Chapter Five
Julia
What do you think?
I read the text from Alex and wait for the following photo.
She was invited to some nineties party at school, and she and her roommate are out thrifting, trying to find the perfect outfit.
When the photo comes through, sure enough, it does not disappoint.
Alex stands in front of the dressing room mirror with one hand holding up her phone and the other shoved into the front pocket of her ripped jeans.
She’s also wearing a white, high-collared crop top and a maroon and dark gray baggy flannel shirt over it.
It doesn’t look terribly different from what seems to be trendy now, but she looks both in style and out-of-date at the same time.
As a whole, she looks great. But I can’t stop staring at the bit of stomach that’s on display. The same stomach that, for some reason, I can’t stop thinking about.
Shoes? I text back.
Probably just my Chucks
I imagine her favorite pair of black Chuck Taylors to the outfit. Perfect. You look great!
She sends a thumbs-up emoji, and I put down my phone to turn back to studying. Except I can’t seem to focus. School has been fine. My classes are challenging but engaging, and field hockey has been a dream. All in all, Penn has been everything I hoped for and more.
Penn isn’t the problem. It’s everything else.
It’s Tyler and the long distance and the inevitable sinking feeling that we won’t make it out of our first semester as a couple.
It’s Chloe being all the way in southwest Virginia and not showing up with snacks and one of her quizzes when one of us is feeling a little stressed.
It’s the way my thoughts seem to cling to things like Alex’s left dimple or her biceps or her new stomach muscles.
It’s the little bit of jealousy I feel whenever she posts pictures of herself with a pretty girl that she never tells me about.
All of it’s become so heavy that I find it hard to focus on things like calculus or perfecting my push passes. I stare at the half-finished math problem in front of me, wondering if I’m even capable of acing my upcoming exam.
I groan and toss my pencil on the table in mild defeat.
“Wharton business?”
I’m startled by the quiet voice behind me. I quickly spin to see a girl watching me with an amused expression. “I’m sorry?”
She motions to the open book in front of me. “Math 1400, Calculus. Lemat?”
My heart rate settles, and I return her smile. “Zhao, actually.”
“Oof,” she says and winces. “I hear she’s hard. Ace her class, and I’m sure you’ll have no problem transferring in.” The girl extends her hand. “I’m Emily.”
“Julia.”
“You play field hockey, right?” My expression must reflect either confusion or surprise because she chuckles. “I’ve been to a few games. My roommate is an assistant to your physician. Amelia?”
I know Amelia, she’s a couple years older. Quiet but kind. “It’s cool you come to the games to support her.”
She gives me a quizzical look and shakes her head. “That’s not why I go. I mean it is, but…”
It takes me a minute and the slow rise of her eyebrow for me to understand what she’s not directly saying. And it takes another beat and her wandering gaze to really get her implication. Once it all clicks into place, I can feel the warmth spread across my face. “Oh, well, that’s…thanks.”
She chuckles again and nods toward my book. “I’ll let you get back to it.”
There’s a lip bite and one more lingering look, and she starts to walk away. “Maybe I’ll see you around,” I call out, causing a lot of irritated glares my way. I mouth “Sorry” and sheepishly sink in my chair.
Emily stops and heads back over. She leans in a bit and lowers her voice. “Actually, there’s a party tonight. If you’re interested.”
She’s so close, I can smell her spearmint gum. She stares at me, never breaking eye contact while she waits for a response. Her eyes are dark but not as dark as her hair, and she’s somehow even prettier up close.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, unable to tell her no. “That sounds like fun.”
Her smile lights up the room, and my stomach does a little flip thing, and it completely throws me for a loop.
She hands me her phone. “Put your number in, and I’ll text you the address.
” It’s not the first time I’ve given someone my number, and it’s clear she’s interested.
I’m not available, at least not in the romantic sense, but I give it to her anyway.
When I hand her phone back, she texts me the address, then slips her phone into her back pocket and offers a wink. “Hope to see you there.”
She walks away, and I sit there staring long after she’s disappeared. Nothing’s going to happen, I’m probably not even going to go, but there’s something about the idea that she likes me, the thrill of having her attention, that surprisingly excites me.
The chill in the air seems weird, especially for September. The high of the win against Brown is dampened by a strange feeling that’s been sitting in the pit of my stomach all day. One I can pinpoint, starting when I didn’t receive a good-luck text from Alex first thing this morning.
It’s selfish, expecting Alex to watch all my games.
Except, until today, she’s never missed one.
Not even when she was studying in France and the time difference kept her awake deep into the morning.
Or the time she was bedridden with walking pneumonia when we were sixteen.
But it’s Friday night, and she’s in New York, and the opportunity to go out far exceeds staying in and watching a grainy college live feed.
She was bound to miss one sooner or later.
I just didn’t think it would rattle me this much.
We shake hands with the other team, then huddle for one more talk from the coach and our captain before hitting the locker room to change. The uneasiness seems to spread when I check my phone and have congrats messages from my parents, Chloe, Tyler, and even Emily. But nothing from Alex.
The disappointment is consuming.
Resisting the urge to ask her if everything is okay, I stick my phone back in my locker and hit the showers, all while trying to convince myself that everything is fine.
But the longer I go without hearing from her, the more I think that maybe she’s not out having fun with friends and that something may actually be wrong.
There’s a party on the other side of campus, and a few of my teammates ask if I want to check it out and celebrate the win. Normally, I would, but the high of the victory has dwindled, and I want to get back to my dorm. I grab my stick and duffel and check in with the coach before rushing out.
I reread our text thread and just as I start to message to ask if she’s okay, my phone buzzes with a new message.
Sorry I missed your game. Mason is in the hospital.
The small reprieve of relief makes way for panic. I stop walking, the breeze picking up to make the temperature steadily drop. Is he okay? Are you there now?
My chest twists unpleasantly as I watch the dots bounce while holding my breath and waiting for her reply. She must’ve rushed out of the city the second she found out, which would explain her lack of texts and my strange and sudden unease.
Mom said he hadn’t been feeling well lately, and he had some chest pain and a mild fever this morning so she brought him in. She said he’s better and stabilized, but they want to keep him for observation. At the hospital waiting to see him now.
I exhale slowly, comforted by the assurance that he’s stabilized but doubly anxious that it happened at all.
Mason’s had some issues in the past, usually when the weather turns bad and it gets cold, but just because it’s happened before doesn’t make it any easier now.
Especially after a decent stretch of him being healthy and okay.
In fact, it makes the entire thing seem a whole lot scarier.
A desperate urge to see them both forcibly hits me.
What hospital?
MedStar
I sprint the rest of the way to my building.
The entire drive to DC is filled with memories of Mason and all the times he was rushed to the hospital.
The first when I was ten. He had somehow caught the flu, and only when he was on the mend were we able to visit him.
That was the scariest because other than my grandfather’s passing when I was five, I hadn’t known death or the possibility of it.
I remember going to see him and being freaked out by all the monitors and the constant flow of nurses and doctors coming in to check on him.
But what really frightened me was Alex. It was the first time I’d ever seen her that scared. She was always tough and larger than life. The first one to stand up and take on anything. Yet when Mason got sick, she turned into a shell of herself. She seemed small and defenseless.
Vulnerable.
I hated that I wasn’t strong or brave enough to fix either of them.
By the time I step into the hospital, it’s a little after midnight. Alex greets me in the lobby looking tired and worried. She throws her arms around my neck, and I hold her, waiting until she pulls away first. When she does, her eyes are shining with a fresh set of tears.
She looks in complete disarray and taps her hand nervously against her thigh, her gaze darting around the room as if she’s looking for someone.
I take her face in my hands and gently guide her to look at me. “How is he?”
“He’s sleeping.” Her lip trembles slightly.
“But he’s okay, I think.” Her words sound choked, and she swallows.
“They ran a bunch of tests.” I wait for her to tell me more, but she just shakes her head.
Tears spill from her eyes, and her shoulders drop as she erupts.
She looks as if she’s going to collapse.
I pull her back into me, her cries echoing in the empty lobby.
The lone security guard looks away in an attempt to give us privacy. It makes me hold her even tighter.