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“How about you?” he asks. “You must go to all the games.”
“No, not at all. I used to go sometimes, but I haven’t been to a game for a few years. I don’t think I inherited the football gene.”
“I bet you inherited the art genius gene though.”
“We’ll see, I guess.”
“Self-belief is the most powerful inspiration there is,” he tells me. “You can manifest your own success if you unblock your chakras.”
“Oh…well, I hope you’re right. Except that I’m not sure what a chakra even is. And I wouldn’t have the first clue how to unblock one.”
“Then I definitely need a raincheck on that coffee.” Christopher’s looking at me intently, like he’s visualizing my chakras. Which I’m really not sure I want him to do.
“Yeah. Sure.” But I don’t want my chakras—whatever they are—messed with. Especially by Christopher. I don’t see a future in which our chakras will be getting anywhere near each other. Side by side easels is going have to be where I draw the line. “See you tomorrow, Christopher.”
“See you, Zara. I’m really glad we’re in the same class.”
“Yeah, me too.” I make my way outside and across campus, soaking in the sights and sounds of the students spilling out of their classes.
The sunlight is warm but the breeze gently carries a scattering of falling leaves. It’ll be another few weeks until peak foliage but there are already a few splashes of color dotting the emerald carpet of the Green, like Mother Nature is showing off, easily outdoing us all.
The rest of my classes go well and the day passes quickly.
When my last class finishes, I head toward the stadium, which sits at the far end of campus.
Hawthorne University is a D1 school and has a stadium to match. It’s one of the largest structures in the town of Hawthorne and is a hub for concerts and other major events. We’re lucky it’s here because all the A-list musicians pass through here on their national tours. There are also a lot of events and festivals. It adds layers of culture and fun to the entire area.
But most of all, the stadium and everyone in it celebrates the football team. It holds around seventy-five thousand people and it’s full to capacity every single game of the season.
The stadium was originally built in the 1950s but had some major upgrades done a few years ago and is now recognized as one of the best college football stadiums in the country.
Next to the newly re-paved parking lot sits a modern annex to the stadium that’s entirely dedicated to the players and coaches. Like most D1 schools, Hawthorne treats its football players like superstars. They get state-of-the-art gym equipment, a team of personal trainers, physiotherapists, “mindset” coaches (an assistant’s idea a few years ago that my dad begrudgingly realized was ridiculously effective so they’ve stayed in place), academic tutors, a “chill zone” (another assistant, who’d previously worked at Google, insisted it was useful for team building and morale boosting and he was right). They even get social media consultants, who help the players with publicity if they need it. The whole facility cost something close to a hundred million dollars.
Ever since the NCAA changed its rules about college football players being allowed to make money off their own name, a lot of them are doing exactly that, and making small fortunes. Even my dad admits it was overdue and that the publicity adds another layer of fame and adulation for the team in general.
He never complains when the stadium is full.
My dad’s office sits near the players’ entrance, just past the trophy room. But I’m a little early. It’s not quite six yet so chances are he’ll still be on the field.
I go in the main entrance, showing my ID, which always gets a reaction at Hawthorne, and make my way through to the back.
It’s busy. There’s a concert tonight. They’re also getting the place ready for the first game of the season this coming weekend. A lot of people are milling around and it’s a lively atmosphere.
Making my way down onto the field, there are still a few players warming down but most are gone now. I spot my dad at the far end. Arms folded, he’s talking to two players, with a look of fierce concentration.
A pang of affection hits me. My dad is tough with his players, like he has to be, but he’s also well-known for being fair. And really good at his job.
I’m glad to get this chance to check in with him. I want to see how he’s holding up after his first night solo in his empty nest. I’m weirdly high on life today and it’s a good feeling. So many of my days over the last few years weren’t good days. They were hard. And oppressively sad.
So I notice the difference in myself. I’m excited. I feel optimistic. New things are happening that are going to change the entire course of my future.
As I get closer, two football players walk out onto the field from the players’ entrance and make their way along the sideline toward me. Even from a distance, they’re huge and broad-shouldered.
And I can make out now that one of them is Gabriel.
I wave. It’s nice to know someone, even though it’s only my first day.
The guy he’s with is an inch or so taller than Gabriel. He has thick dark hair with a slight wave to it, where it gently flicks around his ears. He’s wearing jeans and a Wildcats t-shirt that hugs his shoulders and chest.
