by Erin Noelle
“I want you to be her when you grow up too,” Mo jokes, ridiculously waggling his eyebrows at the beautiful anchor.
The throw pillow I’ve been snuggling up to goes flying at his head. “You’re such a pig. Just like all guys.”
He tosses the pillow back at me, laughing. “You’re gonna have to toughen up, Flaca. If you really want to do this for a living, you’re gonna spend a lot of time interviewing in locker rooms and such, and the crude, vile, derogatory language is just a part of it.”
“I know that. I can hold my own,” I insist. “You’ve seen me this week at workouts, right?”
“Everyone on the team has seen you this week,” he grumbles under his breath.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I challenge.
“Exactly what I said. You’ve been the topic of more conversations than I care to think about. Even the coaches seem to appreciate your daily presence in your cut-offs and OU tank tops.”
I frown, not at his apparent displeasure, but at the fact I’m obviously not being taken seriously as a reporter. “Really? That’s a bit disheartening. I thought I did a great job covering the team last year, and they all liked me because of that. Maybe I should wear a hoodie and sweatpants next week and see if they treat me the same.”
“It’s a hundred degrees outside; you’ll pass out with heat exhaustion, and then they’ll fight over who can give you mouth-to-mouth.” He sits up straight and looks at me seriously. “All you can control is the job you do. Don’t let the ignorance of others affect you. Kick ass on the paper, and one day, that will be you on the TV. It’s not just this business; it’s with everything in life . . . you gotta play the game. Use what they give you. There’s a thin line in being prideful and stubborn.”
I curl up next to him, wrapping my arms around his thick torso in a big hug. “I thought I was supposed to be tutoring you, not the other way around,” I murmur into his chest.
He crushes me against him, kissing the top of my head. “Just wait until algebra, Flaca. Your time is coming.”
“Thank you for being so awesome, Mo.”
“Thank you for being so skinny, Bristol.”
The following morning is Thursday, exactly three weeks since I returned from St. Lucia, and I still wake up thinking about him. I am also still guilt-stricken-mental-breakdown-free, which is incredible, but it almost feels like I’ve replaced one form of emptiness with another. I assume Alyvia is still asleep, as I haven’t heard any rumblings from her room yet. It was pretty late when Mo carried my sleepy self from the couch, where I’d passed out, to my bed before he and Lucky left, so I’m assuming she’s probably exhausted from her ‘workout’.
I roll out of bed and stumble over to my desk, turning my laptop on to check morning headlines and my emails as I do every morning. As I filter through most of the junk, my IM window pops up with Kayden wanting to chat. I groan aloud, then feel guilty for avoiding him, as well as Charlotte and Ashleigh.
Upon my return, I’ve been hesitant to log on to Enduring Life much. The few times I have, everyone has been posting pictures from the trip, which includes lots of shots of Davis and me together. My memories are hard enough; actually seeing the photographs is pretty much soul-crushing. Charlotte and Ash have both sent me emails saying they understand my absence and are there for me whenever I’m ready, but until now, I haven’t heard much from Kayden.
Reluctantly, I hit ‘accept’.
Kayden: Hey, baby girl. How’s school?
Me: Hi, you. Starts in 2 more weeks. I’m just here early working on the paper and made sure I got my waitressing job back.
Kayden: Cool. I’ve missed you, haven’t seen you on EL lately.
Me: Just been busy with the move and covering practices
There’s a pause. Hopefully, work pulled him away.
Kayden: Have you talked to your boy since you’ve been back?
No such luck with the work thing. I want to lie, but I don’t.
Me: No
This time, an immediate reply.
Kayden: Baby girl . . .
Me: I’m fine. Please don’t start.
Kayden: Want me to beat him up?
I laugh.
Me: No
Kayden: Want me to make you a voodoo doll and send it?
I laugh harder.
Me: No
A long pause.
Kayden: Want to come to NYC?
Me: Sure
Kayden: Give me dates. I’ll make it happen.
My reply was meant to be tongue-in-cheek, as I assumed his question was. But that’s what I get for assuming.
Me: I was kidding, K. I can’t leave campus until winter break.
Kayden: The city is beautiful at Christmas.
Davis’ warnings about single guys not wanting to just be friends with me echo loudly in my head. I may beg to differ with Mo, but I’ve got a feeling he may’ve been right about Kayden. I try to deflect.
Me: You’re crazy. I’ve gotta go work, which you should be doing.
Kayden: I’m crazy serious. This convo isn’t over, baby girl.
That’s what I was afraid of.
ROUTINE. I LIKE ROUTINE, and order, and control, which is exactly why I’m excited for classes to finally begin and to get in the groove of a set schedule. While the last few weeks have been nice hanging out with Alyvia, Lucky, and Mo, who have become permanent fixtures in our daily lives, and focusing on revamping the sports section of the Daily website, I’m ready to move forward with a new semester. I’m hoping it will also help me move on from Davis, who continues to consume my thoughts and dreams, making me question my sanity more often than I’d like to admit.
“You about ready?” I call out to Alyvia, who has been styling her curly auburn hair in the bathroom for the last thirty minutes. “You know we’re going to a photojournalism class, not a photo shoot.”
Watching the morning sports news while drinking a coke, I’ve been ready for over an hour, as my body is still used to getting up at the crack of dawn for the early morning practices I’ve been attending the last few weeks.
“I’m well aware of where we are going, but it’s the first day of school,” she yells back. “Sorry if I want to make a good impression.”
With a roll of my eyes, I turn off the TV and stand up. “A good impression also involves not walking in ten minutes late.”
I walk in the kitchen, throw away my empty can, and grab my backpack off the table. Pausing briefly before throwing it over my shoulder, I remember the last time I used it was during my St. Lucia trip . . . and he pops in my head yet again. A complete purge of all of my clothes and belongings may be necessary soon for this to stop happening.
“Okay, I’m good to go.” My best friend appears from the hallway dressed in a solid black maxi dress with perfectly curled hair and flawless makeup applied. “How do I look?”
“You look great,” I answer truthfully, glancing down at my own black shorts and kick-ass Beastie Boys t-shirt I recently found at a thrift store. It’s one of those shirts that’s been washed so many times the soft fibers are barely hanging on to each other, thus making it virtually sheer and the most comfortable thing ever. My hair is piled on top of my head in a messy bun with two pencils jabbed through each side, holding it all together. “Almost as awesome as me.”
She chuckles and snatches her book bag off the couch. “To be as organized and put together as you really are, I’m not sure why you’re always so adamant about looking like a hot mess.”
“It’s my style. I call it ‘I don’t give a fuck’, and I think it’s really working for me. It pulled you in, didn’t it?” I tease as I walk out the door and bound down the stairs, anxious to get on campus.
“I felt sorry for you!” she laughs and shouts back as she struggles to keep up with me in her fancy sandals.
After Photojournalism, which is my and Alyvia’s only class together this semester, I breeze through Art History and Sociology, both of which I expect to do well in without any is
sues. It’s tomorrow’s Chemistry class that scares me a bit. Though I’ve always done well in school, my mind is definitely geared more towards the liberal arts instead of math and science, so I worked my schedule in a way that it’s my only class to worry about on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.
I grab a quick salad to go from the university center before heading off to the Daily offices, my home away from home during the school year. It doesn’t take me long to wrap up the season preview piece I’ve been working on the last several weeks, and as soon as I schedule it to post in the morning, I hurry home through the heat to get a jump on my assigned reading before Mo and Lucky come over tonight for dinner.
The rest of the week follows a similar schedule, except for my waitressing shifts at Louie’s Wednesday through Friday evenings, which I really enjoy to be quite honest. Because it stays steadily packed, the time flies by and the tips are good, making it the perfect part-time job. Plus, with the first game coming up this weekend, nearly all of the customers at my tables are abuzz with the excitement only a football season in Norman can bring. Like every year, we all have high hopes for our Sooners to go far this year.
Before I know it, Saturday is upon us, which means it’s GAMEDAY. My absolute favorite day of the calendar year is the kickoff to the college football season. I wake up even earlier than usual, eager to get to the stadium and see the entire tailgating festivities and pre-game warm ups.
In an attempt to dress a little more professionally than my usual get-up, I choose a casual khaki skirt paired with a slim-fit, crimson OU polo and my strappy brown sandals, rather than my normal Rainbow brand flip-flops. With as hot as it’s been outside, I opt to keep my hair up off my neck, but style it in a proper ponytail, in addition to applying a little mascara and lip gloss.
Once I’m completely ready, I leave Alyvia a note that I’ll meet up with her after the game, and then take off out the door, practically skipping the entire way to my car. I’ve got a great feeling about today.
Hours later, it’s finally game time, and under any other circumstances, I’d be exhausted after running around like I have all morning. However, the electrifying atmosphere inside Memorial Stadium is downright exhilarating, and I can’t help but feed off of the excitement pulsing through the crowd.
Over eighty thousand people are packed into the open-air, oval-shaped structure, waiting for the first win of the season, which by all accounts and purposes should be a cake walk against this much lesser opponent. I’m not only excited to be down on the field with my press pass, dead smack in the middle of the action, but I’m also thrilled for Mo, who has won the starting position on the offensive line.
The first half goes much like most people thought it would. We’ve dominated them in every facet of the game; neither their physicality nor their playbook is a match for ours. As the final seconds tick down to halftime, OU scores their sixth touchdown of the day, bringing the score to 36-0, and the team hoots and hollers their way into the locker room, obviously ecstatic with their first two quarters of play.
Finally getting a little break, I mosey over to one of the water stations to rehydrate myself, when I hear my name being called faintly from the stands. Turning around to see who it’s coming from, I scan the first few rows of the crowd, but don’t see anyone I recognize, most of the people blending together in their crimson and cream attire.
“Bristol! To your left,” I hear the same male voice, a little louder now.
I twist to my left, my eyes still skimming over the horde of people, searching for someone who looks familiar, when finally I see Kayden standing against the railing, wildly waving his hands at me.
What in the hell?
“Kayden?” I ask in a puzzled tone, more to myself than anyone else, as I scurry over to where he is. As I get closer, I yell out, “What in the world are you doing here?!”
I see him laugh, but can barely hear it over the buzz of crowd noise all around us. “I came to support your Sooners!” he shouts back, a huge smile covering his face. “Can we talk after the game? Grab a bite to eat?”
His being here completely catches me off-guard, but in a good way. I’m not sure exactly what the purpose of the trip is. He probably has a business trip or something in OKC and thought he’d catch a game and say hello, although I’m not sure why he wouldn’t have mentioned it when we chatted last week.
“Yeah, sounds good.” I nod my head in case he can’t hear me well. “Message me afterwards.”
After giving me a thumbs up to let me know he understood, he turns around and retreats up a few rows where he takes a seat. I spin back around just in time to see the team retake the field, without much time to ponder on his visit before I begin taking notes again of the on-field action.
The opponent comes out of the locker room with a little spark as they kickoff back for a touchdown, giving them their first points of the day. Many people are surprised when the OU starters are still playing early during the second half, but no one dares to question the highly-regarded, long-time coach. He’s always got a reason for everything.
Then, the last play of the third quarter happens, and all hell breaks loose.
Facing a third down and short, our Heisman-hopeful quarterback, Nathan Blackmon, is unable to find an open receiver, so he decides to take off running in order to pick up the necessary yardage. Somehow, his toe sticks into the turf, twisting his knee, and in the blink of an eye, his legs tangle up and send him to the ground in a heap of pain.
A collective gasp is heard throughout the stadium and an eerie silence falls over the entire crowd . . . the entire town . . . possibly even the entire state. We all watch as the medical staff rushes to his side, trying to assess the extent of his injury. When the motorized cart drives onto the field to load him up and take him back into the locker room for what I assume will be x-rays, everyone knows it can’t be good news.
The rest of the game passes in a blur, as I’m no longer concerned about what’s happening on the field, but rather trying to get information about the status of our offensive playmaker. By the time the game clock reads 0:00, nothing has been released officially, but murmurings on the sidelines indicate it’s a torn ACL, which means significant missed time. With a bittersweet victory under their belts, the team quietly leaves the field, concerned about their teammate and the rest of the season.
I trudge over to where Kayden is waiting, feeling the same shock and disbelief many other fans are experiencing right now, and not bothering to pretend I don’t.
“Hey,” I say, looking up at him, with my hand acting as a visor to shield the bright sun.
“Tough loss for your guys, baby girl,” he commiserates. “Sorry that happened like that.”
Shrugging my shoulders, I sigh. “I guess it’s a part of the game. It just seems like we always get hit with the worst injuries every year we think we’ve got a chance.”
“Let me take you out for dinner to make you feel better,” he offers with a small smile.
Part of me feels like going home and veg’ing out in my pajamas, but he’s come all the way here from New York, and Kayden has been my friend for a long time, always there when I needed someone to listen. Since we really didn’t spend much time together in St. Lucia, maybe a nice dinner out with him will be exactly what I need to cheer me up.
“Yeah, I’ve got to go to the post-game press conference, and then home to shower and change.” I glance down at my watch. “How about we meet at Seven47 on Asp Avenue at eight?”
“I’ll see you there.”
At eight o’clock sharp, I pull up in front of the restaurant, wearing one of the few dresses I own—a floor-length sundress I had bought for the dinners at Ti Kaye. I’d actually put it on and taken it off twice before leaving it on, the memories associated with Davis pulling at me, but I decided it was time to suck it up and deal. At some point, I have to let go.
Kayden is waiting for me in the front of the restaurant and his face lights up as he sees me enter. He looks handsome as a
lways, dressed in gray slacks and a light blue button down shirt, untucked and with the sleeves rolled up to just under his elbows. Classy, but casual.
“Baby girl, you look beautiful,” he exclaims, pulling me in for a tight hug. “I’m so happy to see you again.”
“Me too,” I reply with a genuine smile. “What in the world brings you to Oklahoma? Did you have work here this week?”
He shakes his head, keeping his arm loosely draped around my waist. “No, no work.”
“Excuse me,” the hostess interrupts. “Your table is ready. Please follow me.”
Doing as she asks, we trail behind her to a cozy table tucked away along one of the side walls, the entire way my mind wandering on why he’s here if it isn’t job-related. Only having been inside the restaurant a few times when Alyvia’s dad has come to visit, it’s one of Norman’s finer dining establishments with its sleek, modern design and high-priced dishes. We slide into opposite sides of the booth as she sets menus down in front of each of us before leaving us alone.
“You were saying?” I follow up as soon as she’s out of earshot. “I still can’t believe you’re here!”
He smirks and shakes his head slowly from side to side. “Christmas was too far away, Bristol, so I thought I’d surprise you and come to Hicksville. I sure hope you’re still offering wild frat parties and a case of Natty Ice after dinner.”
I throw my head back with laughter, remembering our first conversation in St. Lucia. “I’m sure I can find us some bitter beer, but I highly doubt you want to go to any college parties. That kind of debauchery and self-indulgence is usually frowned upon by anyone over the age of twenty-five.”
“As long as I get to hang out with you, I’m down for anything.” His eyes twinkle with hope and my stomach flips over. “Though I wish it would’ve been different on the retreat, I understand why we didn’t hang out, spend time together. I hope you now understand why I was worried about you.”
