by Sara Ney
“Why would I? Your resident assistant already gave you the juicy details. I was at a park yesterday. Riveting.”
Gunderson laughs. “You babysitting for free, Daniels? I might have a job for you. My kid brother is eight.”
“Don’t you have anything to do Rex? Fill the water bottles? Fetch us some fresh towels?” Oz walks away from my spot on the bench and struts to the free weights. He stands in front of the racks, deliberating, before selecting two thirty-pound dumbbells and beginning reps of curls.
Violet clears her throat. “So, I-I know this is going to come out sounding awkward, but I told them I’d at least ask you.”
“I thought I came to the library for peace and quiet so I can get this done, not chitchat.”
She’s here helping me again, but instead of getting down to business, she chooses today to be chatty. My bio paper is due in two weeks; desperation and determination to get the damn thing done are the only reasons I scheduled time to have her sitting across from me.
My pen hovers above the notebook open on the tabletop.
“I-I know, I know, but I told them—”
“Them who?”
“Summer and Kyle.”
This get my attention. “What the hell do they want?”
Violet narrows those almond-shaped eyes at me, black lashes fluttering. Agitated. “They’re children. Please be respectful.”
“Fine. What do the darling children wish for you to ask me, pray tell?” I smirk. “That better?”
“Kyle and Summer were talking…”
Fucking Kyle. That kid and his meddling.
“…and the kids were wondering…”
Oh. The kids were wondering?
“…if we could do a play date on their next Thursday with the both of us. I-I promised I’d at least ask.”
We sit silently while the words sink in.
She’s asking me to do a play date.
Play. Date.
Me. With two kids.
Hysterical.
She forges on, because if there’s one thing about Violet that I’ve discovered, it’s that she will do anything for a little kid.
“Kyle assumed you’d say no.”
“Kyle is a very bright young boy.”
“You’re not even going to think about it, are you?”
“Nope. Why should I?”
She takes a deep breath for courage and forges on. “Because, the kids want—”
“Oh! Oh!” I mock. “The kids want! Let me fall all over myself doing fun shit because some eleven-year-old is begging me to.” I level her with a stare. “Tough. Shit. Kids don’t always get what they want, Violet. It’s called life and they’re going to be bitterly disappointed throughout the rest of it.”
She regards me then, quiet. Waiting.
Patient.
Always so goddamn patient.
It’s unnerving and annoying.
Just like Jameson, Oz’s girlfriend.
“I understand.”
“You’re not even going to try to change my mind?” I spit out, no longer able to stand her ambivalence. “You know, for the kids.”
“No.” Her soft voice is barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t my intention to get you all worked up and m-mad about it. I’m so—”
“Don’t fucking apologize. Can we just get this goddamn paper done so I can go home? I have a shit ton of other studying to do.” I pinch the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger.
Jesus Christ. She’s looking at me like I just kicked her puppy, dejected and crestfallen, no doubt from my callous dismissal.
Well that’s too damn bad, because I don’t have time to think about her sensitive feelings. Or Summer’s. Or Kyle’s. So she can just take her sad eyes and downturned mouth and…
Shaking my head, I ignore the knot forming in the bottom of my stomach, dismissing it as hunger pains. Yeah, that must be what it is; I haven’t eaten in hours and normally don’t go more than two hours between a snack or meal. Why else would my gut feel so shitty?
The silence at our table is deafening.
For the next thirty-five minutes, we do nothing but work side by side, taking notes and exchanging information for my paper. Violet doesn’t smile. Doesn’t laugh.
Doesn’t stutter once, because she’s not fucking talking.
Does nothing but edit my bio essay, that bright yellow highlighter gliding across my notebook in smooth strokes. Her indifference shows in the straight line of her normally smiling mouth. The hesitant replies to my scientific questions. The dulling twinkle in her now guarded eyes.
I follow them now as she reads my paper, scanning my carefully worded essay, following as her eyes trail along line after line, widening occasionally.
Smiling, too.
I can’t stand it.
“What’s so damn amusing?”
Inquiring minds want to know.
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit. You’re laughing at me. Give me the paper.” I try to snatch it back but the little tease holds it far out of my reach.
“I wasn’t laughing at you, Zeke.” She sounds bashful. “I was surprised, is all, especially by this line here.”
I lean in close as she holds it toward me, finger pointing to a sentence near the end of a paragraph.
“It’s good. Insightful.”
My jaw clenches and I cross my arms, moody. “I’m smart, you know, not a fucking idiot.”
“I never implied that you weren’t,” she says quietly. Pauses. “But let’s face it, it is a paper about people having babies with their cousins, and I-I wasn’t expecting it to have so much introspection.”
I raise a brow.
“Introspection is a good thing.”
“Anything else?” I ask, now hungry for her praise.
“The whole thing is actually really…good. I would tell you if it wasn’t. I had Professor Dwyer my sophomore year and know how hard she grades.”
She’s not kidding; Dwyer is a tyrannical bitch.
I’ve had her for less than half a semester and already I can’t stand her. Her class. Her TA, who is just as big a prick as she is.
“Anyway,” Violet is saying, “I think she’ll be pleasantly, um…surprised? By your topic. It’ll be a nice change of pace from all the other boring topics.”
“What was your paper about when you had her?”
Violet squints, the corners of her eyes wrinkling in thought. Her pert nose twitches, reminding me of a rabbit. “Uh, let me think here for a second.” Now she’s closing her eyes, visualizing her paper, I’m sure. “I wanna say it was something on our environment and the effect it has on us getting cancer.” She shoots me a sheepish look. “Snoozefest, I know.”
“Sounds boring as shit.”
Her hazel eyes widen. “Oh, excuse me Mr. First Cousin Birth Defect.”
“Are you teasing me?”
She flushes. “I wouldn’t dare poke the bear.”
“I’m a bear now, huh?”
“That’s what Summer called you after our little run-in at the grocery store.” She scoffs. “Kids.”
“Right. Kids.” I glower. “I wonder what kind of bear.”
“The kind that eats people.”
When Violet checks the time and calls it quits on our session, we rise. She shuffles my printouts and slides them across the table toward me. I gather them up, shove them in my notebook, and stuff them in my backpack.
Curtly, her lips bend into a pleasant smile—a fake, manufactured, purely patronizing smile. One you’d give the smarmy guy hitting on you at the bar
“If you need anything else, or any additional help, you can email or call the help desk to make an appointment. If you can’t get scheduled with me, we have staffers available Monday through Friday, from nine am to eight pm.”
Her canned statement is professional, but lacks any real emotion.
Like me.
Shit.
“Come in and close the door behind you.” Coach points to the chai
r in the corner of his office without lifting his head. The gray on his temples catch under the light, something I’ve never noticed about him before. “Sit.”
I sit.
Shift in the shitty, uncomfortable chair.
He continues to take notes on his yellow notepad with the same red pencil he carries with him everywhere. Normally it’s tucked behind his ear, out of the way, or in the breast pocket of his Iowa embroidered shirt. He uses it now to toil away at whatever match points, positions, and strategies he’s dreaming up—something he’s famous for in the Big Ten division.
Coach pauses long enough to lift a finger, raise it in the air, settle it on a cream envelope, and slide it across his beat-up wooden desk.
“Take this.”
“What is it?”
“What the fuck does it look like?” He huffs impatiently. “It’s an invitation.”
I know he wants me to ask What for? so I don’t.
Coach powers on, still scrolling across that yellow pad. “They have a fundraiser every year and it’s coming up. I don’t suppose Nancy told you.”
“Nancy who?”
This time he does raise his head, blue eyes unblinking as he regards me. “Don’t be coy Daniels, it doesn’t suit you.”
I rack my brain, trying to recall any Nancys I’ve met recently, but none come to mind.
“Nancy from the Center, where you’re volunteering.”
Oh, that Nancy. “That chick doesn’t say dick to me, Coach.”
“No, I don’t suppose she would.” He chuckles, low and deep.
Actually fucking chuckles.
Whose side is he on? “What does this have to do with me?”
“They have a fundraiser,” Coach repeats. “It’s in a couple weeks. We have no meet that weekend and I’ve excused you from practice, so I fully expect to see you there.”
“See me there?”
“Yes. I take my wife, Linda; we buy a table, eat.” He leans back in his old, rickety seat, the springs squeaking with every movement. Coach scratches his chin. “It’s actually a really nice date night.”
Coach is married? This is news to me.
“But Coach, a fundraising gala?”
“Yes. I’m sure with all your parents’ money, you’re quite familiar.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Good, then it’s settled.”
“Yeah but Coach, I’ve literally only spent two days with the kid I’m mentoring. I just started the program.”
“Well. There are two weeks until the gala. I’d say that’s plenty of time to step up. Jump in with both feet, eh?”
I can see by his stalwart expression this subject is closed.
“I’ll see you there. Make sure you’re wearing a suit. I know you have one.”
Yeah I have one; we’re required to wear one when we travel to away matches.
“Are we done?” I huff, rising, hell bent on the brink of insubordination.
His reply is a dull chuckle.
“Yes, we’re done.”
“Oh, and Daniels?”
I turn.
“Feel free to bring a guest. In fact, I’d recommend it.”
“I have this thing I’m being forced to do…”
“You mean besides bugging me while I’m at work and hanging out with Kyle?” she teases, interrupting me.
For a moment all I can do is stare at her, so surprised am I by her smartass comment. It’s the last thing I expected.
“I-I’m sorry. I was kidding,” she stutters.
“I know.” I roll my eyes. “I can take a rash of shit when it’s being handed to me.”
Violet recovers, propping her elbows on the circulation desk and leaning forward. “Okay, so what is this thing you’re being forced to do?”
“The Big Brothers program apparently has this fundraiser every year.” I use air quotes and Violet cocks her head, confused, and narrows her eyes.
She frowns. “Why are you using air quotes?”
“Because it’s lame?”
Her brows go up. “I-I don’t think raising money for underprivileged children is lame, Zeke.”
“Would it make you happy if I called it boring instead?”
“Slightly better.” She uses air quotes.
Whoa. Mousy Violet is showing her spine.
“I thought we could strike a deal; if you come to this thing with me, I’ll bring Kyle on a play date with you and Summer.”
“Why would you want to go to a big fundraising event with me? I heard it’s formal.”
“My coach expects me to show up with a date. He didn’t come out and say it, but it was implied.”
“I see.”
“And if I invite some random chick,” I continue. “There will be expectations.”
“Oh.” Her voice sounds oddly disheartened. “When is it?”
“The twenty-eighth. It’s a Saturday, two weeks from this weekend.”
“I guess I can look and get back to you.”
“Can you check right now?”
“I-I suppose, but I don’t have my phone on me.”
“Come on Violet, we both know you want to come with me.”
“I don’t understand why you wouldn’t rather just go by yourself. It’s not like you enjoy anyone’s company.”
“That’s partly true,” I say with honesty. “But I figure we’re in this kid thing together, since you’re stuck with Summer and I’m stuck with Kyle, and none of my friends know any of the details cause it’s none of their damn business, and there is no way I’m taking a wrestling groupie who only uses me for sex.”
She stares at me, flabbergasted, so I continue.
“So if I have to go, I’m making you go with me.”
“I-I don’t know what to say; should I be flattered or insulted?”
I think about this, dole out the truth. “Probably a bit of both.”
Violet’s lips part.
No sound comes out.
Then, her lips press together in a thin line of displeasure. “And just so you know, I’m not stuck with Summer, and you’re not stuck with Kyle.”
I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean.”
She crosses her arms and I swear to fucking God her nostrils flare. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Oh come the fuck on Violet. Summer is just a job.”
“No, I assure you, she is not. She is a sweet, creative little girl who I’ve been watching for six months and I already love her like family. Like she’s my little sister.”
Now I’m the one pursing my lips and flaring my nostrils. “You know what I meant.”
Those hazel eyes narrow. “Sadly I-I do know what you meant. Basically it was just you being you, but your delivery sucked.”
“So did I blow my chances of you coming with me or not?”
“I-I don’t know.”
“What can I do to convince you?”
She considers my question. “To be honest with you, I-I think you get what you want way too often. The fundraiser is going to take all night, and a play date only lasts two hours, max, so I propose a trade: I’ll go to the banquet if you agree to three play dates.”
What the fuck? “What! No.”
“All right.” She turns her back on me, reaching into the metal returns cart and pulling out a stack, neatly setting them on the counter. Her hands move up and down the spines, aligning them in perfect symmetry.
I sigh so long and loud I catch a few people staring, and I glare.
“Fine. Two play dates.”
She starts to giggle but catches it into a swallow. “Four.”
“What the fuck? Your original offer was three.” I scowl down at her, hard.
She shrugs.
“Fine,” I relent, generously. “Two.”
She busies herself again, returning to the task of removing books from the returns cart. One tidy stack after the next is placed on the counter, and for a few moments I watch her. Her pale fingers with those lavender nails that remind me of Easter.
And flowers.
“Violet, quit ignoring me. It’s fucking annoying.”
She ignores me, but I know she’s listening.
“Goddammit. You’re not seriously going to make me go alone are you?”
She pauses to speak but keeps her back turned. “Alone? I suspect you’ll be in a room full of people.”
“You’re supposed to be the sympathetic one here. You don’t feel the least bit sorry for me, do you?”
“I-I don’t think there’s a single soul that feels sorry for you, Zeke Daniels.” I catch the sly little smile stealing its way across her lips as she gives me a view of her profile; she knows she’s got me by the balls.
Which is obviously horseshit.
“Fine. You win.” I hastily blurt the words out in a panicked rush when she disappears into the office behind the circulation desk. “Three play dates.”
Violet sticks her head out, blonde hair framing her face, interest lighting up her features. The extortionist is biting down on her lower lip, fighting a giant smile.
“Three.” She nods. “Summer is going to be thrilled.”
Awesome.
“We can start this Thursday I guess,” I grumble.
She pauses, turns, then walks the short distance slowly back to stand in front of me, pale brows raised a fraction in surprise, the corner of her pink lips tipped just so.
“We can?”
“Don’t act so fucking shocked, it’s not a big deal.”
That’s a lie—it is a big deal, and Violet knows it.
I know it.
Something about her big, gentle eyes lighting up with satisfaction and delighted joy does something strange to the pit of my stomach.
For once, someone isn’t pissed at me.
She’s pleased.
It’s a weird feeling. Foreign.
Violet walks to the circulation desk, plucks up a sheet of paper from the counter, scribbles on it, and returns with a handwritten line of numbers.
“What’s this?”
“My cell.” She hands the strip of paper over, hand extended. “So you can text me.”
“Can’t you just fucking put it in my phone like a normal person? What are we, twelve?”
The light in her eyes shines at the same time her upturned lips turn down. The small scrap of paper suspends between us, between her fingers, until the awkward tension in the air stifles me.