Page 51 of Made Better Together

He’s definitely a looker, with his brown curly hair and piercing green eyes. But what I appreciate most is that he doesn’t wear a cocky smirk like way too many of the hockey team.

Greg was never like that, and he mentioned that Jake was the nicest person off the ice, even though he was an enforcer on it.

“You’re stuck taking this class to graduate too?” he whispers to me, with an amused smile on his face.

“Guilty as charged.” I needed a humanities elective, and this one is a notoriously easy A.

“Well, I’m sure we’re not alone.” Looking around, there are a lot of other seniors, so I suspect he’s right.

The professor starts the class a few seconds later, and my attention falls off Jake. When the class is over, though, he waits for me to pack my things, and we walk out together.

“Where you headed after this?” he asks once we’re outside the building.

“Back to the dorms. Going to regroup before practice.”

“Nice, I’m off to meet someone in the library. See you on Wednesday.”

After we part, Jake quickly leaves my thoughts. Instead, I spend the walk back to the dorm mentally checking off my to-do list for the week. On it: schoolwork, practice, captain obligations, the games, two interviews, content for three NIL deals, and staying on top of the requests from media or companies that keep popping into my inbox on a daily basis.

Oh, and my date with Connor. A nonnegotiable on my list.

On Tuesday, he texts to coordinate specifics:

CONNOR: Do you like Italian?

EDEN: Yep. I’m not a picky eater.

CONNOR: There’s that place ten minutes away from Tolliver, Pisano’s. Does that work for Friday?

EDEN: Definitely.

Nice of Connor to check one question off my list. But there’s so much remaining.

Maybe someone hardwired differently could coordinate all these scrambled-up tasks well; for me, it’s becoming too much. I’m used to holding things down, but this is wild.

Case in point—by the time I hit Art History class again on Wednesday, I’m already fifty pages behind in the reading and kicking myself. I kept meaning to do it, but then something else would come up.

I crack open my notebook, blank other than my scribbles from Monday’s class. “I’m so screwed.”

I probably shouldn’t have said that out loud, whoops.

“What’s the matter?” It’s Jake, leaning over my shoulder from the seat behind me.

“Sorry, I was talking to myself. I’ve only managed like five pages of the reading for today. Normally I’d outline it all and everything…ugh.”

“I got you.” His voice low. “I type up the bullet points in a Google Doc after I read. You can have my notes.”

I turn around more fully. “Bless you.”

He gives me a little smile. “Give me your number, and I’ll share the link with you. You can follow along.”

“Amazing.” I know I still need to do the reading, but at least I’ll have a ready-made study guide.

I force life to slow down the next day. Given it’s a game day, I pull my focus in narrowly to what needs to happen on the pitch.

We’re playing Wake Forest, and they’re really solid. Especially their goalie—she’s one of the best in the NCAA.

Scoring doesn’t come easy, but we pull through. April makes a beautiful goal in the forty-third minute, and I match her in the eightieth. We end up with a win, 2–0.