by Hughes, Maya
“Our house has a reputation to uphold.” He grinned, reveling in the thought of the almost constant attention he received on and off the field. “But you’re right, maybe you should just hole up in the library to study the new plays the coach sent out.”
“There’s no new play needed, only one—get the ball to me.” I swung around, picked up my bag, and followed him out. People hung around the exits like always.
The girls who waited around after the games were always extra eager, sometimes too eager. I’d seen more than a few guys get burned over the past three years. Latest victim—me.
“Hey, Reece.”
Smile and wave. That was safest. Not to say I was a monk, I just didn’t bang everything that moved, especially not now, and never without making sure she knew I didn’t do relationships and I sure as hell wasn’t going to be anyone’s meal ticket.
There were pieces of paper tucked under my windshield wipers, right alongside a bright pink lace thong with a phone number scrawled across it. Man, I hope those aren’t used. At least it was better than what had been sitting on my windshield the previous season: fucking onesies and baby bottles. How quickly the pendulum swung. Celeste had left the school, but the rumor mill was still churning under the autographs and high fives.
Opening my trunk, I grabbed my ice scraper and flicked the papers and thong off the front of my car. The numbers written on the papers dissolved as they hit the damp ground.
I laughed and climbed inside. If this was how things were in college, I figured the pros must be insanity. Dad had screwed up by getting married before he was even drafted—not that Mom wasn’t awesome. They were disgustingly and embarrassingly in love, but damn he’d missed out. Then again, he’d had more than football going for him. He’d graduated from college with great grades and had taken over my grandfather’s business.
My barely bobbing 2.3 GPA wasn’t getting me anything other than a greeter spot at a nearby big-box store. Going pro was my chance, and I wasn’t going to waste it.
I swung by campus to turn in a paper before driving back to the Brothel, and the party had already started when I arrived. They’d died down for a while, but they were in full force now. Parking around the block, I sat in the car and put on my other game face. I could be the Reece I’d been before. I needed to be.
Slushy snow and ice cracked and crunched under my shoes. The freaking salt on the sidewalk was going to screw up my shoes. High fives and chest bumps came my way, people milling around, moving from house to house looking for the best party they could get into. Cheers were called out from the houses around us. I waved over my shoulder to everyone hanging off their balconies to welcome me home.
Jogging up the steps, I pushed open the already cracked door. The bass from the music vibrated the floor. I slammed the door shut and the sea of heads turned around.
Pinned against it, I braced myself for the onslaught as partygoers, already more than a few drinks in, showered me with their appreciation, namely in sloshed drinks and bro hugs. The blue lights we’d swapped out for party lights gave the house a club glow.
Beer and alcohol, sweat and girls’ fruity-scented perfumes and lotions hung so heavy in the air I could taste it. While other guys struggled to keep their parties from becoming a sausage fest, we’d never had any trouble filling the place up with ladies. The Brothel’s reputation made it hard to keep them out, especially when the Trojans inside were on the winningest team in FU history.
Parties literally appeared out of nowhere. Kegs rolled in the front door, red plastic cups handed out by the hundreds. We’d once locked our door during a game weekend and came home to the front window busted out, the deadbolt lock on the door broken, and a party in full drunken swing inside. Sometimes we had to give in to the current of the ocean, and we didn’t want to have to pay for new windows and locks after every game.
The wood floors were going to be a bitch to clean, but we gave that job to LJ and Berk since they were juniors. Movie posters hung on the walls. Die Hard, Terminator, Kill Bill, and, of course, Rocky. The two couches and chair in the living room were pushed against the back wall to try to protect them from party damage. It wasn’t that they were nice or anything; we just didn’t feel like sitting on the floor for the next six months until graduation.
Berk and LJ took up their spot at the beer pong table in the dining room, and they shouted and waved me over. Nix held court in the kitchen as Keyton and some of the other guys from the team hung out in the living room with never-empty cups of beer in their hands. I held out my arms in front of me, waving them up and down.
“Who’s ready to go to the fucking championship?” I cupped my hands around my mouth for the last word, everyone screamed, and the beer shower began again. I needed to change these shoes or they were going to get drenched.
Playing this part had always been easy, and I hadn’t done anything I needed to hide for. I needed to show them there wasn’t a reason for me to be ashamed—right after I changed my sneakers. I took off upstairs. More high fives were doled out from people waiting on the steps, in line for the bathroom. Thankfully, I had a single with my own bathroom. Unlocking my door, I slipped inside. We’d learned the hard way to lock our rooms during a party or you’d come back to missing stuff, or worse, people banging on your bed.
A rumpled pile of clothes sat on the center of my bed, the same pile that migrated across my mattress and back onto the floor once it was dirty again. There were string lights my sister had put up when she came to “help” me move in, if by “help” she meant bug the crap out of me and attempt to sneak off to a party on campus.
My desk was stacked with books, and various papers were shoved in between the pages. With two-a-day practices, I hadn’t gotten the whole organization thing down before the semester started.
I put my shoes back with the small collection I’d accumulated over the past few years. I wasn’t walking into or out of a game with anyone thinking I was less than they were because of shitty shoes ever again.
I swapped for an old pair that was perfect for party mishaps and jogged back downstairs. Hands slipped around my waist and into my back pocket. Someone slammed a red plastic cup into my hand. It was good to be on top.
2
Seph
“You approved me coming here.” My violin sat on the couch, teetering on the edge of the cushion. I paced in the living room. Talking to him in my room felt like I was being buried in a coffin. The walls started to close in and I could barely breathe. Our apartment was a study in opposites. My coffee mug was tucked beside the coffeemaker I’d bought, Be Happy scrawled across the front in a loopy script.
“I said yes because Dr. Huntsman was teaching there and you said he agreed to look over your studies. Now, Dr. Mickelson is back at Harvard.”
Other than a couple of fuzzy pink picture frames with pictures of Alexa my roommate there wasn’t much personality in the place. We’d been stuck together for the past seventy-three days, not that I was counting. Her other friends were all studying abroad for the semester, a fact she’d told me at least thirty times since we’d moved in together as a reminder that there was no way in hell she’d have chosen me as a roommate otherwise.
“I’ve made a commitment to study here. You’ve always taught me to follow through with my commitments.” Not that I’d ever had a choice.
Alexa’s dishes were trying to crawl their way out of the sink as we spoke. I swore one of these mornings I’d wake up and something from the depths of caked-on crap would loop its slimy tentacles around my neck and try to drag me down the drain.
I picked up a pair of her underwear using the tips of two fingers and flung it over on top of the growing pile on the far end of the couch. Her clothes were draped over nearly every surface in the apartment. Nail polish streaks ran across the arm of the couch that had come with the apartment, but losing my security deposit was the least of my worries right then.
“You’re being unreasonable, Persephone.”
I cring
ed. My shoulders practically jammed into my ears. No one called me Persephone except my parents, my professors, and tutors…which meant everyone called me Persephone. I could say my friends called me Seph, but then I’d need some friends, wouldn’t I?
“I’ll barely have two years here. I hardly think it’s going to throw my future off track.”
“Mickelson is the top of his field. He could have given everyone notice that he’d be coming back to Harvard early.”
I was sure that had been at the top of his list when returning from his leave of absence after his wife died.
“This is still a great program. I will finish my degree and then we can talk about studying more. There’s time.”
“Not if you want to be exceptional.” The popping sound his jaw made when he was exceptionally angry sent a shiver down my spine.
I massaged my shoulder with my free hand. “It’s an Ivy League school, Dad.”
“Do you know which school has had the highest percentage of Fields Medal winners in the last decade?”
“Harvard,” I mouthed at the same time he said it. The coveted math prize was all he’d talked about for as long as I could remember, since I was five years old.
“Yes, I know.” I sat perched on the edge of the chair like he was there hovering over me. Though he was lecturing me from a few hundred miles away, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that his pristinely shined shoes were being pressed harder into the center of my chest.
“You will be the youngest winner.”
“I’ll do everything in my power to do it, if you just let me graduate from Fulton first.”
“I’m glad you said that. I’ve been speaking with your advisors.”
Wasn’t that not allowed? I was eighteen now; he shouldn’t have been able to speak to them about me at all. “They didn’t have a full record of all the college courses and exams you’ve taken already.” There was a slice of censure in his voice. “So it looks like you’ll be able to graduate a year earlier than we expected.”
The blood drained from my face. It was October. I’d only been in Philly for two months, had barely made a dent in living on my own, and he was already trying to get me back to Boston in less than seven months. The room swam in front of me and I leaned against the arm of the chair.
“Please, Dad.”
His disgruntled scoff came through loud and clear. “We didn’t dedicate our lives, sacrificing everything so that you could throw away your future. You will be the youngest Field’s Medal winner.” There was a finality to his words, the same one there’d been when he’d told me in no uncertain terms that I wouldn’t be attending public school. Or when he’d said no, I couldn’t have a sleepover with a girl in the neighborhood I’d managed to befriend during the short time I’d been allowed to play on our block. Or the time he’d told me violin no longer mattered and I wasn’t to play anymore.
Maybe my parents should have checked with me first about what I wanted to do. The door to the apartment opened and Alexa breezed in. She was a bouncing ball of redheaded energy. Green accents in everything she wore brought out her eyes. Today, it was an emerald beret that held back her curls. She looked like a walking cartoon princess. Too bad she’d been cast as my oh-so-real villain.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” I dragged my fingers through my hair and squeezed the back of my neck.
“This is valuable time. Records are being broken left and right and you’ll be left in the dust if you keep putting things off.”
Maybe I didn’t want to be the youngest graduate from Harvard’s to ever win a Field’s Medal.
Maybe I didn’t want the math equivalent of a Nobel Prize.
Maybe I just wanted to be normal for a little bit, but those discussions always led to even more uncomfortable and painful conversations.
“I’ve bought your ticket for Thanksgiving already. Your mother is anxious to see you.” Not him. Never him.
“Can I talk to her? I wanted to ask her about something.” A little motherly advice about how to make friends, a pep talk like the ones she used to give me when taking me to the playground in our neighborhood before Dad overruled mixing with those children. You know, normal kids who ran around, scraped their knees, and made mud pies. Apparently, it didn’t provide me with any additional intellectual benefits, so it wasn’t allowed. It isn’t like playing is something kids like to do. It was almost as if he’d never been a child himself. Maybe he’d sprung from the womb as he was now, fully grown and icy cold.
I would stare out the window at the neighborhood kids riding their bikes, playing tag, or just chasing each other with sticks on their lawns while I was learning the quadratic formula. What six-year-old wouldn’t love that?
“She’s making dinner and I’d rather not disturb her. You know how quickly she can get sidetracked. She burned the potatoes last week…”
As if a call from her daughter couldn’t possibly be worth getting dinner on the table a little later than exactly on the hour. I bit back the words. “Of course. I’ll try again some other time.”
“We have meetings set up for you when you’re here over the break. Be prepared.”
My fingers tightened around the phone. “I’m looking forward to it.” No matter how many times I said no, it was like my words were merely suggestions, or worse, annoyances.
“Goodbye, Persephone.”
“Goodbye, Dad.” I ended the call and placed my phone down on the counter even though I felt like rocketing it across the room.
“So you’re not just an android with strangers? It’s with your family too.” Alexa’s smirk was just like those girls’ in the movies, the bitchy ones who ruled the school with an iron fist. Maybe that was why her friends had all run to other countries the second they got the chance. Oh to be so lucky.
I let out a deep breath with my teeth clenched together. “Hi, Alexa.” Turning, I kept my face neutral. Weren’t college roommates supposed to be friends you had for the rest of your life? The people you’d call up to be in your wedding, or a godparent to your kids?
She flopped down on the couch, nearly knocking my violin to the floor.
I dove for the instrument and grabbed my bow, which was halfway stuck under her ass.
“Dan is coming over in a bit, so why don’t you scamper off to your room and lock up tight? Wouldn’t want you exposed to any of my bad habits.” She flicked her fingers at me, not even looking up from her phone. I’d been dismissed.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. College was supposed to be the greatest time of my life, a chance to make lifelong friends. Turned out the people left over in the housing lottery for a last-minute addition probably weren’t best friend material.
“I don’t mind. He seems really nice.”
She snorted, glanced up, and rolled her eyes. “He’s not interested.” Her laugh was like nails on a chalkboard, her gaze trained on her phone.
I stood there with violin and bow tucked under my arm, my hands clasping and unclasping in front of me before I gave up, packed up my instrument, and went to my room. Why was this so hard? Why couldn’t I just say something to her? Alexa, you’re a real bitch and it wouldn’t hurt if you could be a bit nicer. Why don’t you go to your room when you have a guy over?
Her boyfriend was a constant around the apartment, and their sexual escapades had become my sleep soundtrack over the past couple of months. The ugly green-eyed monster reared its head more than once during those moments. It was so easy for her, for them—hell, for everyone to make connections.
The little potted plant on my windowsill was the only color in the whole room, violets I’d picked up from where they’d been discarded under a bench on campus. They’d given them out to celebrate new student orientation. The lone plant, half knocked over with soil spilled out on the ground, was the only thing I’d gotten to personalize my room. It was the first new thing I’d added to my room other than books.
I stared at the stark place. Blank white walls, white comforter thrown
over my bed, everything neatly arranged on my desk, nothing out of place. Picking up a stack of color-coded notecards, I threw them up in the air. There was a rainbow shower around me as they fluttered to the ground.
Squeezing my hands together, I resisted the urge to pick them up. The next day, I would buy something colorful. I didn’t care what it was, but there was a new ban on anything white, gray, beige, or black. No more neutral. It was time for color. It was time to be bold.
I sat in front of my laptop and logged into the student portal. Navigating to the discussion forum, I checked out the different subject lines. Tutors Needed. Study Groups. Lost Items. Then there was the more personal section. Sometimes people would post about someone they’d seen on the quad and wanted to find again.
Anger at my dad and Alexa—and myself—boiled in my veins. Maybe there was an easier way, something that would kill a few birds with one stone. I could do something completely out of character, as staying in character hadn’t done me any favors. I needed to get proactive. If I wanted to finally start living, I needed to jump-start my life.
Clicking the link to the personals, I opened a new anonymous topic. Friends Needed. My finger jammed into the backspace key. How stupid did that sound? Pathetic. Go big or go home, Seph. Preferably big because going home as the exact same person I’d left as would be beyond depressing.
The front door to the apartment opened and Alexa’s squeal indicated that her boyfriend, Dan, had in fact arrived.
His heavy footsteps down the hallway were accompanied by the sounds of them pawing at each other. I braced myself. Within minutes they were usually banging against the wall like we were in the middle of a blackout and their bodies would provide echolocation to escape the building.
“Hey, Seph,” he shouted while passing my open door. I ducked my head. Alexa’s muffled voice didn’t hide her displeasure. He was the only person who called me Seph.
With my fingers poised on top of my keyboard, Dan and Alexa’s sounds blared through the thin wood of her door. I jumped up and closed mine. I banged my head against it and then stared at the computer screen.
