Chapter 9 – Jordan
NINE
JORDAN
Xanie bananie
Jaxon stopped by looking for you
I know I had a fifth-grade reading level in first grade, but I’m not sure I read that correctly. Xanie must’ve heard him wrong. Maybe Jaxon was meeting a date for coffee or asking for Gordan, the pastry chef. Maybe it’s not even the Jaxon I’m thinking of.
Me
jaxon greene?
Xanie bananie
The one and only
Me
oh please
there is probably another jaxon greene somewhere out there in the world
Doubtful.
Maybe they share the same name, but this Jaxon Greene is one of a kind.
I lace up my skates, tucking my sneakers into the side pocket of my bag. Pulling on an oversized navy mockneck, Lakeland Bears Hockey printed in silver varsity letters, my thumbs slip into the holes I wore into the sleeves. Xanie stitched my number, eleven, into the left one right above the cuff.
Three dots appear, then a new gray bubble. She truly is the best friend a girl could ask for.
Xanie bananie
Told him you were at the gynecologist. Scared him off!!
Me
you’re my soul mate
Xanie bananie
<3 <3 <3
I swipe from her texts to the ones with my dad.
Attach a screenshot from today’s Wordle and my time on The Mini before setting it down on the bench.
It’s our thing. He has showtunes with Molly—his voice is criminally good.
When she displayed a speck of interest in theater, Dad matched it, taking her to shows and running lines, even while on the road and rehearsing over the phone.
And well, obviously he has hockey with Cooper.
I know, I know, I played too, but their bond over it was—or is—different.
Dad and I have crosswords. I’ve always been the early riser among my siblings.
Favoring the serene quietness mornings offer.
As a kid, I never had to be woken up for school.
I took advantage of it, making my bed and rushing down the stairs.
Find Dad in his study, steam wafting off a French press coffee and a newspaper in the other.
When I was smaller, I’d sit in his lap, pretending to understand the finance section of the newspaper, patiently waiting for him to get to the sports section, my jungle animal straw cup filled with orange juice.
As I got older, I’d lie on the pillow throne in the corner and read Junie B.
Jones. Middle school was when we started doing the daily crossword together.
He’d make a copy of the one in the paper and we’d sit there doing it together.
It’s also when I began my coffee journey and probably why I only need a splash with my creamer.
I’ve never been able to get over the bitter taste.
Mornings became our thing. Even now, with me four hours away at school.
There’s an ease knowing he gets up in the morning, still makes French press coffee for himself and tea for Mom, before reading the newspaper and playing the NYT games, sending screenshots.
It’s a constant in my life; one I didn’t know I desperately needed.
My phone chimes, but when I spot Luka’s name instead of Dad, I swipe it away and put my phone back in my bag.
Opening the gate door, I suck in a slow inhale.
I’ve spent my entire life around the ice, and it never gets old.
But this…this is special, this is what makes up the marrow of my bones.
I was planning to lift before going to one of Elliot’s Pilates classes, but I caught sight of the Zamboni and couldn’t resist the urge.
Fresh, smooth pane of ice. Not an imperfection in sight till my blades scrape against it.
Jaxon
“Pick up, pick up.” I sprint across the street that leads to the library, it’s the last place I have to check for Jordan.
“Hi, this is Jordan. Sorry I can’t come to the phone—” I sigh and end the call, pocketing my phone. This is the fifth—no sixth time I’ve gotten her voicemail.
I check the library. She’s not here.
She wasn’t at the gym or student union. Not at work, and thank you Xanie for sending me on a goose chase across campus. I tried her dorm first, even stopped at the store and picked up gummy bears, thinking she’ll want them after her appointment.
I managed to sneak into the building, jumping in on a freshman orientation scavenger hunt. Jordan’s dorm, Donahue Hall, is the oldest dormitory on campus. Rich with history, covered in ivy, and suites the size of our first floor.
The tour guide scanned in, holding the door open for their orientation group to enter. With an easygoing smile and a simple thank you, I was up the stairs to her floor mere seconds later. Only leaving after knocking repeatedly and getting yelled at by the R.A.
It’s been two hours and I’m hungry.
Luckily campus is beautiful.
Lakeland’s campus has always had a lure to it, almost as if Lake Bensen has a siren in the depths of its dark waters that calls to you when visiting.
Singing a song that tells you to attend—it’s probably embedded into our fight song, maintaining its grasp on you and pulling you deeper into a Lakeland trance.
I’m only kidding…maybe.
But after the tour I gave myself of campus, I’m reminded of why I fell in love with Lakeland. Then fell in love with people here.
I dial Jordan again. She doesn’t answer, again. I don’t know why I expected her to answer, but I did.
Chase pops into the kitchen an hour later, eyeing my loaded cereal. “Is there more?” He spots the counter I haven’t cleaned up yet. “Never mind. E, is cereal good?”
“Yes, please.” Elliot bounces into the kitchen, flipping my hat around while sinking into the barstool next to me. “Backwards is better. Can you convince Chase he should wear hats?”
“I’ve told you before, they don’t look good on me.”
Her eye roll is dramatic. “That can’t be true. Jaxon, give him your hat to try.”
“Don’t—”
“Yes.” She flicks off my hat by the bill, catching it and tossing it at Chase’s chest. He drops the spoonful of yogurt back into the container, catching my hat before sliding it back to me.
“You’re no fun.” Elliot humphs.
“I promise, E, you don’t want to see me in a hat.”
“But what if I like it?” Her lips purse, shifting left and right. Gaze softening, using her girl magic to will things her way. I’m surprised Chase has put up a fight for this long; he’s usually putty in her hands.
“Fine.” He sighs, but I don’t miss the twinkle of hope in his eyes. Chase likes, maybe loves Elliot. He’s mastered dampening his feelings for her because he doesn’t want to ruin their friendship, their dynamic different from hers with the rest of us. “Give me your hat, Jax.”
I slide it back over to him, running a hand through my flat hair, reviving life back to the curling ends.
“See.” It doesn’t look bad, but it’s not great either.
“Backwards.” He does as she wishes, and again it doesn’t look bad, but it doesn’t look good. “I like it.” Elliot gleams, turning her accomplished sights on me. “Did you get my email this morning? I rewrote most of it, but left some gaps for you to fill in.”
“I saw it,” I say around a big bite.
“Did you give it to her?” I never specified who or what the plan was for, outside of a few disastrous scribbles that could be mistaken for directions and questions.
“Give who what?”
“Jaxon asked me to make Jo—”
“Asked her to make a workout plan for Gran.”
“Seventy and looking to get back out there?”
The idea, even worse, the imagery, makes me cringe, but I go with it. “Met someone at bingo.”
“Gran does not play bingo,” Elliot interjects.
“How do you know?”
She lifts a shoulder casually. “We talk. Poker night, that’s more her speed.”
I have questions, but before I can ask them, Dad calls. I already missed a call from him earlier. I swipe my phone from the counter, pushing back in my chair to leave them.