“It doesn’t matter.” It was a whisper, my lips lying for my heart’s benefit.
“It does. He was hurt you did that . . . with other dudes. His pride hurt. But seriously, you should go see him.” Alex’s eyes pleaded with me.
I shook my head. “I have to go. Congrats, Alex.” I pulled away and took off toward the exit, and he let me.
I took the train straight back to Jersey, hugged and kissed my dad, and then called a cab to the airport. I didn’t bother with my mom and sisters. They’d become close to slaying me to the media themselves. In fact, my dad had to threaten them with taking them out of his will if they didn’t cut that shit out. Seriously.
It was time for me to make a fresh start, someplace where I was wanted. Professionally, anyway.
I was pretty sure I’d burned my one chance at being wanted personally.
Catie
Early July
I walked reluctantly through the revolving door into Florida’s muggy, oppressive heat. Knowing the humidity would instantly curl my hair, I stopped outside the exit to fasten my unruly curls on top of my head in a messy bun. My T-shirt was stuck to my stomach and I lifted it, fanning it for a moment.
When I’d left Hafton right after the winter term, I welcomed the change in climate. April and May were much better in sunny Florida than rainy Ohio, although July was turning out to be a challenge, what with the heat and humidity.
I was thrilled when the University of Central Florida welcomed me into their women’s studies program. There I’d finish my degree with my major in women’s studies and a minor in mass communications. I’d even qualified for on-campus housing, which was good because my dad could only afford so much. The tuition was more expensive in Florida, but I’d earned a sizable student-aid package complete with a paid internship at the student TV station.
I was going to be on television!
“We love your fresh, no-holds-barred approach and sassy demeanor,” the dean of the communications department had told me.
Take that, Sonny. Speaking of Sonny, I’d laughed when I learned he was tossed out of Hafton for inappropriate behavior, three credits shy of a diploma. I hoped to hell he was stuck in some Midwest bullshit radio station fetching coffee for the talent.
When I’d first told my sister Grace I got the TV gig, she practically slammed down the phone in a fit of jealousy. Or maybe she was just in a hurry to sell my story to the media, but who cared? Thanks to my dad, she was leaving me alone.
This summer term, I was busy doing research for the student news program, but I’d been promised my own segment in the fall—a segment dedicated to young women’s issues. Apparently, I was free to explore whatever I wanted as long as I backed up my statements with data and research.
They knew I could do that based on my self-published book, which had been solid in the Top Ten on Amazon for the last month. It was a tell-all, not well-edited, but according to reviews, I “laid it all bare” and “put it all on the table why some women’s best choice is pornography.”
The best news about my transfer was my schedule. I was one hundred percent busy with my classes, the internship, and working part-time at a coffee shop. I stayed away from sports television and anything that might have to do with Blane. He was too nice for me. All I’d done was taint him, and he needed to make a go of ball.
The draft had been last week, and I’d avoided coverage of it like the plague. I knew he went as one of the top picks—to New York—and I wished him success. He would be one of many other Hafton guys who played or coached there.
Maybe come fall, I’ll try to watch?
With my hair securely tied up and my backpack firmly on my shoulders, I drudged through the thick air toward the main drag of campus to catch the bus. It wasn’t a huge campus, but it wasn’t right in town like Hafton, so they provided buses to the small community outside the university gates.
As I took a shortcut through the visitor parking lot, small rivulets of sweat worked their way down my back under my T-shirt. Tanks weren’t possible with the tattoo. I didn’t dare flaunt his nickname out in the open, yet I couldn’t bear to think about removing it. I’d heard it’s painful, so I blamed the pain. Sue me.
I snatched my water bottle from the side of my bag and took a chug before pressing on, not wanting to be late for my shift at the coffee shop. There was a commotion to my left, which I ignored because I didn’t want to be late.
“Hey, you,” someone called from that direction. “Hey, girlie in the gray T-shirt!”
Did he mean me? Half of the coed population wore gray.
Some guy, shirtless and wearing athletic shorts, ran over to me and poked me on the shoulder. “Hey, didn’t you hear me yelling?”
I stopped and let out a huff. “What?”
“Aren’t you the girl we saw on the news a while back?”
“Yeah. Freak show’s over, buddy.” I turned away and started to walk again.