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Taylor
Somehow, I made it all the way back to my apartment before breaking out in tears. I fell onto the couch and let the sobs shake my body.
When I realized that I should have gone back to my office, I cried harder.
I hated feeling like this. Like everything was falling apart around me. In the span of a day I had lost my side-job as a cheerleader. My career at the university was in jeopardy.
And Brody Carter, the man I was falling for, showed me who he really was.
The worst part was that I still missed him. He had said some hurtful things—things about Isabella, and things about my career that made me feel small—and despite all of that, I actually missed him. If he was here right now I would have fallen into his arms and held on tightly until I was all out of tears.
And I missed his dog. I hadn’t even said goodbye to Luna.
When I had gotten everything out of my system—for now, at least—I made myself a cup of tea and considered my options. The first thing I did was call Channel Five to tell them that I would be working from home for the rest of the week, and to come get photographs of me here. Ten minutes later, the reporters were all swarming around the entrance to my apartment. Then I fired off an email to the Dean to let him know what I was doing. It probably wouldn’t make him give me my class back, but at least it would let the rest of my colleagues work in peace.
What to do after that was a tougher decision.
When I drove to the dog park to meet Brody, everything seemed clear in my head. The two of us could pretend to break up and go back to a secret relationship. That would appease the two exes, Eric and Isabella, who were holding things over us. But Brody was adamantly against it. He didn’t want to go backwards, and I couldn’t blame him.
But break-ups didn’t have to be bipartisan. I could unilaterally announce our breakup without Brody’s acceptance. I didn’t know how I would go about doing that. A press conference? An interview with one reporter? A simple tweet? I had gained sixty thousand Twitter followers in the past day, a number which was growing by the hour. If I claimed that I was breaking up with Brody, then the world would believe me—no matter how much Brody protested.
It was appealing. It solved two of my three problems. It was in my control.
But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Because one thought remained firmly planted in the back of my head:
What if we break up for real?
*
The week passed with relative calm. On Tuesday, only half the reporters were stationed outside my apartment. A day later, they were all gone.
At least a dozen times a day, I considered texting Brody. I didn’t know what to say to him. I knew what I wanted him to say to me: that he was sorry for what he said. I was sorry too, but I needed to hear him say it first.
One person I did work up the courage to call on Friday was Isabella. I didn’t expect her to answer. I was prepared to leave a voicemail. But to my surprise, her voice came across the line, totally devoid of emotion.
“What do you want?”
“Isabella. I won’t waste your time. I’m calling to see if I should bother showing up for our flight to Nashville tomorrow. The team travel coordinator says I have a ticket, but I wanted to talk to you first.”
“You are still on the team,” she said. “Be at the airport no later than two.”
She hung up.
I packed my things and drove to the airport with a sense of dread. I was afraid that she was stretching out my torment. Forcing me to arrive at the airport, go through security, and then suffer a public humiliation as she kicked me off the team in front of everyone in the boarding area. It certainly wasn’t beneath her.
But when the TSA agent scanned my ticket, everything went through. When I got to the gate, Isabella ignored me rather than make a big scene in front of everyone. We boarded the flight and took off. She was seated three rows behind me, and she looked unhappy.
What’s her angle?
Maybe she knew the team was better with me on it. Maybe she was willing to put aside her petty anger for one more playoff game. Once the season ended, she didn’t have to invite me back. I would be out of her hair forever.
I couldn’t decide if that was a relief, or simply depressing.
We landed at Nashville and checked into our hotel—which turned out to be the same hotel as the football players and staff. The rest of the cheerleaders were going out on the town, but nobody extended an invitation to me. Which was just as good, because I wouldn’t have wanted to go anyway. Instead, I ordered a grilled chicken salad from the hotel restaurant and ate it in my room.
I thought about Brody. At that very moment he was in his hotel room three floors above me with the other players. I imagined him laying in bed, reviewing the Titans defensive formations. Studying for the game.
