Going Long (Waiting on the Sidelines #2)(4)

“I know,” I sighed. “I just…I can’t get my head there yet. Maybe, maybe in a week or two?” Why the hell did I throw that out there? Crap, I just gave myself a deadline.

Reed smiled a bit at my words, which solidified what I already knew, that it was right for us to talk about it, and I needed to come around. I just hoped that these next few weeks dragged more slowly than any before.

“Deal. We can talk about it during my bye week. Maybe we can get away for a bit, spend a little time together, alone?” he smirked.

“But we are alone,” I said coyly.

“Yes, but…and no offense…your dorm bed is shit small. And this place always smells like burnt popcorn,” he scrunched his nose a little.

I had to agree. And the thought of the two of us getting away did make the impending conversation a little more tolerable. I stood up on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek, holding his face in my hands and looking him in the eyes. “OKAY, two weeks then,” I smiled, pulling out a damn fine poker face if I’d ever seen one.



It was amazing how much reading I had this early in the semester. Specializing in reading and writing disabilities was more challenging than I had anticipated, but every time I worked with a student in our resource center or at one of the local schools, I knew it was worth it. Seeing someone put together words, and read aloud, made my heart pump with pride.

I had been working on the poem project for a little more than a semester now. I had a dozen or so students that I met with on a regular basis, writing poetry. It was going to be part of my final portfolio, showing how teaching language through poetry helped with written and verbal communication skills. We were going to have a reading at the end of the semester at a local coffee shop where I spent most of my mornings and afternoons studying. Reed knew a little about the project, but I was keeping the reading a surprise. I wanted to invite him for a special evening.

Finally done with my homework for the night, I flipped out the light and kicked my feet into the giant comforter on my bed, breathing it in since it still smelled of Reed. My mind raced, “Two weeks. Two weeks until I gave him my blessing to enter the draft.”

I knew I had to support Reed; I was being selfish. What I wasn’t sure about was if I truly wanted to transfer. It wasn’t so much that I minded moving to a different school, but I did worry about how I would pay for it. Reed always told me not to worry about the finances, but I didn’t think I could let him help pay for my schooling. As ashamed as I was to even admit it to myself, I think part of my worry was that he’d end up breaking up with me and leave me stuck completely.

I also wasn’t sure we could survive a full year being that far apart. I wasn’t even sure what life after graduation meant for us. Reed always talked about me in his future, but he’d never really talked about kids or marriage. I think his own broken childhood colored his outlook on things like forever a little. Sure, we talked about living somewhere because of football. Buying a house thanks to football. Paying my tuition anywhere…with the help of football. But we were always careful not to cross that line into what that meant beyond football. Neither of us.

I wrestled with these thoughts for an hour, never coming up with answers and debating how our conversation about the draft would go. Sleep wasn’t coming easy, and I blame that partly for the thought-stopping epiphany that hit my nerve endings with the jolt of a lightning bolt.

Sprinting from my bed, I flung my desk lamp on and flipped frantically through the pages of my day planner. I wrote everything down in that planner. Most people liked to keep their calendars on their phones or iPads, but I always had to have mine in writing. Writing it down always helped me remember, or so I thought. I flipped to the current week and rubbed my eyes, hoping they weren’t focusing. When a second and third look confirmed what I saw, I sunk to the floor, my heart beating at the speed of a hummingbird’s wing.

I was four days late.





Nolan


The Internet is a scary thing at 3 a.m. Like a fortuneteller, it tells you what you think you want to hear. Or, in my case, what I desperately wanted to prove wrong. I sat there for hours with my iPad, flipping through site after site about the signs of pregnancy, and how long before you could tell. I was pretty sure I could pee on a stick at this point and know for sure. But I also liked living in the 50/50. Peeing on the stick could mean 100-percent certainty. And I only wanted that if it meant I wasn’t pregnant.

It’s funny how your body and mind can operate on autopilot. I didn’t move from that spot on the floor until the sun rose. I didn’t sleep, and I was sliding my feet to the resource center in the middle of campus for a few morning sessions with some of my students. I didn’t register a single word my students read during our sessions. I heard muffled sounds that resembled words, I smiled, I nodded and I encouraged. I was getting good at poker faces.

Autopilot took me to Sarah’s apartment next. When I didn’t see Calley’s car in the parking lot, I pushed forward up the steps, knowing she’d likely gone to work, leaving my friend at home alone. By the time she answered the door, I must have lost my ability to bluff, because the tears started to come, and words evaded me.

“Jesus, Nolan. What’s wrong?” Sarah asked, pulling me inside and slamming the door behind me. She grabbed my hand and led me to the couch, pushing me down and kneeling in front of me with a truly confused look on her face.