.
I just hope he doesn't have a girlfriend right now because with my distance from him, I could be assumed to be heading onto something.
I lick my lips and smirk, still staring at his lips rather than his eyes as I don't want to see the questions in it. I pretended I wanted to for almost five seconds.
Key word is, pretended.
I have a boyfriend and I don't want to be disloyal, especially not to Denmark.
"Choose the less predictable," I whisper very softly and pinch his arm.
"Ow!" He slightly yells and takes a step back. And then he yells a straight Italian phrase that I've got no idea what it meant.
"Less predictable," I say. "Anyways, what did you just yell at me?"
"It comes very close to, why would you do something like that?" He answers.
"Oh, good, I thought it was something like, unpleasant," I look around and see two cheerleaders passing by and whispering to themselves. . . perfect timing. I chew the insides of my cheek, trying to limit the amount of profanity that I'm thinking of saying.
This might not be good for me tomorrow.
"I hope you don't have a girlfriend because you'll definitely be dead by tomorrow," I say. Someone will know, then everyone. That's for sure.
"I'm sorry?"
I glare at those cheerleaders and the walk faster yet I feel their eyes on us. Not again!
I start remembering, hearing all those dreadful words from last year. In different languages and voices, they keep saying the worst things over and over again.
I calm myself, in the next minute, I realise Harry is talking to me.
"C-Can you please repeat the last thing? I sort of, didn't hear you."
"I asked you what you meant, b-by that girlfriend thing."
I blink a few times and scratch my left palm. "Uh do you remember rule number two of my pointers?"
According to his face, no.
"Not really," he answers.
"Just don't listen to the rumors," I say. "They are kind of my autobiography."
"Story of my life," he mumbles and then the next things were Italian which, again, needless to say that I did not understand.
I need to change the subject and I take the opportunity.
"What's up with you and Italy anyways? Like, you always say things in Italian."
"It's because I lived in Verona for a year," he answers.
I blink a few times, "Verona? As in, Romeo and Juliet scene Verona?" I ask.
Harry smiles, "Yes, that one."
What a lucky person.
"Is it nice?" I ask.
"Beautiful, but I don't like the atmosphere," he answers plainly as if living in Verona isn't much of a big deal. Personally, I think it is the most romantic place in the world. . . Paris just kind of comes second to me.
"What kind of atmosphere exactly?"
"The romantic atmosphere, it's just not real to me," Harry answers.
His tone is actually quite bitter which made me think about what the hell happened to him to make him see it that way.
"You must have gotten heartbroken there, either that or you're just a bitter, —"
My phone rings and I shut my eyes. I answer the call and tell Robbie I'm on my way.
"I gotta go, good talk, by the way." I walk back to the bleachers before he says another word and then take my things.
One day out.
In the evening, I keep checking my palms, even sat on the passenger seat for the first time to let them cool off in the air-conditioning system. Robbie is a bit surprised but I tell him my hands just feel warm.
They are very red, I mean sure, it'll pass but I make a big deal out of little things.
The next day, I basically want to cover my ears and scream as loud as I can. . . but, that was my act last year and that did not work out well so instead of cowering, I just listen to the horribly misleading rumors about me and the "new kid."
I recall the first time this happened to me, it's because two years ago, I made a ton of mistakes of choosing the bad boys so. . . in the end, it was me who is now the player while the boys just kind of been the victim. That was when the rumors and all those nonsense gossips started swirling around me, first it was just a small talk from a few cheerleaders and immediately, a writer from a tabloid came around, searching for a new item to talk about, targeting the sons and daughters of rich businessmen, I was the topic at that moment and then things went worse. Well, this is highschool, definitely, but, it's actually pretty awful because my reputation isn't so good anymore.
I carry on with my day and I am good at it.
"Do I dare ask false or not?" Runner asks while smiling as the topic brought itself out at lunch time. He's used to it, so in the end, it gets to be a joke for the cats.
I roll my eyes and take a sip from my soda. "What do they say?" I ask.
"You were seen kissing an Italian pretty boy," Micha answers, seeing as she is the best among us in terms of gossip. Madz, also is good at that only she's too busy munching through her all-time favorite food, bacon.
"Italian?" Louis asks, "Harry Styles? That one from your class, Runner?"
I'm actually quite surprised that they referred to him as Italian rather than English.
Runner laughs, "How'd you know it was him?"
"He got off on the wrong foot with Gregory, the point guard. And uh, well, that sort of explains the whole reason why I know him," Louis answers. "Anyways, Swift, did you kiss him?" He asks jokingly.
I roll my eyes, "No. And by the way, he isn't Italian. He's British, he just speaks Italian."
"Yeah, I got that," Runner says, "How did the rumor get out anyways?" He raises an eyebrow at me.
"Soccer field, yesterday, I was standing too close, two cheerleaders walking around. That sums it up," I say.
I think about it, even by that distance, give or take thirty meters, I was nowhere near kissing Harry, in fact I was just staring at his lips. They seem awfully soft but the point is, I was keeping my distance.
"How close?" He asks.
"Less than a quarter meter, I think," I answer. I've got no problem in telling Runner the truth since first of, I did not do anything wrong and secondly, he's not the jealous type. Last year, he even teased me with some guys I was rumored to be dating.
I worry about the way information travel around the school, I really do. Because in the end of it, last year, I was a player, Madz is an absolute heartbreaker, Isabelli is a desperate girl and Micha is an angel. . . ironically.
Louis stretches his arms and then pulls them together closer until a quarter of a meter shows up. "Eh, not that close," he says.
"That Italian?" Micha asks and groans.
"He's English, haven't you been listening?" Madelaine mutters and rolls her eyes. "Why are you two even there in the first place?"
"His field, my bleachers, nothing else," I answer. "He just practices there and honestly yesterday was the first time we talked. . . since the start of the school year."
"Practice? What for?" Louis asks.
"Soccer. It's soccer, right?" Runner answers and then asks me.
I nod, "How'd you know?"
"That's all he usually talks about. I've never seen him play but I hear he's pretty good. Is he?"
I shrug, "Quick reflexes, agile only has a soft spot for predictability."
"So what do you think, coach? You think we should give him a shot?" Louis asks and smiles.
I lick my lips and purse them together. "Why don't you guys just see for yourselves, hmm?"
"This afternoon, that alright with you, Lou?" Runner asks and smiles.
I know that smile. They will probably roast Harry. . . that's what they usually do.
I even see Isabelli, Micha and Madz smiling mischievously and excitingly as it usually is entertaining when Runner and Louis goes against one person on anything.
"Alright with me," Louis says.
"Take it easy with him," I say. "He's sort of on the softie side."
Micha raises an eyebrow, "If that's what he's been showing you, then honey, you're wrong."
Oh-kay?
"Us, he's alright with me," Runner says. "I mean, we don't really talk that much, he's quiet but when he does talk, all it's about is soccer. Of course he never talks—"
"Never talks first, he usually waits for you to talk first unless—"
"Unless something happens," Runner cuts me off the same way I cut him off.
The cats stares at us like we're insane.
Until Madelaine's nose twitches, "You know I am both impressed and disgusted about how you two finish each other's —"
"Sandwiches!" Isabelli yells and laughs. With Madz' annoyed face, we all burst out laughing.
"It's not even our thing," Runner says and eats his food.
"Nothing is your thing, in the same way everything is your thing," Isabelli says. "Anyways, Micha, what were you saying about Harry Style being not a softie?"
"Styles," Micha corrects, placing her glass of iced tea on the table. "See here, Styles is a renowned daredevil. And I also heard he's going out with prom princess, Lindsey."
I mutter a swear under my breath, the rumors of me kissing him was bad enough. Actually finding out that he is dating someone makes him all the worse.
"Wow, that makes things worse," Runner comments.
"Well, Swift, you're definitely living up to your nickname now, eh?" Louis jokes, eating his food after.
Honestly, it is getting uncomfortable. I don't really like talking about it too much. I try to ignore the discomfort by eating though.
"Yeah, by dating the fastest in your team," I reply and most of the cats laugh.
"Can we not talk about it?" Isabelli asks. "Like it can really get annoying sometimes."
"Oh my gosh, thank you," I say gratefully in an overreacting way. But really, I am grateful.
"Okay," Runner mumbles.
"Also, you, Runner, should be actually more protective about it. You can't just—" Isabelli starts. . .
"Oh, calm your blow horn, Belli, it's girlfriend-boyfriend thing. Let them be," Madz says and then continues eating.
Runner looks at me, "Are we good? We're good, right?"
I roll my eyes, "Why? Are you having doubts? Do you believe I kissed Harold Styles?"
I think Harry is cute, at least I thought so during the day at the bridge while now, I see him as a normal school mate I just happen to cross paths to most often. I don't have an interest in breaking two relationships in one blow. That is if, he really is dating Lindsey, and in which case, I'm going to have a very bad week.
"No," he answers. "We're good, then."
"We're good," I assure him. As I've told him once, I can't imagine falling for anyone else but him.