by Blair Holden
When the spotlight shifts toward the two of us together, I see Dickson get visibly nervous and Claire a lot more excited. She’s great with her sports statistics and facts, but it seems like she’s far more interested in the personal angle of the story than in anything else. I steel myself for the barrage of questions that will try to poke at things I wouldn’t like revealing to large audiences. I’ve been coached in the proper way of diverting questions that might cause controversy, and I hope that the skills don’t fail me, because I truly believe that Dickson might have a heart attack if I so much as breathe in a manner that he hasn’t approved.
“So, now on to the more personal side of things,” Claire chirps and I am way too aware of the recording device in the room. My nerves start to come back to play and I feel a bit faint. Why did I ever agree to this? I don’t need to be on the cover of some magazine for Cole to prove that he loves me. I should’ve stopped him when I could have, but now it’s too late and we’re probably headed toward disaster. I think I’ll probably say something about how our relationship started out with Cole bullying me and before you know it, it’ll turn into a national scandal with women’s rights activists wanting to burn me like the Salem witches.
Breathe, Tessa, breathe.
Cole grips my hand in his and squeezes it reassuringly. He’s so attuned to my moods and body language, and I almost tackle him to the ground when he asks Claire if we could have a ten-minute break. We grab some coffee from the refreshments table and Cole massages my stiff shoulders.
“Don’t worry, she’s been told not to ask any questions that might upset either of us. They’re just some general questions about our relationship that have been preapproved, and we’ve practiced them, remember? It’ll hardly take half an hour, so just breathe and think about the fun stuff we’ll get up to once this is over.”
“Fun stuff?”
“Hot bath with that sparkly bath bomb you like so much, cheap wine, scented candles, a little Bublé and me spooning you.”
“Who said you could invade my time with Bublé?”
He grins in that devilish way that tells me that whatever’s about to come out of his mouth is going to make me blush.
“You know I can make you feel a hundred times better than he could in your wildest fantasies, right? Especially when I do that thing with my—”
“Okay stop!” I begin to laugh hysterically. “You cannot say things like that when I’m trying so hard not to hyperventilate.”
He waggles his eyebrows. “I love how I still get you hot after all these years, baby,” he jokes and I punch his shoulder, hard.
“Less jokes, more coffee. If I’m going to do this, I might as well be caffeinated out of my mind.”
***
“So how does it feel to be with a man that every girl out there wants?”
“I’ll admit that sometimes it’s kind of overwhelming, the amount of attention he gets. But I’m not insecure about our relationship, because I bet no other girl will be able to date him despite his fondness for the emergency room.” I think Dickson just had a conniption, but thankfully Claire doesn’t probe into it too much.
“I’m sensing that’s a private joke. Do you guys have a lot of history together?”
“You could say that.” In my defense, things started out quite well. Cole and I talked a bit about how we’d known each other since we were children, because the public eat that kind of stuff up. We’d constructed a somewhat revised, Dickson-approved history of our relationship in which no one fell out of trees and no broken bones were involved. The main angle that Claire focuses on is how I’m the good girl that helped Cole overcome his difficult past and how I’m the stabilizing force in his life, which of course is a laughable thought. I’m about as stable as Nana Stone after three shots of tequila.
But then...
“So we found out that you went to military school for a while. Of course that’s nothing to be concerned about, but how did it affect your relationship? At this point, you were of course crushing on each other secretly. So how did those four years impact you both?”
It’s an easy script to follow, giving them the love story that is the stuff of dreams. She’s buying it all up, and we’re covering up all the imperfections. They want to know about the small-town girl and how she’s managed to hold on to the heart of this rising superstar.
“I think the distance worked well in helping us both realize that we wanted to be together,” Cole tells her and then looks at me, but the look isn’t practiced or rehearsed. It’s a look of general affection and love, which I can’t help but return.
“In a way I’m glad he left because otherwise I’d never have realized that he’s the one for me.”
“So you two never dated any other people in this period?”
“No.”
“Which is interesting, because the moment word got out that our next feature is on Cole Stone, emails started pouring in from women who had fond memories of you while you were in military school.”
Dickson makes a move to get up from his chair, his expression thunderous, but Cole gestures for him to sit down. My boyfriend did not expect this question, but he’s not letting it get to him. We both know that if he loses his cool now, it could turn ugly.
“All false reports. I went to military school because my parents and I both agreed that I needed a more disciplined environment to improve my game. It was either a prep school or a military one, and I went for something I was more comfortable with. My life there was about working hard and rebuilding myself, nothing else.”
“And these emails...”
“Are probably attempts by people I used to know to cash in on some fame.”
I think about Kimmy, that pesky little bug that I’ve never quite managed to shake off. She’d been someone Cole hooked up with at military school and there might have been others, but he’s got to lie his butt off right now because we do not need another controversy.
Claire seems somewhat disappointed that she couldn’t get more of a reaction, but then she turns toward me, and I can practically see her trying to sink her well-manicured claws into me.
“So Tessa, you of course have a very high-profile presence as of late. Both your grandfather and father are prominent names in state politics, but recently there’s been some articles circulating in the press that specifically target you and your brother. Of course your father’s press secretary has come out and made all the clarifications we need, but it must have jostled you a little, all those lies targeting you especially. Has that changed your relationship dynamic at all?”
“Not at all, if anything, it’s made us stronger. Cole and I don’t have any secrets between us, and something like what’s been written recently can’t damage what we have. In fact, it’s made us stronger because I know that he trusts me and that he’s got my back.”
We must be starting to bore her because she decides to go in a slightly different direction.
“College is usually hard for high school sweethearts. Of course you two decided to go to the same one, but people tend to grow up and drift apart. Now, I understand that you’re still freshmen and have three more years to go, so how do you see yourselves, say in the next five years? It’s a pretty bold move, choosing to appear on our cover together. Will you be embarrassed by the issue when you look back on it years from now?”
Cole clears his throat and I realize she’s pissed him off, poor Claire. I’d answer, but I think I’ll let Cole take this one.
“I think that’s a stereotype, but we’re used to hearing that from people.” Cole shrugs and wraps his arm around my shoulder. “I think people get a kick out of tearing others down just because they’re happy. Tessa and I don’t like being reduced to a stereotype; we’re not that high school couple from that small town that’ll never make it past a certain age. The fact that she’s here with me right now should say a lot about how serious we are about our future, and neither of us regrets it. Of course the decision wasn’t taken lightly, but that’s
only because I don’t want her to be pushed into the limelight even more unless that’s what she really wants. We’re serious about each other, we’re in love and we’re planning on building a future for ourselves. Starting now, I hope it’s as apparent to everyone else as it is to us that we’re together.”
I might be imagining it but I think Claire swoons; Dickson of course has turned red because Cole’s gone off script and may have sounded a little aggressive, but I’m a girl, a girl who knows that there’s nothing sexier than a man who’s secure in his relationship and proud to show it off.
So, if nothing else comes out of this, at least we’ll have even more fangirls.
***
“Hey, sugar snap! Do I need to come bearing the holy trinity? Gosling, Ben, and Jerry?” Cami asks as soon as she answers her phone. I’m in my dorm room, ready to crash and wake up next year. Cole’s dropped me off and headed off to practice so I won’t be seeing him tonight, but the idea of staying up and reading ahead for class has my head pounding even before I reach for my textbooks.
“No need, I think we averted any major crisis moments today.”
“I still want to hear about it. How about I join in on that conference call you’re going to make to your other best friends?”
I love Cami for reasons like these, how she correctly assumes that she’s as much of a friend to me as Megan and Beth.
“I’m too tired to even call them, so how about we FaceTime them together tomorrow? Coffee date, my treat, and I get to hear all about your shenanigans with Parker over the break?”
“Shenanigans? What shenanigans? There were no shenanigans with that man.” Cami huffs and I laugh.
“So it wasn’t your tongue shoved down his throat when I came to your dorm room that day?”
“We all make mistakes, Teresa, let’s live and let live.”
I snort. “Okay, Plato, how about I describe to you word by word how Cole rescued me from the vapid reporter in the sexiest way possible, and you tell me all about the football player who must not be named?”
“You little sneak, way to exploit my weakness. Fine, I’ll be there, but you owe me a ton of sexy Stone in return, and I’m talking jaw-clenching, chest-heaving, muscle-popping action. It’ll be better if he threw some furniture around.”
“We’ll make that up as we go along.”
“Then I’m taking his clothes off as well.”
Chapter Eight: I’m Going to Volunteer Quicker than Kanye Can Tweet and Delete
Ever since the magazine shoot, things have been quite normal. When the story first came out, Cole and I were subjected to some interest, and of course having the spotlight back on me made me have panic attacks every other day, but when the dust settled and everyone realized that we were a boring old couple who did boring old couple things, we were left alone. Even the fangirls got tired at some point of being ignored by Cole and moved on to greener pastures. In the months following the newspaper article that was meant to derail my dad’s political campaign by exposing his family’s secrets, things actually went against his opponents. Jerk hole that he is, Mr. Caldwell, Dad’s press secretary, was able to spin things around in our favor. So from depressed, bulimic, and self-harming basket case of a person, I now represent the classic example of how powerful of a tool therapy is and how more parents should be concerned about their teenager’s mental health and look into finding the best possible treatment for them. That is now one of the leading points of Dad’s agenda and what’s keeping him ahead in the polls.
Talk about a blessing in disguise. Of course it’s probably one of the most insensitive things they could do to me, but I’m more than ready to put anything and everything related to politics behind me for the time being.
The spring semester’s drawing to a close and somehow after all the drama the last couple of months have brought, Cole and I have managed to survive our first year of college without any major calamities. It wasn’t a joyride by any stretch of the definition but hey, what matters is that we’ve managed to hold on to each other despite all that could’ve possibly gone wrong and what almost did. We narrowly avoided a few, and it was a bit touch-and-go for a long time, but I’m proud to say that we’re still going strong. And by strong, I mean as stable as life will ever allow us to be.
I’m in my dorm room, doing some last bit of writing before the long and glorious summer, when I’m interrupted by my boyfriend walking into the room and flopping down on the bed next to me. Suffice it to say, I power off my laptop because he won’t let me get any work done and because I haven’t seen him in what feels like weeks. He’s been busy with training and practicing, with classes and final exams just like I’ve been. My spontaneous decision to join the dance team and write occasional pieces for the student newspaper means that I barely have enough time to sleep and do my readings each night, let alone have constant date nights.
But we’re so close to freedom, to three blissful months doing whatever we want. We’ve been making travel plans, some with our friends and some alone.
“Hey.” I lie down next to him and he quickly gathers me in his arms, my head resting on his chest. It seems like he’s inhaling the scent of my hair, of my strawberry-scented shampoo, which is something he would totally do since he says the smell relaxes him.
“I’m so ready to be done with this semester,” he mumbles sleepily. I can understand why he’s so tired and truth be told, I know he works so much harder than I do. The exertion that he puts forth is responsible for him being perpetually tired, but these days he’s more tired than usual and in pain because of a recent brutal tackle on the field, or so he tells me. He doesn’t spend a lot of time talking to me about the game, and I don’t ask, either. The little free time we do find together consists of us talking ourselves to sleep, where we’re both so bone tired that we mumble lazy sentences, kiss each other clumsily, and fall asleep, with my arm draped across his chest.
It’s a nice picture, but ideally I’d like for us to be able to hold an entire conversation before dozing off.
Like I said, I cannot wait for summer.
“Tell me about it; I’ve been staring at my computer screen for so long that everything’s starting to blur.” I rub a hand over my tired, weary eyes. Finals week means we’re all getting no sleep and lots of early mornings. At this point we’ve both been up for more hours than we’ve been asleep, and it’s so tempting to just fall into him, close my eyes, and not think about this final essay submission, but we’ve just got to fight a little bit longer, just a few more days, just one more push...
“I’m thinking about changing my major.”
My head whips to the side as Cole casually mentions this. I hadn’t expected to receive the news since he’s acing all his classes and seems to be passionate about his civil engineering major. Of course the plan for him has always been to play football professionally, any degree would always be a backup, but I’m taken aback by his decision to change a major he’s been loving so far and excelling at.
“You are? Wh-what do you want to change it to?”
“Remember that politics class I told you I liked? The professor called me in today to discuss my paper; he said for a science guy, I had a surprising amount of depth for...I think he wanted to make a dig at my position on the team but ended up being too nice to call me a meathead jock.”
“Hey!” I interrupt him. “You are in no way, shape, or form a meathead jock, and if anyone even thinks that way, they’re going to deal with me first and it’s not going to be pretty.”
“Easy there, tiger, no one pushed me off the swings on the playground.”
“Well, of course they didn’t; you were the resident swing pusher, if I remember correctly.”
“Only for you, babe, I didn’t just go around pushing little girls onto the ground.”
“You better not have.”
He chuckles and pulls me closer. “So anyway, we had a good talk, and he seems to think I should reconsider my major, says I have the kind of analytical skills
that’d be suited to a different career altogether.”
I try not to let my reaction show. I hate how there’s a part of me that’s actually happy to hear that Cole’s thinking about exploring other options. When he’d wanted to quit playing football before, it was because he thought he was doing it for our relationship, and I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d let him go ahead with his plans. Now, he’s thinking about himself and his future, what he’d like to make of it. Football has always been his go-to, something he’s been good at. But unlike some of his teammates, it’s not all that he’s good at. Cole is incredibly intelligent and studies harder than most people I know. So if he wants to look at other options, then why shouldn’t he? A selfish part of me wonders how that would change things, a life without the constant reminder that I’m in a relationship with someone on the cusp of fame.
“Well, it obviously made an impact on you if you’re already considering changing majors.”
He seems lost in thought and I don’t interrupt; he needs to think it out for himself. Much as I’d like to be waving pom-poms right now and cheering for this professor who might potentially save me from a life of constant scrutiny, I refuse to be that girl who thinks that it’s okay to control her partner’s life and decisions.
“How about you take the summer and really think about everything. It doesn’t have to be here and now. You’re still a freshman, you’ve got so much time to figure out what you want to do, and if in the end your decision is to play ball professionally, then...”
“That’s the thing, right,” he says so quietly that I almost miss it, “the more time I actually spend playing it, the more I realize that I should be enjoying it more. I should feel something more than being exhausted all the time or just trying to get the job done until the next game.”
