I rack my memory. “I don’t think so.”
“Well, it’s definitely not the look you’re going for. They’re like the lawyers of birds.” He shudders and I cough a shocked laugh. “You would be more of a…” He runs a hand along his jaw, pretending to be deep in thought.
I stare at his outrageously sarcastic expression, eyes looking up like the answer is just beyond his reach.
“Oh! I got it!” He snaps and points at me. “A blue-footed booby. That’s what you looked like.”
“A what?” I sneer. “Did you just call me a booby? What is this? Seventh grade?”
“No, no, no! A blue-footed booby,” he says, slower this time, elongating every word.
“Oh. Duh. A blue-footed booby,” I repeat as if it’s suddenly obvious.
I stare at him with a blank expression. He stares back with a satisfied grin.
“AND WHAT IS THAT?”
“They’re these birds that have blue feet who walk funny and do a weird little dance when they’re trying to find a mate,” he continues, unfazed by my outburst.
I arch my brows in suspicion at the word mate.
“It was mostly just the blue feet and clumsy part that I was referring to,” he clarifies, pointing to my feet, which are donned in baby blue high-top Converse.
“Ahh, I see. I’m a blue-footed booby,” I conclude, nodding my head in faux understanding. “Of course, you would know a bird like that, you nerd.”
He shrugs with his arms up like, “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
If Declan hadn’t been blessed with football quarterback genes, his mental Rolodex of fun facts would’ve land-locked him in the nerd category at school immediately. No one gets away with knowing that much information about a niche bird species without looking like that.
“Funny little dance though? I’d pay to see that,” I continue.
“You don’t have to. Wait here. I’ll show you.” He pops up and sprints over to our pile of belongings at the beginning of the field, digging for his phone under his crewneck, and then sprints back to me.
I watch over his shoulder as he maneuvers to YouTube and types “blue-footed booby mating dance” into the search bar. He clicks on a National Geographic video and turns his phonehorizontally for me to watch as two birds stand awkwardly beside each other, picking up their absurdly aqua-colored feet and putting them back down. They really are bright blue.
Declan chuckles and then points at the screen. “Watch. If that wasn’t enough, they start showing off their wings. And even better, if they really wanna win them over, they offer the females a gift. Like a little pebble or a stick.”
I watch as a white-bellied bird tosses the tiniest pebble you’ve ever seen into the other bird’s line of sight. And that’s all it takes I guess, because next thing you know the female joins in and starts dancing with him.
“Awww, that is too cute,” I coo behind his ear.
A text drops down on his screen, interrupting the video. I try not to read it but the text is in all caps so it’s kind of difficult to avoid. There’s a guy’s name and the words “DECLAN! ANSWER YOUR PHONE! ARE WE SCOOPING, OR NAH?” underneath it. He quickly swipes it away and says, “Oops. Sorry about that.”
“No, it’s fine. Looks like they really need to reach you.”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Some of the new teammates are going to Murphy’s Drive-Thru tonight.”
“You should go!” I say, even though it makes my heart dip into my stomach as I do.
But only the normal amount of disappointment when you’re having fun and don’t want it to end, of course. It’s not because if we stop hanging out now, I’ll have to spend the hours before normal bedtime warding off replays of each scene of our day in painful detail. Overanalyzing each moment and then overanalyzing why I’m overanalyzing our friendship and if it means I’m starting to develop feelings that would ruin it.
“No, no really, it’s fine. I don’t want to,” he insists.
“Oh right. I forgot you bought this entire ball for me.” Ihold up the foam ball, trying to make a joke out of the situation, but the tops of his cheeks turn pink and I realize what I’ve said has too much truth. I’ll be thinking about that particular shade of pink for days to come.
He bought a foam football to play with me alone, and is still here when he could be getting burgers with his teammates.
I scramble to my feet and mumble something about needing to get more practice in if I want to stop looking like a blue-footed booby. I try to move past how off-balance the sight of his embarrassment throws me.
