This doesn't come from the beginning. It's about 60 pages into the novel actually:

“So you like soccer?” someone said, tapping me on the back about ten minutes into my first hour Honors English class.
“Yeah, I like soccer,” I said turning around to see a guy with beautiful blue eyes, and spiky blonde hair.
“Very nice. Are you any good?” the guy asked me.
I thought about the question for a moment. I wasn’t sure how to answer it. Sure, I was good, and I knew it. I had made first-team all-league my freshman and sophomore years, and had been expected to make it this year. Last year I had been second-team all-state even. I just didn’t want to come off as bragging too much if I told the truth about my abilities.
“I’m pretty good,” I informed him, knowing I wasn’t telling the whole truth.
“Pretty good? That’s pretty vague,” he said, doing the air quotes thing both times with pretty.
“So you want the honest truth?” I asked him.
“Yes, would I asked you if I didn’t want the truth?” he informed me, and I could feel myself already starting to like this guy.
“I don’t know. I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name. I mean some people might ask that as just a way to be nice. Other people really want to know how good you are at something,” I told him.