For the next couple of weeks, my footwork got better. I spent more time at the practice field, actually kicking the ball. Every time I dug my cleats into the grass, it felt more natural. More like how it used to.

The scrimmage game helped unblock whatever wall I had built up in my head, loosened all of that muscle memory from high school. I still wasn't anywhere near where I used to be, but I was getting better every time I hit the field.

I was still feeling uneasy about tryouts that were creeping up in the next couple of weeks, but I had to take the little wins where I could get them.

After getting home on a Thursday evening from the field, still sweaty and sore from my workout, I was yanked by my arm through a doorway on my way to shower.

Suddenly, I was standing in Kenji's room, on top of a pile of laundry by the door. He stood beside me with a wide look of panic on his face, only wearing a pair of sweat pants as he said, "You gotta help me, dude."

"What's going on?" I asked with a shock of alarm. Looking around his room, I didn't see any reason for sudden panic other than the shocking amount of moldy food wrappers on his nightstand.

"I need help," he explained through a heavy breath. "Going on a date."

"Oh?"

"I'm freaking out, man. Tory talked me into asking this girl out that I matched with on Tinder and now I'm supposed to meet her for tacos in half an hour." He was talking very fast, his eyes darting around the piles of clothes on his bed. "I don't even know what to wear."

"You want fashion advice from me?" I asked slowly, glancing down at my long shorts and t-shirt, still drenched in sweat from my earlier workout. "Maybe you should ask Banks?"

"I need your help on how to talk to her," he explained, and then glanced down at my outfit like I just did, as if realizing that I wasn't exactly the expert on how to dress for a date. Of course, I did attempt to dress up for my own dates, but I still wouldn't say I knew what I was doing in the style department. "But also, maybe I should get Banks too."

He fired off a text as I stepped further into his health hazard of a room. "I hope you plan on cleaning up before you bring her in here."

His brownish skin started going sort of pale when he looked back at me. "I wasn't even thinking about inviting her over."

"Okay, okay," I tried to soothe him before he could have a total break down. "I wasn't saying that you have to or that it's expected. Just that it would be the natural progression of things after a couple of dates, probably. But not if you don't want to."

"Oh, god," he groaned, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head falling into his hands.

"Hey, don't worry so much, okay? Everything is going to be fine. She said yes to the date because she already likes you, dude. You just have to be yourself and try to relax," I kept trying to pep talk him, but I wasn't sure if it was working. "You are a very funny guy, and you're creative and sensitive and- what's this girl's name?"

"Bridgette."

"And Bridgette is lucky to have a date with you," I concluded. "Go into it with your shoulders held high and you'll be alright."

"You two having a moment in here?" Banks interrupted from the open doorway with an amused smile.

"He's nervous about his date," I explained. "You know, Morgan and Tory are hanging out with Ollie downstairs, maybe they could have some words of wisdom from a girl's perspective?"

"No. Please, that's so humiliating," he groaned and then looked to Banks and said, "I need your help deciding what to wear."

His amusement grew as his eyes flicked to my workout outfit. "You don't trust Liam's artistic vision?"

"He's useless. Look, I have this shirt," Kenji held up a plaid button up long sleeve shirt. "With khakis maybe?"

Banks raised his brow. "Are you going to a job interview?"

He fell back onto his bed with a loud, helpless groan.

"Come on, Ken," I coerced him back into a sitting position. "You know what girls really like?"

"Abs. Height. Hand eye coordination. A will to live."

"Confidence," I corrected him as Banks moved to the bed to sort through all of the clothes laid out there in an attempt to find the right outfit. "If you walk in there like an anxious, sweaty mess, you'll be dead on arrival. Even if you're freaking the fuck out, you've got to fake it. Play it cool, relaxed. Not aloof, stay engaged, but... just calm."

He narrowed his dark eyes at me. "You can't tell me to be myself and then tell me not to be an anxious mess. They're mutually exclusive."

"You're never nervous just hanging out with us," I reminded him. "So try going into it like you're talking to your friends. She's just a person and you talk to people all the time. You eat tacos all of the time."

"Wear this." Banks tossed him a pair of beige pants, a striped t-shirt, and a denim jacket. "You have a pair of white sneakers?"

Kenji nodded.

"Great. Get changed, we'll wait for you in the hall," Banks decided, ushering both of us out of the room and shutting the door.

I let out a long breath.

"How do you think he'll do?" Banks asked in a low voice so that Kenji wouldn't be able to hear through the door.

I could only shrug and say, "I have no idea. Hoping for the best."

"How come you couldn't help him pick out an outfit?" he cocked his head to the side. "I mean, hopefully you won't tell me that you wear Adidas, even on a date? You have to have at least one pair of jeans."

"I have two," I said with a sheepish laugh. "And my sister mostly picks out my clothes for that type of stuff."

Banks started to laugh, leaning his back against the wall across from Kenji's door. "All that practice with Bratz dolls as a kid didn't prepare you for an adult fashion sense?"

I started laughing too. "You'll never give that up, huh?"

He shrugged, starting to say something but was interrupted when Kenji's door swung open. He wore the designated outfit now, down to the white sneakers. His straight black hair was swept to the side, he smelled like cheap cologne.

"Bridgette is going to lose her mind," I assured him with a pat on the back as we ushered our nervous friend down the stairs into the living room where Ollie was still watching TV with Morgan and Tory.

"Wow, Kenji, what's got you all dressed up?" Tory pondered with a curious smile.

"He's got a date," I answered for him. "He looks nice, right?"

"A date? From the Tinder you set up?" Morgan sat up, her interest piqued now as well.

"Yup," he shuffled awkwardly toward the door. "We're going to get tacos."

"Not at Taco Bell. Please, Ken, tell me you're not taking this girl to Taco Bell," Ollie teased him.

Kenji glared at the snarky remark. "No, you asshole. We're going to Taco House. That's a good first date spot, right? I thought it was a good idea, but now maybe it should have been something nicer? Like the tavern or-"

"Taco House is the best first date spot," I interrupted his circular thinking before he could really get himself worked up. "That's where I took Dalia, and Walker went with Beth. You're good. Just take some breaths. Confidence, remember?"

"You're going to do so good!" Tory tried to offer some more encouragement, Morgan nodding her agreement. "She's going to love you."

"Just don't order messy tacos," Morgan added. "Or anything with onion."

"Right. Got it. I have to go now or I'll be late," Kenji announced to the living room, finally getting to the front door. "Thanks for all the help, let's just hope I don't blow it."

And then he was gone.

"I really hope it goes well," Tory said with a hopeful sigh. "Kenji is the sweetest guy, he really deserves it."

"He'll be fine," Ollie shrugged off the concern. "He's always such a nervous wreck until it's game time and then he really turns it on."

Very aware that I was in desperate need for a shower, I started back up the stairs to resume my plan from before getting kidnapped by Kenji.

"You guys are really good friends," Banks said, following me up the stairs. "I mean, I've known that because Ollie has told me about all of you in the passed couple of years, but sometimes it still surprises me."

"That's what friends are for, right?" I responded. "To be there for each other when we're struggling."

"Yeah. True."

"I didn't have any friends coming into college," I admitted out loud, for some reason, once we reached the top of the stairs. "So I probably forced Ollie to be my friend more than he was a willing participant at the beginning, when we were roommates freshman year."

"Really? I find that hard to believe," Banks said with a scoff. "You were a hot shot jock with no friends? Thought you'd be the most popular guy in school."

"I guess I was, before my injury. Maybe not the most popular, but... close enough," I said, my voice tight. I didn't usually talk about the injury or the aftermath to many people, but there was an easy way about Banks that made it feel so safe to let it spill out of me. "But after that, I was too bitter to stay friends with my teammates and it was just kind of... downhill from there."

I didn't go into the depths of how hard the injury hit my mental health. How I put all of my self worth into the sport and when it was taken away, I felt like I wasn't even a person anymore. How the depression kept me in bed, locked away from all of my high school friends until they stopped trying to reach out and then the year ended and that was it.

"Well, Kenji is lucky to have you," he added, maybe to bring me back to the conversation when he could see my head going somewhere else. "Hey, are you busy for the rest of the day? I was thinking we could work on that marketing homework together."

"Sure." I was relieved to not be talking about high school anymore.

"Meet in my room in like, half an hour?"

I agreed and then headed up the stairs to my room to grab my things for a much needed shower.

Half an hour later, I stood in Banks's room, still baffled at how large it was compared to mine. His bed was made with a blue striped comforter and next to that, a wooden desk with his laptop resting at the center. On the wall behind the desk, there were sketches and drawings taped up like a collage of thoughts.

On the wall across the room, there was a large TV already playing Parks and Rec from the episode we left off at last time we were watching. So far, we'd made it halfway through season two.

"You take the desk," Banks said, quickly grabbing his laptop and taking a seat at the edge of his bed. He was wearing a pair of loose Tate branded sweat pants and a t-shirt, an outfit that he only wore within the house as he lounged around. He was wearing glasses too, which I only ever saw him wearing really early in the morning or late at night. They were large lenses with black rims, perched high on his narrow nose.

"Did you draw all of that?" I asked as I sat in his comfortable desk chair, resting my laptop where his was just a second ago.

"Yep," he confirmed with a quick nod.

He mentioned being an artist before, but I guess I never thought about it. I never saw him drawing or anything. "They're really good," I said, examining one of a snake wrapped around a tree branch. It looked really similar to the snakes wrapped around his arm.

"Thanks," he said, the corners of his mouth quirking into a smile. "I like to draw nature, animals and plants and stuff."

There was a drawing of an anatomical heart cut into four sections, split up by geometric shapes. Another one of a lamb, sleeping on top of a flower. Either the flower was very large, or that was a very tiny lamb.

"Anyway," I blinked away from the drawings, even though I wanted to ask so many more questions. "The answer to the first question is the Under Armour's Rule Yourself campaign, I had that one in my notes."

Banks, sitting criss cross on his bed with his laptop on the comforter in front of him, started typing. "And then the second question is 'what is marketing myopa?' and I actually know the answer to that one."

"Feel free to share with the class."

"A lack of foresight in marketing ventures, like tunnel vision," he said as he typed. "Focusing on the needs of the company rather than the needs of the customer."

We moved on to the next question, both of us sifting through our notes to find the answers to each one down the list.

"What were you like in high school?" I blurted out when we were between questions, about halfway through the worksheet. Earlier, I talked about mine but he didn't disclose anything about his own experience. It somehow felt unfair that he knew more about me than I did of him.

Banks flashed me a curious look from the bed, opening his mouth to say something but then shutting it again like he thought better of saying it out loud. "Rough. Bullies and all that, you know, the cliche shit," he finally answered.

"Oh. That sucks."

He shrugged like it was no big deal at all. "Builds character, I guess."

It felt like there was something else that he wasn't saying and it wasn't my place to pry, so I dropped it. Instead, I decided to ask about something else. "How are things going with that girl you went on a date with? Jordan?"

"Ah, that's nothing serious," he shrugged off the question. "But we're still talking."

"You think it might become something serious?"

"No," he said with a laugh. "It's kind of complicated. Not Jordan, but just my own issues. I don't know, it's hard to explain."

I didn't know why it bothered me so much that he didn't feel like he could open up to me. We didn't know each other for that long and he definitely didn't owe me anything. I was just very curious about him, and the more mysterious he was, the more I wanted to know.

"Maybe I'll get it out of you someday," I suggested lightly, turning my gaze back to the marketing worksheet.