by Claire Adams
“Can you come in this afternoon? Cheryl called out sick, and we need someone to cover.” I thought about it; I was only scheduled usually for fifteen hours a week—enough to have extra money to spend on what I wanted to do, but not so much that I ever had to worry about schedule conflicts. I knew that I was near the bottom of the call-in list. Cheryl almost never called in sick—like me, she genuinely liked working, and she helped support her family with the job. If she had called out, she was probably barely able to get out of bed.
“What’s the shift time?” I asked, remembering the game that night; it was supposed to start at eight.
“Four till seven-thirty,” Bob, the manager said. I frowned; I would barely have time to get back to campus, get changed out of my pizza-scented clothes, and get across campus to the arena—if whoever was supposed to take over the dinner shift came in a few minutes early, it would help.
“Who’s due in at seven-thirty?” I heard the sound of rustling papers as Bob consulted the schedule.
“Lisa. If you can swing it, Jenn, it would take a load off of my mind.” I worried at my bottom lip.
“If Lisa can come in even five minutes early, I can definitely do it. If she can’t, I’ll do my part.”
“I’ll call Lisa for you,” Bob said. I could hear the relief in his voice. “I take it you have plans tonight then?” I grinned.
“Going to go to the game tonight.”
“Oh-ho! That’s more than just casual fandom in your voice.”
“Maybe. Just do what you can to get me out of there a few minutes early so I don’t miss tip-off, okay?” Bob agreed and finished the call to get in touch with Lisa. Devon texted to ask if I wanted to hang out before the game; I had to tell him that I had work, but that I would still be there to watch him play.
I ran into some of my friends in the dining hall and as soon as I knew that Kelly wasn’t with them, I agreed to hang out for a bit before I went to my dorm to get my things for my afternoon class. In spite of the fact that Devon had introduced me to his friends and frat brothers already, I didn’t quite feel comfortable with the idea of telling the girls about the fact that I was seeing him; I thought that if Kelly had said anything about it, one of them would have brought it up—and no one did. I didn’t want to tell anyone about the situation until I absolutely had to.
Instead, we took turns complaining about classes, talking about what we had going on that afternoon. “I already know where we’ll find Jenn tonight,” Giselle said with a grin.
“Ogling the basketball players at the game?” Rebecca suggested.
“You should join the cheer team, get into the games for free,” Giselle joked. “As it is the only reason you work is to pay for game tickets, I swear.” I rolled my eyes. Devon had told me he had the box office put a ticket aside for me at the counter—I wouldn’t have to pay anything to get in.
“For your information, I am working this evening,” I said, putting on a self-righteous pose. “Cheryl called in, which means she probably has the plague, complete with body parts falling off.”
“You can’t be working all night,” Ashley pointed out. “What are you going to do when you get off?” I shrugged.
“Depends on when I get off.” I didn’t know if Devon had any plans to spend the night with me—but I certainly hoped he did. “Probably study and get a good night’s sleep.”
“Like every other night. You’re not fooling me, Jenn—if there’s even a quarter of the game left, you’ll rush over to watch it.”
“Whatever,” I rolled my eyes again. “At least I have a hobby.” Giselle pretend-scowled at me, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting.
“I have a hobby, thank you very much; my hobby is partying. Like any sensible college student.” We all laughed.
“I need to get going,” I said, glancing at the clock in the dining area. “If I don’t get back to the dorms, I won’t have time to print out my paper before class starts.” I took my tray to the line and said goodbye to my friends, hoping against hope that Kelly was either in the Library or in class so that I wouldn’t run into her.
Devon and I texted back and forth while we were both in class for the afternoon, flirting and joking around. I couldn’t believe how happy I was, how different everything was in my life in just a matter of days. I might not be ready to tell everyone that I was dating Devon Sealy, but I was definitely glad that he had sat down next to me at the party, that he had started talking to me.
I hurried to my dorm and changed into my work uniform; Pizza Pronti, where I worked, had a relaxed uniform policy, so all I did was change into a black tee shirt and a pair of sneakers that I only ever wore to work, and I was out. I walked as quickly as I could off campus and across the street to the restaurant, smiling in spite of the fact that I was more than a little anxious about getting there on time. Even if I wasn’t scheduled, I didn’t want to put Bob under stress that I would be late.
I jumped into work right away, walking to the back of the house and pulling my hair into a neat bun while I clocked in and grabbed an order pad. “Thank god you’re here,” Bob said. “You’re section three tonight. Lisa said that she’d come in a few minutes early so you could take off.”
“Remind me to get her some flowers,” I told him, grinning. I scampered out into the dining room and found my section, taking a deep breath. There was always a pretty steady “early bird” business, with retirees and teenagers from the local high school alike coming in. My first table was a group of middle-aged women, all of them wearing purple dresses. “Good evening, ladies! My name is Jenn, and I’ll be taking your orders.” I rattled off the specials for the night—they were always the same ones, based on the day of the week, and easy to remember.
“I think we’ll have two pies,” one of the women said after they had briefly consulted each other. “Both large, one with the four cheese and the other with mushrooms and spinach.”
“And what would you like to drink? We have Coke products, beer, some really good wines…” One of the women gave me a little grin.
“You don’t look old enough to know whether the wine is good or not,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“Shh,” I said, bringing my finger up to my lips. “As far as anyone knows, I only ever tasted them—I’ve certainly never had a full glass.” The women at the table laughed and ordered two carafes of the house white, and I trotted off to put in their order.
I went from table to table, taking orders from high school kids, parents with their elementary-aged children, and groups of middle-aged and elderly people. It was so easy to smile at everyone, to keep the playful banter going; I couldn’t help myself, even when one of the tables of teenagers started making a mess with the cheese and pepper flakes. Instead of getting angry, I snapped a quick picture of their “artwork” with my phone and sent it to Devon.
The shift seemed to fly by, in spite of the fact that I wanted more than anything to be spending the time with Devon; I was sure that I was glowing like a lightning bug, hurrying from one table to another to refresh drinks, to take orders, to bring food. My regulars asked if I was planning on going to the game that night, or how I liked a particular team’s chances, and I found myself thinking about Devon over and over again, blushing when someone asked about the school’s team, unable to stop myself from smiling.
In the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but think about Kelly, at least a little bit. I was still shocked that she had lied to me, but then, why should I be? I knew that I was more than a little naïve, in spite of the fact that I had told Kelly off for accusing me of it. It was so strange to me that she wouldn’t just be honest with me about her feelings towards Devon; but I told myself that one way or another, the situation would have to work itself out. I didn’t exactly cherish the idea of having to change dorm rooms over winter break, but if I had to—if she wasn’t going to be reasonable about my relationship—then I would do it to have peace of mind.
We had been friends for years; she had been a big p
art of the reason that I had decided to go to the college I’d chosen, and I’d loved living with her. I had always thought that she felt the same way towards me, and if anyone had asked me a month before if anything could come between us and drive us apart, I would have laughed in their face and told them they were crazy. But it was becoming clear to me that she was not at all the same person that I had known in high school; she wasn’t even the person I had thought she was when she came home for break and hung out with me before I started college.
I remembered—as I was cashing out someone’s check—that she had said something to me about Devon, and I getting what we deserved. It was such a strange thing to say that I had brushed it off; what could she even mean by that? But something about the memory of it, the sound of her voice, stuck in my head. I shook it off; it wasn’t important. I was just going to move forward with my life, and enjoy what I had with Devon for however long it lasted. If Kelly came around, that would be great—and I’d be happy to continue to be her friend. But if she just couldn’t live with the idea of me dating Devon, I would have to break off any ties with her; anyone who would ask me to choose between them and someone I was ready to fall in love with wasn’t someone I wanted to be around. I could only take my chances with Devon and hope that he was being real with me when he said he wanted to be serious. I could only hope that Kelly would come around and once more be the friend that I’d always known. But if she couldn’t be my friend anymore, I would at least have the guy I liked in my life.
Chapter Eight
True to her word, Lisa came in a few minutes early and took over the few tables I still had in my section, clocking in and introducing herself to my customers, promising that she would share the tips with me and urging me to make tracks. I shot out of the restaurant like a shot, going through the back so that my tables wouldn’t think that I was in a hurry because of them. My cheerfulness had won me more tips than I knew what to do with, and I decided that I’d count them all out later—I needed to get back to my room, get out of my work clothes, and into something cute to wear to the game, all in a span of fewer than forty minutes.
Kelly was nowhere to be seen when I catapulted myself through the door of our dorm room, and I was relieved; the last thing I wanted was to be held up by another argument with her. I got into my side of the dorm and stripped off my clothes as fast as I could, spritzing a little bit of perfume on my neck, my wrists, my cleavage, and my hips to get rid of the pizza and fried food smell I knew was clinging to me; I didn’t have time to take a shower. I rummaged through my closet and drawers as quickly as I could, picking out a cute skirt that fell to just above my knees along with a tee shirt, in school colors. I kept my hair the way it was, reasoning that there was no need to waste time taking it down and taming it; I put on a little bit of lipstick and slipped on a pair of ankle-high boots and decided that it was good enough. Devon had seen me naked—he wanted to see me having a good time watching him, not dressed up like I was going to a party. I made sure I had my ID in my purse and hurried down the stairs, thankful that I hadn’t made the mistake of wearing heels.
My heart was pounding in my chest as I rushed across campus, walking so fast I might as well have been running, checking my phone every few moments to make sure I wasn’t going to be late. I had cash with me—mostly my tips from the evening—just in case there was some kind of problem with the ticket that Devon had asked them to hold for me at the box office.
I was out of breath by the time I got to the box office, my student ID out and my cash ready at hand. Almost everyone was already inside, save for the people milling around for a last cigarette, their tickets already purchased or claimed. “Hi,” I said, taking a few deep breaths to calm the rapid flutter of my heart. “I was told there was a ticket on hold for me?” The woman behind the glass smiled.
“Can I have your ID, please? I can check and see if you’re on the list.” I nodded and slid my ID onto the counter. I could hear the noise from inside the arena—the game hadn’t started yet, but people were already starting to get warmed up, excited, ready to cheer. The woman in charge of the box office took my ID and pulled out a printed list, looking over the names. “Ah—yep, here you are. Lucky girl, you’ve got court-side seats!” She grinned at me and I knew she knew that I was seeing someone on the team—of course, I thought, the guys on the team would have probably a handful of great tickets at their disposal for friends and family members to use.
I took my tickets and my ID and hurried into the arena; I could hear the announcement that the two teams would be taking the court for their warm-ups in a matter of minutes. Looking down at my ticket, I figured out the section I was in and rushed to that part of the arena, hoping against hope that I could make it to my seat before Devon took the court and looked around for me. I ran through the corridor and down the stairs, nearly tripping over my own feet in the process, and found my seat.
I was panting for breath as I stumbled down into the chair, looking out on the court to see what was going on. The cheerleaders were still whipping the crowd on both sides into a frenzy; I had gotten to my seat just in time. I took a moment to catch my breath, and then I was on my feet as the announcer proclaimed that the teams were taking the court in a matter of seconds. The game was against Northwestern, and I watched as the opposing team took the court first, bouncy and agile, none of them sluggish on their feet as they headed to their side of the court to do their drills. A moment later, the announcer called out our team, and I cheered along with everyone else in the crowd, jumping up and down, already caught up in the fervor and excitement. I watched intently and saw Devon come out onto the court; just the sight of him made my heart flutter in my chest in a way that had nothing to do with anxiety or general excitement. The members of the team were bouncing on the balls of their feet, greeting the crowd, and looking out over the stands.
When Devon’s gaze connected with mine, I felt a little electric jolt, a crackle down my spine that warmed me up all over. I felt myself grinning—unable to help myself—even as I cheered for the team in general. Devon grinned back, changing the way he waved at the crowd in general to the way he waved at me in particular before going back to his hyped-up bouncing.
The team stripped out of their sweats, revealing their jerseys and shorts, and the sight of Devon’s legs, his arms—knowing what was underneath as well as I did—made me shiver again. I watched as he chatted with Miles, as he talked to other members of the team, stretching and flexing, getting ready to head out to warm up on the court itself. He looked so happy; happier than I had ever seen him at another game. It’s because of you. He’s this happy, this excited, because of you. He loves the game, but he’s really—genuinely—glad you’re here. The thought made me smile even more.
Devon glanced at me again, giving me a little flirty smile as he ran out onto the court with the rest of the team. They took up their positions on the opposite side from the other team and began to run their drills, warming up as the crowd cheered until I was certain that the entire arena of people would be hoarse the next day. I was cheering and screaming right along with them, though I couldn’t make myself cheer specifically for Devon like some of the girls behind me were doing; the thought of calling attention to myself that way was just too much. I completely forgot about the other team on the court, watching my own team—and the man I loved on the team—as they went through their drills, passing and darting around, making shots. It was not quite as exciting as the game itself would be, but it was fun to watch them, to notice the little refinements to their techniques from the practice I had watched before.
The two teams went back to the sidelines, and the packed arena went quiet as the announcer came back on, informing everyone that the national anthem was about to start. I took advantage of the lull to catch my breath; my heart was hammering in my chest, but at least I could slow down my breathing, get myself a little calmed down. Northwestern had a reputation for having a tough team—I had looked them up long before, interested in their
players as competition for Devon and the team as a whole. The game was going to be exciting and probably long; I needed to conserve my energy.
I stayed standing during the national anthem, hand over my heart, even though my eyes sought out the sight of Devon on the sidelines, barely fidgeting. I smiled to myself, thinking that of course he was trying to be respectful—but he wanted more than anything to get the game started, to be on the court, showing off the way he always did, scoring points, running back and forth on the boards. He wanted to be out there like five minutes ago; anything that made him wait was going to be difficult for him to deal with, even if he wanted to be polite and proper.
The national anthem ended, and the two teams’ opening lineup took the floor for the tip-off. I stood as close to the edge as I could, along with everyone else in the court-side seats. I found myself holding my breath as the ref came out, ball in hands, the crowd absolutely silent as we waited for that one instant. I pressed my lips together as the ball went up.
Northwestern got possession of the ball; the opposing team’s side of the arena erupted in cheers, and I watched as our side scrambled into defensive positions. Devon moved across the court like lightning, dodging and darting until he grabbed the ball out of one of the players’ hands in the midst of a pass. Then the play flowed to the other end of the court, and Devon glanced at me quickly, giving me another one of his little grins. I found myself smiling back even as I watched him dodge the grab from a member of the other team, feinting away and moving into position.
Devon scored the first basket of the game—a two-point throw that sank beautifully through the net, making everyone on my side of the arena cheer. A Northwestern player intercepted the ball but only got halfway across the court before Miles managed a steal, passing it to Devon who passed it back to him at the three-point line. It was already obvious that the game was going to be a high-scorer—at least to me, and to the announcer, who was barely keeping up with the two teams’ movements.
