“Yeah.” I push the door open. “With my bed.”
Their shit-talking and laughter fade into a lull behind me, all the way down the hall and toward the parking lot.
I can physically feel my body dragging. I’m not walkingone foot in front of the other on autopilot. I have to actively work to pick my legs up and move them. It’s no longer the kind of exhaustion where my eyelids feel heavy, it’s escalated to the kind that could mistake itself for the flu. The weight of it is seeping into my bones, and the only reason I’m still going is because my mental game has no limit. It’s my lion mentality that doesn’t know when to quit. Most people have motivation, but I have discipline, and I fear there are no limits there.
“Kingston!”
My head falls back and a deep sigh escapes me when my coach’s voice stops me two feet from the door.
So close.
I slowly turn around, facing him. “What’s up, Coach?”
“I just wanted to check in on you. Make sure…” He waves a hand in my direction. “Everything’s alright. You doing okay?”
I was just contemplating calling an Uber because I might fall asleep while driving home, but Coach Alvarez’s concern sobers me up real quick.
I hike my bag up my shoulder and feel my eyebrows pinch slightly. “Yeah, Coach. All good. Why? Was I off? I mean, I know I missed that last goal on Evans, but to be fair, he was really fucking on it today. Honestly, I got lucky with that top shelf. He was?—”
“Relax, kid.” He reaches out, putting a hand on my shoulder, and I freeze at the contact. “You played great today. I just wanted to check in with you.” He eyes me like a concerned father from a nineties sitcom. I can almost hear the dramatic music building in the background, like at any moment, I’m supposed to admit I smoked a cigarette.
My dad is a little more straight to the point, but I like Coach. He treats everyone on the team with respect, and it’s obviously worked out for him. His track record speaks for itself. He’s a great coach, and I bet he’d make a great dad—ormakes. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard him mention that he has kids before.
“Look, Noah, you’re a great player. You’ve got that sled dog mentality and you're one of the best talents I’ve seen in a long time. But at a certain point, too much—let’s say—pressure, can ruin it for you. Do you understand?”
I can’t tell him that I don’t feel pressure, I just feel tired, so I nod instead.
If Coach is picking up on something wrong with my game, then my dad was right. I do need to pick it up.
“Got it. Thanks, Coach.”
All I want to do is divebomb into my bed, but after that conversation with Coach, I make a quick U-turn through the quad. If I get my studying done now, I’ll be able to sneak in an extra practice tomorrow.
I would imagine our university’s library could give a scholar a semi. The Emillian Library is a cross between a cathedral and an old train station. Hundreds of archways, sixteen levels, thirty-two miles of bookshelves, and a stained glass skylight in the center. Today, large flakes of crisp, white snow gather atop the architectural art piece.
There are rooms on top of rooms in this library, and imagine my luck when the room I find myself in is the same room as Savannah.
“I know an open seat next to Savannah hates to see me coming.” I set my things down, sitting across from her.
Chloe’s chin rests on her hand with a bemused smile on her face. “I was actually just about to head out,” she says, standing from her seat.
Savannah scowls at her and I swear she mumbles‘Judas’under her breath.
Chloe's grin only widens when she puts a hand on her shoulder. “Text me later about the girls, yeah?”
“Yeah, yeah.” She waves a flippant hand and goes back to peeling her orange.
Little Coop gives me a slight nod and I smile in return. The girl might be Savannah’s best friend, but she feels more like my ultimate wingwoman at this point.
“Who are ‘the girls’?” I ask in a spooky voice, making a show of my hands.
Savannah’s eyes flick to mine with a bored expression before popping an orange slice in her mouth. The citrus smell wafts over to me, and I subtly lean across the table, hoping to get a hint of her vanilla scent with it.
“Christina and Simone.”
“You don’t sound too excited about them.”
“Well, last time we went out with them, we ended up at your party.” She gives me a sarcastic little smile that looks like it should be accompanied by two middle fingers.
