In which Adeana Coleman has to interview Oliver Tate for the school paper, except she's been madly in love with him since the fifth grade.
Prompt 97: For a school magazine, you're supposed to take individual interviews of the football team players...
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There's something supercharged between Oliver and I, and it's like every time our eyes meet my heart aches to hold his hand again. To fall asleep to the soft sounds of his snores.
"A good luck kiss?" Oliver asks me as he runs up to me, and I'd be lying if I said he didn't look good in his uniform. It's been hard enough to focus on the upcoming game, without the knowledge that he was going to be playing.
"I'm sorry, what?" I ask him, and I hear Penelope squeal from behind me.
"I was asking for a kiss for good luck," he tells me, and I'm sure that my face is the color of tomatoes. He's giving me a bashful smile, like he's sort of surprised that he got up the courage to ask, but interested in how I'm going to respond.
I press my lips to his cheek, and I'm sure that his face is as red as mine. He runs off onto the field, and I hold my camera close to my chest.
"What was that?" Penelope asks, slightly squealing. I grin, and lace her arm through mine. I take a picture of the boy on the field, and smile as I look down at the picture that I've taken.
"I don't know," I tell her, watching as the game begins.
"Coleman, how's the Tate article coming along?" Dorothy asks as she walks up to me, camera in her hand. The two of us are covering the game tonight, because although Dorothy is the editor-in-chief, she's also one of the best photographers on the newspaper team.
"It's going," I tell her, but I still haven't gotten very far with it. After waking up in the Tate house last night, and having breakfast with Oliver and Bonnie, I went home and tried to work on the article. And I did get most of it written, but somehow when I wanted to write about Oliver's future in football, I couldn't bring myself to do it. Some part of me knew that if I wrote about his promising NFL career, it would doom him to a career that he wouldn't want.
"Coleman, we have deadlines to make," she reminds me as the game starts, and I sigh, but nod my head.
"Why is it that you call me Coleman whenever we're doing newspaper things together?" I ask her after a few minutes of silence between the two of us. Penelope has retreated to the stands, not allowed on the field during a game, because she's not in the newspaper.
"Because I want to be professional Deana," she replies, and we take a seat beside the football players on the bench. I wrap my arms around myself, and then remember that for once, I was finally prepared for the cold weather of Norwood. I stand, and walk back to where I had to leave my bag, pulling out Oliver's letterman jacket. I fully intended to give it back to him, which was why I packed it in the first place. But when I slide the jacket on, I'm warm, and so I decide I'll wear it until he's done and then I'll give it back to him.
