On a Wednesday

by G. , Whitney

  “Or, you could say, ‘Hey, I’ve had enough fun for twenty guys combined over the past three years, and I’m going to give it a rest and get serious for the final two semesters.’”

  “I mean, I could say that if you just want to hear me utter those words…”

  “You’re the worst, Kyle. Truly.” He laughed. “What time do you plan to get back to our place?”

  “Maybe five or six. Long after you’re done watching game film.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “Be careful, Kyle. We both have a lot to lose this year, and you know I almost came close to that.”

  “Thanks for the lecture, Dad.” I smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Will you really?”

  “No.” I patted his shoulder. “But I’ll tell you all about the party later, unless you want to join me?”

  He looked tempted, but he shook his head. “I’ll see you at home.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Around midnight, I parked my car on a curb near Dawson Street. Since this was one of the most popular off-campus blocks, almost every house was fitted with a basement that was prime for partying.

  The slumlords had even joined forces with the landlords and put reinforcements in all the walls, since they knew the late nights were inevitable.

  As I was stepping out, my phone sounded with a call.

  My mother.

  I stared at the screen for several seconds, silently debating whether this was worth handling now or later.

  “Yeah, Mom?” I answered before it went to voicemail.

  “Why haven’t any of those ESPN cameras ever showed up to our house to interview me and your dad?” she asked. “Surely, they want to hear what we have to say about you.”

  I sighed. This definitely could’ve been handled later.

  Or never.

  “We turned on ESPNU last night and there was some ugly brunette impersonating me, Kyle,” she said.

  “It wasn’t an impersonator!” My dad called from the background. “The world is coming to an end soon. They’re replacing all of us, and you got a glimpse of your imposter. That may not even be Kyle that you’re talking to right now, Mary.”

  “I think it is …” She hesitated. “Is this my son? The real Kyle Stanton, or the one that’s replaced him?”

  “It’s the one that’s replaced him.”

  “Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Well, can you tell us how to reach the real one? I need to ask him some questions.”

  “I’ll have him call you.” I ended the call and damn near tossed my phone into the gutter.

  My parents were still shells of the people they used to be, and to say our relationship was “strained” was putting it nicely.

  After losing my younger brother in a car accident they caused over a decade ago, they’d slipped out of reality in favor of a shared dystopia that didn’t exist.

  Once my biggest fans and cheerleaders, they’d slowly transformed into my biggest skeptics and haters.

  They stopped coming to my high school games, stopped driving me to practice, and stopped giving a damn because they felt like “it was only a matter of time before they lost their second son, too.”

  Shaking away the painful thoughts, I put my phone in my pocket and walked down to 3257.

  I needed a release tonight, more than ever.

  The music was blaring so loudly, that the windows shook, so I didn’t bother knocking on the door.

  I walked inside, and a group of girls I’d never seen on campus before—obviously freshmen, smiled and waved at me from the kitchen.

  Spotting a few of my teammates, I walked over to them.

  “About time you showed up,” Trevor, our team’s kicker, said. “I was beginning to think that I’d have to handle all of the girls by myself.”

  “So, you haven’t spoken to any of them yet?”

  “Exactly.” He smiled. “I follow your lead as always. Is Grayson joining us?”

  “Doubtful. He’s Mr. Cautious now.”

  Before I could ask him how long he planned to stay, a redhead stepped in front of me and caressed my chest.

  “Yes?” I smiled at her.

  “Sorry for interrupting, but can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I mean, in the bathroom.”

  “Of course.”

  “You make it look so fucking easy.” Trevor muttered, as I clasped her hand and led her through the crowd and into the small bathroom.

  Usually, this led to a quickie against the sink and a shared smile whenever we happened to run into each other on campus again, but she wasn’t doing that.

  She was smiling and taking a seat on the edge of the tub. “So, what number do you think you’re going in the draft?”

  I raised my eyebrow. “What?”

  “What number do you think you’re going in the draft?” She repeated.

  “Hopefully top five, but I don’t get a choice in that.” I crossed my arms. “I’m not really in the mood for a conversation right now.”

  “I know that, but I have to make sure that we’re being safe.”

  “I have condoms.”

  “No, safe in another way.” She stood up and walked toward me, pressing her hand against my cheek. “You’re months away from making millions more than I ever will, and I just want to make sure that this never gets out.”

  “Come again?”

  “I just submitted a project that is going to gain national attention in the engineering field,” she said. “I want to be sure you don’t say anything about my darker side.”

  I never do. “You came onto me, not vice versa.” I was getting slightly confused. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Joanna.”

  “Well, Joanna, seems like you have reservations, so let’s just leave and forget this moment ever happened.”

  “No, wait. Well, I want to have sex with you.” She ran her fingers through my hair. “Before anyone else finds us.”

  I stared at her for a while, tempted, but everything she said before her name gave me pause. The lust-filled look in her eyes was taking on a different meaning, and I couldn’t help but think that her “I just want to make sure that this never gets out,” was more of a threat toward me, than protection for herself.

  “What type of engineering project is it?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s super complicated.” Her hands were still in my hair. “I couldn’t possibly explain all the details in a few minutes.”

  “Of course, you can.” I gently pushed her hand away. “My teammate had to do it last week when he presented his senior thesis idea. What is it?”

  “Um …” Her cheeks reddened. “Lego robots, but they can do a lot more than the typical basic robots.”

  “You’re spending thirty-thousand dollars a year in tuition to play with Lego blocks?”

  “Yeah.” She smiled. “Sex now?”

  “Sure.” I shrugged. “We can definitely do that, but I need you to text me first.”

  “What?”

  “Take out your phone,” I said, pointing to her purse. “Then let me give you my number, so you can send me a text that says, I want you to fuck me, Kyle.”

  “I’m sorry?” She let out a nervous laugh. “You want me to write a contract?”

  “No, I want you to give me consent.”

  “Me standing here in front of you means that you have it.”

  “I want it in writing.” I kept my eyes on hers.

  She looked at me as if I was insane, but I shrugged and pointed to her purse once more.

  “If you think I’m the type of girl that’s planning to blackmail you years later, or stir up drama after you get drafted with some crazy lies and allegations, then you’re sadly mistaken. I just want to have sex.”

  “Then pull out your phone and send me the text.”

  She didn’t make a move.

  “Thank you for making things clear for me.” I cut her off and turned around, leaving the bat
hroom.

  I had no desire to be at this party anymore, so I shot my teammates my “See you at practice” signal and made my way through the crowd.

  Here or there, other girls blushed and made eye contact, but I wasn’t interested.

  I’d watched Grayson get railroaded by a girl’s fake allegations over the summer, never thinking I’d run into someone who would even try to do that shit to me.

  Even though the investigation had gone in his favor, for some people, it still wasn’t enough, and I never thought it would force me to change my hooking up approach for the senior year.

  When I made it back to my car, I sped off and took a long ride around campus—making myself promise that I would be far more careful with the draft on the line.

  By the time I made it home, it was three o’clock in the morning, and Grayson was sitting in front of our living room television analyzing last season’s game film.

  I plopped right next to him and took out my notebook.

  “Have fun tonight?” he asked.

  “Tons.”

  “No explicit stories to share?”

  “Pass the goddamn pen, Grayson.”

  He laughed, and I couldn’t help but feel like he was somewhat right about me having to change my M.O. this year.

  Fuck.

  Courtney: Then

  Senior Year

  Pittsburgh

  I stepped onto a campus shuttle at the crack of dawn, fresh off an all-nighter in The Pitt News office.

  Every banner on the bus bore the words “Blue and Gold is Going #1 Again, Baby!” and I waited to feel a tinge of sadness at not having to recite that cheer for the next few weeks.

  Nope.

  I felt nothing.

  Leaning against the window as we approached Hillman Library, I watched as two of the most prominent athletes—Grayson Connors in football and Jayson Blue in basketball laughed at the corner.

  I wasn’t sure how they dealt with all the pressure of knowing that they were going number one in their respective drafts.

  I also wasn’t sure what it felt like to know what it was like to have a guaranteed career path with everyone just waiting to pay you for your time.

  Or having a friend to talk to about it …

  In high school, I was homecoming queen, cheerleading captain, and every other superlative from the heroines in the Young Adult romance books.

  In college, the exact opposite rang true every year.

  I couldn’t buy friends if I wanted to, and no matter how many clubs I joined, I was never welcomed to hang out outside of the scheduled meetup hours.

  “Next Stop, Forbes and Atwood!” The bus’s system sounded, and I grabbed my bag and stood to my feet.

  Like a zombie, I walked into my dorm and rummaged for my keys. Unable to find them, I knocked on the door and waited for my roommate, Judy-April, to let me in.

  Several seconds passed, and there was no answer, but I could hear her playing her typical emo-music.

  For some strange reason, she’d had it out for me ever since move-in day. I’d tried so hard to be nice—hoping for a Hail Mary when it came to a last-ditch friendship, but it was no use.

  She took one look at me, declared the bedroom on the left hers, and outside of a “Just pretend that she’s not here,” that she uttered when her friends came over, she never spoke to me again.

  I knocked again, louder this time. “Judy-April, I just saw you go into our room. Can you please just let me in?”

  She still didn’t answer.

  “Judy-April?” I tugged on the door handle. “I accidentally locked my key inside, so could you please open the door?”

  There was no answer, and before I could bang even harder, I noticed a pink post-it note sliding under the door.

  I stooped down to pick it up, squinting at her super curly handwriting.

  * * *

  You’re a senior.

  It’s not my job to be your mother.

  If you lost your keys, tough shit.

  What would you do if I wasn’t here?

  * * *

  Think about that.

  * * *

  ALSO: I’m already doing you a HUGE favor by not telling the R.A.s about your little friend that you’re not supposed to have.

  * * *

  The moment I finished reading the note, she cracked the door open a bit—just wide enough to let out my grey and white kitten, Julia.

  Then she slammed it shut and locked it again.

  As if she needed to drive home her point any further, she’d draped a note around Julia’s neck.

  * * *

  You’re welcome.

  * * *

  P.S. Panther Central will remake you a key for 20 bucks.

  * * *

  Ugh!

  Ten minutes later, I waited in line at Panther Central, trying not to doze off in between the receptionist flirting with the group of guys ahead of me.

  Just as I was about to pass out, everyone’s phones sounded at the same time. A cacophony of buzzing and ringing filled the room.

  We all tapped our screens.

  * * *

  Mass Student Memo: Delete After Reading

  * * *

  The real fucking bonfire will be held on Oakwood Street to celebrate this year's first season win.

  * * *

  8:00pm—until

  * * *

  $8 tickets

  $4 shots

  $3 discount for girls who show up in wet-T-shirts

  * * *

  Hail to Pitt!

  * * *

  P.S. Wear tennis shoes just in case the cops shut it down.

  * * *

  “Fuck yeah!” The guy ahead of me yelled. Then he turned around.

  “Oh whoa.” He looked me up and down. “Will I be seeing you there tonight?”

  “No, never.”

  “Well, would you like to make a private bonfire with me then?”

  I moved past him and his friends and slammed my I.D. onto the counter. “Can you get me a replacement key for my place and then get back to flirting with these guys, please?”

  “Is that a kitten in your hand?” The receptionist narrowed her eyes at me. “If it is, you may want to wait patiently until I get done talking to the people ahead of you….”

  I held back a groan and stepped back.

  I waited for an entire hour before I was able to return home and pass out in my bed.

  Kyle: Then

  Senior Year

  Pittsburgh

  “Grayson, I’m giving you five minutes to get to this bonfire, or I’m locking you out of our apartment tonight.” I left a second voicemail on his phone as huge flames hissed and cackled in the middle of Oakwood Street.

  Usually, I would be drinking and dancing near the edge of the fire to celebrate our first season win, but all I could think about was the cheerleader I’d tackled at the student union a few days ago.

  Not because anything was there—and not because she was sexy as hell, but because that was the most action I’d gotten so far this semester.

  Two and half weeks with no sex—not even a blowjob, was a personal record.

  I distinctly remembered having a crush on her during my freshman and sophomore years, but I always knew better than to approach her off the field.

  For one, she always threw up her middle finger whenever I winked at her from the sidelines. For two, I’d seen her a few times on dates at coffee shops with a guy who looked much older, which confirmed that she was the “good girl” type. The exact opposite of the type I wanted.

  Still, the “I’m turned on, but I refuse to admit it” look on her face when she realized that I was on top of her was going to play on a loop in my mind for days to come, if I didn’t break my record soon.

  To make matters worse, Sports Illustrated: College Football had randomly decided to release a special cover edition that featured the back of my jersey and the words “Next Year’s Potential Draft Class: What They’re Worth,” as its main story
.

  There wasn’t a single quote from me in the article, but the numbers that were being discussed were “expert verified,” so quite a few people on campus had asked me about them.

  One of my professors said, “I guess my claim to fame will be teaching a guy who’s already worth twenty-million.” A junior I’d met at a bar rubbed my chest mid-conversation and whispered, “I think you’re worth double what they say.” A woman I’d met on Carnegie Mellon’s campus was seconds away from getting invited back to my place until she said, “If you need any help investing any of the money you’ll get from your first set of endorsements, I’ll always be here for you.”

  People have lost their damn minds.

  “Come do a few shots with us, Kyle!” My teammate, Josh, suddenly tossed a can of Coke to me.

  I walked over to him and picked up a bottle of vodka.” Is it me or do tonight’s flames look a lot higher than they did in previous years?”

  “They’re definitely a lot higher.” He patted me on the back. “We used five gallons of gasoline this time.”

  “You used how many?”

  “Five.” He furrowed his brow. “Why is your face losing all of its color, Kyle? You feeling sick?”

  “I told you that we only needed one gallon for this, Josh. One gallon.”

  “Well, maybe I got a little too hype after our ‘W’ to remember that.” He smiled. “Is it really that big of a deal? I didn’t add them all at once or anything. It was a gradual process, like the line of girls who are currently waiting for me to stop by their rooms later tonight.”