18. Savannah
SAVANNAH
T hree weeks later, I'm sitting in the same coffee shop where this whole thing started, but everything feels different now.
Instead of studying alone while secretly hoping Colin might show up, I'm waiting for him to arrive for our actual date.
Our third official date, to be precise, though we've been spending so much time together that the line between dating and just living our lives has gotten beautifully blurred.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Colin:
Running 5 mins late. Coach wanted to go over film from last night's game.
Me:
No problem. I brought Bio homework to keep me company.
Colin:
Of course you did.
Me:
Someone has to maintain their GPA.
Colin:
Good thing I have an excellent tutor.
I'm smiling at my phone when someone slides into the seat across from me. Not Colin—a woman in her forties with kind eyes and the confident bearing of someone who's used to being listened to.
"You must be Savannah," she says. "I'm Dr. Elizabeth Hartley, the head of the sports medicine program here."
"Dr. Hartley! It's nice to meet you." I start to stand, but she waves me back down.
"Please, sit. I was hoping I might catch you here. Sarah Martinez speaks very highly of your work with the hockey team."
"Thank you. I love working with the athletes."
"It shows. Your injury reports are thorough, your preventive care recommendations are spot-on, and the players trust you. That's not easy to earn."
"I grew up around hockey. It helps that I understand the sport."
"It's more than that. You have good instincts and excellent judgment. Which is why I wanted to talk to you."
My heart starts racing. This sounds like it could be really good news or really bad news.
"About what?"
"About your future here. Sarah tells me you're interested in sports medicine as a career path."
"Very interested. It's what I want to do with my life."
"Good. Because I'd like to offer you something."
Dr. Hartley leans forward slightly, and I can see the intensity that probably makes her an excellent teacher.
"We have a new program starting next fall—a sports medicine concentration for pre-PT students.
It's a partnership between our exercise science department and the local hospital system.
Students get hands-on experience with collegiate and semi-professional athletes while completing their undergraduate requirements. "
"That sounds incredible."
"It is. And we're looking for students who've already demonstrated aptitude and commitment. Students like you."
"Are you offering me a spot in the program?"
"I'm offering you the opportunity to apply. Given your work with the hockey team and your academic record, I think you'd be an excellent candidate."
I can barely contain my excitement. This is exactly the kind of program I've been hoping would exist—practical experience combined with rigorous academics, working with real athletes on real problems.
"I'd love to apply."
"Excellent. I'll send you the application materials next week. The deadline isn't until March, so you'll have plenty of time to put together a strong application."
"Thank you so much for thinking of me."
"Thank Sarah. She's the one who recommended you." Dr. Hartley stands to leave, then pauses. "Oh, and Savannah? Keep doing what you're doing with the hockey team. The players respect you, and that's worth more than any grade point average."
After she leaves, I sit in my chair trying to process what just happened. A specialized sports medicine program. Working with collegiate and semi-professional athletes. Exactly what I've been dreaming about since I was fourteen years old.
"You look like someone just told you Christmas is coming early," Colin says, sliding into the seat Dr. Hartley just vacated.
"Better than Christmas. Dr. Hartley just offered me a chance to apply for a new sports medicine program."
"That's amazing! Tell me everything."
I give him the details while he listens with the kind of focused attention that makes me feel like nothing else in the world matters.
"This is perfect for you," he says when I finish. "You're going to love it."
"I have to get accepted first."
"You'll get accepted. They'd be crazy not to accept you."
"How can you be so confident?"
"Because I've watched you work. You're brilliant at this stuff, Savannah. You see things other people miss, you connect with the athletes, and you genuinely care about helping people."
"You're biased."
"I'm observant. There's a difference."
We order coffee and pastries, and I realize this is exactly how I want to spend every Saturday afternoon for the foreseeable future. Talking about our futures, supporting each other's dreams, being together without having to worry about whether we're making the right choice.
"Speaking of futures," Colin says, "I have some news too."
"Good news?"
"Coach moved me to the first line."
"Colin! That's incredible!"
"It's pretty exciting. Ezra and I get to play together, which should be fun."
"You've earned it. You've been playing amazing hockey lately."
"Thanks. I feel like I'm finally playing the way I'm capable of playing."
"What's different?"
"Everything. I'm not overthinking every play, I'm not worried about disappointing anyone, I'm just playing hockey because I love it."
"And because you're happy."
"And because I'm happy."
He reaches across the table and takes my hand, and I marvel at how natural this feels now. Three months ago, any physical contact between us would have sent me into emotional overdrive. Now it just feels like coming home.
"Can I tell you something?" he says.
"Always."
"I've been thinking about what I want to do after college hockey."
"And?"
"I think I want to coach."
"Really?"
"Really. Maybe youth hockey at first, then work my way up. I love the strategy side of the game, and I like helping younger players understand systems and develop their skills."
"You'd be good at that."
"You think so?"
"I know so. You're patient, you explain things clearly, and you remember what it's like to be the kid who's trying to figure everything out."
"Plus, coaching would let me stay involved in hockey without having to be the best player on the ice."
"Is that important to you?"
"More important than I realized. I love hockey, but I don't need to be a professional player to have hockey be part of my life."
This is such a shift from the Colin I met at the beginning of the semester—the one who thought his worth was tied to his hockey performance, who believed he had to choose between hockey and everything else.
"What changed your mind about playing professionally?"
"Honestly? Meeting you."
"Me?"
"You. Watching you discover what you're passionate about, seeing how excited you get when you talk about sports medicine, realizing that there are lots of ways to be successful."
"Colin..."
"I'm not saying I'm giving up on playing at the highest level I can. But I'm saying that if hockey ends tomorrow, I'll be okay. Because I have other interests, other goals, other things that make me happy."
"Other things like what?"
"Like getting my degree. Like maybe coaching someday. Like being with someone who challenges me to be better than I thought I could be."
"Someone like me?"
"Exactly like you."
We're both smiling now, and I realize we're having the kind of conversation I used to dream about. Not just small talk or academic discussion, but real talk about our futures, our dreams, the life we might build together.
"Savannah?"
"Yeah?"
"I know we've only been officially dating for a few weeks, and I know we're both still figuring out what we want. But I need you to know something."
"What?"
"I can see a future with you. Not just college, but after college. Whatever that looks like."
My heart starts racing, but not from nervousness. From excitement, from possibility, from the realization that I can see that future too.
"Even if your future involves coaching and mine involves sports medicine?"
"Especially if your future involves sports medicine. We'd make a good team."
"Would we?"
"The best team. You keeping athletes healthy, me helping them develop their skills. We could work together."
"That's assuming we both end up in the same place."
"We'll figure it out. Whatever it takes."
"That's a big promise."
"It's a promise I want to make."
"Even though we're eighteen and have no idea what we're doing?"
"Especially because we're eighteen and have no idea what we're doing. We can figure it out together."
I look at Colin across the table—this boy who was once my childhood crush, then my Biology student, then my patient, now my boyfriend. This person who's taught me that being visible doesn't mean being perfect, that love doesn't have to be a distraction from your goals.
"I love you," I tell him.
"I love you too."
"Even when I'm bossy about your PT exercises?"
"Especially when you're bossy about my PT exercises."
"Even when I make you study Biology on Friday nights?"
"Especially when you make me study Biology on Friday nights."
"Even when I know more about hockey injuries than you do?"
"Especially when you know more about hockey injuries than I do."
We're both laughing now, and I realize this is what happiness looks like. Not the quiet contentment I've felt for most of my life, but joy. Pure, uncomplicated joy.
"So what happens now?" I ask.
"Now we keep doing what we're doing. You apply for that sports medicine program, I keep playing hockey and figuring out my future, and we see where this takes us."
"Together?"
"Together."
"Even when things get complicated?"
"Especially when things get complicated."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
As we're leaving the coffee shop, Colin stops and looks back at our table.
"What?" I ask.
"Just thinking about how much has changed since the first time we sat there."
"Good changes?"
"The best changes."
"Even the messy parts?"
"Especially the messy parts. The messy parts taught us what we were willing to fight for."
"And what are we willing to fight for?"
"Each other. This. The possibility that two eighteen-year-olds who don't have everything figured out can build something worth having."
"That's very philosophical for a hockey player."
"I've been influenced by a very smart girl."
"She sounds like a good influence."
"The best influence."
We walk across campus hand in hand, and I think about everything that's brought us to this moment. Dad's coaching, my childhood invisibility, Colin's family pressure, our separate journeys that somehow led us to each other.
I think about the sports medicine program, about Colin's first line promotion, about the future we're starting to imagine together.
Most of all, I think about how different my life looks now compared to four months ago. I'm no longer the invisible girl doing homework in the stands. I'm someone who matters, someone who contributes, someone who's building a life she actually wants to live.
And I'm doing it with someone who sees me for exactly who I am and loves me for it.
That seems like the best possible beginning.