Page 78 of Game On
“It’s hard to do when your brain’s this big,” I say, tapping my temple with a smirk.
“And your ego,” he mumbles under his breath as he slips the shirt over his head.
The door clicks shut behind him, leaving the room suddenly too quiet. I’m alone with my thoughts and the soft glowof my laptop. The professional feedback on my CV is open in front of me, stark and unforgiving:Cut the long explanations. Keep it simple. Just a list of your major awards.
I stare at the screen. Eight years of football, reduced to a bulleted list. All the sacrifices, the victories, the moments of pain and triumph, shrunk down into a few sparse lines that could never convey the depth of my commitment.
And then there’s cheer. No mention of it on my CV, not even a footnote. If Coach Morgan lets me step in last minute for the team, it still wouldn’t merit a mention in my applications.
There are a number of reasons I volunteered to cover for Ash, some of which I’m still figuring out for myself. Of course, there was that withdrawn look on Ella’s face when I showed up to Skyline, her shoulders heavy with defeat.
I want to help her achieve her goals. Plus, I want to spend more time with her. But there’s also this deeper, more selfish need—a chance to reconnect with a part of myself I’d shelved in pursuit of football.
Minimizing the CV feedback, I open a text message thread with Ella. We haven’t been able to practice together again, to go full out with the routine like she wanted to that first night. I promised her we’ll get to it when I get home, but I know she’ll be stressing.
I type out a few encouraging words, then hesitate and backspace through them all. Instead, I consider asking her how she’s holding up, what she’s been up to, but that doesn’t feel quite right either. Eventually, I settle on something much simpler.
Hudson:
we won.
Ella:
wow, you sound so excited
Hudson:
well, I played like shit, so
Ella:
no, you didn’t
Hudson:
you watched the game?
