Chapter 21 Grace
Grace
When I wake up the next day, my schedule is beautifully free. I map out my run, pick a new book off my kindle, and otherwise plan to chill.
Forgive me if some daydreaming about Johnson sneaks in too.
He just makes me so happy. It’s a new feeling, and it’s okay to enjoy it.
Not to mention our kisses, I definitely enjoy my memories of them too. And the look in his eyes when I admitted I was ready to try new things with him.
Swoon. He looked like he was ready to press me against a wall and claim me.
Only it may not just be a look, it may become real.
A thrill runs through me at that.
My daydreaming transitions to a relaxed run. And the rest of the day should be pure bliss.
Except when I get home from my eight miler, I see some less than joyous texts from Mom.
MOM: I’m thinking that you should apply to Auburn, Princeton, and Tolliver’s law schools.
MOM: Auburn as a legacy candidate, and the other two because of your personal connection.
MOM: You need to do it soon, Grace. They have rolling admissions processes, so the earlier candidates have a statistically higher chance.
I don’t respond. Lately, I’ve been ignoring her messages instead of hedging in my answers to appease her temporarily.
Mom hates being ignored.
Well, I hate being told to go to law school.
My mood sinks a bit as I stare at her texts.
Shake it off, Grace. Don’t let her control how you feel.
I head to my kitchen, making some breakfast and my favorite chai latte. A few bites and sips later, I begin to feel the bliss slide over me again.
The next thing on my agenda is to get started on my new book, a romantasy that’s all over social media right now. One of my Princeton friends has been raving about it too, so I’m ready to dive in and lose myself.
Ninety minutes later, I’m completely immersed in this other world, but my back is protesting. It doesn’t like staying in my living room chair this long, so the tugs of discomfort pull me out of my head.
As I stand up and stretch, I notice a few more messages have come in. Ones I’m happy to see this time.
Connor’s starting classes this week at Princeton, so he’s been pinging me with a ton of related questions. This morning is no different.
CONNOR: For my American Literature class, should I take detailed notes? Or just listen and absorb everything?
I shoot off my thoughts quickly, and he hearts the text.
For whatever reason, Connor and I have a less emotionally rooted bond than I do with my other two brothers. Maybe because we are both so independent in that department?
But we do connect over practical and intellectual subjects in a way that’s unique. He’s insanely smart, and I think he appreciates our mutual love of learning and academic success. Neither of which are priorities for Landon or Rawley.
So if he’s upset, he goes to Landon. If he wants advice on how to do something, he comes to me.
He seems satisfied with my answer, and I move onto the next message that’s come in, this one from Jessica.
We’d spent the whole Waves game chatting, not only about the guys but also about our favorite music and books.
In a fun coincidence, she’s at Tolliver, pursuing her masters in teaching, so we connected on that topic too.
After exchanging numbers, she’d suggested we try to meet up this week before classes start back up.
I’m more than ready for some girl time, so her text this morning asking about grabbing lunch today is welcome. We set a location, and I head to my room to change out of my loungewear in anticipation of the meetup.
But then my phone goes off again, this time from a call. Praying it’s not Mom, I go to pick it up and don’t recognize the number. I answer anyway since it has an Orlando area code.
“Hello?”
“Hi Grace, this is Coach Shelley. From the Tolliver track team?”
What? Why is she calling me?
“Yes, hi.”
“I got your number from the student directory. I hope you don’t mind.”
My polite instincts win out in response. “No, it’s okay. How can I help you?”
“This is completely out of the blue, so forgive me.” She sighs into the phone. “There’s a junior on the team, Jasmine Diaz—have you heard her name before by any chance?”
I wrack my brain, but it doesn’t ring a bell. “No, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Anyway, she was a high school phenom, breaking a couple of state records here in Florida. Her best events now are the 3000 meters at indoor meets and 5000 meters outdoors.”
Huh. Same as me. Where is she heading with this? “Okay, yeah, I haven’t paid much attention to results or anything like that lately.”
“No worries. Her first couple of years at Tolliver, she was steady. Keeping up with her high school pace, even if not quite moving to the next level. I really had a lot of optimism for this year. But she’s been struggling the first couple of weeks of practice. With confidence mostly, not ability.”
I understand that for sure. My mind would get in the way of my performance all the time.
“That’s tough. How can I help, though?”
“This is kind of a hail mary, Grace, I’ll admit. I was hoping you might be willing to talk to her, maybe even work with her? With your incredible career in the same events and being only a couple years older—my gut is telling me you might help more than I could.”
The request hangs in the air, heavy around me.
On the one hand, the last thing I want is to reawaken flashbacks of Larry Smalls’ words by being in the mix of a competitive track athlete’s own struggles—and spiral again myself.
On the other hand, the memory of his critique is starting to fade. With each strong run. With each solid time. With reclaiming my love of track sessions.
So that my running is all mine to shape.
And I feel for Jasmine, based on what Coach Shelley described. It’s hard to be under the spotlight of expectations about your next goal for the years—sometimes decades—of an elite runner’s career.
“Can I think about it? I promise I’ll get back to you soon.”
“Absolutely. Thanks so much for even listening, Grace.”
We hang up, and I’m even more grateful for my lunch with Jessica. I need a break from these intense topics.
Jessica and I meet at a bistro in Haines City, which is near the Tolliver campus. It’s low-key and comfortable, so it’s a good spot for a relaxed hangout session.
“Please tell me you’re okay with me having a cocktail,” Jessica says as we pick up the menus, settling into our cozy booth. “It’s our one week off, and I’d love a mimosa.”
“Actually, that sounds great. I rarely drink out of habit from being in training for so many years, but a mimosa would be perfect today.”
She grins. “We’ll belatedly celebrate your success with the auction too.”
After the waitress takes our orders, we immediately launch into updates on the books we were reading at the time of the game. That evolves into a lively discussion of our top five books of all time. She likes dark romance more than I do, so she has a couple on her list that I haven’t read.
At this point, we’re a few sips into our mimosas too, and with our food order not out yet, we’re getting buzzed fast. Which probably accounts for what she blurts out while she’s explaining a particular stalker romance.
“Carter doesn’t mind any of it. He loves the ideas I get from the books.” Her eyes have a mischievous glean.
Whoa. Not where I thought this little lunch date would go, but I can’t help giggling.
“I’m sure. Although I’m going to block the image of him hunting you in a mask from my mind if that’s okay.”
She waves her hand at me, laughing herself. “Please do. But you need to download this one. It’s so good.”
I take another sip of my drink and nod. “I’ll give it a try.”
“So what about you, are you dating anyone? We only saw each other in passing last season, and I can’t remember if there was a guy in the picture or not.”
I debate how to answer. I don’t want to lie, especially with someone who might become a real friend—but I also can’t share that Johnson is the one “in the picture.”
So I decide to be vague on his identity, but tell her more otherwise.
“There’s one guy that I’m starting to see. It’s very new, but we’ve known each other for a bit and—I think we both really like each other.” With every passing phrase, I can feel myself projecting more excitement about him.
“Oooooh, that’s so wonderful, Grace. Tell me more.”
Oh gosh. “Well, he’s—he’s a leader where he works. Tall, handsome, the dark beard look.”
“Yummy.”
“He’s also really kind though, too. Values his family. He’s honest and emotionally open. Great at making me feel like I can be myself, I guess is how I would put it?”
Our food arrives then, and the server sets our salads in front of us. “I love him already. He sounds incredible.”
“Yeah.” I pour the dressing over my plate. “It’s new, so I don’t want to get my hopes up too much.”
“I get that.”
“But speaking of books,” I add, wanting to lighten the conversation a bit. “He asked me what tropes I liked the other day, ha! Apparently his sister exposed him to the romance book world.”
“That’s so funny,” she responds, picking at her salad with her fork. “What did you answer?”
“Well, I didn’t. Yet. And somehow I managed to confess I wanted to try new stuff with him,” my voice drops to a whisper. “You know, physically. He’s—he’s a lot more experienced than me, and he said he would like that.”
She pauses her hand and starts smiling. “Oh my god, that sounds kind of hot. And I bet he’s going to love exploring what you’re into. At least if he’s a man worthy of you.” She sets the fork down. “Are you comfortable sharing what you want to try with him yet? Don’t feel pressured.”
I sit with the question for a moment. And I find I don’t have any anxiety over telling Johnson what I’m curious about doing. Over being intimate with him physically and otherwise. Like everything else about our new situation—I’m excited now.
“Look at that smile on your face,” she teases. “I think that’s my answer.”
“Yes, I’m comfortable. He’s so genuine about his feelings for me, and he did say he ‘wanted to know all things Grace Battle’ when we’re talking about this.”
She twirls the fork in her hand, a mischievous look coming back over her expression. “Do you want to text him now?”
I giggle again. The mimosa is swirling around inside me, lowering my inhibitions.
“I’m going to do it,” I whisper. I open up my phone’s Notes app and type up several things under the header “My Wish List.” As soon as I’m done, I hit the share button and send it to Johnson.
“Oh goodness.” She laughs once I confirm I did it. “You’ll have to keep me posted on what happens.”
I feel a blush come to my cheeks as my more rational side starts to kick back in.
I’m in it now. Catching up, indeed.