by Anne Leigh
“Hey,” Ian called out before getting in his car. “Why don’t you call one of the girls who are constantly hassling you on Insta? I’m sure one of them would be more than willing and available to soothe your sore muscles.”
I chuckled and shrugged my shoulders, “Nah. Nora was enough for me.”
Nora was actually cool. She and I were still texting each other. There would be nothing but friendship between us, but maybe I could introduce her to a frat brother.
He waved and said, “Aight, later.”
I stepped inside my truck and thought about tonight.
It was a good night. The breeze was gentle from the ocean and the smell of victory hung in the air.
Looking down on my phone, I answered my sister with a thanks and scrolled up to check Kara’s text again.
Without spending another second thinking about it, I fired up with a response, “All rugby players? Or a particular one?”
I saw the dots forming on my phone as I waited for her reply.
She’d texted back with, “Goal kick success rate: 85.7%. Kicked: 8x for over 300 meters gain. Pass: 23 times, ran 4. Tackles: 13 and missed 2.”
I blinked once.
Twice.
And before I could close my eyes for the third time, I sent her an animated, laughing emoji.
She just texted me back my stats for tonight’s game.
Kara
“What if we focus on the market for seniors?” Tara suggested, her eyes glazing over her laptop’s screen.
We’d been here for two and a half hours, covering a lot of ground for our Econ presentation, but we still had a lot to do.
Jayden’s green eyes were drifting shut; she’s been our data grabber and looking at the numbers and projections must’ve made her sleepy.
I couldn’t blame them; I was getting tired myself, but we had to keep going. We only had a week to finish this and it was fifteen percent of our grade.
“I like the idea of seniors,” I agreed, while looking over the notes that I’d made as I was researching how to allocate the resources on the internal labor market in order to effectively sell products to the population affected most by Alzheimer’s.
“Can we break for ten?” Tara requested, her voice unveiling exhaustion.
“Sure.” I nodded my head and Jayden’s answer was a light snore.
The good thing about my groupmates was that they took this project seriously. Like me, they wanted to get a good grade in Professor Magenta’s class. None of us wanted a C because that meant that we’d work harder in the other Econ classes to keep our GPA’s up.
Tara let out a loud whoosh and breathed out, “This sem’s killing me.”
“Too much going on?” I didn’t know much about her. She hardly stayed after class and she always came in late, as if she was always trying to catch her breath.
“Yeah. I have two jobs and one of my bosses doesn’t really understand that I need time to study. She always puts me on the weekend schedule even though I’ve asked her not to.” Her brown eyes showed annoyance. “She’s just being a total bitch.”
“Ah,” I said, already thinking of ways I could help her out. She was nice and I knew she was trying so hard to fit everything in her schedule. She canceled yesterday because of a last-minute sick call at her work and Jayden and I worked on her part. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
I felt bad for her. I never had to work in order to get something. I volunteered a lot – at the local animal shelter, the home for the aged, the library, and event planning for community activities. I’d really wanted a job. It wasn’t for the lack of trying. I tried to get a couple of summer jobs back home when I was a teen. But small towns had a way of blocking willing teenagers from summer jobs if they didn’t have their parents’ consents.
My mother’s face had burned with embarrassment when the Thrifty’s, the local ice cream parlor, called my house, asking if my mother knew I was looking for work. I was grounded for a day and the next time I tried to get a job at MMW, a fashion boutique, my mother grounded me for a week.
She’d said that work was menial. That Chamberlane women didn’t need to work. That our men provided for us.
It was sad, really.
I’d hate to see the look on her face when I crashed that glass ceiling she’d built for me. Because one day, I would be done with my double degree in Econ and Computational Physics and I would be applying to companies in Silicon Valley and she’d have no say.
My father, God bless the man, still thought that he was being indulgent. He supported me in a way that he paid for my tuition, and all of the expenses I incurred were put on a black credit card. But I didn’t think he realized that I was serious – that I wasn’t going to go back home when I was finished with my degrees.
Only my brother knew of my plans.
He was the only one who really understood me.
With all of his pranks and typical guy problems, the endless string of women and his inability to commit, Rikko didn’t have any shortcomings as a supportive brother.
When I earned honors in school, he was the only one who was actually happy about it, along with me.
My parents attended all of my awards’ ceremonies but only for show. My dad was excited about them but he was busy making business deals with his oil tycoon friends that anything I did was overshadowed.
“I’m being a Debbie Downer,” Tara inclined her head to the side, “I’m sorry – my plate’s just overflowing.”
“How can I help you?” I asked, I was lucky financially speaking and I also knew that there were lots of people who weren’t in the same situation as me.
“No. It’s okay.” Her eyes were sullen. “I need to do my part. It’s not fair for you and Jayden. I missed yesterday already.”
“I can take care of the printing costs,” I suggested. “Once we’re done, I can bring the files to Kinkos and have them print all the graphics for us.”
She eyed me, the look on her face reflecting wonderment, as if she didn’t know if I was joking or not. “It’s going to cost a lot.”
“I got it. It’ll be okay.” She worked hard because she didn’t want to be overburdened with student loans, so she paid as much as she could in cash and saved the financial aid amount she was awarded to pay for her classes. She’d blurted it out to Jayden and me the one time she was late for our meeting.
“Thanks Kara.” She smiled shyly and I knew that she wasn’t taking advantage of me. “It means a lot.”
“Hey, it’s okay. You’re doing the best that you can. I’m glad to help,” I said, tapping my pen on the table. If only my parents donated to charitable foundations that paid for students’ education instead of funding the next fashion icon that my mother revered. One day, Rikko would take over the company and that would be the day that everything changed. My brother had a good head on his shoulders and an even bigger heart.
She glanced on her phone and gasped, “I forgot there was a game today.”
I didn’t know she followed sports. Tara looked like a hippie. Not that there was anything wrong with hippies. But this girl, she looked like she could be Bob Dylan’s long lost daughter, fashion included. Today, she wore a brown skirt with lots of fringe that had me thinking of Peace, Love, and Everything Groovy is in the air.
I knew being a hippie didn’t have anything to do with liking sports, but whenever we talked, she talked about her work, market trends, and her love for e-cigarettes. Not one iota of sports was mentioned so of course, I was surprised to hear her giggling like a teenager as she scrolled through her phone.
“That boy is so freakin’ on fire.” A little squeal left her mouth as I smiled, finding her fascination with a sports guy quite intriguing.
“Who?” I looked at the time on my watch, ten minutes has passed and we were nearing fifteen, but I let it slide. Jayden’s dark head was now slumped on the desk. She must have had a rough night.
“I’m not into sports, but I’d watch games over and over if he was playing.” Her
cheeks were flushed and it was precious to see. It was nice to know that she was enjoying something other than work and school.
She was still gushing, “I heard he’s super smart, too. My roommate, Nichele, had him as a classmate last year and he was the only one who got an A in Management 402.”
“Yeah?” I sipped on the bottled water I’d brought from my dorm and realized that I haven’t had dinner yet. Time slipped when I was busy.
“I missed last week’s game because of my stupid boss, but maybe we could wake Jayden up in twenty minutes? The game’s almost done.” She wasn’t really asking since her eyes were glued on her phone.
“Sure.” It was late but I didn’t have an early class tomorrow so even if I went back to my dorm later, I’d have time to rest.
Her brown eyes flickered to mine for a minute, “You wanna watch? I don’t really understand the game, but I started watching two years ago, ever since I saw him on the College Network.”
“Alright,” I said as I left my chair and sat by Tara.
“I’d totally do him. Like over and over again.” Tara’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes never leaving what she was watching.
She pressed something on her phone, stacked a few books on top of each other and placed her phone in the center, the back leaning against the books.
We could’ve used her computer, but the wi-fi in the private rooms at the library wasn’t great.
The announcer’s voice came through the speakers and I saw guys on the field. A field that I’d come to become familiar with lately.
The announcer was saying, almost screaming, “Get him off the field! Get him off the field!”
I had no clue why someone had to be off the field, but the camera panned to the guy who had been making me smile through his texts for the past week.
He was in a white jersey with yellow stripes, black shorts, black socks that fell below his knees and he was running really, really fast.
My nerves went haywire. It’s the way they’d been reacting when it came to him.
My chest was pounding as I watched the masterful way he evaded defenders and passed the ball with ease.
“I didn’t know rugby.” I heard Tara in the background. That’s what she was – background. Because right now, the man who was holding the ball again and trying to make a play for his team held the spotlight.
“But Bishop Cordello makes it worth to watch.” Her voice was breathy and I almost wanted to steal her phone away so I could watch him in silence.
The announcer was now saying, “Chases…hasn’t gone very far. A prop against Gonzales, Rouge, when they can’t get a touch on him, now he’s stepping outside. Whatever happens in these plays, if they can do better, then go! Cordello on the run! Is he setting up? Is he?”
The next thing I saw was the ball flying from Bishop’s feet and it went straight through the middle of the goal post.
“Eeeeyaaaahhh!” Tara screamed and I was screaming along with her. Jayden’s eyes opened and her body shot out of the chair, “Where’s the fire? Where?”
We heard a knock on the door. It was the librarian, signaling us to tone it down.
“He’s magnificent.” Tara said, “I can’t even describe how hot he is.”
Jayden, who was rubbing her eyes, now fully awake, asked, “Who?”
I couldn’t look away from the screen as I saw Bishop jumping up and down with his teammates, but I did manage to say, “Bishop.”
Jayden muttered, “The rugby player?”
Tara remarked, “Yeah. The super-hot captain.”
Tara was right.
Bishop was super-hot.
And as if on cue, his face was all over the screen. The sweat clinging to his forehead and as he rubbed his hand against his hair, I could see the evident happiness in those chocolate brown eyes.
I wanted to touch the screen.
But I held myself back because then Tara and Jayden would wonder what was wrong with me.
And I would have no answer for them.
The truth was, I’d been wondering what was wrong with me for the past few weeks.
Because every time I was near Bishop, I felt this magnetic, invisible pull towards him.
And every time he looked my way, I felt my body heat up in response.
I struggled to look away from Tara’s phone as I said, “Let’s finish this project.”
I could focus on projects.
Bishop…
I didn’t know what to do with him.
He wasn’t mine.
I was with Scott.
But each time those beautiful brown eyes landed on me – I almost wished that he was mine.
And that I…
I belonged to him.
Bishop
I’d been waiting for fifteen minutes. Bridge was a genius, but not when it came to punctuality.
My classes and game days clashed with hers so I was glad that finally we could agree on a day to have lunch with each other.
I could have picked her up, but she wanted to just meet with me here so I obliged.
It was another way of asserting her independence and any time I could give it to her, I did.
A hand slapped me on my right shoulder making me stand up from my chair.
“Bridge,” I said, and hugged her.
Unlike me, Bridge was tiny. She had our Nana Tina’s build, a fact that my sister couldn’t be happier about.
It felt good to have her within reach. I missed her.
She returned my hug and gave me a sheepish smile, “Sorry I’m late. My alarm went off, but I hit snooze a couple of times.”
“I know I’m that important to you,” I said, rolling my eyes and pulling a chair out for her.
She responded with an eye roll too. “You’re playing great.”
It buoyed my heart that she watched my games. Bridge wasn’t into violence and she’d almost thrown up the first time she watched me play in an exhibition game back in New York. It was a game where I’d gotten three ribs broken by a hit from McDonnell. He now played for Stanford and whenever SDU and Stanford met up, we’d run into each other after the games and joke about that hit.
I’d seen the walls of the ER and Urgent Care as many times as I’d hit goals. It’s the hazard of playing sports. While Bridge couldn’t stand being on the sidelines during my games, she was always there for me by the side of my hospital bed.
“Did you actually finish watching my games?” My brows were raised. I was teasing her. It was an older brother’s mission in life to make younger sister annoyed.
She harrumphed, “No. Well yes, I watched the games but I muted them.”
“Gotcha.” I smiled, shrugging my right shoulder that was still sore from the hit I took from O’Doul the other night. “It’s alright, sis.”
She shook her head and grinned, reminding me of Mom. While I was being groomed by my father to follow in his footsteps, my mother was busy doing the same thing for my sister.
Before Bridge was a year-old, her smile had been plastered all over baby products – organic toothpaste, baby wipes, baby clothes, you name it and it had my sister’s toothy grin. My sister had been acquainted to cameras flashing at her more than our mother’s hugs.
By the time Bridge was three, she had a TV sitcom waiting for her. It never panned out, to my parents’ dismay, because Bridge refused to say a word in front of the cameras.
“I try, but I can’t take it when someone pushes you.” She said, her brown eyes reflecting sadness, “Rugby is so brutal.”
“So’s football, boxing, basketball…” I reasoned but I knew that I couldn’t change her mind. Bridge’s heart was softer than jet-puffed marshmallows and that’s what made her special.
“Why can’t you play golf? Or tennis? Or I dunno – bowling?” Her eyes sparkled, she was goading me.
“No.” I laughed. “There’s no way I’d be caught dead in a golf costume.”
My high school buddy, Charles, played golf and that dude wore slacks and preppy shit fo
r golf.
It was enough that I wore a preppy uniform at boarding school. There was no way in hell I’d be playing a sport where I couldn’t wear clothes that I couldn’t run in.
Bridge’s eyes lifted towards the back of the restaurant, looking for our server.
I said, “I ordered the Chicken and Waffles Benedict for you and asked them for extra hollandaise on the side.”
“Awww, what a great brother you are.” She mock-laughed but her tone was grateful.
“Hey, I had to order because a turtle’s faster than you in the morning and I’m hungry,” I said, chomping on the waffle that I’d ordered as soon as I got there.
“Is that your pre-brunch snack?” She asked but she already knew the answer.
I ate tons of carbs and packed on the protein because my body needed it. I burned the calories faster than I could produce them especially during the season.
“Yep.” The waffles at this place were delicious and if the aroma wafting throughout the restaurant was indicative of the rest of their dishes, I was banking on my Huevos Rancheros tasting just as good.
“How’s school and how are the girls?” Bridge chided. She and I were close enough to be truthful to each other. When you’d been left to watch out for each other since you were kids, there was an innate amount of trust you obtained.
“School’s great and there are no girls,” I said honestly. “So far, I’m handling all the exams and papers between practice and games.”
“Ah.” A syllable came from her.
“What?” I mumbled as I dipped the waffle in the maple syrup.
“So there’s a girl.” Bridge’s mouth was turned up.
“No,” I denied. There were no girls but there was a girl. How Bridge knew that there was one was a boggler.
“What does she look like? Is she kind?” I’d never introduced a girl to my sister. Sure, I had girlfriends, but they were so casual that I never bothered to have them meet Bridge. I figured that one day, I’d introduce someone I wanted to be in the long haul with to Bridge.
“There’s no girl…” I said, my chest slowly tightening because there was but she was not mine. We’d been texting back and forth but aside from the one-time flirty message, our texts have been friendly at the most.