Chapter 10 #3
But I don’t have time to dwell because I need to tell Trick about the family coming to the game, and this isn’t the kind of news I want to text or even call him about.
I have to tell him in person so there are no misunderstandings about how I feel or about how he feels.
The problem is I don’t know when I’ll have a chance.
Re-joining my roommates in the kitchen, I help myself to another cup of coffee. Only Ricci and Nina are still here.
“Where’s Darcy?”
“She had an early class or something,” Nina says.
“How was your night—for real?” Ricci says. “Give us some details to be scandalized about.” She wiggles her brows.
“That’s classified information.” I give her a smile and a wink, but no way am I sharing the kinds of details I know she’s looking for, the kind she’s free about discussing.
It surprises me that I feel this burning need to keep our intimacy a secret even from good friends.
I don’t think I would even want to share those things with my own twin sister, who I share everything with.
I mean, it’s not like she tells me all about her nights with Connor.
Not that I ever asked since I don’t need to know.
All I need to know is that he makes her happy.
“Let’s put it this way,” I say. “He makes me very happy.”
“Oh my god—seriously?” Nina says, laughing and bouncing on her kitchen stool.
“That’s way crazy. Happy?” Ricci shakes her head. “What exactly is that a euphemism for? No—let me guess.”
I laugh. “Please don’t try to guess. I have a class to go to across campus.” I finish drinking my second coffee way too fast and throw on my coat. Grabbing my bag, I head for the door.
“You driving?” Ricci asks.
“No. It’s a glorious morning for a walk.”
“Oh my god. What did he do to you?” Nina says, giggling.
“Don’t you two have classes?”
“Not until eleven. I’m not insane,” Ricci says. “See you at Philly for lunch around 12:30.”
“Okay. I should be able to make it.”
Outside, I shiver and wonder if I shouldn’t have taken my car because it’s hella cold out today. But the sunshine is brilliant against the glistening snow and the bright blue skies, so I breathe in the icy air and trudge on, pulling my coat closed.
Before I get far, I can’t resist taking out my phone to text Trick. I didn’t want to be that obsessed woman who can’t go a few hours without contact, but I want to arrange a meet-up so we can talk.
Me: About the game…
I let my conversation bubbles go on without me because what am I going to say.
Trick: What about it?
I laugh because I think he’s telling me with emojis that he’s going to get a hat trick.
Me: I’m excited about the game and your possible hat trick! I’d like to meet before then if we can.
Trick: Not today. Busy with the team.
My shoulders sag. Disappointment and determination mingle, creating what’s becoming a familiar tension.
When did I get so fragile? I can wait a day to see him and tell him about my parents coming to the game.
Except I have a bad feeling about blowing up our plans at the last second.
Guilt plagues me for no good reason. Shit.
I’m being ridiculous. Having dinner with my parents only means delaying our night together for a couple of hours. Not the end of the world.
But as the text train remains blank, without even a single dot bubbling, I can’t bring myself to type in the necessary message. I’m all too aware of the shortcomings of texting and even phoning.
There’s one thing I know about relationships, especially at the beginning when they’re fragile, and that is that clear communication is paramount.
Misunderstandings are too easy when we’re still getting to know each other and not sure of where we stand yet.
Things are fluid to the point of sloshy and easy to spill over with one wrong move—one misunderstood word.
In-person is best.
Trick: Fifi? You in the front row of some class hiding your phone?
Me: Almost. You have practice after your team lunch?
Trick: After classes at three. Then dinner at six. Then study. Then bed and dreams of you.
My belly flutters and gathers like champagne in a bottle waiting for release. Worse, my mouth stretches wide in a goofy smile no matter how much I lecture myself to manage my expectations.
Me: Good luck at the game. I’ll be rooting for you on the inside.
Trick: Can’t wait to celebrate with you after we win.
The pleasant fluttering in my belly stops as it tightens uncomfortably. I resist the urge to text him now to tell him our celebration will be delayed; I’ll catch him at the rink after practice to let him know in person to make sure it’s all good.
I’m about to text him goodbye when the tell-tale conversation dots bubble up to announce he’s sending something.
Trick: We can celebrate all the way into Sunday afternoon… and night.
Me: Seriously? What about your family’s Sunday dinner? Hockey practice?
I thought we’d part after breakfast and wouldn’t see him until our Stats class.
Trick: I convinced Mom that seeing her at the game makes up for Sunday dinner.
Me: Lol She bought that? You’re good.
Trick: I’m right. And according to Mom, too charming to be good.
I laugh out loud for real because his parents are coming to the game too.
Standing outside the classroom building, I catch a couple of funny looks from kids passing by me.
The building is a no-phone zone. We’re required to turn them off inside and only turn them on again when we leave, like we’re smokers and our phones will contaminate the place of learning.
It’s probably true. I don’t have a problem with the rule.
But now I need to shut my phone and finish texting later. And it’s the last thing I want to do.
Am I obsessed or addicted?
Me: Let’s explore later. Gotta go to class. ILYF, S
I shut my phone and walk inside, feeling self-conscious about my sign-off. I let the letters flow reflexively. Though the instant I hit send, I am hyper-aware that I might be rocking the boat, and for no good reason.
In my defense, it’s how I sign off with everyone I’m close to. Like Carmela, for instance. Or Mom. Why should I feel funny about it?
Because Trick isn’t a family member, you idiot. And am I really close to him?
I don’t know.
Ricci waves to me like she thinks I’m clueless about finding her, which I’m not because she’s sitting at our usual lunch table.
I wander through the crowd at Philly as the place fills up because, of course, we’re eating at the most popular time.
Ricci insists on maxing the being-seen factor and mingling with as many people as she can.
Good luck tearing them away from their phones.
“You’re early,” she says when I reach the table where she sits with Nina, both outfitted in bright colors so they look like an island of peacocks in a sea of somber gray fish. And yes, our table is dead center in this cafeteria-charading-as-a-café.
My watch pings, and I jump like it just electrocuted me.
Ricci laughs. “What’s with you? Waiting for a text from your guy?”
A quick glance tells me it’s not him. It’s some Apple news flash about something I don’t care about—as usual.
“I’m fine. It’s not Trick. He’s got a team lunch or meeting or something or other.”
Nina smirks. “Wow, you know his schedule.”
“Remind me why I’m your friend?” I’m trying not to laugh, mostly at myself, because this conversation feels so junior high. I pull the tray of food in front of me. I know Nina got it for me because there are no pickles, and she always remembers I don’t like them.
“I know it was a rhetorical question,” Ricci says, popping a fry in her glossy red-lipped mouth, “but the answer is because we’re the only ones cool enough to put up with your beauty queen persona.”
I laugh. “I’m a fashionista, not a beauty queen. There’s a difference.”
She waves a hand. “Not when said fashionista looks like you.”
Nina leans in. “She’s right—and you know what’s amazing about you? You don’t even know what you look like.”
“Sure I do. I’m a young coed like all of us, and we’re all beautiful. Have you two looked in a mirror lately?” I reach my hands out to either side of me and cover theirs. “You are both gorgeous, fun, and smart. I’m just trying to keep up.”
Ricci rolls her eyes, but I notice the hint of a pleased smile. “You’re right. We’re all stunning.”
Nina grins, her cheeks pink. “It must be true because a cute guy in Marketing class hit on me this morning.”
“In the morning? Must be serious,” Ricci says, tongue-in-cheek.
I lift the burger to my mouth and take a bite when my watch pings again. Panicking, I drop the burger, and against my determination to ditch the junior high act, I quickly check my watch. No text. It’s an IG post by Darcy—a pic of her posing in some avant-garde outfit—mostly ripped clothing.
“Gees, get over it, Sof,” Nina says. “I’ve never seen any guy make you act this way. What does Trick have up his sleeve to make you like this?”
Ricci squeals. “You mean what does he have up his pants, don’t you?”
Nina giggles. “You’re right. What was I thinking?”
Ricci leans in close like she’s about to impart a secret while I try to regain my dignity. “Tell us—is his dick really—”
“Ricci—stop it. No more about Trick. I’m here with you girls now, and I’m going to behave like an adult.” I slip the watch off my wrist and toss it in my bag, feeling only a small twitch of anxiety in my chest; I push through it.
“There.” I take in a cleansing breath as if to rid myself of Trick’s scent or whatever it is that has me so deep under his spell. “I’m back. Sorry for being so pathetic.”
“The game against BC is going to be crazy,” Nina says.
“I know,” I say, biting my lip. “But I won’t be sitting with you guys. My parents are coming to the game to see Vincent play, and I have to sit with them.”
“Tough assignment… although Vincent is a hottie, so I wouldn’t mind rooting for him—if you get what I mean.”
I roll my eyes. “Ricci, don’t be disgusting.”
Nina says, “Me and Eva are making posters to get on the Wildcat-cam.”
“You and Eva?” Ricci says.
“Yeah. It’s not like you or Darcy would bother.”
“Fair,” Ricci says and turns to me.
“I have an idea. I’ll sit with you and your parents, and we can wave a poster for Vincent.”
I laugh, but there’s an uncomfortable edge underneath it.
Why should I feel so anxious about this game? It’ll be fine. I’ll watch the game with my parents, root for Vince, and try not to cringe. Then I’ll have dinner with them, catch up, and say good-night. No problem.
“Since when did you have a crush on Vincent?” I ask.
“It’s not exactly a crush. More like a low-level interest from afar.”
I nod, pushing around my food, too uneasy to eat.
“Cheer up, Sof.” Ricci gives me a teasing grin. “It wouldn’t be the end of the world if BC won, would it?”
I laugh and swat Ricci’s shoulder lightly. “Yes, it would. Trick would be inconsolable.”
“Not as inconsolable as he’d be if he got thrown out for fighting,” Nina says, looking at her phone.
“What are you talking about?” I frown and barely stop myself from grabbing the phone from her hand. She shows me the screen.
“There’s a chat on Discord about the odds of a fight and who would win. But the consensus is that Trick would get thrown out first because Coach Zabra hates him.”
“He does?” Ricci says. “Why would he hate their best player?”
I shrug because I’m not sure, but Trick hinted it was the case. “I think it’s something about a grudge against the former coach. Maybe.”
Giving Nina her phone back, we all fall silent for a few beats, but it’s not one of those easy friendly silences. I don’t know what’s bothering my two friends, but I can add Trick’s hockey prospects to my list of worries.
“You worried about Trick getting beat up?” Nina breaks the silence.
“Not really. I’m more worried about him fighting and getting in trouble because it might hurt his future hockey prospects.”
They nod. Then Ricci slams her fist on the table, drawing attention from people nearby. “Don’t worry. He’s too good for a little fight to ruin his chances at the NHL.”
Her confidence is so sure it’s past bravado. “You know something, Ricci? I think you’re right.”