Chapter 8: Rachel
I clutch the picture and hold my breath, willing the tears to stay in my eyes before they explode onto my face and take over my whole body.Something I’ve learned about myself this past year: I’m an ugly crier.
There are no crystalline drops of liquid lightly tracing down my cheeks while my eyes grow more vivid in color.Oh no, there’s grotesque contortions of all my facial muscles, it seems, while the increased saline from my eyes triggers an avalanche of snot through my nose.Then add in the shoulder shaking and the wailing sound that automatically comes from my mouth.
It is not a pretty picture at all.
Crying in public should be avoided at all costs, and that is my number one priority as I race off the field and into a deserted corridor only lit by emergency lights.It’s likely I’m not supposed to be here, but my need for solitude outweighs any rule-following right at this moment.
I slide down the wall, sinking my head to my knees and focusing on my breathing.In for four, hold for five, out for seven.In for four, hold for five, out for seven.I do this over and over until the urge to sob and wail passes.
I can hear the buzzer and whistles and the din of people talking, but it feels far away.Or maybe I’m just far away.Far away from a world in which I can function without grief overtaking me.
I didn’t think this would be this hard.
I look at the glossy photo in my hand and the words scrawled across it.
Richelle, Keep Kicking!TJ Doyle #8
Eight was Richie’s favorite number.Being born on the eighth day of the eighth month will do that.The year she was turning eight, she declared that it would be the best year ever because it was her lucky year.
That’s the year that Mom dropped us off at Gram and Gramps for the last time before she disappeared for three years.That was probably the best thing that could have happened to us, so maybe Richie was right.
I wonder if Richie liked this player because of his number.I take a closer look at his headshot.He looked way better in person.Or at least I thought he did.I pull out my cell phone to look at the picture we took.
God, I look awful.
It comes as a little bit of a shock, how bad I look.I don’t know what I thought I looked like, but this isn’t it.I’ve never been the type to spend hours looking at myself in the mirror.Hell, I don’t even appear on camera for any of my ClikClak videos.I stare at my tired eyes, complete with puffy bags and shaggy hair that hasn’t even had a trim in a year, my bob now grown out.I put my contacts in today, so I don’t even have my glasses to distract from the disaster I am.I barely recognize myself.
TJ Doyle, on the other hand, is way hotter in this picture than he is in his headshot.I thought professional pictures were supposed to make you look your best.He definitely looks better in the candid shot.
And I made a complete and total ass out of myself in front of him.Defensive starfish?Where the hell did that come from?
I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so photogenic before.Short light brown hair and a matching close-cut beard.Dark blue eyes that would be so easy to get lost in.A sleek nose and prominent cheekbones.I wonder what he’d look like without the beard?
Or without his clothes.I bet he has abs of steel to match the buns of steel I spied when he first walked in.I should have sniffed him when I had the chance.I bet he smells like leather and sandalwood and man and all those other things that romance books use to describe their hunky heroes.This man has main character energy.
That intrusive thought makes me sit up straight.What the hell was that?I am not sitting here, lusting over the man my sister lusted over.That would be wrong on so many levels, like cheating on her with her boyfriend.
This is so messed up.
What am I even doing here?I should go.I can cross one thing off the list.That should be enough.I can go back to my apartment and …
And what?What’s waiting for me back there?
Absolutely nothing.
Sitting here on this dirty floor, I realize I’m at a crossroads.My life as I knew it is gone.I don’t have the option of going back to how things were.I can be stuck forever, or I can take a step forward.I can return to my apartment and never leave again, or I can stay out in the world.
It’d be easier to hide forever.I pull out Richie’s list and look at it.You only live once.Is what I’m doing even living?
My place is so new that I don’t even have memories in it yet.I’ll never have any of Richie there anyway.Maybe it’s better if I stay out.I did buy two heinously expensive tickets to the game, so I should probably stick around and at least see what a professional soccer game is like.I could ogle TJ Doyle for a while, and no one would be the wiser.I’m not sure how long a soccer game lasts, but it’s probably a few hours in which I can think impure thoughts and picture him as a romance novel hero.I wish it were an item on Richie’s list so I could cross it off, too.
I can do this.I can make the choice to rejoin the world of the living.
I mean, I didn’t already die of embarrassment yet today, so that’s a start.
Besides, worst-case scenario, I can always ogle TJ Doyle’s buns of steel from the safety of my seat.A girl’s gotta have goals.
