Chapter 5
Stretch, some simple yoga poses and a couple hops to get loose.
Deep breath in and out.
Put my morning run playlist on shuffle.
And I’m off.
This has been my ritual the last few years.
I used to have to wake up even earlier to make sure I’d be able to get in a run, get showered and dressed, and be ready to leave for school with enough time to make it there before the first bell.
Thankfully, now that I’m in college, I don’t have to be about that life ever again.
Crossing my fingers I’m able to go the next three and a half years as far away from any eight a.m. classes as I can be.
Senior year, when I’m doing student teaching, I’ll probably have to man up about it.
But, for right now, my earliest class is at ten.
Plenty of time for a run and a shower afterward, so I don’t smell musty first thing in the morning.
I can even eat breakfast and not have to rush for any of it.
Or, that’s the idea. Today’s my actual first day of classes. So, I’ll find out soon enough if I planned this out correctly.
I spent a lot of time last night worrying about everything that could go wrong today, from walking into the wrong classroom and not realizing it until halfway through the hour, to finding out that not only did I not sign up for any of the right classes, I never even registered.
I was tossing and turning, trying to think relaxing thoughts for hours until I finally pulled my iPad out, went on to the student portal, and saw, right there in black and white (and the blues and greens of any TAMU-CC website) that, yes, I did register, I will have somewhere to be, and they are all going to be the right somewheres.
Calculus, Nutrition, Physics, Psychology, Philosophy.
A course for freshmen who are thinking of going into education.
A mix of major requirements for my Mathematics degree and my minor in Exercise Science, starting on my teacher certification, and core stuff.
I’m good. I’m prepped and ready. I’m nervous, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Just a normal day.
Well, the start of my new normal. One that looks like running on the wildlife path along Oso Bay instead of through my neighborhood, going to classes in a university that isn’t necessarily huge but is still big compared with my tiny Catholic high school, and playing for a team that has me getting on a plane for the first time in my life.
Bigger than anything I’ve ever faced head-on before.
But, like Barrera said, as long as I stick to the straight path forward, it’s nothing I can’t handle.
I’m good.
I’m ready.
As my feet hit dirt and wood, the smell of moist grass and saltwater in the air, and I catch the sounds of seagulls and crickets waking up between songs, all that stress goes away for a while. It’s just me, in the present, no worries or—
“ Ching —what the hell?” I say, or maybe yell; I’m not really sure how loud it came out because it’s hard to tell with Tyler, the Creator blasting in my ear while someone’s knocking into my shoulder as they run past me.
I’m about to cuss them out even more, tell them to watch where the fuck they’re going, until they turn around and— oh .
“Morning, Pineapple.” I don’t hear it, again, because Tyler, but I can read the words on Leana’s lips. See how those lips curve into a teasing smile. The kind that shows that she believes she’s hilarious.
She waits for me to take out my AirPods before continuing. “Thought I recognized you.”
“From behind?”
She laughs and steps closer to me as she answers, “Maybe so,” with a wink. “You the type to run by yourself, or would you want some company?”
“I actually do prefer having a running buddy. Used to run with one of my friends, an old teammate who lived in my neighborhood with his sister for a few months before he left for college on the West Coast. So, if you think you can keep up, I could use the company.”
The corner of my mouth perks up at the end as I tease her right back and watch as she rolls her eyes and lets out a “Pshh . ”
Leana gets even closer, literally an inch away from me, and looks up, right into my eyes. “I know I can. It’s you who should be worried about keeping up. Wouldn’t want you to get left behind. Or hurt yourself. I know how fragile futbolistas can be.”
“Pues,” I say with an even fuller smirk now, trying to be quick about my own eyes doing a risky up and down. “Let’s go then.”
I follow at her pace, which is, surprisingly, slightly faster than I’m used to. Not that I didn’t think she’d be about it; Leana’s obviously in shape. But maybe I overestimated my own usual.
“Did you play any sports in high school?”
“Volleyball,” she answers. “Don’t ask about our record, though. We weren’t winning any state championships. Or even getting close to showing up to those.”
“I bet you were pretty good.”
Leana looks over at me, letting out a breath that turns into a quiet laugh. “I wasn’t terrible.”
While we keep running and the morning starts getting brighter, Leana tells me about growing up in San Antonio in a sports family with four older brothers; how it’s only been a couple days, but she already misses her friend group and the taquer í as (“So much better than what y’all have here, it’s wild.
”); and how she’s still getting used to stepping outside and getting a whiff of that Gulf smell every day.
“There are good taquer í as here, trust me. I can take you to a couple if you want.”
“I might say yes to that,” she replies before bumping into my side.
“And if you need a friend, I’m pretty available.”
She gives me another look, her eyes calling bullshit before another quiet laugh comes out as she shakes her head. “C’mon, Pineapple. Let’s do a sprint.”
It’s just after eight thirty when we’re back at the apartments, walking together toward our buildings. Plenty of time for a shower, a quick breakfast, and then to get to campus and (the right) class with whole minutes to spare. Solid planning so far on my part.
Leana bumps into my side again; this time the back of her hand lingers against the back of mine, sending a tingle up my arm. She looks up at me one more time as she speeds up just enough to be in front of me, her back to the stairs leading up to her apartment.
“I want to apologize,” she says, “for my dad. He can be a jerk to guys. Growing up in a family of boys, you know how it can be, probably. Maybe. And thanks for helping me, if I didn’t get a chance to tell you the other day.”
“Yeah, of course. Glad I could. Even if it was just one box.”
“And I—” she starts again, hitting a pause like she’s still finding the words.
Her eyes take me in, specifically the sweaty upper body I didn’t bother covering up with a shirt before I left.
This “fall” football season is trying to give me some messed-up tan lines and I’m doing my best to make sure that doesn’t happen.
“Would you want to come up?” she finally adds.
I give exactly half a second of thought into if this is going to mess with the morning routine I’m trying to set up.
To remember Barrera’s words. To think about the truth that I honestly would like to be friends with her, get to know her, before becoming something else; and that I am, on any given day, a relationship-over-casual-hookup type of guy.
But if I’m being honest with myself, there’s no reality where I say no to her.
I’ll bag up some pineapple, mango, and granola and eat it in class if I have to.
And just because I say yes and follow her up the stairs today doesn’t mean more is off the table tomorrow.
This could be the start of something really great and girlfriend shaped, and I would be doing myself a disservice telling her no and potentially ruining that.
And it is, for sure, 100 percent the actual best way I could have ever pictured starting out my first day of college.
“Yeah. Absolutely. Lead the way.”