CandyMag.Com

We were cracking up because we looked so ridiculous: AJ, in his basketball jersey looking every inch the jock; me, in my practice sweats and dancing shoes, poised to play the part of a prima ballerina; both of us ending up with swollen ankles at the clinic.

Then AJ blurted out, “I remember you have strong elbows.” I bit my lip, feeling myself blush to the roots of my hair. He was talking about that day — graduation practice — when I accidentally knocked his elbow off the armrest that we shared because I got so nervous. We were going to be joined, joint to joint. I freaked out.

But he looked so cute teasing me, his face breaking out in a lopsided grin, his eyes with a sly twinkle, that I forgave him. I tried to recover, “Yeah, well, you could have been charging. I was simply boxing you out.” Thank God for Carlo and his basketball jargon.

His face lit up, “You like basketball? That’s great! Few girls do.” Most girls liked this player more than the game, but I wasn’t about to commit social suicide and tell him that. Instead, I said, “It amazes me how many words they have to describe the act of putting one ball in one basket.”

He chuckled, “I read somewhere that in Alaska, they have like 20 words for snow. I guess you can’t stop describing, or thinking up names for, something you have too much of,” he said. “Or really like,” he added.

I quickly ran down the list in my head: Funny. Friendly. Nice. Star athlete. Cute beyond words. Killer smile. Riveting eyes. Soft-looking hands. Great skin. Tall. Broad shoulders. Unbelievably long lashes. Athletic build. Dazzling personality. Nice-smelling cologne. Pretty good taste in shoes. That’s four words and twelve phrases. I could go on.

I nodded. “Wish I knew how to play basketball though, rather than just like it  from up in the stands,” I said before thinking. He was quiet for a while, and I turned what I just said over and over in my head, regretting I said it, certain he’d think I was styling. He sat up excitedly, “Basketball’s fun because it’s easy. I can even teach you one time, when we’re both healed up.” We laughed, I soared. “Shooting is all wrist action,” and he gestured as if he was actually shooting a ball. (Adorable.) “And when I teach you defense, just don’t let me get by you.” “I seriously doubt that that’s possible,” I said in mock seriousness, “as you can very well see, I’m the limping ad for lampa.”

“You’re being too humble. I’ve seen your fancy footwork.” I must’ve looked at him in disbelief because he added, “I’ve passed by the gym on one of your practices. I remeber telling my teammate there’s more to you than meet the eye,” he said softly. I just sat there, dumbfounded.

“Wanna go get a drink?” he followed up after a while. I nodded, relieved we had something to do that would give me a breather from thinking of one witty comeback after another. We stood up at the same time, AJ leaning heavily on his right ankle, me relying on my left. We went to the drinking fountain just outside the clinic.

As we slowly made our way out of the clinic, I reeled at what he had just told me. I didn’t hear him say, “This is taking some effort.” I could’ve sworn he said, “This wouldn’t have happened to F4,” although why I thought he said that will always be beyond me. “You like Meteor Garden, too?” I asked, surprised we had that in common. “I’m a closet fan,” I declared. He glanced at me, brows furrowed with a quizzical look, and it dawned on me tht he had said something else completely. I looked away and cringed thinking he was probably insulted. “Never mind.” I said, almost whispering.

We had reached the fountain by this time, and I placed both hands on it for support. It was then I realized I didn’t exactly have a foot free to press on the pedal. AJ came to my rescue. “I’ll get that for you,” he volunteered, inching closer to me and reaching for the pedal with his good foot. To support his weight, he put his left hand on my right shoulder. He smiled, “It’s the blind leading the blind,” commenting on how silly we looked.

His hand on my shoulder sent tingles down my spine. When it was his turn to drink, I helped him in the same way, using my good foot to maneuver. On our way back, he said, “Between the two us, we have quite a pair of good feet.”

And I wished we were quite the pair, indeed.