“It’s not hard. You don’t even taste the spinach, you just get the nutrients,” I tell him as I add in frozen mango and unsweetened almond milk, as well as a healthy scoop of protein powder. This has been my snack of choice since I was 8 or so. My dad determined early on that a healthy diet optimized my strength, so I’ve been eating lean and green since as far back as I can remember.
I press the tumbler down and the blades whir to life, spinning me a smoothie that’ll keep me from being hungry the rest of the night. Dinner was a few hours ago, but I’ve been burning calories like crazy, and I need the fuel. “You sure you don’t want some?”
He visibly pales and shakes his head. “I don’t get it, man, but you enjoy that green drink,” he says, reaching into his cupboard for a bag of chips. We keep our food easily divided in cupboards, but there’s a pantry that’s full of house food. For the most part, these guys are decent eaters, but some, like Zac, can’t forgo junk food altogether, even though the season is nearly upon us.
“And you enjoy your chemical-laden, deep-fried nightshades, my friend.”
“You’re fucking weird,” he says with a smile.
I mumble a halfhearted response as I drink my smoothie and scroll through my phone. Paige and I have texted on and off about class the past couple of days. And, in delightful news, I found my balls and sent her a meme of some bleach blonde hairdresser guy who’s famous on Youtube.Is he a friend or a competitor? Because I could take him, easy,I wrote.
She sent back laughing emojis and said the guy is basically her idol, so I told her he was safe...for now. :)
I’ve watched a couple of her videos and even though I have no clue what she’s doing, she’s clearly good at it. A quick glance tells me Zac left the kitchen, so I type her channel name in and a slew of videos pop up. There’s a new one, so I click it, and seconds later, her face fills the screen.
I watch and listen, even though I have zero intention of ever giving myself a smokey eye.
Before I know it, I’m four videos in and I‘ve lost an hour of my life.
And I don’t care at all. I’m too busy watching as she blends a banana with some olive oil and scoops the goop all over her head. She loves a hair treatment, this girl.
“Briggsy, that looks like one of your smoothies!” Zac calls from behind me. I turn to see that he and about a half dozen of our teammates have gathered in the kitchen, and they’re all watching me.
Before I can close the video, Chase says, “Are those goalie videos? Because that doesn’t look like the shit you usually watch.”
“Leave him alone,” Meysy pipes up, defending me. “He’s pining for his girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I clarify, sounding pathetically like a middle-schooler. And also, a liar. While she’s not technically my girlfriend, I definitely want her to be. I’m ready for labels, exclusivity, the whole she-bang. My teammates would call me nuts. Paige and I haven’t done more than kiss, but I’m ready for more on every level. More time, more conversation, more kissing and more of where kissing leads.
“Damn right she’s not,” Zac says. “That girl is completely out of your league.” And with that, he laughs and leaves the room. “Later, guys. I’m heading to Kappa.”
Of course he is. It’s a Monday night right before our season starts. Why wouldn’t he be partying? I shake my head, reminding myself I can only worry about my own shit. And besides, if Zac’s slow on the ice at practice tomorrow, that just solidifies my spot and keeps dad off my back.
The guys all grab food or drinks and head into the living room, so I pocket my phone and head upstairs to get some reading done. I’ve wasted enough time tonight.
Just as I settle in, there’s a ding from my phone. Figuring it’s my dad, seeing as he hasn’t checked in since this morning, I swipe up.
It’s not my dad.
Paige: Hey, do you have time after class tomorrow to run through our speeches? Emma is no help.
Paige:If you have practice, that’s cool, just thought I’d check.
Spence: Yea, I’m free after 7. I can meet you at yours or you can come here.
Paige: Thank you! (heart emojis) Can we do your house? Emma’s trying out for the dance team and it’s LOUD here.
Spence: Of course. It’s loud here, too, but probably not LOUD. :)
Paige: Perfect. See you at 7:30? And in class tomorrow. Sweet dreams. :)
Sweet dreams? Hell, more like naughty dreams.
I’m coming to realize, though, that heart emojis and phrases like “sweet dreams” are just standard Paigespeak. She’s not really flirting; she’s just one of those people who says,“I love you!” to her friends and blows kisses to say goodbye.
Her comfort level with emotions and social situations is about a 17/10, whereas mine’s at a solid 2. We’re total opposites, but she’s quickly becoming the person I most look forward to seeing, and the person I want to talk to when something is good or bad or even in-between.
I change into cut-off sweats, leaving my shirt off because I get hot when I sleep, and then I feed Westley, my leopard gecko, before brushing my teeth and crawling into bed with my Cultural Anthropology book. I should be able to get a chapter or two in before I fall asleep.
