Chapter 45
FORTY-FIVE
SUTTON
The past ten days have been mayhem. Not only did the guys win the conference tournament, but the women’s team did too for the first time in program history. Between going to their games and school, I’ve been prepping for my internship interview with the Big Ten.
It’s today.
Elliot came to Chicago with me. We left first thing in the morning, giving us more than enough time to grab breakfast at our favorite cafe in the West Loop. She’s shopping now before meeting up with my sister.
Interviews are being held at Northwestern University.
I thought Lakeland had an incredible campus, but wow.
Their sports facilities and rec center have all been recently updated.
Large, angular buildings with large windows that overlook Lake Michigan.
It makes the lake our campus is on seem minuscule.
Early-afternoon sunlight reflects off the lake, sparkling through the panes of glass into the booth I’m sitting at in the lobby. It’s cool out today, barely sixty degrees with a breeze, but in the sunlight, I’m sweating.
Or maybe that’s my nerves.
Most of the students who are interviewing today have been studying for three years. They’ve wanted to be a psychologist probably since it was career day in third grade. No one probably took a nasty hit and a skate to the thigh on their path to getting here.
I shift against the purple vinyl, a bead of sweat dripping down my back. I shuffle the flash cards, start at the top again with my talking points and potential answers to questions.
A trio of girls walks past me, all wearing loose fighting trousers and blouses. They’re chatting about the other internships they applied for and graduate programs they started applications for.
For a split second, I find myself too far out of my league—and highly underdressed.
I’m in a tan tartan skirt with a pressed white button-down shirt tucked into it.
Slipped over top with the collar sticking out is a navy knit sweater.
Elliot tried to convince me to wear navy tights and borrow her navy knee-high leather boots, but I opted for a pair of white ruffled mid-calf socks and a heeled loafer.
My hair is pulled back with a navy clip.
I let Elliot do my makeup in the car. Simple, clean, and as she says, understated.
I smooth out my skirt. Take a deep breath.
You’ve got this, Sutton.
I haven’t had these types of butterflies in years—it’s kind of nice that they are still there.
Rusty, a few in need of a warm-up or an extra stretch of their wings.
They move around my stomach and work their way up my spine—not since my last game.
I used to get them before every game, no matter what.
Just like then, I pull out a pair of headphones and slip on the same playlist I’ve listened to since high school. The volume is low enough that if my name is called, I’m ready—we already did a group interview, now it’s individual.
The trio passes by me again. The brunette—with a familiar bow pulling half her hair up—stays back. Tells the other two she’ll catch up with them in a bit.
“Sutton?” Izzy, my former high school friend, asks. “Oh my gosh! It is you.” Her tone doesn’t match her body language.
“Hi, Izzy.” I pull out a headphone from my ear, confused why she’s here.
“Is this seat taken? Can I sit?” She’s already sliding into the booth before I can answer.
I haven’t seen Izzy Adams since the summer going into my senior year of high school. Her mom accepted a Cardiothoracic Surgeon position in California, and they moved at the end of our junior year.
We had a falling out shortly after. It was slow at first. Less communication—she was busy making new friends; I was busy with injury recovery. Then over the summer, Izzy was visiting our hometown, which I didn’t know till I saw her out, holding hands with my ex-boyfriend.
I pretended I didn’t seem them. Pretended there wasn’t this weird buzz within me that something wasn’t right about the picture. Pretended to not see her few texts that next year.
Did it hurt losing her as a friend? Naturally. Friendship breakups suck even as a kid. It took me till I became friends with Elliot to realize that I didn’t miss Izzy though.
“How have you been?” we both ask at the same time. “You first,” I follow-up with.
“Great!” she tells me, more like brags about attending the University of Minnesota—my dream team to have played hockey for—and the sorority she’s in.
“And your parents?” Izzy is an only child.
“Divorced. Mom’s already remarried to this steamy doctor from the hospital. Dad’s back in Minnesota. I was actually visiting the other week, and I heard a little rumor.”
I internally cringe at the way she says rumor. It transports me back to high school. Back to the name calling, whispers, and stares. Boiling to the surface my insecurities of being wanted and being enough. I tamper them down, and think about the people in my life who do care for me.
“You’re dating Cooper Carmichael.”
“I am.”
“Interesting.”
“How’s that interesting?”
She shrugs casually. “Just is.” Izzy pulls out lip gloss and reapplies. “You know I thought after everything in high school—”
“He didn’t start the rumor,” I cut her off defensively.
Izzy lets out a dull laugh. “He said that?” I nod demurely.
“Of course, he did. And did he say who did?” When I shake my head no, she hmms. “And you’re sure he didn’t?
Seems like another tactic to get what he wants.
What other extremes did he go to?” There’s another dull laugh. “Always a game with him.”
Manicured nails tap on the table as silence stretches between us.
I go tight, whatever nerve she was aiming at, she hit it. My body rigid as I fight off the second-guessing. Would he tell me that just to earn my trust back? Are him and I a game? Why won’t he or can’t he say who did start the rumor?
“Anyways. What is your time slot for the solo interview?”
I cough, clearing my throat. “Four.”
“That’s right after me. I thought I was last, but now that I know I’m not, I’m so relieved.
” Her body visibly shows that relief, slouching into the seat.
It’s a little dramatic, almost fake. “But don’t worry, I bet you’ll still do okay.
You were always better at studying and finding ways to make people like you.
” She nods to my notecards, and I try not to take offense to her subtle jab.
I think in these years not being friends, my Izzy-colored glasses have been removed.
“I didn’t realize you wanted to be a sports psychologist?” Or any interest in sports. When we were friends, she never came to my games. Once even said she hated sports, didn’t get them. How do you go from that to wanting to intern with one of the biggest college conferences?
One of Izzy’s brows arches. Eye twitches and hands curl into fists. Something in her switches.
Izzy can be mean, but I’d never been at the end of it…at least I think, but now I’m not positive.
I didn’t think I was being rude by asking. I was genuinely curious how she decided on majoring in sports psychology.
“People are allowed to change their minds, Sutton. I’ve worked hard the past year and a half to get here. Did you not change your major and decide to go into psychology, too? Just because Minnesota didn’t want you—hockey team and school—and wanted me, doesn’t mean I can’t pursue the career I want?”
“Izzy…I-I didn’t mean it like that. I was only curious.”
“Uh-huh. I’m sorry I’m not the washed-up, injured athlete that’s going to use that to get an internship.” There’s a callous bite to her tone, and an odor that smells a lot like jealousy.
“I’d never do that.”
“Why not? They aren’t going to want you otherwise. Think about it, Sutton. No one ever has just wanted you, there’s always a reason.” Her eyelids are dropped into slits as she glowers at me.
I…I don’t even know what I’m feeling.
No matter what concoction is stirring inside of me, I bite my tongue.
Izzy slides out of the booth. Before leaving, her hands planted on the table, she leans down. “No need to call me when Cooper dumps you. I already know I’m right. Was in high school, am now.”
I don’t watch her go. My gaze frozen to the vinyl in front of me.
My phone buzzes with a message from Elliot. Mindlessly, I swipe it away.
I try to make sense of what just happened. There’s something scratching at the back of my brain. An insistent, maybe left field, thought.
And did he say who?
The hmm afterward.
Was it her?
Elliot texts me again and I see the time. I have to focus, but that’s next to impossible.
I text Cooper, fully knowing that he should be getting dressed for practice right now; and despite my insecurities telling me she’s right about him.
Tell me I can do this.
Please.
My phone rings immediately, his name and picture taking over the entire screen.
“Sutton baby. What’s the matter?”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have texted you. You need to focus on practice, not me.”
He laughs, and it’s like smelling your favorite home-cooked meal. There’s something so familiar and calming about it. I crave to hear it more, taste it coming from his mouth, but he’s over three hours away at his game.
“Have you not realized that I’m always focused on you? Nothing is more important to me than you.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.” There’s a shuffling of shoes and then a door closing. “What color underwear are you wearing?”
“What?” I gasp.
“Come on. Black or green or purple.”
“White…” I play along.
“The ones with the pink bow in the center,” he whimpers.
“Yes?”
“Those are my favorite.”
“Is that why you ripped my other pair in half? Is that how you treat your favorite things?”
“Well…if you are putting it that way, it was blocking me from a favorite activity, and we just simply couldn’t have that.”
“What is the point of asking this?” I sigh-laugh, shoulders relaxed into the booth and slow smile peeling at the corners of my mouth.
“Did I distract you?”
“Yes?” I repeat, same tone and all.
“Good. Stop getting in your head. All you need to do is give it your best, forget about everything else. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Plus, you can tell them all about me.” I laugh. “No one can’t love me.”
“You’re so full of it.”
“And you’ll be full of me later.” Heat prickles my cheeks. The blush Elliot blended into my skin probably matches my hair now. “You’ve got this. I promise, baby. I believe in you.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
I can hear Coach Mathieson yell in the background.
“Gotta jump, but text me after. I’ll check my phone in the locker room.”
Cooper hangs up, and I sink into the seat. I plop my earbud back in to try and drown out Izzy’s stupid voice, but all I can do is replay that stretch of high school.