Page 12 of The Penalty

She jumps up and claps her hands. “Perfect. I need something fried. Cheese would be a bonus. I’ve been eating way too healthy this summer.”

She’s off again. From what I've seen, she seems to take a hot minute to make a decision, but when she does, she’s like a heat-seeking missile, determined in her course of action.

The forbidden smells of grease and dough assault my senses when we make it to the noisy hall where the food vendors are set up. Tables are packed into the space. Someone walks by with a juicy burger piled high with toppings that has my head turning to track his progress. While I’d love to grab one of those, my food budget is limited, so I brought a bunch of snacks and protein bars to survive the day. The food is always way too expensive at these things.

She passes by the big chain pizza joint selling droopy slices. “Definitely not pizza. I will be getting myself some authentic Detroit style pizza while we’re here. The only question is whatto choose. Nachos or fries? Mozzarella sticks? What are you going to get?” she asks.

“I brought food, I’m good.”

“That’s no fun. Are you on some special diet or something? My brother is so boring during the season. He’s on this strict athlete diet. Nothing interesting. Is that your jam? You look like an athlete.” She’s eyeing me again with the same hungry look she gave a funnel cake someone walked by with.

Her thoughts seem to spill from her mouth so fast I’m having a hard time keeping up, but it’s kind of perfect since I’m not much of a talker. “I am.”

She’s off on another tangent before I can expand on the thought, and I’m relieved. People can get a little weird when you tell them you’re a hockey player with a direct line to the pros after you finish college. They’re either doubtful or a little too interested in hopping on the train to ride along on your success.

“At least you can go find us somewhere to sit while I order some stuff.”

I look at the mass of bodies jammed around the tables in the hall. This will require a bit of strategy. I hover around the edges, scanning the tables. A handful of people cleaning up their plates catches my eye, so I slide in to wait patiently beside them. Not too close or too far away. Another group walks up just as they’re leaving, but when they catch sight of me, they nod and walk away in search of another option. Perfect.

It must have taken longer than I thought to secure the table, because I’m just pulling out my assorted snacks when I spother. She’s craning her neck at the edge of the crowd, eyes darting from table to table. Something I’m not used to. Being at this kind of event and having someone out there searching for me. I keep a low profile on campus, but I know that will probably change next year when I make it to the next level. Pro athletes have to accept a certain amount of recognition and adulation from fans. The fame is the one thing that makes me uncomfortable about going pro.

I stand up and wave until I catch her attention. She lights up, weaving through the tables until she skids to a halt beside me with an overflowing tray of delicious looking fried things.

“Wow. You went all out.” My mouth waters at the smell, but I glance down at the cookie dough protein bar I brought along, tearing open the wrapper.

“Did you wait for me to start eating? That’s so sweet.”

I nod, trying not to be too noticeable about the fact that I’m tracking a gooey cheese covered nacho to her lips. She pops it in, moaning as she crunches down. The tip of her pink tongue darts out to catch a stray strand of cheese that’s oozing out, and I have to fight the urge to offer my help.

“Amazing.” The tray slides toward me at her push. “Help yourself. There’s no way I’m going to eat this much food.”

“It’s okay. I’m set.” I’m tempted, but don’t want to mooch off her.

“No problem if you don’t want, but if you’re being polite, forget about it. What I don’t eat is getting tossed, soplease dig in.”

The thought of good food going in the trash causes me physical pain. I give in, reaching over to snag a steaming fresh cut fry, and dunking it in the little pile of ketchup at the corner of the basket. The grease coats my tongue in a delicious rush of flavor and salt, and I’m quickly going back for seconds.

“Excellent. I’m happy you’re sharing.”

The chatter of the crowd around us fills in the silence as we crunch away at nachos and chomp on mozzarella sticks until she pushes herself away from the table.

“That’s me defeated.” She groans. “So tasty, but this costume is way too tight to eat another bite.”

I’m getting pretty full too, but I can’t let a bite go in the garbage. I just can’t do it, so I power through.

“Do you usually come to cons alone?” she asks as I’m swallowing the last fry.

“Yup.”

“Gotcha.” Her hands fold together, and she leans in. “That’s cool. Sometimes I do too. Or I go with an online friend. My real-life friends from my former school aren’t into nerd culture like me. Are you in school or do you work?”

“College. I’m a senior.”

We gather up our things to let the next group of people claim the space and start moving through the crowd to our next panel as she talks. “That’s what I was hoping. I’m a senior too, but I couldn’t quite judge your age. Not that there’s anything wrong with dating an older man, but I was hoping you weren’t secretly a fifty-year-old who aged really well.”

“Fifty?”

She shrugs. “You never know. What are you taking in school?”

---