Chapter One
Margaret
“Are you sure this is a good idea, Maggie?” my roommate, Rachel, asks me.
I twist around from the mirror to look at her, hopping on my one good leg. “It’s the best idea I’ve had in months. Think of all the bad ideas I’ve had lately,” I say sarcastically.
Rachel sighs. “Maggie…”
“No, really. Let’s see…” I set my mascara down and lean my hip against the vanity. Putting makeup on is a lost cause anyway. I’m not sure why I thought I should attempt it. One more bad idea to add to the list.
I hold up a finger. My voice is going to drip with sarcasm because that’s the only tone I have today. “Bad idea number one—attempting to make a three-point shot with that behemoth of a woman blocking me. Bad idea number two—majoring in general studies because I assumed I would never actually need my degree after I left this university. Bad idea number three—spending twenty-two years of my life with all my eggs in one basket.”
“Maggie…” she breathes out again. “This was totally unexpected and out of your control. There’s no way you could have known that woman would slam into you so hard.”
…And irreparably tear my ACL. Rachel leaves that part off because no one likes to say it out loud.
I was supposed to go pro as soon as I graduated. I’ve had my eyes on several pro basketball teams for years. I could taste it. I was so close. Just two games left in the season.
I did everything right for twelve years. I ate healthy, did well in my classes, stayed in the best shape, smiled for the cameras, turned down alcohol and recreational drugs. I went to bed early while my friends went out partying.
Giving up all the things most girls my age participated in wasn’t a hardship. I was meant to go pro and play basketball for as many years as my body would hold out.
That all came to a crashing halt a week ago.
“At least wait until the weekend when I can go out with you. I don’t like the idea of you going to Club Zoom alone.”
I turn back to the mirror and stare at my reflection. Fuck it. I don’t need makeup. What the hell for? It’s not as though my intention is to actually meet anyone. There won’t even be any men in the bar. They only allow females to enter.
I’m going to Zoom tonight because I’m now free to do whatever the hell I want. I can stay out late. I can drink too much. I can pretend to be relatively normal. On top of that, my understanding is that all the men from Eleadia are over seven feet tall. At six-three, I rarely meet men who are taller than me. They exist, of course, but they’re always taken by some short girl.
Maybe I’ll get lucky and some guy who’s a foot taller than me will make out with me. Is that too much to ask? I won’t be able to dance with my bum leg, but I can sit at the bar, people watch, and drink whatever the hell it is people my age drink.
“I’m going,” I say emphatically.
“It’s a Tuesday.”
“I don’t care. It’s not like I’m going to fail my classes just because I went out on a weeknight for the first time in my life.”
“You have an eight o’clock class tomorrow. You’ve never had a drink before. You’re going to be too hung over to attend.” Rachel’s voice is strained. I get it. This isn’t like me. I’m never reckless. Always the good girl.
Not tonight.
I shrug. “If I’m too hung over, I’ll skip class.” I giggle at the thought.Giggle. Me. I’m not a giggler. Nor have I ever skipped a class. There are so many things I have never done. Tonight I’m going to check several of those items off my list, make up for lost time. Drinking, check. Staying out way too late, check. Getting kissed by a tall man… Well, that’s wishful thinking, but I can always hope.
I comb through my thick mousy brown hair and tuck it behind my ears. I never wear it down. Notever. I’ve had it in a ponytail at all times since I first picked up a basketball. I don’t like it in my way, and that applies not only to when I’m on the court, but all the time.
Tonight it’s down. I’m not going to a game or class. I’m going to a nightclub. No one is going to have a ponytail. I’ll probably be the only one there without makeup, but frankly standing here on one leg trying not to stab myself in the eye with the mascara wand seems unnecessary. It will be dark in the club anyway, right?
After grabbing my crutches from against the wall, I manage to hobble over to my bed where I left my backpack. I unzip the outer pocket to grab my credit card and ID.
Glancing around the room, I wince. I’m the most boring human alive. I’ve been a minimalist my entire life. All I’ve ever cared about was basketball. I need new hobbies.
Who am I kidding? I plan to drink myself into a stupor and then come back here and wallow in my pity party for a few more days. Maybe another week. I won’t flunk out. Plus all my professors understand what I’m going through. I’m devastated. A lot of people are devastated for me.
After tucking my ID and card in the pocket of my jean skirt, I face Rachel again. She’s still standing in the doorway. Her brow is furrowed. “You’ll take a ride share there and back?”
“Of course.” I lift my brows and glance down at my leg. It’s not like I can drive.
