Page 16 of Love and Other Chances

“I’ve slowly gotten to know Joy a little bit over the past few years. Mostly short conversations after church on Sunday mornings, but she always made me feel so welcome and asked lots of questions. So I was always drawn to her, but I never made time to get to know her better,” I respond. “But at the beginning of the school year, I was having a mini meltdown, feeling overloaded with my responsibilities and relationships on campus. My two best friends, Lana and Amaya, suggested that I try to meet some friends who aren’t connected to my Arrow world. So, I jumped at the chance when Joy invited me to the group.”

“Your best friends don’t live in Brooklyn?” he asks. I shake my head.

“They used to. We went to college together. Met freshman year and were in the same sorority,” I explain.

“You must have become really close if they’re still your best friends now, long distance even. What are they like?” Brooks questions, glancing over at me.

“You want the CliffsNotes or unabridged version?”

He smiles. “Unabridged. Definitely.”

I spend the next thirty minutes filling Brooks in on my friendship with Amaya and Lana. Our AOPi and Arrow shenanigans. Amaya’s lofty business ambitions. Lana’s laser-focused goal of changing the worldas an immigration lawyer. Mateo’s disruption of her plans that led to evenbetterplans. Our weekly video calls and daily text messages. Brooks doesn’t even tease me when I explain our “Beefs” nickname. He sincerely smiles.

“Wow,” he replies. “It sounds like you three really have something unique. I still keep in touch with some of my buddies from college, and we hang out when we can. But what you have is next level.”

I sigh. “Yeah, itisreally special. Which makes it that much harder to be so far apart from each other. Thank goodness for technology keeping us in touch because I don’t know what I would have done without them.” I stare out the window for a few seconds, feeling the melancholy nostalgia that washes over me whenever I think too long about the distance between me and my best friends.

“How was it playing basketball in college?” I ask. It seems we have an unspoken agreement to avoid talking about high school. Or anything related to when we were “us.” But I’m dying to know about his life since then. I’d purposely avoided all of Brooks’ social media accounts, all of his friends’ accounts, even his college team’s account in an attempt to wipe him from my memory. For eight years, I systematically starved myself of knowing any information about him. But now, I’ve had a tiny taste, and my mind is frantically scrambling for more scraps.

Brooks tells me about his college experience, including more details about the guys on his team who sparked his interest in FCA. The antics he describes sound exactly like the playful, easygoing guy I knew in high school. Although, he also seems to have matured and changed a lot after he started growing in his faith. No more sneaking out after curfew at tournaments or scraping by with the bare minimum in class. I’m quietly impressed to see the way years of growth and maturity have amplified Brooks’ best qualities while chiseling the rough edges down.

That impressed feeling is suddenly mixed with emotions adjacent to sadness, disappointment, and bitterness. Emotions that I amnotrolling out the welcome mat for right now.

“We’re on our way to a silent disco—we’d better get in the zone before we get there,” I abruptly announce. “Let me have your phone to pull up some dance music.”

Brooks hands his phone to me, and I hold it in front of his face momentarily to unlock it. The wallpaper on his phone is a photo of him with his mom. From the looks of his jersey and sweaty hair, it must have been taken after one of his college games. Another wave of sadness slams me in the chest, and I quickly open his music app. I find my favorite EDM remix playlist and turn up the sound dial.

Soon, we’re car dancing and singing along to a lively version of “Sky Full of Stars.” I shake off all the negativity and lose myself in the moment.

Chapter seven

After eating a quick dinner at a taco truck, Brooks and I pay our admission fees to the silent disco. We secure the LED bracelets and loop the headphones around our necks, then scout out the area.

The Power and Light District has a variety of local shops, restaurants, bars, and clubs. But the disco is being held in the KC Live! space, which hosts sports watch parties and other large events. The high-energy DJ is set up on stage, and black lights illuminate the dancing crowd. The “silent” part of the silent disco makes the scene somewhat comical to observe without the headphones on. But it only takes a few seconds before our headphones are in place and we weave our way to the middle of the dancing crowd.

Song after song plays, and my body absorbs the energy of the upbeat music. All the tension from the past couple of months fades away as I throw myself into dancing and reveling in the fun. Brooks and I stay within eyesight of each other but also join in with strangers dancing around us.

I’m going to send Amaya a giant thank you card for suggesting this, I think as I scream sing along to the EDM remix of “Love Story.”

I laugh at Brooks passionately mouthing every word. He grins at the sight of my laughter, and my heart skips a beat. The edges of his smile soften to a more contemplative expression, and my heart skipsseveralbeats.

We both turn away from each other, dancing and singing, when the lyrics reach the crescendo of kneeling to the ground to pull out a ring. I get extra into the song with the circle of girls I’ve joined, ineffectively distracting my thoughts away from Brooks behind me.

Two songs later, Brooks yells something at me, but I can’t hear him. We both take off our headphones as he yells again, “I need some—”

He breaks off as our ears adjust to the quieter noise level without music pumping through the headphones. We laugh. “Forgot I wouldn’t need to yell,” he says. “I need water. Do you want some?”

“Yes! I could use a hydration break,” I reply, and Brooks gestures for me to follow him. We weave our way through the crowd to the handful of standing tables set up around the perimeter. I snag a table right as a group is leaving, and Brooks heads off to buy some water bottles.

I’m catching my breath and watching the DJ when I sense someone looming over me. I turn to see a tall, broad-shouldered man standing far too close for comfort. I might think he was good-looking if he wasn’t invading my personal space and reeking of alcohol.

“Sorry. I couldn’t help but come say hellooo. I was watching you out on the dance floor, and your boyfriend issa lucky man,” he says, slurring some of his words.

I take a step away from him before answering. “He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just friends.”Shoot! Teegan, why did you say that?! Just because you’re reminding yourself that you and Brooks are just friends doesn’t mean you need to confess it to creepy men!

At my clarification, Drunk Guy leans impossibly closer and places a hand on my waist. “Well, that’s good news for me, then. Care to head back out to the dance floor and show me more of those moves?” His eyes unabashedly rake over me, making my stomach lurch.

“No, thanks. I’m going to wait for my friend,” I say firmly, trying to back away from his touch. His hand only moves further around my back, tightening his grip as he steps forward to close the space I’ve put between us. Up close, his sweat-mixed-with-alcohol scent makes me nauseous, and his hand traveling south of my waistline makes me sick.

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