I waited for Taylor for twenty minutes and had almost given up when he came barrelling through the doors to the library, his face and hair still damp from the shower he had obviously just taken.

When he apologised for being late, explaining that practice had run over, I shrugged it off like it was no big deal, making out that I had enough work of my own to catch up on. That was a lie, though. I’d finished my English paper last night and only had my history coursework to finish, which wasn’t due in for another week. I’d easily get it done. It wasn’t like I had much else going on in my life. Honestly, I just wanted to see him, even if that meant looking foolish in the process.

When Coach Thorn had mentioned that one of the guys on the team needed my help, the last person I expected it to be was Taylor. Luckily, I’d had the whole week to get over the initial shock before facing him again. I thought it would be awkward, but surprisingly, it was anything but.

We fell into comfortable silence as we put our heads down and got on with the task at hand. I was beginning to wonder why Taylor needed help at all. I knew he was struggling to get the work done—he’d told me so himself—but it wasn’t like he needed my help. He knew the work and the answers to each question, which made me think something else had to be wrong.

Taylor dropped his pen and reached into his bag, pulling out a bottle of Lucozade and unscrewing the cap. I watched as he tilted the bottle to his lips and took a long swig. The way his throat constricted as he swallowed was oddly fascinating. I was suddenly extremely jealous of the bottle pressed to his lips. God, I was lame.

He took another sip, this time smaller than the last, and then shoved the bottle back in his bag. Amusement lit his face. “What?”

I shook my head, a little embarrassed that I had been caught staring. “Nothing. Sorry. I was just thinking, that’s all.”

“All good thoughts, I hope.”

“What? No,” I hit back, nudging his shoulder playfully.

“Not good then,” he said, seeming disappointed.

“It’s not that. I just… I just wondered…” Great. I’d become a stuttering mess. Why couldn’t I just keep quiet?

“Wondered what?”

Sighing, I placed my pen on my textbook. “At the party, when you pulled me away from Melanie. Thanks for that, by the way. I dread to think what Jen and Andy would've thought of me coming home black and bruised.”

“You think I pulled you away because I was worried you’d get hurt?”

“Didn’t you?” I raised both brows.

Taylor dropped his head back and laughed. “Not at all, Firebox. Not at all”

There it was again. Firebox.

“Oh.”

“And you were saying…”

“I was saying…” What was I saying before deciding to make an idiot out of myself? “You said you lived at the place where the party was. I was just curious because isn’t that Jake’s house? It’s Jake, right? He’s on the team?”

Taylor smirked. “It’s my uncle and aunt’s house. Jake’s my cousin, and yes, I live there, too.”

“You live there because it’s closer to school?”

“That, and other reasons,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “What’s with all the questions?”

I slouched back in my chair. He looked angry. I hadn’t meant to offend him.

“Sorry. I’m being rude,” I rushed out. “Just tell me to shut up.”

“I couldn’t do that,” he said, shaking his head.

“It doesn’t seem to bother all the others.”

“I’m not like them. Besides, I like hearing you speak.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I mean… Well, no one’s ever said anything like that to me before. Mostly they tell me to shut up when I’m trying to get my point across. The ones who don’t insult me pretty much ignore my existence. Then you said that and it… You surprised me, that’s all.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Oh, trust me. It is,” I said, laughing.

“People notice you, Lola. I think what they struggle with is knowing how to act around you. Not everyone sees you as a threat.”

That thought made me feel uncomfortable. I started to wonder what it was that people had been saying about me. I’d never really cared before. Up until recently, I’d let their comments slide. It also made me a little embarrassed. What must Taylor have thought of me? Would he listen to them? He didn’t seem like the type of person whose thoughts would be influenced by the crowd. The Taylor sat next to me had his own mind and wouldn’t form opinions through others’ eyes. Taylor wasn’t a sheep. He didn’t follow suit. Still, it didn’t stop me worrying. The thought of him feeling differently made me sick.

When Coach had told me he’d arranged for some chick to help me study, I was a little more than pissed off. The last thing I needed was a nerdy do-gooder picking apart my flaws and spouting shit about how all us athletes were the same. We wanted the world, but didn’t want to work for it. Blah, blah, blah…

I told him there was no way that was going to happen. I would figure my shit out on my own. He wouldn’t have any of it, though.

Already late for my first session, I’d pushed through the doors, more than surprised when I saw Lola sitting there waiting for me. In that moment, all I could think about was how much I wanted to hug the shit out of Coach for setting it up. Talk about a stroke of good luck.

After the night on the rooftop, I hadn’t really seen her around. I figured she was avoiding me. She’d never have admitted it, but I thought Thorn scared the shit out of her, hence why she was currently sitting beside me reading over my English notes.

After that first session, I figured she’d got any awkwardness she felt with me out of the way. Her shoulders were more relaxed today. All her tension had disappeared. I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable in my company, but the dickhead in me secretly enjoyed watching her squirm.

It was a nice feeling to know I affected her in some way.

Every so often I’d catch her nodding her head as if she actually understood what she was reading. I wasn’t sure how she managed that. I couldn’t even read my own damn notes. I always had to chase up one of the guys to pinch theirs.

“Okay,” she finally said. “This is easy enough.”

“For you,” I mumbled.

“No, really. It’s just a short story task with no real guidelines to follow. The only pointers are the word count and language. You can do that.” She shrugged as if it was that easy.

“Me? Write a story?”

“Sure. Why not?” She frowned.

I scoffed. “I wouldn’t even know where to start. And besides, I’ve never even read a full book.”

Lola’s green eyes widened. “Never?”

“Nope.”

“Not even as a kid?”

I shrugged.

“I don’t believe that for a second. You mean to tell me that your parents never read you a bedtime story? Not even once?”

“I knew what I wanted—even back then—and it definitely wasn’t reading.”

“Football?” she said, lifting her eyes up from the notepad in front of her.

I nodded.

“So why are you here? College, I mean? Surely you can play football without attending a college?”

“You can, just not regular football. It’s not like it is here. You don’t practice every day and the matches aren’t guaranteed. I wanted to play regularly and here, I could.”

Lola nodded her head in understanding. “Well, then you need to quit whining and write a story,” she pointed out and slid the notebook across to me.

I cocked both brows. “That simple?”

“Yep. First you need to decide on a topic. Like I said, there are no guidelines, no precise content. As long as you nail the word count you should be fine.”

“Should?” I asked.

Lola nudged my arm playfully. “You’ll do great.”

“I’m glad you have all this faith in me, but I still don’t know what the hell to write about.” I scratched the back of my neck, feeling off balance. I had no idea where to start, but I knew I had to if I wanted to get Stokes off my back and my feet firmly planted on the field. I sighed.

“You can write about the weather, fishing, cooking…”

When I made a face, Lola laughed and straightened her back. “Write about something you love.”

“Football?” I frowned.

“If you’d like to.” She shrugged. “You can make it as true to your life as possible. Add in some bits about your experiences, that way you’ll know where to take it. Remember, you’re in control of this. No one else.”

I started making notes and Lola fell into silence once again.

After I’d gotten a fair chunk of words written down, I lifted my head and eyed her curiously. She was biting down on her pen, lost in a book. “Before the rooftop…” I started.

She looked up slowly and waited for me to go on.

“Why didn’t you speak to me? It was as if you didn’t know I existed.”

Lola continued to chew on the pen, avoiding my question for as long as she could. “If I tell you, you have to promise not to laugh.”

“I promise.”

She sighed and dropped the pen. “You made me nervous. After the accident, I found it hard to interact. I don’t think it was only you. It was just safer for me to not say anything to anyone and go about my life in my own way.”

I wanted to tell her that she made me nervous, too, but I couldn’t. I was used to people judging me, but when it came to Lola, the very thought of her thinking badly of me made me sick.

“That must be lonely. Everyone needs friends—you more than anyone.”

“Gee… Thanks.” She chucked her head back and laughed lightly

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean— “

“I know what you meant. I’m just kidding. And yeah, I do. But you forget, I’m so completely awkward, it’s safer for me like this.”

Did she really think that? How did she not know how others saw her? How I saw her?

“We’ve done a fair bit of speaking and I can honestly say this: You, Firebox, are far from awkward.”

“Why do you call me that?”

I frowned. “What?”

“Firebox?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. It was the first thing that sprang to mind.”

Lola’s forehead creased in confusion, but she didn’t press me on it. Truth was, I had no idea why I called her that. It really was the first thing that sprung to mind the very second I heard her speak. It did seem pretty damn fitting, though. There was this girl—so shy and unsure of herself—quiet and timid, until that first stroke of heat danced upon her. Once lit, she would become this big force of energy that you couldn’t tear your eyes away from, never wanting to miss a single second of it. A firebox.

“Oh, hell.” Lola jumped up, scrambling to gather her things together.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m late. I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you Wednesday, though?”

“Yep. Eleven-thirty?”

She blew a loose strand of hair away from her face and smiled. “You got it.”

“See ya later.” I smiled back, trying to act casual.

“Bye, Taylor. Good luck with the assignment,” she called over her shoulder.