Tuesday afternoon, I head over to the registration office. When I see that Trina still works here, I realize how much easier my quest has just become. Trina and I hooked up a couple of times my freshman year. I think she’s still holding a torch for me to be quite honest, and if the way she’s looking up at me through her fake eyelashes is any indication, I’m spot on.
I’m gonna feel like a dick, flirting with her to get what I want, but it’s the means to an end. “Trina!” I say, walking up to the counter with an academy-award-winning smile plastered on my face. “How have you been? It’s been a long time.” I reach out to grab her hand for added effect.
“Gavin McBride,” she says. “I’ve been okay. But things are starting to look up now.”
I lean in and whisper close to her ear, “I need a favor for a friend, Trina.”
She sighs. “Sure, Gavin, whatever you need.”
“My friend’s sister is transferring here next term,” I lie. “She wants to make sure she can get into some of the same classes as her childhood best friend. But she wants it to be a surprise. Do you think you could help me out, honey?” I run my fingers over her knuckles.
I’m such a jackass.
“Of course. Name?” she asks.
“Baylor,” I say. “Baylor Mitchell.” I spell it out for her.
Two minutes and a traitorous kiss on the cheek later, I’m walking out of the registration office with Baylor’s spring schedule in my pocket. Next stop: my advisor’s office.
The past few weeks have been hellish. With UNC advancing to the Elite Eight after Thanksgiving, I’ve barely had any time to breathe, let alone spend much time with Baylor. We’ve managed to fit in a few runs here and there, but with all the traveling and my intense schedule, it’s been hard.
It’s bitter-sweet for me when we don’t make it to the Final Four. On one hand, I want our team to do the best we can. On the other hand, I’m burned out on soccer and want to focus on other things.
Things like Baylor Christine Mitchell.
“Gavin? Are you even listening to a word I’ve said?” I look over at Karen, who is standing over me with her hands on her hips and her mouth all puckered up because I was ignoring her.
“Huh . . . oh, yeah, the party,” I say, playing along as if I’ve been listening to her talk for the last few minutes. “What about it?”
“Dean says you aren’t going,” she pouts. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t feel like it, Karen. We did lose today, in case you already forgot.”
“All the more reason to get drunk with me tonight.” She smiles.
“I don’t think so,” I say.
She plops herself down on the couch next to me. “What is with you, Gavin?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“What’s up with you lately?” She maneuvers herself next to me so that I have no choice but to look at her. “At first I thought it was you just being all soccer-y and stuff, but you haven’t been acting like yourself for the past month,” she says. “You’ve been leaving parties early. Alone. Or worse, not bothering to go at all, like right now. Are you doing drugs, Gavin McBride?”
I choke on the water I’m drinking. “Shit, Karen. You know me better than that,” I say. “Not only would I never stoop to that level, but they do drug test college athletes, you know.”
“Then what is it?” she asks.
I shrug my shoulders. “Maybe I’m just tired of getting laid by any girl in a short skirt.” I let out a big breath. “It’s all so fucking meaningless.” I look around to make sure none of my buddies are here to call me a dickless freak.
Karen merely stares at me with her mouth hanging open.
“Plus, there’s this girl,” I say.
She closes her mouth only to resume her pucker from earlier which is now accompanied by her raised eyebrows. “Girl?” she asks. “What girl?” I don’t miss the way she says ‘girl’ like it’s a bad word. “Are you dating someone Gavin?”
“No,” I say. “But I think I might want to.”
“What, date someone? As in have an actual girlfriend?” she asks, incredulously.
“Well, yeah,” I say. “I thought I might try it for a change.”
She throws her head back and sighs, causing her platinum-blonde hair to fall behind her shoulders. Then she looks down and picks at the seam of her jeans. “Who is she?”
“You don’t know her,” I say. “It’s just some girl I ran into back at orientation.”
“Ran into?” She studies me. “Oh, my God, you don’t mean ‘Thing 2,’ do you?”
I laugh, remembering that stupid shirt Baylor was wearing the day we met. I nod my head. “Yeah, why not her?”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Nobody I know would be caught dead in that atrocious shirt she was wearing,” she says. “She’s a toddler, Gavin. You could do so much better.”
“Maybe I don’t want to do better, Karen.”
She dismisses me, shaking her head. “It’s a good thing winter break starts next week. Five weeks back at home will do you some good.” She stands up and grabs my hand. “Now get your ass up off the couch and go get ready. You’re going to this party with us.”
I let her pull me up. I guess it will be nice to get out of the house and let loose after soccer season. “Fine,” I say. “Just let me jump in the shower.”
She squeals and pulls out her makeup bag to put more unneeded shit on her face.
I come jogging around the corner and see Baylor waiting in front of Fetzer Hall. I know I have a silly fucking grin on my face. But I don’t care.
I spent the entire time at Saturday’s party silently deliberating how I’m going to get through the five-week break without seeing her face. I drank and talked and tried to be social so Karen would get off my ass, but the whole time I was thinking of ways to get my parents to spend Christmas in NYC or Boston, just to be closer to her.
“Miss me, McBride?” she asks, running up alongside me. I laugh at how she’s turning the tables.
“No,” I reply.
“Liar.” She elbows me.
“Yes,” I acknowledge.
“Sorry you missed getting to the Final Four,” she says. “It was a close game.”
I raise my eyebrows in question. “You watched?”
“Of course I did,” she says. “I know this guy who’s pretty good at scoring goals.”
“Oh, yeah?” I ask, smiling.
“Yeah, it’s Dean Jorgensen. You know of him?”
I elbow her back. “Traitor,” I say at the mention of my best friend.
“I hear he’s the best wingback-center-striker on the team.” She laughs at her own ineptitude about soccer terminology.
“I have a lot to teach you about soccer, Mitchell.”
“Bring it on, McBride,” she challenges. “Maybe you can teach me to play someday.”
God, I’d love to teach her to play soccer. I can imagine taking her out on the field and dribbling the ball with her. I can see her running down the sideline, wind in her hair, looking back at me and nodding for me to pass her the ball. What is it about this girl that has me fantasizing about playing soccer with her instead of dreaming about getting to all the ‘bases?’
“Well, it’ll have to wait until spring,” I say sadly. “This semester went by so fast. I can’t believe we’re in exam week already.”
“I know,” she says. “My last final is Wednesday. When’s yours?”
“Thursday,” I say. “You going to be able to run Wednesday?”
I think I literally hold my breath while awaiting her answer, which is not a good thing to do while jogging. I can’t imagine this being the last time I’ll see her until January.
“Yeah, sure, I can run Wednesday. I wouldn’t want you to miss Bay Watch,” she teases.
I notice that we keep talking and never speed up to a full-on run. I smile inwardly thinking to myself that she doesn’t want to leave me, either. Damn, I’m going to miss our Monday and Wednesday runs.
Then I have a thought. “Bay, do you want to keep running with me during winter break?”
She gives me a strange look. “Uh, you coming to Maple Creek?”
Yeah, I wish.
“No. But we can still run together. You know, every Monday and Wednesday at this time.” I notice that she’s quiet and I want to slap the shit out of my forehead for being such a pussy-whipped douchebag.
Then I see the smile creep up her face. “How will we handle the time difference?” she asks. “Will you run earlier, or should I run later?”
“I don’t want to have to get up too early on break. How about you run an hour later?”
“I can live with that,” she says. “But it’s a shame I won’t be able to see your ugly, sweaty mug in person.”
That gives me another idea. One that will benefit me as well if I play this right. “Give me your phone.” I stop jogging and hold my hand out. She stops with me, furrowing her brow as she hands it over. I hold it out at arm’s length and take a picture of myself. Then I hand it back to her and start running again.
She comes up behind me. “What am I, chopped liver?” she asks. “Don’t you want one, too?”
Yes! Mission accomplished.
“Of course,” I say, knowing all the other girls in my life would be mortified to have their sweaty appearance documented that way. But this is Baylor. She’s the opposite of all the other girls in my life. That’s one of the things I love about her.
Like.
That’s one of the things I like about her.
“Give it here,” she demands, stopping us once more.
I hand my phone over and what she does next is truly amazing. She takes three or four pictures of herself, all while making incredibly silly faces. All with a sheen of sweat dotting her hairline. All with her windblown hair haphazardly coming out of her ponytail.
Fuuuck me.
I can’t wait to get home and look at these pictures.
Baylor: Sorry, Gavin. I didn’t look closely enough at my schedule. My last final is in the morning, not the afternoon like I thought. I’m going to miss our run tomorrow.
Shit.
How could she not have known when her last final is? Our professors practically shove it down our throats the last week of classes. Maybe she’s lying. Maybe she told the asswipe about our runs and he won’t let her do it anymore. I have to know. I can’t let her leave for break like this.
Me: Did you tell what’s-his-name about our runs?
Baylor: Chris? No.
I’m happy to see she’s still playing our little game.
Me: Are you going to?
Baylor: Yes.
Me: Liar.
Baylor: Maybe.
Me: Did you really not know about your final?
Baylor: I knew. I just didn’t want it to be weird, that’s all.
This is news. Does that mean she’s going to miss me and she didn’t know how to say goodbye? Shit, this girl has me all over the place. I switch my phone over to my picture gallery and look at her gorgeous face. She’s sticking her tongue out at me in one picture. Another has her puckering up while her nose crinkles. The last one shows a big cheesy smile, one that brings out that dimple in her right cheek—and she’s cross-eyed.
Me: Thanks for the pictures.
Baylor: You, too.
Me: Good luck on your last final and have a safe flight back home.
Baylor: You, too.
Me: Don’t forget about our runs.
Baylor: Not a chance. See you in January, Gavin Maddox McBride.
Me: See ya, Baylor Christine Mitchell.
So that’s that.
I put my phone down. This is going to be the longest fucking month of my life.