13. Nolan #2
Hudson doesn’t believe me, I know because he remains silent, waiting for me to either divulge the rest of my truth or paint myself into a corner.
The flight crew gets on the intercom though, advising us to prepare for landing, ending our conversation.
“I hate Florida,” Palmer mutters, leaning forward to tuck his bag back under the seat.
He’s referring to their locker room, which is notoriously disgusting. Every college, including Camden, makes the visitor’s locker room a bare and grimy place, but Florida takes it to the next level. It’s always crawling with cockroaches, smells like piss, and most of the lights don’t work.
Hudson commiserates with him while I read Hadley’s message.
Hadley: 1- Laughter. I love the sound of laughter, especially when people have unique laughs, i.e., snorts, gasping sounds, etc.
Hadley: 2- When a recipe no longer needs tweaks.
Hadley: 3- Lanie.
Me: You forgot pranks.
Hadley: I also forgot books, but you said to only list three.
Me: List more. We’re about to land and then we’re heading to the hotel. We’re going to be in meetings for the next couple of hours. I’ll message you later when I can.
When the meeting grows tedious, going over the same damn plays we know inside and out because they haven’t changed since Peters became head coach, I make the excuse to go to the bathroom and send Hadley a text, though I know I won’t be able to see her answer until later.
Me: Who did you do your introductory speech on?
Hours pass. We have dinner, and go over plays and expectations another half dozen times before we’re finally excused to our rooms.
I barely have the door open before I have my phone out, checking for Hadley’s reply.
Hadley: Bessie Coleman.
I kick off my shoes and lie back on the bed.
Me: Will I lose clout if I ask who Bessie Coleman is? Should I google her and pretend I know?
Hadley: You should have.
Hadley: She was the first woman to have African-American and Native-American heritage to hold a pilot’s license. She broke all kinds of records.
Hadley: They nicknamed her “Brave Bessie” and “Queen Bess.” She was a badass. They refused to allow her to get her pilot’s license here in America, so she went to France to get it.
Me: You’ll have to tell Evelyn about her. Did she tell you about the world records she and Hudson have tried?
Hadley: Seriously?
Me: Serious as a hemorrhoid.
Hadley: I like Evelyn.
Me: She’s good people. Why’d you pick Bessie?
Hadley: You’re going to laugh.
Me: Try me.
Hadley: Sometimes, I get this itch to do something crazy or reckless. Something impulsive. Public speaking makes it worse. I always leave class ready to sign up to go bungee jumping.
Me: Maybe that’s why you get off with the pranks, Cutlass.
Hadley: Speaking of pranks, do you really think this is fair? You Saran wrapped my car. I can’t even retaliate right now because you don’t live here. I have zero access to you.
Me: Could you tell it was wrapped before you got close enough to open your door? Also, you have full access to me. You just have to ask.
Hadley: It looked like my car got thrown up on by single-use plastic. Jason Momoa would kick your ass.
Me: You can reuse it.
Hadley: To wrap you in.
Me: What part of me?
I grin, knowing as the pause stretches that I’ve caught her off guard again.
She sends me a gif of a woman rolling a man in a rug.
I belt out a laugh.
Me: I’d like to see you lift me.
Hadley: I only have to roll you.
I snicker, then release a groan, imagining rolling her. Naked. The thought joins a limitless reel of sexual thoughts I’ve had about her over the past two weeks that have been multiplying since Saturday night when I kissed her.
I’ve thought about that kiss, the taste of her, the gentle moan she made, and the softness of her skin more times than I can count. Never did I expect Lenny to shove me out the door with Janelle, making me look like an absolute ass hat in Hadley’s eyes.
The ring of jealousy in her words plays through my mind. I consider telling Hadley that I didn’t even ride home with Janelle. Colin, Ethan’s friend, was getting into his car, and I’d bummed a ride off him, to prevent what I knew would be an awkward turn of events if I had ridden with her.
Me: You’d probably have more fun if I rolled you.
Hadley: Until you dropped me down a mountain.
Me: You have trust issues.
Hadley: I wonder when those started?
Me: Besides bungee jumping, what else would help you scratch that itch? I’m not allowed to bungee jump. I had to sign a waiver.
Hadley: Seriously?
Me: You’d be amazed how much they own me.
Hadley: Is that why you want to move out?
Me: One of the reasons.
Hadley: There are more?
Me: My roommate snores. He sounds like a fucking helicopter with a broken rotor.
Hadley: And yet you take your pranks out on me?!
Me: He’s a soccer player.
Hadley: And the sky is blue.
Me: If he reported me, my whole team would pay for it. The soccer team already hates us.
Hadley: Hence why you torment the freshmen?
Me: Torment has such a negative connotation. It’s some light hazing. If we didn’t do it, they’d feel forgotten and unseen.
Hadley: Do you buy your own bullshit?
Me: Always.
Hadley: What’s your major?
I grin wider than I should as she prompts our conversation to continue.
Me: Business management. What about you?
Hadley: PR and marketing.
I press the phone icon beside her name, bored with texting, and slightly desperate to hear her voice. It rings three times before she answers, her voice warm and quiet. “If you ridicule me, so help me.”
“Were you considering not answering?”
“I had my phone on silent. I was getting a snack and had to wait until I was back in my room to answer so I wouldn’t wake Hannah.”
I glance at the phone, realizing it's past midnight. I should be asleep. “Why did you choose PR and marketing?”
“My family owns a development company, and when my parents retire, they want me to fill my mom’s role and meet with clients and builders and do community outreach. She doesn’t have to do a ton of public speaking, but when she does, it’s pivotal and important. She has big shoes to fill.”
“Do you want to do it? Work for your parents, I mean.”
“I know it sounds lame, and probably like I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but I do. I love the company. It’s all I know.
They started the business in our house and nearly everyone who works for the company has been there for at least a decade.
My brother and sister both work for the company as well as my brother’s wife. ”
“But not your brother-in-law?”
“He’s an eye doctor.”
“And he doesn’t know where babies come from?”
She laughs, the sound throaty and muted. I wish I were there to see it. “Right? Apparently, they only sent him to medical school to learn about pupils and corneas and eye-related stuff.”
“You know getting out and finding things that scratch that itch might help you get over your fear of public speaking. The Camden Cookie Run is this Saturday. Maybe getting out and acting ridiculous in front of a group of people could help.”
“The Camden Cookie what?”
“Camden Cookie Run. It’s a big deal.”
“I’ve never heard of it,” she says.
“That’s because you hang out with Katie, and she hates college traditions and anything that smells even distantly elitist.”
“Is it elitist?”
I scoff. “It gives off the vague scent.”
She laughs again. It feels precariously rewarding, making me think of that itch she mentions and understanding it explicitly because her laugh feels like my scratch. “What is it?”
“You run to a shop downtown that makes a ton of cookies for the event, and you have to scarf down cookies and then run back to campus, and the first person to cross the finish line wins.”
“Wins what?”
“I have no idea, but it’s for a good cause. They made like twenty grand last year for the children’s hospital. You chase the elitism down with a few cookies and know you’ve done something good. The only drawback is you’re going to have to wake up before nine because it starts at eight.”
“You have no idea what time I wake up.”
“Just that you’re never awake when I leave.”
“Because you use up all the hot water.”
“Are you ever going to let me live that down?” I ask.
“It felt like swimming in the Pacific Ocean.”
I chuckle.
“Bring Hannah. Ethan will be there.”
“I’ll ask her.”
“Even if she says no, you should come. Did I mention you get cookies?”
“I prefer savory,” she reminds me.
“No one dislikes cookies.”
“This is true.”
“We can hang out afterward.”
“I need to practice my speech.”
“You can practice on me.”
She yawns. “I’m sleep-deprived and slightly delirious because I couldn’t sleep last night. I don’t have the mental capacity to answer.”
“You should get some sleep,” I say, though I don’t want to end the call. I want to hear more about her week, more about her childhood—just more.
“Good luck Friday,” she says, her voice soft and gentle.
“I’ll talk to you soon.”