I do just that, washing the stink of the airplane from my hair and pores. Not bothering to unpack just yet, I pull a tank top and sweatpants from my suitcase and get dressed.
When I pad quietly out of my room, Leah’s on the PlayStation, and Hayden has his head buried inside the fridge. He holds out a dark bottle of something cold over his shoulder when I make my way into the kitchen.
“That’s not some kind of American piss-weak beer is it?” I ask teasingly as I take it from him.
“You don’t drink piss-weak beer?” After getting out another two bottles, he goes to snatch mine back. “All the more for me.”
I jerk it out of reach. “Are you kidding? I’m Australian. We drink anything with alcohol in it,” I joke, though in truth I rarely drink at all, but tonight is my first night in a strange, new country. If there ever was a time for alcohol, it’s now. Before I take a sip, I clink Hayden’s glass with mine. “Cheers.”
He echoes the sentiment, and after bringing the bottle to my lips, I almost spray a mouthful everywhere when he asks me if I have a boyfriend back home. “I know a lot guys who are gonna want to meet you,” he adds.
Hell no. Receiving this international sports scholarship is the equivalent of winning the lottery. I beat out thousands of foreign students for this chance. It’s going to be the most influential year of my life, and I simply can’t risk it for anything, or anyone.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” is all I say.
With my head down, I immerse myself in the next three months of pre-season training. It involves getting acquainted with my new teammates, head coach, assistant coaches, team manager, nutritionist, sports therapists, the team doctor, and everyone else on board that makes our Colton Bulls soccer team the team to beat.
It’s a whirlwind of activity: weight training, watching plays, endless drills, fitness tests, drug tests, and everything in between. I fall into bed exhausted every night with no time to wallow in my homesickness, or traipse around the countryside playing tourist. I haven’t even had time to decorate my walls with my motivational prints and my treasured signed poster of Lionel “Leo” Messi, a forward for FC Barcelona. I could sit here all day listing out his achievements, but to put it simply, the man is a soccer-playing god. I also have a signed poster of Cristiano Ronaldo waiting to be hung on my wall, but that one’s for more nefarious purposes. The Portuguese player is not only hotter than hell itself, he is, of course, my future husband.
The stadium we train in, and will play in, is bigger than I’m used to and seats a maximum of thirty thousand people. It sounds impressive, but it sits alongside the college football stadium, which seats over a hundred thousand, so our arena is nicknamed David, and our bigger counterpart, Goliath.
I haven’t met any of the football players, despite sharing the same parking lot. We hear them train though, so I know they’re there. Their grunts are loud and roaring shouts echo across into our field. It sounds more like an epic war rather than an ordinary afternoon of football training. Leah tells me they’re all big, hairy deals on campus, with egos that match the size of their stadium, so I vow to avoid them where possible.
Two weeks before our senior year of college starts, our team has its first exhibition contest. I would call it a sell-out because the bleachers are full, but admission for the match is free. My nerves are shot, knowing it’s going to be televised live on the Colton Bulls network. Through some miracle I manage to keep my head, and it’s an easy win—six nil. It sets us up with confidence and before I know it, I’m back in an airplane, flying to Hawaii for the Outrigger Resorts Shootout. We play two matches against Arizona State and Hawaii and walk away with one win and a draw.
We touch back down in Texas on Monday night and start classes the next day. I have my schedule tacked to a corkboard on the wall of my bedroom and my campus map studied.
When Leah taps on my door at ass o’clock on Tuesday morning, I roll over with a tired groan and seized muscles.
“Say it ain’t so,” I whine, the sound muffled because my face is mashed into the pillow. Her appearance is merely a hallucination from lack of sleep, I tell myself.
“On your feet, sistah,” Leah drawls, dashing my hopes.
I drag my exhausted body toward the edge, wondering if my legs will hold if I try standing. Probably not. They’re going to buckle beneath me and I’ll fall and hit my head, pass out, and maybe earn myself an extra hour in bed. My sleep-fogged brain decides that sounds marvelous, so I plant my feet on the floor and push up gingerly.
When I remain standing, I simply glare at Leah through bloodshot eyes. “I hate you.”
Leah is a morning person, so she simply blows me a kiss and sings, “Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to the gym we go,” as she leaves my room.
I acknowledge the voices in my head that tell me to throw my bedside lamp at her head and let them go. For now.
After weight training and five miles on the treadmill, Leah and I shower, make a protein shake for breakfast, and hit campus. It’s the biggest college in the state, and reviewing it on my map is completely different than seeing it in person. Our apartment is right near the soccer fields, but campus is in the other direction. I haven’t had time to familiarize myself with the buildings. Parting ways with Leah, I make my way toward where I hope my first lecture is held. Ten minutes later, I’m hopelessly lost. I have to ask three separate people for directions. When I finally arrive at my destination, I’m late. It sets the tone for my entire week. I’m late for every single class, and worst of all is my Business Law and Ethics lecture on the Thursday morning. I don’t know how it happened, but I read my schedule wrong, so when I arrive two-thirds of the way through, books piled in one arm, my protein shake in the other, I’m flustered and out of breath.
When I race through the doorway, Professor Patrick Draper pauses mid-sentence and turns in my direction. He looks in his mid-forties, but he’s ridiculously handsome and wearing a suit that looks as expensive as a brand new car. He makes an exaggerated motion of checking his watch before he looks at me again, his brows raised high.
Every student in the room follows his line of sight as though my interruption is the most interesting part of their entire morning.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say.
I start scanning the room for a free desk. Please God, point me to one right now, I pray silently.
“Late?” my professor echoes, his tone aggravated and sharp, and I realize he’s not going to let this go as easily as I’d hoped. “Late is ten minutes. You’ve almost missed my entire class.”
Several chuckles dot the room, and I want to close my eyes and sink well below the crusty layers of the earth. Before I can form an excuse, he says, “I hope this doesn’t set the tone for the entire semester.”
I want to reply with “me too,” but humor or flippant remarks aren’t going to save me right now. “Of course not.”
“Good.” He jerks his chin toward an empty seat near the back of the room. “Take a seat so I can continue what you so rudely interrupted.”
“Ouch,” I hear a student mutter as I make my way toward the vacant desk. I don’t look his way. I can’t. My face is on fire and I just need to get to my seat so I can die in peace.
Brody
The first hour and a half of the lecture I’m in is about as fun as getting sacked repeatedly on the football field. I spend most of it wondering how I’m going to get through the course without failing. My professor, who also happens to be my mother’s brother, may as well be speaking Spanish. My books are spread out in front of me and a pen rests expectantly in my hand, but my notes are non-existent because none of his words sink in.
Patrick pauses to take a breath, and I want to fist pump the air at the small reprieve, even if it is because someone made the heinous error of showing up with just a half hour to go. If it were me, I wouldn’t have bothered turning up at all. Better to claim a sudden, debilitating illness than face the hardass that is my uncle.