3 | Henry
IT’S BEEN LESS than 12 hours since I met her and, for some reason, the image of her won’t leave my mind.
Georgia was so tiny, at least compared to me, that I worried I’d break her hand if I held it with any sort of pressure. The scent of pure vanilla practically engulfed me when I had touched her, and I can’t help but think about how different she is from all the drunk jersey chasers I’m used to being around.
She couldn’t be a jersey chaser, could she? I’ve never seen her at one of our parties, and every jersey chaser has gone to at least one…
The image of Georgia’s deeply green eyes invades my thoughts; how they glistened in the afternoon sun and complimented the golden brown shade of her curls. Her hair had been styled neatly, framing her face, in a way that reminded me so much of the 90’s romantic comedies my sister, Sarah, forced me to watch when we were kids.
God, why am I thinking this way about some chick I barely know?
“Hurry up, jackass! The hell are you doing up there?”
I groan. It’s Jonah, screaming up at me from the bottom of the staircase. It’s 4 AM and we’re supposed to be on the field in 20 minutes – and, like the admirable team captain I am, I’m running late… again.
“I’ll be down in two seconds!” I shout, quickly running my fingers through my hair and grabbing my muddy duffle bag.
“One… two…” he counts impatiently from the bottom of the stairs. “I’m about to leave your ass here, Henry!”
“Leave my ass here? You don’t have a car!” I brush past Jonah’s shoulder, flicking the baseball cap planted on his head onto the floor behind him.
“Fuck off, Anderson. You know Coach wanted you there early to go over drills.”
“Shit.”
We rush to my truck and, despite my hurry, I can’t help but appreciate the scent of freshly cut grass that wades through the warm mist of the summer morning. It reminds me of when Jonah and I were kids, waking up at 6 a.m. every day of summer to walk to our neighborhood pool together. We’d spend all day throwing around the football, playing sharks and minnows, and flirting with the high-school girls up on lifeguard posts. It’s in moments like these that the memories almost become overwhelming – when I realize just how much has changed between then and this moment.
My thoughts continue to race and my legs shake with anxiety as I pull up to Mason Field, the biggest football field in the state of Texas and our team’s practice grounds, 20 minutes behind schedule.
“You’re late.”
Coach Bryer glares up at me, his brow furrowing and freshly-shaven face set in a terrifying scowl. His Southeast Texas accent is thick, curling his words along the ends and intensifying their meaning with each syllable. Coach is a former Texas University star football player; he alone brought this team three NCAA national championship wins. He also earned himself a Heisman trophy. You know, the one Jonah – or, sorry, I – stole from his desk.
“Sorry, Coach – it won’t happen again. I overslept.”
He shoots me an irritated glance as I hustle to put on my practice gear.
He doesn’t believe me.
“Get your ass on that field, Anderson. Captains don’t oversleep. Or are you not the captain?” His question is pointed, hanging in the air above us like a looming threat.
“I am, sir. I’ll do better.”
Sweat drips down my forehead and neck as I walk towards my truck, my hair soaked from the heat of my practice helmet. Jonah rails into me the whole ride back, ranting about “personal responsibility” and how he’s “tired of being late.” I remind him that, if it weren’t for me, he’d be walking to Mason Field at 3 in the morning. That seems to shut him up pretty quick.
“Morning, Cap.” Danny greets me from a barstool at the counter as Jonah and I walk in through the door. He’s eating oatmeal and scrolling on his phone, no doubt through another experimental dating app.
Jonah smiles smugly, his voice dripping in sarcasm. “Cap? You can’t even look at a football without dropping it, Mendez.”
“Yeah? At least I can drop a chick’s pants. When’s the last time you got any, fuckwad?”
I roll my eyes at their banter and open the fridge, hoping to find a makeshift breakfast before heading back to campus. It’s our first day of classes today and, for some reason, I’m feeling a new sense of hope about my junior year.
“What time are you heading out, Anderson?” Danny asks gruffly, turning away from Jonah continuously flipping him off.
I pull out my phone to quickly check the screenshot of my schedule that I had texted to Natalia Bryer, Coach’s daughter. My eyes scan quickly over the winky faces and heart emojis blanketing her side of our text thread – all of which I’ve diligently chosen to ignore.
“Looks like 10 AM. What time’s your first class?”
“Not ‘til 4. I have to help Mom with the garden center this morning.”
I sigh dramatically. Danny’s always working – his mother owns a garden center located just outside of our college town that she needs his constant help with. He loves his mom and helps her whenever he can. But I’d hoped Danny would be there today to act as a bit of a buffer, considering Natalia had told me she’d be waiting for me along my route to class. She’s fun on a drunken party night, but outside of that…
“What? I thought you’d look forward to a bit of alone time with Nat.” Danny smirks at me, not expecting the paper towel roll I forcefully throw in his direction.
“Jesus fuck,” he grunts, dodging it just in time for the towels to smack Jonah squarely in the face.