Page 3 of Calm Before the Score

3

Violet

Even though I’m feeling accomplished from my classes, when I get back to the apartment, I’m excited to spend the rest of my afternoon organizing my notes and syllabi from the first day. My plan is to color-code my folders and make a schedule for the week, but as I lay out all of my school supplies on the furry rug in the living room, my mind keeps drifting to today’s lunch debacle.Why did he feel the need to say I’m not his type?Besides the brief intro Hartley gave him, he doesn't even know me.Did I do something wrong? Say something wrong?And here I go… Down my obsessive rabbit hole of thoughts. This happens to me a lot more than I would like to admit. The only person who knows how bad it actually gets is Hartley. He’s had to talk me out of a panic more times than I can count. My thoughts are scattered into a million pieces, and I scream as Hartley busts through the door, “Vi, Ryan is a jerk. It’s nothing against you, I swear. He’s like this with everyone. Don’t take it personally, please.” He drops down to his knees with dramatics and grasps his hands together to emphasize his begging. He’s loyal, and I love that about him.

“Hartley, it’s fine. I’m ok. I just worry that everyone we hang around will be like that. You know how hard it is for me to make friends. I just pray that some of your other teammates are more welcoming and not as… blunt.” Hartley stares daggers into my eyes, and I know what’s coming next.

“You forgot something, Vi.”

“As a friend, Hart. You know this.” I throw my favorite decorative pillow at him, and it hits his head with anoof.

“Vi, I promise they aren’t all like that. Actually, just Ryan is like that. Come with me to a party tonight. It’s the back-to-school bash for the team and friends of the team. I want to introduce you to everyone.”

“No. I’m organizing my notes from class today,” I answer quickly, but I know he won’t stop until I say yes. He’s persistent. He stares at me and juts out his bottom lip, giving me the best puppy dog impression he can.

“Come on. It’s a great place to meet new people. Didn’t you say that’s your goal this year?”

“It was, but I changed my mind.” I smirk down at my notes.

“Please, please, please.” He’s still on the ground, ridiculously begging.

“Fine. Who am I to deny an invitation to the almighty football players’ party? What do I even wear?” I ask reluctantly. You wouldn’t typically ask your guy best friend for fashion advice, but I don’t have any girlfriends here. I didn’t have any at home either. Our dynamic is complicated.

“Let’s go, I’ll help you pick something.”

We stand up from the floor and walk to my bedroom. In typical Hartley fashion, he bulldozes into my closet and starts throwing things out.

“Yes.” He takes out an oversized shirt and tosses it my way. “No.” He shoves one of my favorite rompers to the pits of the closet. “No. We’re not going to church. Absolutely not. We’re notgoing to the strip club either,” Hartley mumbles to himself as he raids my closet.

“Stop!” I grab him playfully and grab the strip club outfit. “This is what I’m going with,” I say with a small smirk. If Hartley doesn’t want me to wear it, that means it’s cute.

“Don’t yell at me tonight when I have to push someone through the wall for staring at you.” He says it like he’s joking, but I know he’s not. I just hope tonight goes well. I can’t handle another unexpected encounter on my first day of college. Lunch was enough of a mental spiral for one day.

4

Ryan

Parties are my thing. Sort of. I don’t drink in public, but I like being around crowds. It takes my mind off of everything going on in my head. My brain is like that clip art picture of the thoughts scrambled up like strings. No one can untie that mess.

My phone vibrates in my pocket against my leg, and I quickly check to see who it is.Momappears on my screen with a picture of us from the first game of the season last year. It reminds me every day how things have changed and why I’m here. I run out the back door of my friend’s apartment to answer, dodging drunk, sweaty people in my way. The cool air hits my warm, clammy face-a stark contrast to the overcrowded apartment party. Every time I see her picture on the screen, my stomach drops. My palms get sweaty, and my head gets light. She’s sick, has been for a while. I’m all she has, and she’s my moral compass, pulling me back to righteousness when I stray too far.

“Mom, is everything ok?” I ask, trying not to sound too terrified for an answer.

“Ryan, would you stop panic-answering every single time I call? You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack at twenty years old.” She chuckles into the phone.

Good, she's ok, she's happy…I let out the biggest sigh. My chest lifts, and the blood rushes back to my head.

“I’ll try, Mom. What are you up to tonight?”

“Oh, nothing much. I just made myself a pizza and planned to snuggle in for some of my trashy reality shows until I fall asleep. I called to see how your first day of classes went. How was practice?”

That’s my mom, always worried about me when it should be the complete opposite. She’s the one who needs saving now, but it wasn’t always like that. She worries because she’s had good reason to.

“They were good, boring. Practice was ok. It feels good to be back on the field again. I love it, Mom.”

“I know you do, but promise me one thing Ry: Have fun, have a life outside of football, and take a girl out on a date for me, please!”

I laugh as my mom jokingly begs me. “I have fun. I’m at a party right now. You might be waiting a long time for the girl, though.”

---