15.

A few days passed since my resolve to try and find out what Atticus was thinking. More and more it became clear to me that if I wanted to get anywhere with him, I'd have to do it myself.

He was either too shy to approach me outside of gym visits, or I was completely wrong about the chat after all and he wasn't shy but honestly didn't like me. That would be the most obvious conclusion if someone avoided you, after all.

I'd briefly considered telling Mandy. If she heard I maybe had my eye on Atticus it was guaranteed he'd hear. But so would the rest of the school. I'd quickly discarded that idea and decided to wait for a chance to say something to Atticus at home.

Chances, unfortunately, were scarce.

Atticus spent a lot of time on the football field as a varsity athlete. The rest of his time, he often sat downstairs doing homework (or chatting with Jonah who knew). Chiara was a little too close for comfort to talk to Atticus downstairs, so I refrained.

Instead, I spent my time finally making the watercolour wild horses painting Chiara wanted, opting for white horses in a fantasy-like blue environment.

I permanently lost my hearing in my left ear at the squeal of delight Chiara uttered upon showing her one Saturday afternoon.

"Oh my gosh! Kade, I love it!" she exclaimed, carefully taking the already framed painting from me as if she feared she'd drop it. "I can't wait for your dad to come home so he can put this on the wall!"

I grinned, a little embarrassed at Chiara's unbridled enthusiasm. "Don't think Dad's gonna be home soon," I said. "Not if he's at the school office, workin' on strategies for Pinewood's second match of the season. But if you want, I can put the painting up already? If you tell me where I can find a drill and stuff?"

Chiara smiled wider and clasped her hands together. "You would? That's lovely of you to offer, Kade."

"Sure, I don't mind."

"All the tools are in the shed." Chiara scratched her chin. "Oh, but the shed's lock is rather old though. It's not easy to open. I'll ask Atticus to help you."

"You really don't—"

I stopped talking. Chiara was already in the hallway and not listening to me.

"Atticus! Can you come here for a second?"

Chiara knocked on the study door, and Atticus came out promptly.

Chiara put her hand on his shoulder. "Be a doll and help Kade with the shed door, okay?" she asked.

She gestured at me standing in the living room. Atticus followed his mother's gaze and glanced at me through the open living room door as well.

"Yes, Mom."

"Alright." Chiara patted her son's upper arm. "I'll go out to get us dinner for tonight alone I guess. And, Kade, thank you so much for doing this."

"No problem, Chiara."

"Oh and Kade, if you see anything in that shed that you like, feel free to take it, okay? Your dad and I still need to clean that place out."

"Thanks, Chiara."

Chiara left the house, and as the front door slammed closed, it hit me.

We were alone. Atticus and I. I needed to be on the lookout to make a move somehow. Crap, this was sudden. My heart pounded as Atticus walked into the living room and pointed at the backdoor.

"Let's go," he suggested.

"Yeah, let's have that painting up before Chiara comes home," I agreed, following Atticus outside to the shed.

Atticus  groaned in effort as he yanked on the door handle of the old shed, and eventually managed to force the rusty door open.

Like Chiara had said, the old shed looked like it hadn't been cleaned up for a long time, and was filled with random, forgotten treasures.

Atticus searched for and collected the drill, nails, and a hammer, but I got distracted by some other items. Small balloons, some Crayola paint, a linen sheet, and a set of darts... Grinning to myself, I realised I'd already found my afternoon entertainment.

With all the loot from the old shed in my arms, I waggled to the back door of the house. Atticus followed after me with the items we needed to attach the painting to the living room wall.

And then we just kind of stood there at the back door.

"So, my hands are a bit full. Could you open the door?" I asked with a sheepish smile.

Atticus' eyebrows knitted. "I don't have the keys. Thought you had them."

"You need a key to open this door?"

"If you want to open it from outside, yes."

"...Oh, crap. Sorry."

That's what I got for not being an outdoor person and always locking myself up in my bedroom. Now I realised I'd never stepped foot into the garden and had only used the front door.

At least Atticus didn't look more pissed with me than he usually did.

"We could use a credit card to open it?" I suggested.

Atticus shook his head. "Mom will be back soon," he said, placing the drill, nails and hammer on the garden table. "Let's wait rather than force our way in."

"Yeah, okay," I agreed, bending down and putting all my stuff on the ground.

Crap, I didn't bring my phone outside. Neither did Atticus, judging from the fact he wasn't already glued to its screen, which is what people generally did when waiting.

We should talk. I should do something. My eye fell on the paint on the floor, and suddenly I had an idea. I'd seen it in Princess Diaries and it'd looked super fun.

With tape and a piece of styrofoam from the shed, I secured the linen cloth to the fence. While I was working, I felt Atticus' eyes on me, but he didn't ask what I was doing.

He still didn't ask what I was doing when I planted myself in the garden chair and started filling the small balloons with different colours of paint.

Only when I started attaching the little balloons to the styrofoam and linen with tacks, did Atticus speak up.

"What are you doing?" he finally asked.

I suppressed a smile. If Atticus was curious enough to ask, that meant he was really curious. "Water balloon and darts paintin'. Want to join me?"

I picked up the dart set box, opened it, and offered Atticus the blue darts.

Atticus looked at the darts, but didn't take them from my outstretched palm. "I'm not a painter," he said. "I wouldn't want to ruin your creation."

I finally failed to suppress the smile tugging at my lips. "You can't ruin it. Here, let me show you."

Taking one of the red darts I aimed and threw it at the linnen cloth. Hand-eye coordination in the sports area had never been one of my strongest feats. The dart completely missed the target, landing in the grass.

Atticus raised one eyebrow and I let out a laugh. "Okay, that wasn't as smooth as I'd hoped. It was supposed to hit one of the balloons. I think you're probably better at this way of paintin' than me."

I offered Atticus the blue darts again. His eyes shifted to the linen sheet and back to my hand. Finally, he stepped closer to me and reached for the darts in my hand.

His fingers brushed mine, and I was strangely aware this was the first time he'd touched me since our introduction. I smelled his deodorant - a scent I'd also smelled in the bathroom in the morning, but somehow slightly different on him.

For once, I was the one breaking eye contact. Then, there was a splat coming from the linen. Atticus had thrown his dart. It'd landed flawlessly in the centre, and burst two balloons at the same time. The paint dripped down the sheet, leaving unique markings on it.

"Wow, you're really good at this!"

Atticus snorted and shot me an incredulous look. Ah, yes, he always reacted oddly to compliments, didn't seem to matter what kind of compliment it was.

Atticus hit a balloon with every dart he threw. Me? Not so much. I hit about half, and that was when counting very liberally, meaning not counting the ones that completely missed the target.

That didn't really matter, though. I glanced at Atticus when we were about half-way through popping all the balloons and the crease between his eyebrows was gone. Dare I say it, no dare I think it, there was even a small smile playing on his lips. I had to be careful with thoughts, they might scare the smile away.

Atticus suddenly looked my way, and in doing so completely caught me staring at him. Of course I looked away faster than Atticus threw a dart at the linen, but it was already too late. I'd scared the smile away.

A few seconds later Atticus cleared his throat. "It's your turn," he said.

It was my turn. Felt like it was permanently my turn with Atticus. I'd keep throwing darts off-direction, coming up with creative plans to get him to open up. I'd never be able to just throw a dart straight.

Throw it straight.

Hang on, of course. An idea suddenly popped into my mind. An idea that was so simple I almost wanted to laugh at how I'd missed it. Why was I making this unnecessarily difficult? There was one way to be sure. Right now.

Atticus was staring at me now. I still hadn't thrown my dart, but I was about to.

"Hey, Atticus," I said, turning to him. "I know things are a bit awkward now, but I'll be livin' with my mom soon..."

Atticus blinked rapidly a few times. "Sure?"

I swallowed thickly and licked my dry lips. "When we're no longer livin' in the same house, I was wondering if you wanted to go out some time?"

Internally I panicked a little the moment the words left my lips.

I'm sure Atticus' expression had to be absolutely hilarious, but I was too much of a chicken to watch. Instead I turned to our target and threw my dart. Right into the fence.

That better not be an omen.

"Kade, I'd—" Atticus started.

The back door flew open. "Goodness! Were you two locked out here? Why didn't you call me?" Chiara's voice rang out. "I'm so sorry, I should've told you you should take your keys outside! Oh, no, Kade you're all red. Did you get sunburned?"

Chiara approached me and pressed her hand to my forehead with a concerned expression.

"I definitely got burned," I muttered. Actually, I wasn't sure about that yet. I was going to look at Atticus the moment he answered my question, but that was on hold now. Possibly permanently, knowing him.

"I have a great cream for that, Kade. Don't worry. Hey, you were painting? That's such a funny idea, with the balloons," Chiara then said, patting my shoulder.

"Uh, yeah, but we can finish it later," I said. "After we put up the wild horses painting."

"I'll get right to it." Atticus rushed past me, and I barely caught a glimpse of his backside as he grabbed the equipment on the garden table and rushed inside.

I made a popping sound with my lips. So, that went well. Shooting straight seemed to be just as off-direction as any other shot I'd taken.