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Urbain didn't know when it happened, where it happened, particularly how it happened - considering every boy that dared to step forward, incredibly nervous but all the same determined to profess their love for her, was shot down with just a single glance.
One stone-cold look was all it took to send even the toughest guys packing.
But something changed. Something recent. He couldn't put a finger on the what or when, but something was different about Charlie.
Charlie, as in the girl he hadn’t maybe completely been lowkey crushing on for the past…forever? Charlie, as in the prettiest girl he’d ever seen in this entire world. Charlie, as in the best player in the school's football club who was not only totally out of his league, but also probably off-limits.
Still.
It...wasn't wrong to think he had a slight, maybe, kinda-sorta chance with her, was it?
Was it?
Charlie wasn't the nicest girl in school—well, he guessed it really depended on who she was talking to—and she was the head of the football club, and didn't take any guff from anybody. But he was closer to her than any of the other boys in their school, nevermind that he was in the same club and she didn't really ever glare him into dust...
Not after the first few weeks of meeting her, that is.
"By the way dude, are you two, like, a thing?" His friend had asked him a little ways back in class - one of the only two classes that he and Charlie shared together in school.
Urbain nearly choked on his own sputter. “W-wait, dude - what?”
"You should go out!” Another student had chimed in. “You both like soccer!"
"And you guys talk!"
He totally choked.
The entire class ooo'd and ahh'd at the both of them, the teacher standing up to settle everyone while Urbain's blush soared to his ears. A few awkward laughs and placating gestures—reassurances that they were totally, totally not boyfriend and girlfriend—later, and he'd looked Charlie's way, only to find that aside the clear irritation in her expression, she had been red-cheeked as well. His heart swelled, and the sight gave him hope that maybe, just maybe she was feeling something towards him, too. Or at least would start.
So he savored the date.
But his heart dropped somewhere in his shoes when he saw her talking to him.
That red-headed guy.
Urbain didn't think much of it at first, he was curious as to who the guy was, sure, but the alarm bells weren't ring dinging in his head just yet. He was probably just a guy friend. Heck, he could've just been her cousin!
…
Didn't stop him from asking though.
“Hey, Charlie! Um, who’s that one guy with the red hair who sits at the bleachers, who kinda cheers you on that you, uh, sometimes talk to...?” Aw nuts, Urbain groaned inwardly. He was starting to sound like a real lame already. “Do you know him? Is he your…uh, your cousin or something?”
This was just after practice had ended. Charlie was re-tying her shoelaces and he thought he heard her scoff before she made a grimace.
Hopefully not because of his horrible run-ons.
“We aren't related. He's just some idiot,” she said.
Now where normally he would've shrugged it off, replied with “oh, okay,” and walked away with a skip in his step, Urbain felt a block of ice slip n’ slide down the back of his shirt instead. So he was just an idiot, that was a good sign, but he was also an idiot who wasn't her cousin, who she totally wasn't at all related to and that was bad, hella bad , because he could just be some idiot who she could fall in love with.
“...Why?” Charlie's voice snapped his thoughts in two. She was leveling him with a weird look.
Or at least a look that told him, quite plainly, that he was acting weird.
“N-nothing!” Urbain shrieked. “Just asking!”
But then he'd caught her smiling at him.
Charlie Vergier. Smiling.
Obviously all hell had frozen over.
Obviously the world had flipped on its axis.
Obviously something sunny had happened in her life.
Obviously that something sunny was that teen with the incredibly red hair he saw cheering for her at her football games over at the bleachers. He could've sworn she worked a little harder each time he was present, and her next footsteps were always gifted to him after each match. But why? She looked so irritated with him whenever he cheered her on...
The better question probably was: where did he even come from? He was never there before, and Charlie had never talked about him...he just popped up, out of the blue! He wasn't from their school, that much was for certain...
He dubbed him Campbell out of spite.
So, okay, sure.
He'll admit.
The guy wasn’t bad-looking.
It was just another problem along with the rest. Was it bad that he wished the guy was ugly? He didn't know what things Charlie looked for in boys—he considered asking her, but she wasn't stupid; no way she wouldn't connect the dots, no way would she not get sceptical and figure out that he…
You know.
That he liked her.
But Campbell sure seemed to have more going for him than he did.
*****
Urbain sighed into his pillow. So maybe he was exaggerating earlier. It wasn't like Campbell was out there every practice. And it wasn't like Charlie was actually looking around for him just in case he did decide to show up. And in his totally-not-stalkery glances at them, she wasn't, like, hugging the guy, either.
So those were all good signs.
No way was he letting some new guy make off with her. He wasn't backing out yet, but…
Urbain groaned. “My DGSI agent is so going to think I’m a nerd for this...”
It took him a couple of tries to type the words, ‘how to impress a girl who has a crush on someone else?’ in Google’s search box. It was like each letter was rigged with all kinds of levels of cringe, and although no one was in his room—and he made doubly sure his mom would have to knock to get in; locked door and all—it felt like, you know, the walls had eyes.
But he did it. Only took his dignity. Maybe his pride, too.
He clicked (with super hesitation) on the first okay-looking link and up popped a forum from a good nine years ago. He read:
“Well if the guy ur dream girl likes is one-upping u so bad, u could always cop his style and wear it better lol.”
All thirty replies this guy got from the suggestion were nothing short of reprimanding: “Don't take this fella's advice!” and “This is the same guy who would walk into MCDs and dance on a table thinking he'll get donations out of it lmbo,” and “no, be yourself. The worst thing you could do is copy off someone else!”
And, well, they made sense. Especially that last one from user CoolGurl2705.
...
Urbain pulled up his mom's cell number to beg her to pick up a box of red hair dye while she was out at the supermarché.
(“Why?”)
“For, um…Science tomorrow!”
(“What brand?”)
“Any!”
(“Hold on, honey. Excusez-moi, monsieur, could you hand me that? Yes oui, that one. Merci beaucoup! ...Now, Urbain, red red?”)
“Firetruck.”
It was the perfect color.
Even if it did take him a good five hours in the bathroom to apply it.
And gosh did it reek!
*****
So. Yeah.
He regretted this.
“Whoa, Urbain! Dude. Your hair is like, a fire hydrant now!”
“Ah! J’aime la rouge!”
“Habanero, huh? Pas mal, man. Pas mal.”
“You look like a hot cheeto.”
But nevermind them. He was only there to show it off to Charlie, easy peasy. Don’t look like a moron. Maybe even say more than two words to her. But most importantly, don’t look like a moron. Or a creep. With that thought, Urbain steeled himself and made his way over to where she sat, writing, at her desk— column four, row five, all the way at the back because Madame Disler’s class was in alphabetical order and Charlie's last name just so happened to begin with the letter ‘V’, but at least she had a nice view of the outside through the window and also, wow, did she look pretty with the sunlig—
Ugh, quit it! Urbain mentally kicked himself. I'm already creeping myself out!
Sucking in a deep breath, he stiffly marched to Charlie's desk and cleared his throat.
“H-hey, Charlie!”
His crush looked up and they made eye contact. Urbain gulped, tried to smile.
Then slowly, Charlie’s eyes drew up to his hair. Her eyebrows knitted.
"Urbain…” she started slowly, “...what's with your hair?"
"Er, I, uh...I decided to dye it red! Thought the color would look cool. Um...Do you think it does?"
She was quiet for a moment longer, still looking him over with that strange expression caught in-between curiosity and something else he couldn't place. "...Sure—”
He lit up. "Really?"
"—but it's weird on you," she went on, not missing a beat.
But boy, did his heart miss like two.
“Oh…really...?” he asked lamely. He fought hard to keep his shoulders from slumping. He now felt so far away from this girl who was sitting right in front of him. But at least, judging by the look on her face, he knew Charlie hadn't said it to be cruel.
And, really, it was a good thing this was a flop; because then he wouldn't have to go spend another five whole hours in the bathroom again for any later applications.
When he got home and looked at the box again, he darned himself to heck.
The dye was permanent.
Strike one.
(He’d also forgotten to put on a hat before he passed by his mom.
Strike two.)
*****
"Okay. So the color's gone," Charlie paused. “Mostly. But now you're dressing weird?"
So, another user on the same forum had suggested dressing up ‘to the nines’. Girls like a man who could work a gray flannel suit and tie, that ‘sophisticated, I-get-all-my-bills-paid-on time’ kind of look. But the sheer splendour of places like Brioni and Hatchett London had shallow-pocketed people repelled like bug spray on flies. So of course finding a suit didn't come without its consequences. He did have to explain everything to his cousin who was responsible for the free hookup.
"I wanted to try something new, yanno? Branch out, expand my horizons...How does it look?"
She scrutinized him. "Your pants are way too loose, and the sleeves on your jacket are tearing at the seams. That can't be comfortable.” She crossed her arms, lifted a brow. "Out with it. What is all this really about?"
“I…”
Charlie sighed. “You can tell me, you know. I'm not going to bite your head off about it.”
Oh gosh.
Oh heck. She was looking dead at him now, he had her undivided attention and his face was hot, and—and he wasn't turning red was he? Crapskies. He was totally turning red right now, wasn't he?
“O-okay, well…” Urbain trailed, absentmindedly scratching the back of his head. He started over. “So, um…There's maybe? Someone I'm trying to impress..?”
“Oh.” Was all Charlie said, and Urbain thought for a painful half a second that she wouldn’t add anything on to that, but then she shrugged.
“Well—whoever she is, I'm sure she'll be fine with how you normally dress.” She turned to her locker, turning the dial to put its combination in. “I'm not really the person to ask about things like this but girls - I guess if they're decent enough - usually prefer it when guys don't get all over the top to impress them.”
The words fell from his mouth before he could stop them. “W-what about you?”
Charlie didn't look up, only scrunching her brow. “Huh?”
“What's… your… type?”
She pulled her locker open, stooped to grab her - what was that? Urbain squinted. S…c...i... Science book. She stooped low to grab her science book at the bottom of her locker, replacing its spot with her foreign language book.
It was amazing how many details you could make out in an awkward situation.
Book titles.
The amount of skid marks on the hallway floor—courtesy of speedsters.
The spine on a leaf.
All three images fizzled from his mind like a bee’s nest when the bell started ringing. He wasn't sure if he was more thankful or upset for it. C’mon bell, I didn't even get to hear her answer! but on the other hand, thank God, thank God, thank God!
The latter seemed to fit the bill more.
“Well, duty calls!” he peeped, speaking faster than he wanted to. “Thanks for the talk, uh, gotta go before the teacher gives me another tardy!” He gave her a smile before scurrying down the hall.
Aw, man...
*****
“Be macho! And sound tough! Forget flowers and chocolates. Those things are GRUNGY and typical and girls know it. If she draws, draw better. If she plays basketball, hoop better. Hell, if they look good, look hotter! Most girls love a challenge! THAT'S how you impress them! Forget everything else!”
Deep breath.
In-and-out.
Okay.
Use the things around them to his advantage. Charlie was a pro, a trajectory queen and nothing less. She was renowned for doing this sort of thing. So maybe if he used her move against her…
Foot set, caution thrown into the wind, and without so much as a second thought, Urbain kicked the ball. A calculated risk he dared to take.
But boy, did he suck at math.
His football shot to the right, sending it hurtling into the glass windows of the café, whirring past Firmin first, who ducked just in the nick of time, and bouncing off. He was relieved it didn’t shatter the glass into a million pieces—
But then it smacked straight into a person’s car so hard it left a dent.
The entire café stood still.
Firmin peeked from underneath his arms.
Charlie was stunned.
Oh boy.
It couldn’t get any worse than this. Where was an ‘abort mission’ button when he needed it?
It could get way worse.
Out came her papa with the biggest scowl on his face. He could see the red tick marks on his forehead—and was that steam whooshing out from his ears? Urbain gulped. Maybe it was his imagination playing games with him...
“Tu te fous de moi!?”
…Or maybe not.
Urbain took a horrified step back, two. What to do, what to do…what to say? His brain was fried like shrimp and short-circuiting like a toaster in a bathtub. The only thing he could do was hold up his hands and hope it would save him from being hauled a good kilometer down the street.
He was so dead meat!
“I-I...” he actually managed to stammer out. “I didn't mean—”
“Pass him, okay?” Charlie interrupted through an exasperated breath. Urbain's eyes became saucers as he watched her cross her arms and walk to her father's car. “I think we can all agree that he screwed up royally.”
(A-ah... well, that? He couldn't really deny that.)
She didn't say another word to him—didn't even look his way—as she hopped into the passenger's side, and Urbain swallowed hard as the full extent of the Inspector Vergier death glare was leveled at him. The next heartbeat, and the man was in the car and driving off.
Urbain stalked away as fast as grace would allow him.
He probably should've paid more attention to what the girls were saying back on the forum...
*****
“GOOOOOOAAAAAL!”
Urbain made his way out of the swarm of shouting teammates and squinted through them to look for her. And there Charlie was, standing in the middle, just as always. He swallowed anxiously. It was going to be hard trying to reach her while she was amid the whole team—and the deafening noise and blaring lights weren't really doing any solids for his nerves...
He was happy that they'd won the season’s game, too! Swear. But he had been planning this for weeks and, well, it might've been at the forefront of his mind?
Right after the last match of the season.
Objective: Don't look like a moron had crashed and burned, obviously. Could've burned more, but, well—hey. It was all in the past, only mostly forgotten since he still had seatmates wondering where his ‘red cheeto dust’-colored hair went.
(Gone and never ever getting a sequel, by the way.)
But nevermind that.
Today was the day. He could do this. Easy. Simple. No dressing up, no hair dye, no any of that. He was going to throw his heart on his sleeve and straight out confess. They were just words, after all! All he had to say was, “I like you, Charlie!”
…Maybe his heart was thumping a mile a minute.
…And maybe his legs were getting all wibbly and he was on the border of collapsing dead out like one of those collapsable chairs and his brain was hollering at him to not.
Go home, kid! it said. You don't want no smoke!
But Charlie Vergier was the real trophy here.
...
Good grief, let words that vehemently corny never be uttered again.
No, wait! Thought Urbain in horror. She's leaving this early? His heart dropped somewhere in the pit of his stomach when he watched Charlie wave at the team and turn to leave. Just before she took off, he jogged over to grab her wrist.
"Charlie! Can I talk to you real quick? Just for a second?"
She seemed shocked, ready to snatch her wrist—which they both knew he should not have seized—from his hold, but she didn’t. She threw him a screwed-up look instead.
"Urbain, what? Can't this wai-"
"It's really, really important,” he begged. “Please?"
Charlie hesitated, looking in between him and elsewhere for a beat before she let out a sigh that was hardly audible over the clamor of cheering teams and their equally hurrahing family members. She held up her index finger to someone in the bleachers to wait for her. Urbain wasn’t going to look over to see who it was, he had an itch he already knew. The guy was probably over there smiling at her, proud at her win…
I'm prouder though.
He mentally shook his head. He couldn't think about that right now. He had a feeling Charlie wasn’t going to give him all day to say what he had to. He had to make this quick.
So he lead her over to someplace quieter. He skimmed around, checking to see if anybody else was by. There wasn’t, thankfully. When he turned back, Charlie was leveling him with an expectant, less-than-impressed stare.
“What is it this time? Don’t tell me you’re going to ask for another match right after we just won one.”
“No! No—not this time, er. It’s something different. Totally different.”
A silence fell over them and Urbain gulped slowly. Charlie clamped her mouth shut as she waited for him to speak. In the past, this silence would have been treated so differently. It felt awkward and uncomfortable now.
But considering what he was about to say...
“Um, Charlie?” he started, a thousand thoughts flying through his mind as he looked her in the eye. She lifted an eyebrow, not interrupting him much to his gratitude. “You see…”
He was going to say it. There was no time to turn back now. He struggled to keep eye contact and his gaze pivoted between her and the ground beneath them but, flooding confidence within himself, he bravely placed her hands on her shoulders, and green eyes met teal.
Then he pressed his lips to hers.
Well, would've, maybe, if she didn't shove herself away before it happened.
Oh.
Crap.
Heck.
Darn.
Turn around, put it in reverse.
Aaaaand repeat.
“Urbain,” Charlie breathed, taking a step back in surprise. “W-what in the world—”
Ohcrapheckdarn.
“I-I…!”
It was instinct. Nothing but pure instinct. All he was planning to do was just tell her those three words—you know, those three words—and… and maybe other things too, like how he’d always admired her for her football skills, and how pretty he thought she was, or the way that boy with the red hair who he didn't know made his skin crawl…
(Okay. Maybe not that one.)
But gosh, how much of an idiot was he? He didn't, hadn't meant to…to actually go and do that.
‘Hecked up’ couldn't even begin to describe what he'd done.
“S-sorry!” he squeaked, the sound coming out puny and ridiculous. "I-I can’t believe I…-I didn't mean to do that, I just…” He was too scared to look up into the eyes that he could feel burning into his head. Maybe if he held his breath long enough, he'd become one with air? “I… don't know why I did that... I just meant I think you’re pretty, and I l-like you a lot, but I was so nervous I just didn’t know what to say. A-and I didn’t want to say the wrong thing either,” he explained, rubbing a hand across the back of his (now sweaty) neck. “And I guess you don't feel the same way, and that's cool! Totally! Totally—um…cool.” Man, did he sound pathetic. If Charlie kicked him now, he'd applaud her for it.
The hecktard he was, he definitely deserved it.
He continued, just as lame, “I guess I kinda figured you liked that other guy…”
At this, Charlie squinted. "I like—what?"
“Tha-that one guy at the bleachers—with the red hair?” he clarified, and Charlie's expression dawned. He felt his entire everything slump a little for it. "You smile more, you work harder at practice, you're just—you're always talking to him. You said he was your archenemy, but I thought I was your enemy. I've never seen this guy before in my life, but it's...like you've known each other forever."
Charlie blinked.
Blinked again.
"That's what this is all about? You dyed your hair red, dressed strange, and then did... whatever that was you did back at the café, and all those other dumb things just so that you could..?"
Now that he thought about it, it all really did seem stupid. Foolish. He'd tried too hard.
Girls didn't like guys who try-harded.
She'd even said it herself.
“Kinda, yeah…” he admitted, shoulders slumping.
Silence hit.
That was the only word for it - hit. Charlie was quiet for a little too long and Urbain thought it would hurt a lot less if she'd slapped him instead. But the slap didn't come, and…and what was Charlie thinking? She hadn’t said anything yet and he hadn’t looked up either. Maybe she only saw him as fumbling, awkward dumb-dumb who didn't have the level of maturity she needed in a date or a boyfriend.
Nevermind that he had just attempted to kiss her without her permission.
Another minute (one that felt like an hour to him) passed before there was a sigh.
“You've got things mixed up,” Charlie explained, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes were turned elsewhere now, downward, and there something of a blush on her face. He rarely, if ever, saw her visibly uncomfortable. “I don't—like him. All we are are friends, I guess. Frenemies, actually…”
“O-oh. Really?” He asked lamely. It shouldn't have been surprising—and really, despite the relief that came with hearing her words, it wasn't. He couldn't really picture Charlie actually going out with anybody, but again, he…
“But I'm not really into dates and relationships and stuff right now,” she finished.
A-ah…
“Oh, sure...” he replied sadly, looking down at his feet. He felt like he should have expected that, to some extent. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt because it really did.
But it was okay.
She did say right now, didn't she? That meant that there was hope, right? So maybe in the future, they could be…
Well, more than friends.
“I have to get back to my father now.”
That reeled him back in. Urbain blinked. “Wait. Your dad?”
Charlie made a look. “Yeah, I'm surprised, too. He usually no-shows at our games, but this time…” She trailed off, and then she shook her head. “Anyway, he's waiting for me at the bleachers.”
So it wasn’t the boy with the red hair then.
“Oh. Okay. Uh…See you next semester, then.”
“…You should try for somebody else." His eyes snapped up. She’d only just started to walk away so she turned back fairly quickly. But one look at Charlie told him that, again, she hadn't said it to be cruel. "I've got a lot on my plate, and I doubt it'll let up anytime soon.”
He laughed humorously. The ground was calling his name, so he averted his eyes back to it. “Schoolwork and football and stuff, right?”
“That…sort of thing, yeah, but—” she added, and he looked up again. “I thought it was cool that you tried to kick your ball off something during our match at the café.” She shrugged. “It was a failure of an attempt, sure, but you might have drubbed me if it didn't bounce off and dent my father's car instead.”
And suddenly, the weight he’d been carrying around was gone and he felt lighter. He couldn’t help but let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in during the entire time.
“Really?”
“I said might.”
She walked away.