13. Eden
EDEN
THE NEXT MORNING
CONNOR: I’m in Orlando, officially.
EDEN: And it’s not a Saturday, yet you’re still messaging.
CONNOR: A new era.
EDEN: :)
CONNOR: How’s your week? Do we feel safe now to make plans?
EDEN: Let’s go for it. LOL
EDEN: Classes start today, and I’m drowning in stuff to do through my game on Thursday.
EDEN: Maybe Friday? Saturday I should lay low because we have another game on Sunday.
CONNOR: Dinner on Friday?
EDEN: Sounds perfect :)
CONNOR: I’ll figure out a place.
CONNOR: Also, maybe we should graduate from DMs into texts? Here’s my number. [sends phone number]
EDEN: Oh yeah. Texting you mine now.
[one minute later]
CONNOR: Officially saved in my phone :)
Adate with Connor. Finally on the calendar.
Even though it’s going to be another thing to balance this week, I’m so ready. After all the shifts in schedules and obligations, we’re officially going to hang out.
Hang out, or go on a date? Huh. I guess I don’t know exactly. But I don’t have any sense from him that he’s going to play me or ghost. And he’s asked to take me to dinner. At an actual restaurant. That’s decidedly not a twenty-two-year-old version of Netflix and chill.
A chime on my phone goes off before I settle the debate.
First day of senior year!
I was so excited when I typed that reminder in my calendar in June. Now the notification makes my anxiety fly, pulling me out of my hazy thoughts of Connor. I’m about to have even more to do, with a schedule loaded with homework.
A schedule with four classes: Advanced Sociology, Art History, Genetics, and my senior capstone seminar.
The classes themselves have me excited. I love to learn.
But unlike many collegiate athletes going pro, my grades matter all the way until graduation. Because if I’m going to delay medical school to play soccer like I’m leaning toward, schools will look at all four years closely whenever I do apply. Maintaining my straight-A track record is key.
Argghhh.
Still, like a good girl, at ten I head into my “Art History: Major Moments” class and plop down into a chair. Here we go, senior year.
“Hi, is this seat taken?”
I turn around at the question and see it’s Jake Tuttle who’s asking. A hockey teammate of Greg’s, a fellow senior and reputedly a good guy. I wouldn’t know, because we’ve rarely spoken before.
All six-foot-four of his hulking hockey frame forms a shadow over me.
“No, it’s fine. Take it.”
“Thanks.” He slides into the desk next to mine, giving me an opportunity to study his face for the first time, well, ever.
He’s definitely a looker, with his brown curly hair and piercing green eyes. But what I appreciate most is that he doesn’t wear a cocky smirk like way too many of the hockey team.
Greg was never like that, and he mentioned that Jake was the nicest person off the ice, even though he was an enforcer on it.
“You’re stuck taking this class to graduate too?” he whispers to me, with an amused smile on his face.
“Guilty as charged.” I needed a humanities elective, and this one is a notoriously easy A.
“Well, I’m sure we’re not alone.” Looking around, there are a lot of other seniors, so I suspect he’s right.
The professor starts the class a few seconds later, and my attention falls off Jake. When the class is over, though, he waits for me to pack my things, and we walk out together.
“Where you headed after this?” he asks once we’re outside the building.
“Back to the dorms. Going to regroup before practice.”
“Nice, I’m off to meet someone in the library. See you on Wednesday.”
After we part, Jake quickly leaves my thoughts.
Instead, I spend the walk back to the dorm mentally checking off my to-do list for the week.
On it: schoolwork, practice, captain obligations, the games, two interviews, content for three NIL deals, and staying on top of the requests from media or companies that keep popping into my inbox on a daily basis.
Oh, and my date with Connor. A nonnegotiable on my list.
On Tuesday, he texts to coordinate specifics:
CONNOR: Do you like Italian?
EDEN: Yep. I’m not a picky eater.
CONNOR: There’s that place ten minutes away from Tolliver, Pisano’s. Does that work for Friday?
EDEN: Definitely.
Nice of Connor to check one question off my list. But there’s so much remaining.
Maybe someone hardwired differently could coordinate all these scrambled-up tasks well; for me, it’s becoming too much. I’m used to holding things down, but this is wild.
Case in point—by the time I hit Art History class again on Wednesday, I’m already fifty pages behind in the reading and kicking myself. I kept meaning to do it, but then something else would come up.
I crack open my notebook, blank other than my scribbles from Monday’s class. “I’m so screwed.”
I probably shouldn’t have said that out loud, whoops.
“What’s the matter?” It’s Jake, leaning over my shoulder from the seat behind me.
“Sorry, I was talking to myself. I’ve only managed like five pages of the reading for today. Normally I’d outline it all and everything…ugh.”
“I got you.” His voice low. “I type up the bullet points in a Google Doc after I read. You can have my notes.”
I turn around more fully. “Bless you.”
He gives me a little smile. “Give me your number, and I’ll share the link with you. You can follow along.”
“Amazing.” I know I still need to do the reading, but at least I’ll have a ready-made study guide.
I force life to slow down the next day. Given it’s a game day, I pull my focus in narrowly to what needs to happen on the pitch.
We’re playing Wake Forest, and they’re really solid. Especially their goalie—she’s one of the best in the NCAA.
Scoring doesn’t come easy, but we pull through. April makes a beautiful goal in the forty-third minute, and I match her in the eightieth. We end up with a win, 2–0.
“Seasons starting strong,” Bree says once we’re back in the locker room.
Undefeated still.
Immediately after I wake up Friday, my mind slips to the dinner with Connor, and since my classes are over the week, I allow myself to linger there for a beat.
I can’t wait for tonight. God, we’re finally going to have some real time together.
Maybe I should take a nap after practice, so I’m feeling good for the date?
I can hear Bree’s voice in my head. Why, think you might be up late tonight?
I smile involuntarily at the question. For sure, Connor has not lost his physical appeal to me. That hiking photo he DM’d me, with him all sweaty in those shorts, biceps on display, slutty little glasses? Delicious.
In reality, when I get home at four, I lay back on the bed, playing on my phone instead of napping, scrolling through a popular influencer’s account, SoccerQueens. About five minutes later, a knock comes on the suite door.
“Eden, someone’s here to see you.”
It sounds like Becky, who lives two rooms over.
“Thanks,” I shout back.
It can’t be Connor, right? A memory flashes of when I gave him my dorm room number a few weeks ago. We’re supposed to meet at the restaurant in a couple of hours, though.
Just in case, I sneak into the bathroom and brush my hair. My face is bare, but whatever. It’s glowy from my post-shower moisturizer at least.
I step quickly—not race, never race for a guy—down the stairs.
Only…it’s not Connor.
It’s my Mom. What the heck?
“Surprise!”
I walk toward her open arms and give her a hug.
“Oh my gosh? Hi!”
She pulls back slightly, wearing a big smile. “Hi, sweetheart! I hope you don’t mind me just showing up.”
“Not at all, but how?”
She steps out of our hold and pulls up the strap of her bag, which had slipped off her shoulder. “The neuroscience institute in Miami that funds a lot of my research asked me to fly in for their annual meeting yesterday. I thought I’d take advantage to come see my girl.”
I note a couple of my dormmates peering out of their rooms, likely curious about the commotion. “Oh, this is amazing. Come to my room.” She nods as I start leading the way. “How long are you here?”
“My flight leaves Sunday. I’m sorry I didn’t give you any warning—I wanted it to be a surprise. Am I messing you up?”
I shake my head. Time with my mom on the East Coast? It’s more precious than anything.
Even the date.
We reach my door, and then I lead her inside my suite. “Not at all. I have a game on Sunday afternoon, if you’ll still be here. Also, I was going to dinner with a friend later tonight…”
“Well, she can join us? Or I can join you, I guess?” Mom says with a little laugh behind me.
I turn around to face her after placing my key card on my kitchen counter. “He.”
Her eyebrow rises. “He?”
“It’s not like that.” Yet.
“Well, if that’s okay, I love meeting your friends…”
I whip out the phone to text Connor. Fate has struck again.
EDEN: Sooooo…funny story.