Page 16 of One Little Chance
He leaned back against the stands. “How’s Orlando?”
“He’s in college now. We keep going in circles around his major. He’s not sure what he wants to do when he ‘grows up.’” I had to fight the physical urge to lean into Jordan or interlace my fingers with his as we spoke, like some agonizing muscle memory.
“Grown-up Orlando.” Jordan shook his head at the thought.
The conversation kept unrolling like an endless path before us. We had so much to catch up on. I glanced toward my teacherfriends who were immersed in a group conversation I hadn’t even noticed. Jordan and I were in our own bubble.
Jordan was telling me about his grandmother’s health, and I was telling him about how my dad and I started talking again. I made eye contact with Diane, who wiggled her eyebrows at me. I knew later she and the whole group would want to know everything about the guy who stole my attention at the game.
Growing up, these high school games felt long and eventful. So much could happen on the court and in the stands, and sometimes I’d want it to wrap up so I could go home.
Not tonight. Before I was ready…there was the final buzzer, everyone standing to their feet and packing up. Jordan and I cut off mid-conversation. He shrugged. His friends turned to him to discuss their plans for the rest of the night—me, not included.
“Who’s the guy?” Diane whispered to me as I gathered my empty popcorn tub and soda cup. Diane hadn’t grown up in Sweet River like half of the other teachers on staff.
“An old…”Friend? Flame?Nothing about my feelings for Jordan felt old right now. If anything, they felt new after all this time. A seed planted long ago, after all this time still growing.Ex, I finally mouthed. Her eyes widened.
But he was so much more than that.
The group of teachers around me invited me to grab food downtown. Thankfully, they’d become a warm welcoming friend group for me the past couple months. I was half-listening, my eyes on Jordan as he and his friends started to exit the stands.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d wanted this time with him until I was watching it slip away like water through my fingers.
I probably shouldn’t be blatantly staring at him like this,I chastised myself ineffectively.
He stepped onto the gym floor, then turned and looked up into the stands. His smile widened as his eyes landed on me. He raised a hand in a lazy wave like he’d always done.
The dose of nostalgia, of this man in this school beaming up at me, was like waves at high tide. I felt breathless from the impact.
I could almost hear his voice from a decade ago yelling out,See you, Sophie!and I’d say back,Not if I see you first, and our friends would roll their eyes at our cheesy, high school romance.
I raised my hand, too, and gave a small wave. He paused. His smile fell but not in an unhappy way. Instead, it looked like maybe the memory was pulling him under, too. His friend patted him on the shoulder, and he turned to follow them out the door.
I’d known seeing Jordan again was going to ache a little. Letting him go was a hasty, desperate choice from my young adult years. I’d moved on, so it was an ache I was prepared to ignore. But what I was feeling right now was so much stronger than an ache in the background. These feelings were burning in my chest.
Chapter 9
FEBRUARY 4TH, 2023
Ifound out Jordan’s grandmother had passed on a Saturday morning. My mom had called while I was sleepily rummaging around in my kitchen, so I put her on speaker and placed my phone on the kitchen island. My feet were cold on the kitchen tile while I poured myself a cup of coffee.
Her opening line, “Did you hear the news?”
“What news?” I yawned, bringing my mug toward my lips.
“Jordan’s nana died, hon.” Her voice was urgent, echoing through my kitchen.
I stood frozen in place. She kept talking, filling the room with the details of what had happened, what she’d heard. I appreciated it, but all I wanted right then was to hearJordan’s voice. Hearhisdetails.
I wasn’t thinking clearly. I didn’t even hang up with my mother. I ran to my bedroom, then clumsily yanked on the first pair of yoga pants I saw, an oversized cable knit sweater, some Ugg boots, and a beanie.
“Mom,” I yelled. “I’ve got to go!” I grabbed my purse, slid my finger over the phone screen to end the call, and ran out the door.
It didn’t occur to me until I was walking up his family’s driveway that my presence might not be welcome. Or wanted. Or warranted.
I was not a significant person to Jordan anymore. Not his caretaker or honorary family member. I wasn’t the one who stood by his side at the funeral.
I hadn’t even spoken with his family in eight years.
