We all walked to the stadium with a crowd of frat boys singing something off-key nearby. The night was alive in that school spirit and team camaraderie kind of way. Like, even if you hated football, you loved your school enough to still show up and show out for them. It didn’t feel like a dangerous place to be, no dark corners with the temptation of a stranger, no empty bathrooms with lines of coke left on the counter, just a fun time out that didn’t need numbing as its partner in crime for the night.
I watch Mason dap up Chase on the field and can’t help but be pulled back to the memory of where it all started last year, that first taste of an escape, the high of another person’s attention, how Chase is actually a really sweet guy, and has even checked on me since I’ve been back to campus, but also how I could never see myself around guys like him anymore, the kind of life he lives is everything I stay away from now. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to incorporate the two in a safe way, but I don’t think it’s something I even need to worry about doing at this point. It may never happen, and that’s okay.
The fourth quarter was ending, and I no longer needed to calm my brain and convince it that we were okay here. I was screaming just as loudly as everyone around me as we watched our school score the winning touchdown. Lani had both hands around my arm, jumping and screaming, while Simone was narrating the entire play.
“For the record,” Simone yells over a song blaring after the game ended, “being sober and still screaming this loud is a true public service.”
I laugh at that, loving the way it felt. We all linked arms and followed the crowd down the steps, into the ocean of students in face paint and jerseys and glitter that will probably never fully wash out. My head isn’t too loud, and I don’t feel like I’m on the verge of a panic attack.
“Come here,” Simone says suddenly, veering left. “Two seconds. Soro stuff.”
Two seconds with Simone is never two seconds. She tows us through a gap in the fence and onto the strip of lawn, and a group of her sorority sisters waves us over, all lip gloss, high ponytails, and oversized shirts tied at the waist. We did the hug–name–smile and keep it moving thing with everyone.
We’d barely said hello when a handful of guys from the team found the same patch of grass, shoulder pads off, eye black smudged, adrenaline still pouring off of them.
Mason grins when he sees us. “Hey!” he says, greeting everyone. He bumps fists with everybody, hugs Simone longer than normal, then looks at me. “Good to see you back, Lydia.”
“Thanks,” I tell him quietly, a little embarrassed to have any attention on me.
Being completely sober again has reminded me how uncomfortable attention has always made me feel. I turn to Lani, but am quickly distracted again by another rowdy commotion. Looking back over at Mason, I see a face I wasn’t expecting to see—Bash.
“Mase!” he shouts, jogging up to Mason. They dap up so hard their wrists clapped. He was bright-eyed and impossible to ignore. “Dude. You played so good out there. You better be proud of that win.”
Mason is still grinning, saying something I can’t hear, and then, without warning, tilts his chin toward me. The tiniest nod in my direction. I stiffen instantly. The group chatter thins, and it’s ridiculous, but I can feel everyone’s eyes—curious, kind, harmless even—turn and settle on me, like someone brought a flashlight to a museum and decided I was the exhibit. Bash follows Mason’s nod, turning his head and finding me. He freezes, locking eyes with me. We both just stand there, not moving. Bash studies my expression, probably reading the anxiety on it, and then looks around at everyone staring at us before looking back to me.
He lets go of Mason’s shoulder, giving it one last pat before stepping closer to me. “Hey,” he says softly. “Can I—would it be okay to…talk over there? Just for a second.”
I look to where Lani and Simone are both standing, watching. They both have huge grins on their faces and nod quickly, nudging me with their eyes to go talk to him. I turn back to Bash, giving him a little nod, and then he just waits for me to start walking. We move a couple of feet away from everyone, where it was slightly quieter. And up close, I can’t help but take in the way he smells. It’s probably the best I’ve ever noticed a guy smell before. It’s smooth and comforting, and smells like confidence. It isn’t obnoxiously strong, just him. It fit him so perfectly, and I want to bottle it up to store away like a creep.
Is that weird? That was a little weird, right? Don’t be weird, Lydia.
“So, um,” he starts. “I just wanted to…check in on you. I know we don’t know each other well or anything, but I thought about how you were doing a lot over the summer and…I don’t know, I guess it’s just good to see you here. Didn’t know if you’d be back.”
“Yeah…it was a pretty hard summer, but I wanted to be back for the fall semester.”
“That’s good,” he tells me like he’s almost proud. It makes something stir inside me. “Really good. So, you’re um…how are you doing now?”
I nod. “Doing good….I think. Sober now. Ever since…that night.”
He just nods and doesn’t rush in to fill the silence.
“Thanks, by the way,” I tell him. “You helped give me a second chance.”
He shook his head immediately. “You don’t owe me that,” he says, quietly. “You did all the hard parts.”
“Thank you anyway.”
His posture relaxed a little as he kept his eyes on mine. “If you ever need a quiet place to hide,” he says, half-smiling, “I’m usually good at finding the perfect exits.”
I huff out a small laugh. “Noted.”
We stood in this comfortable silence for a moment, just taking in each other, taking in our words to each other, taking in everything that had happened and where it had brought us now.
Down the lawn, Simone’s laugh cut through the mix, a sound I could easily find in the dark. Lani was playfully arguing with someone in a tone that made it clear she was right, and there was no other option.
“I should—” I say, tipping my head toward them.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’ll…see you around.”
